TDM #1

[rhodosmods]

TDM #1: AUGUST

Jump to: Arrival · Sound and Light · Into the Fog · Waking Up to a Nightmare · The Bonfire
Summary · Questions

I. ARRIVAL

Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.

But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.

The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.

Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.

Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.

II. SOUND AND LIGHT

The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.

After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.

The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.

The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.

After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.

Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.

III. INTO THE FOG

CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs

After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.

The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.

While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.

The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.

In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.

IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE

CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery

On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.

As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.

You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.

When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.

There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.

Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.

V. THE BONFIRE

CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation

Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.

A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.

The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.

Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.

At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.

The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.

If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.

The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.

If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.

In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.

The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.

SUMMARY

Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31

Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.

Test drive memes are considered game canon.

This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.

Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!

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Comments

steve harrington. stranger things. s4 spoilers possible!

[babysitters]

ARRIVAL.

ONE.
( well, compared to the Upside Down, a beautiful seaside town is a great place to show up barefoot and shirtless. a lot better than a squishy, creepy alternate version of his home town, where the ground feels like it's breathing, and the air is thick with a terrifying kind of ash nobody can quite explain.

still, without demobats flapping around hoping to finish the job, Steve feels very keenly the shirt he is not wearing.

covered in muck, blood, and other unspecific Upside Down grime, it feels a bit bad to linger on the spotless streets. but he needs a shirt! and he's been waiting. and waiting! and nobody has shown up. for fear of looking tourist-y, these shirts are as good as any other shirt, huh? and maybe if he leaves some cash (does he even have some cash??), it'll... it'll work out. maybe everyone is out for lunch. maybe it's a much sunnier version of the Upside Down, and nobody is gonna give a shit if he takes a shirt, anyway.

so he elbows wearily out of Eddie's vest, picks a shirt at random and pulls it over his head. it's... well, it's slow going, with his sides half eaten away by faceless bats. so of course, he's only halfway there, head through and one arm in and one arm out, when someone shows up, because, of course they do. ) It's not what it looks like. ( a beat. ) Okay, it's exactly what it looks like. ( he's super stealing this shirt right now PLEASE DON'T BE MAD. )

TWO.
( eventually he finds the archway, looking off into the fog. he's a lot cleaner than he was when he was stealing his touristy shirt, so, lucky whoever has to deal with him next! Steve is frowning, arms crossed, staring off into the fog with his eyebrows tucked downward. he looks like a stern dad that is still contemplating what lecture he wants to give.

when someone approaches, and seems too inclined to wander into the nameless mist, Steve does catch them by the arm. )

Wa-wait. Okay. Chill out, would you? I've seen enough horror movies, I'm gonna guess we don't wanna go out there. That's an ominous ass fog. ( a beat, an appraisal. if his company seems tough enough to Handle an ominous ass fog, he continues, ) So we don't wanna go in there unarmed, all right? ( YEAH, WHERES A FUCKN LAMP?!?!? it doesn't have to be a baseball bat, he'll make do! )

THREE.
( Steve has been wandering. he's spooked in and out of all sorts of shops. he stole this nice t-shirt. it's been a full day, is the point. and a guy gets hungry, it's inevitable! it's not his fault. it feels a little questionable to eat food in the creepy ghost town, but also, he hasn't eaten since he got sucked through Watergate. he's gotta eat! he's gotta eat. so he's gonna.

and ice cream seems fairly harmless, doesn't require much in the way of chewing, which is nice when bats ate off half of your abs. there's something ironic about it. if he closed his eyes, maybe he'd hear the stupid nautical shit they played at Scoops. the company spiel is stuck to his tongue. ahoy there, are you ready to take sail on an ocean of flavor?

fuck. this is the worst. Steve is half into the ice cream case when someone ambles up, and he grimaces. ) You gotta get your own, ( Steve says, instantly. defensively!!! he's nobody's scooper anymore, all right??? that part of his life is over. ) What the hell is stracciatella, you think? ( doesn't really matter, he's gonna eat it anyway. )

SOUND AND LIGHT.

( look. he's not... he's not really a puppet show kinda guy. that's what this is, right? whatever. it's just there's not a ton else going on in town. and it's something to do. maybe there's answers hidden in there somewhere! Steve watches, and tries to pay attention. there's a king, he thinks, and a queen. and that's where he gets pretty lost. the king dies twice?? how does that work???? and there's some freaky parts there in the middle, that don't jive well with the fact it's puppets. isn't this for kids?

by the time it is over, Steve feels a little... well, miserable, is a good word. usually he's a lot better at checking out of what he's feeling to focus on the moment. now is not a good time, to get really stuck in how shitty it is to go from a high stakes situation where he was needed (or at least useful, at least somewhere he can do something for people he cares about) to... here. watching confusing puppet shows, not having the faintest clue what they mean. an insufferable amount of silence setting in.

it feels bad. all the same, when he snuffs and rubs his nose, Steve is surprised to find he is crying. he's not much of a crier, is all. he sniffs again, bemused as much as unhappy. and great, just great, somebody is staring! ) I'm totally cool, ( Steve says, in a watery tone that does not sound totally cool at all. he pulls up the fabric of the shirt he's wearing to try and dab at his face. it's not very effective, unless the purpose of the gesture was to show off his bat wound bandages. ) Really cool, ( Steve repeats, distantly. yeah, sure buddy. )

INTO THE FOG.

