Mockingbird, Mockingbird, Mockingbird

[blindwatchersees]

Who: Sheogorath, SQQ, Tarantulas, Jeff, Shouji, and you!
What: Assorted 'meetings of madness' across the island
When: Over the course of August
Where: Various
Warnings: Heavy discussions of identity, possibly discussion of fugue states, possible mentions of violence, unreality




Is that a sound you've heard? [Closed w/ SQQ]

It's as Shen Qingqiu is seeking solitude in the temple that he's visited by a strange sensation. It starts as a physical one, the faintest breeze dancing around the tip of one ear, but then it becomes a song- the erhu part of the Butterfly Lovers begins to play. The sound seems to tug at the end of his sleeve, the way that a narrative piece often seems to pull the listener along with it. Gently, gently, it implores him towards the door, and out into the daylight.


Is that a song you know? [Closed w/ Jeff]

At this point, Jeff's been given a good idea of what to look for when trying to identify Sheogorath. Of course, no one's account of the man is exactly the same, but there seem to be some common elements. He has a beard, and a walking stick, and his eyes are all sort of colors but always strange and piercing.

In the late afternoon, Jeff spots a man who is almost certainly Sheogorath, heading into the woods alone.

Perhaps he ought to follow, and try to catch up to the fellow?


One that was layered with the crackle of a radio? [Closed w/ Shouji]

It's getting late, about the time that businesses are starting to shutter for the evening, when that strange old man who fought off the Tristitia with Shouji a little while ago wanders into the Burger King, his cane making a soft tap tap tapping sound on the floor. He walks up to the counter, and stands there, not making a sound, as he looks around the place, a placid smile plastered across his face. He clearly wants something, but what?


What makes him call in the pouring rain? [w/ Tarantulas]

It's raining.

The drops are big and heavy, and they make a noticeable tapping sound against the window panes. Every so often, a gust of wind will rattle the glass. In the distance, there's a long, low rumble of thunder.

As Tarantulas works on whatever it is he's working on, his auditory sensors suddenly pick up on the sound of purring. Should he take a look around, he's likely to notice a large, gray cat in a little vest, perched atop a nearby shelf. It's staring at him with a familiar pair of eyes, their pupils fractal and ever transforming at their edges.


Is it a song of pride or an alarm of pain? [wildcard]

Anything you've been itching to say, or do, or think with the Madgod? Go crazy!

Comments

Radio Crackle in the Burger King

[dupli_arms]

Shouji is one of the only people left in the restaurant at the moment, only a couple of people hanging out in the kitchen as he meanders about, picking up here and there so that nobody has to deal with it right before closing. He's got his little paper crown that he mostly keeps as a joke placed on the counter beside the register and mostly seems content to keep to himself. When he hears the doors open and the tapping of the cane across the tile, he pauses in the middle of what he's doing to greet their new arrival, only to pause bashfully. Well, he is about to look very silly, isn't he?

"Good evening, sir. I hope things are going well?"

[blindwatchersees]

"Yes, yes, quite," he hums, leaning a little more directly on his cane. He's doing that odd thing where his beard and his mouth seem to be mis-matched in the wideness of their smiles.

"I was wondering... is the Burger King available for a short conversation? If not, I'd ask that you please give him a message, that Sheogorath understands the lateness of such a request is inconvenient, and wishes to meet with him tomorrow morning, if possible."

[dupli_arms]

There's a short pause, and then a quiet clearing of the throat, as Shouji glances back at the sound of a couple of chuckles from the staff.

"You um. Might be looking for me actually," he admits. "I put my name in for the position as a joke and then it just sort of became mine. But anyway, what can I do for you? You said tomorrow morning you had plans?"

[blindwatchersees]

“Tomorrow morning I have time to meet, if the Burger King isn’t available to meet tonight.”

He pauses.

“I should be able to recognize him by his symbols of office, I’m sure.”

[dupli_arms]

Shouji sighs softly and moves to pick up the little paper crown, perching it on his head and privately feeling just a bit silly, considering that this man saved his life before, and now he's meeting him in what could be graciously considered his place of employment.

"So how can I help you, sir?"

[blindwatchersees]

"Ah, there you are! I wanted to pop by and ask about how it's going, tending to the establishment of your realm!"

[dupli_arms]

Well, now he's learned that Sheogorath's senses seem to be trained more on artifacts of authority. Good to know. "It's going well, I think! It's not too busy so there's been plenty of time to get to settle in and learn about how to actually do the job. I was only in school before all this so it's a new experience, for certain."

[xiaoxiuya]

He just sat down -- but he also thought he'd never hear an erhu again, unless perhaps they exist in one of the cultures on the other side of this world. That, plus the longing beauty of the familiar piece of music, is sufficient to get him back on his feet. Shen Qingqiu wanders back outside, shielding his oversensitive eyes with one hand from the sunlight as he looks around for the source of the music. Surely it must be coming from somewhere...?

[blindwatchersees]

The music guides him down the street, and into the woods. A butterfly flutters by- surely just a coincidence. Should Shen Qingqiu decide to follow, he will find himself walking up to a stream-fed pool full of crystal-clear water.

[xiaoxiuya]

A coincidence -- or a request to speak with him? A cultivator could have done this with equal subtlety. Shen Qingqiu follows the music, keeping an eye out for other butterflies. He finds the task oddly soothing; by the time he kneels next to the gently babbling pool, the pain in his head has slightly receded, and he can enjoy a moment of inner peace while he waits for his unknown host to join him.

[blindwatchersees]

The butterflies continue to congregate, their fluttering akin to the drifting of petals on a spring breeze, but no one in the semblance of a person appears. Instead, the cool water itself seems to bid him "drink."

[xiaoxiuya]

Shen Qingqiu laughs, bringing his hands together in an amused clap. "That's rather forward, don't you think? We haven't even been properly introduced. I'm afraid I'll need a name, before I can consider partaking. And a face, for preference."

[blindwatchersees]

The water does not reply. It’s a bit of a strange request, isn’t it, asking a pool that hasn’t spoken for a name and a face. Nevertheless, something does shift in the pool, and Shen Qingqiu catches sight of something reflected there that couldn’t possibly be there in the sky above: an airplane.

Does this count as a rain check? ;3

[tisnotthehouse]

That rain is actually the only reason Tarantulas is even home at all. Not even he feels safe doing electrical installations in the middle of a storm. He's just been puttering around, not really able to focus on any one particular project. Honestly, he might have just thrown the whole idea of working in the bag and spent the rest of the day playing with Dawn, if only the rain hadn't made her sleepy, poor dear. He thought it better to let her rest.

"Well, hello there!" Tarantulas says, once he's located the source of the purring. He grins up at Theodore, holding out his arms for his friend to jump into. "Trying out a new form? Well, come on then. Let me have a good look at it." He's very eager to see this new face Theodore's chosen to wear.

[blindwatchersees]

He leaps down from the shelf