( Steve has spent the last three weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop. for something to go wrong. for things to go sideways and murderous. he doesn't feel inclined to an I told you so but the fog rolling across the streets and the strange tilt to the air just feels inevitable. it was always gonna go wrong, and thank goodness he was expecting it to.

it'd be dumb for him not to expect it, at this point.

when he leaves the apartment he's taken over, he brings his bat with him. Steve has felt a little safer since he woke up and found it under his bed, just like how he used to sleep at home. he doesn't know how that works, but he's grateful for a weapon he's used to having in his palm as he wanders town.

he's careful with his batteries, so his flashlight has charge. flicking through shops that don't seem much different, except for the fact the power is out. the food seems to be going south fast, though. Steve makes a point of collecting stuff that seems like it'll keep.

of course, just a carpet of fog isn't all they have to worry about. it's mid-scavenge when an ominous clunking echoes on the sidewalk outside. ) Fuck, ( Steve mutters, pressing against the shop door and peering carefully outside, spanning the fog carefully with his flashlight. he's expecting something besides another sucker that's been lost in town for the past few weeks, and startles despite himself when that's what his flashlight lands on instead. ) What the fuck! ( Steve accuses, perhaps a little too loud. but also, what the fuck! who is snooping around in creepy fog, what the hell is that about? why would you do that to a guy? )

WILDCARD.
might be game for another prompt! feel free to pm me or catch me at meowed if you want to plot! for reference, i'm debating a canonpoint for steve, but right now i'm running with end of s4v1. can avoid spoilers, just let me know if that's your preference!

[Arrival - One]

[subject_013]

There's a shower you could step into before you bloody up a silk shirt of mine.

[A throaty but soft-spoken baritone voice speaks behind him. The royal blue shirt Steve has appropriated clearly belongs to the tall, robust but oddly graceful blond man who enters, taking off a summer-weight black linen suit jacket from over a black silk shirt open at the collar, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, even here indoors.]

I might be inclined to help you clean and patch up those bite wounds, if I knew the name of the young individual who's decided my apartment is just right. [He sets aside the jacket on the back of a chair, folding his arms across his chest, feet planted at shoulder width, something vaguely suggesting military or law enforcement - or both - in his erect bearing.]

i am an avid dbd player so a wesker & steve meet cute is just what i needed

[babysitters]

( Steve is stiff, half into the shirt already, and far too late to not bloody and gunk it up, to be perfectly fair. he hadn't realized it belonged to anybody!! because there's not an anybody to be had, so far, in his hours of exploration. the button up was to hopefully help him to avoid the aches of his bat-chewed sides. now that he has it half on he regrets it, because the silky button up reads Billy Hargrove and sure the guy died slightly less an asshole than usual, but he was still an asshole. )

Shit! ( Steve says, startled, at a voice after hours of searching to find exactly no one. his heart hammers a little too fast, and the fact he is unarmed feels a little too pressing. but then he sees exactly who startled him, and though the tall blonde guy isn't familiar, he's also human, so not the scariest thing Steve has ever dealt with, by far. ) Shit, ( Steve says, again, but this time apologetically. his brow dips a little at the sunglasses indoors vibes but look, he's been that guy before. he can forgive it. ) I, uh... sorry, man, I thought nobody was here. ( nobody seems to be anywhere else, to be fair, so it seemed a fair guess. it's a relief to see another face, though, with his shirt off and bloody old bandages on full display, stealing a shirt that doesn't belong to him, this maybe isn't how Steve wanted it to go. )

Steve... Steve Harrington. ( Steve winces at his own full name, because just a first name probably would have done it. the guy just seems like a serious type, it sets him on edge. not to mention he's recently had his sides chewed off by faceless bats and poofed into a creepy, beachy ghost town. maybe he's just on edge in general! ) Steve. Sir. But I'm... I'm cool. I didn't mean to steal your shirt, either, I can... I'll wash it. ( somehow??? he has no clue how. but he'll figure it out! )

three

[navcav]

'Stracciatella?' Sounds like a terminal disease.

[ gideon hadn't wandered in here looking for ice cream, as she has never had ice cream in her life, but there's only so many times you can climb to the top of the various statues and do pull ups and open the same doors and yell for harrow. she frowns at this kid, who might even be her own age, who isn't even wearing a sword or armor. is he a necro? god knows. ]

I'm looking for a necromancer, you seen any wandering 'round?

[ she's hoping he'll puff up his chest and be all 'you stupid cav, I'm a necromancer, and yes I've seen yours, she was just being rude around the corner.' it's a thin hope, but a hope nonetheless. ]

[babysitters]

Thanks, that's really nice. ( since Steve is about to eat it, and all. it doesn't stop him, because it just looks like a real speckle-y chocolate chip. he's into chocolate chip.

he's apparently not into spoons, though, and despite the fact there aren't any cones and he has to eat the ice cream out of a little boat Steve just sticks his face in it like an animal, laps it up and decides if it is disease ridden, it's a tasty disease. diabetes, maybe. meal acquired (yes, meal, he said it. who is gonna contradict him?? he's adult enough nobody can tell him he can't consider ice cream a meal), he turns his attention to the stranger.

and then Steve's brow tucks down, confusion obvious. ) Necrowhat? ( is that a D&D thing? he feels like it's a D&D thing. )

[navcav]

I didn't know you were going to put your face in it!

[ if gideon put her face in it all the rest of her stupid skull face paint would come off, and then she'd be eating terminal disease sounding thing + face paint.

and sorry steve this chick is absolutely dressed like a D&D larper, right down to the moth-eaten black robes and cloak and the huge fuck-off longsword buckled to her back. the mirrored aviator sunglasses clash with the medieval look, though.

she doesn't sigh. she does not sigh. she is gonna double down. somebody around here has to have heard of necromancers. maybe they've just got a different term for them. ]

A... necromantic adept? A person that manipulates death energy? A, a-- [ shit what are all the various epithets ] --bone witch? Flesh magician? A ghost-talker. Spirit-caller. Dust-botherer-- no, that's not one, forget that one.

[babysitters]

What? Why would I ask if I wasn't gonna eat it. ( to Steve this seems like obvious, common sense. and he doesn't have his entire face in it, he's not a complete dog. he's just licking it, like it's an ice cream cone, and it's absolutely not, there's fucking spoons right there, Harrington.

it is... well, it sure is a whole lotta look. he'll give her that. Steve has recently gotten used to the Eddie Munson special, who is also a whole lotta look, though somehow still not as wild as this. Steve is trying to keep an open mind, friendly faces in a creepy beach ghost town are worth a weird outfit. ...any faces at all are worth a weird outfit, actually. for his part, Steve looks slightly less preppy than usual in his Welcome to Rhodos t-shirt, though he definitely looks tourist-y.

Steve only grows more and more baffled as she rattles on. manipulating death energy doesn't sound good to him, personally. ) Yeah, no. ( he hasn't seen one. hasn't even heard of them, no matter what name is used. the closest he can think of is Eleven, and she didn't talk to dead people, they had to be alive still. ) Why do you want one of those anyway?

[navcav]

[ hey she's not here to judge anybody's choice of outfit, although it seems ill-advised to go around without polymer armor or at least fighting leathers-- but then, necros don't always wear that stuff! being more lightly dressed is their privilege, and also they're usually skinny little twigs that never developed a muscle in their entire lives.

probably the weird stuff he's wearing should have clued her in faster, but what does gideon know about fashion? she's been stuck in the ninth all her life, where the height of fashion was funerary wear and bone accessories and maybe some raggedy lace, if one was feeling adventurous.

she bites her lip anyway, worrying at the paint. could she really be alone here, after nineteen years of wishing harrow and all the rest of them (not you, aiglamene) would disappear? ]

Well, I'm supposed to be babysitting one under pain of death and dishonor if I fail, so I was kind of hoping someone had seen her round. On the other hand, if she wants to fuck off by herself in a strange and hostile environment, that is entirely her stupid privilege.

Is that food? Can I have some?

Sound And Light

[springgirl]

[When it comes to emotions, Cora is very particular about hers -- ...in the sense that she keeps them under wraps and turns people away with cold prickliness. People can be vulnerable and touchy feel-y all they want as long as they leave her out of it, as long as they don't expect her to show that same vulnerability. It's just... easier, that way. Which is why it bothers her so much when the stupid puppet show gets to her in a way she can't explain. It had been winding and confusing, but she'd seen enough tragedies to last her a lifetime. Even if it was more of a complex mess, it was clear as day. And yet, normally she could watch them and remain detached.

It takes her a second to realize that she isn't alone, surprised to see a complete stranger there with her. It's instinct to snap and put her walls back up again, but the sight of his tears stop those thoughts right in their tracks. Her gaze flickers to the bandaged wounds just for a brief moment, and something (she isn't entirely sure what) clicks.]

...You're obviously not. But that's okay. [She isn't 'totally cool', either, but this is something to focus on. Someone to... help?] Do you need-- I mean, it probably isn't a good idea to just bottle your emotions up like that and not talk about it. I'm not judging.

[babysitters]

( Steve makes a noise that is frustrated, because... well, he should be fine. he doesn't really cry, so he shouldn't be now. not after a weird puppet show, for sure. there's something else going on here, it's not that he thought right now was a great time for a good cry. he huffs miserably, still palming at his wet eyes like he can just man up and make the tears stop. it doesn't seem to be working. )

I'm... but I was. I don't know what's going on. That show was confusing, not sad. I mean the guy dying twice was a little, ( Steve sniffs, and yup, still crying. this is embarrassing. ) A little, sad. But not this sad.

( is there something in the air, bothering his eyes? well, the pretty girl that has spotted him openly weeping doesn't seem to be crying, so, chances aren't great that toxic waste is burning his retinas to the point of watering. no, it's something else, though exactly what Steve can't guess. ) I don't need... I'm fine. Really. Thanks.

( he knows he's not... actually fine. okay? he doesn't need to be told the obvious, he's not fine. but he also can't talk about all the ways he isn't. not to a stranger. and honestly not that much to people that know exactly what he's fucked up about. it just means they have to be fucked up by it too, feels unfair. Steve was just fine suppressing his heavy emotions, until they were spilling out all over his face. and now he's not sure what to do with them, the normal next step to crying. he hasn't cried since 3rd grade and he skinned his entire leg sliding home. nobody ever tells you how bad that hurts.

somebody else's mom had hugged him, because his wasn't there.

maybe he's cried since then. because if you cry by yourself it's sort of like a tree in the woods. doesn't really exist. )

[springgirl]

[She is desperately trying to stay composed, keeping her own emotions at bay -- tries to remember all the time she spent putting them behind carefully crafted walls. She's still an actress, no matter what weird place she's found herself in. And it's that skill of hers that keeps her relatively calm now, just as much as focusing on someone else is. Even as sadness rolls over her in waves, threatening to drag her down. She digs her feet in, stubborn as ever.]

Yeah. It's... super weird, right? I've gotten teary-eyed over plays and shows before, but-- [...Tragedies are different for her now.] Hey, I won't -- if you really don't want to talk about it then we can just talk. About literally anything that's not a weird, sad puppet show. I've seen better plays, you know? This can't compare to a good Shakespearean tragedy even if it tried.

[It's a lame attempt at a joke, putting lightness in her tone even if it falls a little flat. Honestly, she isn't entirely sure why she's trying at all. She can just as easily walk away and leave this complete stranger to cry his feelings out (whatever they may be) and that can be the end of it. But this feeling tugs at her again, making her stay put. Against her better judgement she wants to help, to distract him from the tears running down his face uninterrupted. It isn't a good idea to care about anyone, to show kindness. And yet...]

...I'm Cora. What's your name?

[babysitters]

( Steve will take a stupid attempt at a joke. especially because she brings up something he's vaguely aware of. Shakespeare is a familiar term, even though Steve Harrington is most certainly not a Shakespeare kinda guy. he huffs a laugh, stained sad, at the mention. )

Nah, I think I'd react about the same to Shakespeare. I had to read it for English, once, barely made any sense. ( too much verily and thine and hark! it was a jumbled read, for sure, though... if Steve is perfectly real about it, he loved the romance parts. Romeo and Juliet being starcrossed lovers, together against all odds, was the only part of the play that made any sense. )

Uh... Steve. Hi. Cora. Cool. ( god, he's STILL crying! this is truly a nightmare. he wipes his face on his arm, and laughs again, still miserable but hoping to play off the weirdness as less heavy than it feels. ) What the hell. They should at least have tissues if this weird play is gonna make everybody goddamn miserable.

[springgirl]

[It's a sad laugh, sure -- but it's something, so Cora decides to take it. She even makes a face when he admits to not being too crazy about Shakespeare, feigning offense just for a moment before amusement takes its place. She'll be the first to admit that it isn't for everyone, even when it just happens to be her strongest passion.]

Fair enough. I thought it was-- I don't know, I liked it. If you know enough it sounds like poetry, almost. [...Now isn't the time to unleash her love for theater on some poor, unsuspecting stranger. But it's comforting to know that her efforts aren't going to waste.] I guess it just depends on the person. And anyway, I still understand it better than what I just saw.

[She watches him carefully, gaze studying the way he tries to brush off his tears off with another laugh.]

...It's nice to meet you, Steve. Weird, depressing play aside. I, uh... really won't hold the crying thing against you if we meet again after this. If you were worried at all.

arrival (1)

[keenely]

[ so... there's no way any of this is real. right? there's just no way. one minute she's trying to survive an insane earthquake by desperately clinging to the banister of the grand staircase in what is easily the most cursed house in all of existence ever, while the ticking of the grandfather clock just a few feet in front of her turns deafeningly loud as it marks each passing second, making it impossible to even think straight - and then she's here, in the blink of an eye. quicker than that, really. suddenly enough that she probably scared the hell out of anyone that happened to be around when she woke up in the plaza, with the way she cried out and scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could manage, turning in place as she tried to figure out what the hell just happened, and where the hell she is. not her best, or sanest moment. but, like- shit.

anyway, she's been up on her feet for a while now, her oversized coat awkwardly tied around her waist, because she doesn't want to ditch it, but it's too damn hot to be wearing it properly. especially over this shirt in particular, which is actually very on theme for where she showed up, very nautical, and has a thick collar that's usually very cute, but right now it's actually terrible. it's the worst. and it's filthy, and it stinks, god, she smells so bad. if she wasn't so achy and disoriented and deliriously tired she'd be feeling a lot more self conscious about it. but mostly she's just trying to stay focused on... finding somewhere out-of-the-way to mentally regroup, not getting sick, and not having some kind of complete meltdown in the middle of this perfectly serene, beach-side shopping plaza. but yeah, a change of clothes, or a glass of water would be nice.

and despite her paranoid determination to get through this, and figure this out, she's a little checked out by the time she's approaching the small shop steve decided to rob. enough so that when she sees who she thinks she sees, she slowly stops in her tracks and sort of just- sighs? it's a big sigh. the kind that deflates some of the tension that's drawn up along her entire body at this point, but certainly not all of it. because it's also the sigh of someone that knows if vecna did manage to get into her head one last time, at the beginning of the end, this would be the exact moment when she gets hit with the brutal reality of it, and has to try to fight for her life again.

she knows it might not really be him. she knows. she's expecting it not to be. she suspects that when he turns to face her, she'll be met with a twisted version of him that would know exactly how to taunt her for every shitty thing she's done in her life. and if that suspicion is correct, vecna really is the most evil piece of shit on the planet, in any dimension, because he's managed to figure out the exactly how to get her to surrender to him. because-

well. she's not sure she'd be able to fight back this time. in fact, she's positive she wouldn't be able to.

and in the version of this scenario when her mind wasn't so foggy and paranoid, she'd be hurrying over to help him pull that shirt on the rest of the way, while scolding him for almost certainly irritating the scratches and bites along his torso more than they already are, and immediately trying to figure out what the actual hell was going on... but she can't. she can't move. ]

... Steve? [ ugh, the sunshiny world they've landed in might be peacefully quiet, but her voice was probably still too quiet for him to hear. she sounded weak. her trigger finger flexes, reminding her yet again how much she hates that she showed up without either of her guns. ] Steve.

[babysitters]

( so, it's a lot harder to muscle into a stolen t-shirt when your lower half has been half chewed off by bats. Steve should have thought this through. steal the shirt, then put it on. he's just not thinking the clearest, is the problem. if the rest of the party was here, they'd have told him as much. Nancy would have nicked the shirt for him, Robin would have helped him put it on, made jokes about how he smells like bat and armpit to ease how bad it fucking hurts. instead, he's on his own. the sun is almost too hot on his shoulders, and Steve is even a guy that likes a little sun. the shirt is a desperate bid to not feel so unsettled, like maybe he's still half in the Upside Down. still in the achingly horrible last moment he can remember, shaking Nancy's shoulders as her eyes roll back in her head, as she retreats to a place he can't reach her.

Steve is still too stubborn to give up, even if everything hurts, even if he should have tried to scrub off some of the dried blood in the ocean, even if a shirt is such a low priority in beachy spooky empty ghost towns. he's gritting his teeth, trying not to focus on the pain of lifting his arms far enough to fit through the sleeves, it's about all he can focus on. he feels the approach before he sees who is doing the approaching, and wandering so long without seeing anyone almost made him feel like there wouldn't ever be anyone to find. it's not really Vecna's MO, to tailor your nightmare to your worst fear. maybe Steve doesn't have anything he feels guilty enough about to attack, which is... weird. bad. too much to unpack right now.

insisting he's not stealing a shirt is stupid, and when Steve actually turns to look at who is approaching, he forgets all about it. because, turns out, the last thing he remembers isn't earthquakes and the ground shaking and Hawkins on fire. it's Nancy, lost to a threat he can't fight, even as he tries to insist her back to him. Nancy. Hey. Hey! Stay with me, rings in his ears, even though she's here and awake and looking right at him.

is this just a new wrinkle to Vecna's tricks? this is honestly too much for Steve, a trick within a trick. frankly, he doesn't care if it is a trick, that most likely if he reaches for her, Nancy will break and bleed, mouth gaping open, eyes jabbed out, limbs snapping one by one. and it's so messed up, but he'd still rather have that three seconds of a Nancy that isn't even real in his arms, before it all goes wrong, than to keep his distance and have it happen anyway.

Steve's shirt is still only half on, but he reaches to put heavy hands on Nancy's shoulders anyway. she's just as grungy as he is, still wearing the striped shirt she ripped apart to try and cover up his war wounds. she doesn't disintegrate into ash or shoot up into the sky so all her limbs can twist into macabre pretzels, so Steve risks a shaky hand on her cheek. it's stupid, it's so stupid, to let himself feel even a breath of relief. ) Nancy? ( this is probably a trick, and falling for it will make it worse, but he's beyond caring. the panic of being with her one minute, as she fought a foe behind her eyelids, ran off to a dark place not even his voice could reach her — and the next minute he's here, in an empty, beautiful, sunkissed place he's never seen before. it'd been hard to function, force himself to move, force himself to do anything but scream for a girl that couldn't answer.

and here she is, the familiar bright blue of her eyes, the wild matted curls of her hair. it's enough to make him feel a little breathless. ) Nance, shit. Shit. I thought he... I thought he got you, I thought he was going to... ( and Steve could smack himself, for giving Vecna a perfect cue to ruin him, it's like he's daring the guy to, at this point. as if it is possible to just hold Nancy Wheeler too tight for a psychic murderer to take her away, Steve winds her up desperately, probably too tight and too much and too desperate for a guy that's not her boyfriend. he'll just... if this is real, he'll feel bad about it later. and if it isn't real, well, fuck it, because hugging an illusion isn't a crime. )

[keenely]

[ she's almost stone still as that quiet moment hangs between them, except that she can't stop the way her jaw clenches, or the way her bottom lip keeps threatening to pout. she's been wearing this expression too often lately, like there's a whimper right there behind it, along with a whole flood of emotions, barely contained. but she hasn't let it break yet, and the only time her stubborn need to not do this came close to being beat down was after she woke up from vecna's trance. when the initial shock that he actually let her go had passed, and steve was there, right there, letting her know she wasn't still trapped in her own head? that's when the dam started to crack. it was close. it would've been so easy, too easy, to curl up right there where he held her and cry until her head was pounding. but some part of her was convinced it would actually be easier to dodge that entirely. shut it down, blink away the blur of all that emotion rushing up, and hope that steve knew what she was trying to do, and why she had to do it. and mainly, wouldn't make it harder by asking something as insane as are you okay? she's convinced he must have known, or maybe even recognized it, because after they both took a moment to look up at the worried faces above them, he seemed to be just as determined to not let that dam break either. at the time, she didn't know if he was helping her keep it together, or if he needed the reminder, too.

although now that she's with him here, seeing that same look and hearing that same tone again, she's hit with another oh of realization that she's just going to- not worry about yet. not right now. but it means that when she feels that brush of his fingers against her cheek, she's leaning into it before she can stop herself. he says her name and she nods, quick, manages a quiet "yeah" before she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself in check. and the first time around, when she came to on the floor of eddie's trailer, she was holding onto him before she could even process where she was and what actually just happened. but this time her hands end up sort of hovering between them at first, like she can't figure out if she wants to reach for his hand or touch his face or even just press her palm to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. she wants to do something, but she's too caught up in what feels a little bit like desperation.

pleaseberealineedyouherepleasebereal

she knows she should say something, she needs to give him more reassurance than just tipping her face so she can rub her cheek against his palm, but she can't do it. why the hell can't she ever just say something when she really wants to, and when she knows he needs to hear it? but... then she's taking a second to think about what he's saying, and how he's saying it, and her brow crinkles, but it's more just in confusion than any kind of doubt. because that... doesn't make sense, does it? they were just-

oh. oh. uh oh. oh no.

the way he's holding her should feel like too much, too quickly, but it doesn't. not at all. there's a split second of panic because he needs to be careful or all those nasty bites are going to open right back up and-! but... wow, that "split second" is quite literal, because a second later she's already curled up against his chest. her shoulders shift, because she wants to hug him back, keep him close, prove to him that she's real, and prove to herself that he is too, but those fucking bat bites require a moment of consideration. so with that in mind, her arms slip up over his shoulders, while she lifts up on her toes and tugs him down the rest of the way with a hand on the back of his neck, so she can tuck her face against his shoulder and hold on tight. ..okay, her face is closer to his neck than his shoulder, but she's calling it his shoulder.

how she manages not to drop every attempt she's making at keeping her emotions in check, right then and there, is honestly a miracle, but part of it is that what he said is just distracting enough to keep her from doing it. there's a part of her that wants to pull back, hold his face this time and ask him what he means, why he would say that when all three of them were together, right before she showed up here? but- y'know. maybe not yet. instead- ]

No, no, he didn't, he- It's okay. I'm okay, I promise. I'm right here. We're okay.

[babysitters]

( they never have time to feel these things, the soul sucking emotional exhaustion and bone-deep terror, until after it's all over. because letting it hit, letting it sink in, letting themselves really be fucked up about things, just means they won't be ready when the next punch comes. first Upside Down experience, wasn't Steve's shining moment. he still remembers falling into the panic spiral, pacing in useless circles, and trying to call the cops on a faceless monster with a hundred terrifying teeth. he's... well, is it weird to say he's getting used to it? it is weird, how can he get used to being interrogated by Russians or flesh monsters or being dragged through portals by a tentacle?

it's not that Steve expects the nonsense that happens to him, it's just that he can expect some kind of nonsense will. so, knowing it'll happen, knowing that if he doesn't keep moving and keep rolling with the (sometimes very literal punches), then maybe he won't get up from the next one. maybe they still don't have time for this, because it's not like they're safe. they're at least uncertain, a place they don't know, entirely too removed from the battle they'd just been fighting.

it's just... it's just, going from with her to gone? really fucked up his mettle, his ability to just keep moving. Steve showed up here terrified, uncertain if Nancy had ever woken up. that he was Vecna'd right along side her, and there was nothing either of them could do. wandering empty streets had felt crushing, either trapped in his head or dragged into some new bizarre happenstance, because he knew so absolutely Nancy was in immediate, imminent danger, and he wasn't there when she needed him.

so, sue him. Steve needs a little reassurance right now. does it hurt? objectively yes, though the adrenaline of finding her does push past the pain. way more important to focus on the fact she's here, she's real. Nancy hugs him back and Steve isn't in the state of mind to overthink that, just overwhelmed by the fact she's okay. he can worry about overstepping later, apologize later, second guess what it means, that she hugged him back, later. because right now he feels like he needs this contact. more than he needs a clean shirt for sure. )

We're okay, ( Steve repeats, a rusty laugh escaping the cage of his lungs. they are, and they aren't. they get a little less okay every day, don't they? but, functionally, they're walking and breathing and talking. could be so much worse. ) You're okay. You're good. ( good enough to tolerate what must be the world's grossest hug, to be fair. his hands slip from the small of her back to land at her hips as it sinks in exactly how close they are, and how... not wearing a shirt he is. oh, yeah, and still pretty sore, on the bat snack department. he should... yup. let her go. Steve has to do it one hand at a time, like his body hasn't quite caught up to the logic of his brain. )

Sorry, I just... ( nope, he'll come back to that sorry later, it just isn't the most pressing concern now. and he'll be able to collect his thoughts better later, anyway. ) You think this is some Vecna thing? Why would he shunt us off to an empty beach town we've never heard of? Is it some kinda clue? ( if it is, it is a bizarre clue. this is way over Steve's head. but there's gotta be some reason they're here, right? )

arrival | one

[katharma]

[ in contrast, jackie is definitely overdressed for a nice seaside town, even if the weather in this particular one seems to be a bit overcast and gloomy. it's humid and clammy, her heavier clothing sticking to her skin in a way that's definitely uncomfortable, but she hasn't moved to take any of it off yet, not wanting the air to touch her skin and leave her freezing.

it's irrational and she knows it, but it's a feeling she hasn't been able to shake.

she's wandered the streets for a while, trying to find a familiar face, or any face, and so far she's been out of luck. it's not until she stumbles into the same shop steve is stealing the wares of that she realizes she's not alone in whatever place this is, and it brings both immense relief and a whole new set of worries, because holy shit, what happened to this guy? ]

You don't want to clean any of that shit off before you put that on? [ it's maybe a little tactless, but hey, at least she's not admonishing him for stealing. ]

[babysitters]

( of course. this is just his luck. Steve lacks the dexterity to put on his own shirt, looks like he rolled around in mud, bat guts, and blood, and has a welt straight across his throat that looks like someone gave up halfway through strangling him. and that's when a very hot girl decides to happen upon him, in his very finest of hours. ) Shit, ( Steve says, under his breath, mentally adding another tally to the suck counter that admittedly blew up a long time ago. )

Clean it where? ( look, if she's got some bright ideas, Steve isn't against them. it's not like he's enjoying being filthy. it's just that he's also not enjoying being randomly shunted to a ghost town, either, and the fact he's in such an unknown place that has absolutely no people in it (until just this minute, anyway) is more pressing than the demobat grime all over him. )

[katharma]

[ wiskayok is close enough to the shore that jackie's pretty familiar with touristy stores just like this one, and if she's correct, she's pretty sure there's bound to be a cooler with drinks somewhere within the place. hell, if they're lucky, they may even find travel-sized soap (if they're slightly less lucky, they may find seashell-shaped overpriced and sickeningly sweet scented soaps that are more meant for display than they are to wash with, but hey, it'd still be soap).

jackie looks around a bit, spotting a cooler towards the back and darting towards it. she comes back around with two water bottles tucked into the crook of her arm, then scans the shelves for other things they can use. she ends up finding a bar of clear soap with seashells inside and a couple of pucks that turn into a towel once they're soaked with water - it's probably not ideal, given that it looks like he's just been chewed on by something, but it's better than nothing.

she's just short of beaming when she comes back to him - maybe a little inappropriate, given their whole situation, but it feels good to be of use after months of it being hammered into her how much better everyone around her was at adapting to the wilderness. she sets everything she's found on the counter and nods to steve. ]

Okay, we can probably make do with this stuff. Until we find a doctor's office or something.

[babysitters]

( the girl doesn't introduce herself, just wanders into the shop like she's on a mission. Steve watches her go, before miserably pulling the shirt he's half into off again, so he can clean up a little better if she's successful. and it takes embarrassingly long to do so, long enough that Jackie can scout half the store, and come back with a cooler and nautical soap in tow. well, that isn't what Steve would have thought to do, for sure. he was just gonna put on this shirt and stay filthy for his continued snooping through the empty town.

but the idea of being less grimy is too tempting not to take, even if it is entirely bizarre a strange girl has made it her mission to make him a little less disgusting without so much as a question as to how he got that way. ) Okay, ( Steve agrees, feeling a little unbalanced. usually, you know, this is his gig. hyperfocusing on how somebody is, when there's bigger more important things to worry about.

weird. but not bad. a sponge bath isn't gonna get him entirely clean, though it should be enough to make him slightly less terrifying to behold. Steve carefully settles Eddie's vest on the counter before he creaks closer to Jackie and her cooler. ) I already ruined this shirt, I guess I can scrub down with this one and put on a clean one when I'm done. ( sorry, tourist trap tee. you didn't deserve to be doused in old blood and Upside Down grime. )

sound and light!

[kletva]

[ there was nothing normal about the quietude of this place that's stretched across the last few days.

the odd puppet show that catches her eye, draws her towards it as the scene plays out, just as some part of her second guesses, not for the first time, if this was still somehow all of her doing. that maybe this is another hex that she's drawn around herself without her knowing but her magic remains stubbornly absent no matter how hard she tries to call it back.

maybe she should be relieved that its gone, but it just makes her scared.

so when the puppet show starts, it is almost a relief to find something else strange about this place, more than it already has been.

she lingers around until her (first) watch-through finishes and she wants to move on when someone's sniffling catches her attention and has her looking around.

a boy, who seems to notice her just in turn. something softens in her expression, just a little. he's young, and lost, like everyone here. maybe that's the source of his upset? ] Are you okay? [ she offers, quietly, and not without sympathy. ]

wow wanda he's a man grown!!!

[babysitters]

( Steve is a product of his time. a product of his father, for sure. crying is just not a reasonable outlet for a guy his age. and certainly not in public! when he feels that familiar burn in his eyes, he tries to make himself scarce. sort of like a tree falling in the woods, if you cry on your own then did it really happen? so it's not that he never cries, ever. it's that he usually puts it off and puts it off and puts it off and occasionally the dam will break on his lonesome. there's only so much a guy can take.

this spontaneous bout of tears really snuck up on him. for most of the show, he'd been more confused than miserable. the show is confusing. on second viewing, it isn't any less confusing. in fact it somehow seems more confusing, because he's pretty sure this showing is somehow different than his first time, though Steve can't pick out exactly how it is different, since all the key players are the same.

he didn't cry the first time he watched the show, just felt unsettled and bemused. this time he feels objectively worse than the first, sure, and yet he's still kind of surprised by his own sadness. this just isn't... how he deals, with feeling sad. that's all. ) I... yeah. Sure. Definitely, ( Steve insists, though his watery tone doesn't sell it very well. ) Sorry. I don't know... I don't know, maybe the ending got to me.

yes im sorry a single mom who works two jobs

[kletva]

[ she asks, and he seems to keep going and there’s a tightness to her expression.

she doesn’t say a word for a small while, simply moves around until she can perch on whatever stone of the amphitheater steve had found himself on, hands folding over her lap.

she watches the screen start it’s second run through, shadows casting a disquieting story against the old stone. ] You don’t need to apologize, [ she says, thoughtfully, lilt of a faint accent catching against the consonants.

she gives him another brief look. brief, because she doesn’t want it to feel like she’s intruding. and yet, it doesn’t feel right to just walk away, either.

she’s not been the best at dealing with sadness herself. but she knows what it’s like to be left alone with it. hairline fractures that get worse and he’s just a kid (sorry steve), and she’s hurt enough people and maybe if she can’t fix that, or herself, she can at least be better now. she’s tired of hurt, all around her.

and she looks to him and thinks she sees someone who has had to be strong for a lot of people. ] We don’t always get to choose when we feel the most.

[ watching the show through a second time, as she is now, really doesn’t clear anything up. her head tilts. ] Sometimes it’s from confusing puppet shows in strange places. [ a deadpan, pinched sort of humour, though she’s surprised at how dreary she feels in watching it again. ]

tbh wanda is also a single mom who loves her kids and never stops this is already great cr

[babysitters]

( the Midwest in him strictly disagrees on the apology thing. it's just how things are, in Indiana. you apologize for being in the way, taking up too much space, showing too much emotion. he isn't gonna apologize for apologizing, though, that's like a vacuum of overbearing midwestern manners. it could rip a hole through the very fabric or reality. Steve tilts his damp face into the collar of his shirt, to little success. it's ridiculous to feel like he doesn't even know how to cry, what to do with his hands, how to deal with the salty shine all over his face. crying in broad daylight is just strange, he hasn't cried like this since he was a kid.

the Halloween Party was a close call, but he'd managed to hold it together. so why couldn't he hold it together now?

Steve feels unbearably heavy, watching the show set into motion again. all the actors moving into place, to do the same thing, all for a not really that happy ending. it feels a little too real, familiar. Steve does laugh at Wanda's wry attempt at humor, because he'd desperately like to take her lead and follow the joke instead of getting mired more in unhappiness. it feels like a lifeline, trying to drag him back. if he could only hold onto it tight enough. )

I guess. It just never stops, does it? Even if you want it to. Even if you want a break. Even if you just need a little more time. ( oh. well... okay, sure, he means the puppet show. yeah! for sure, that tangent was puppet show related. )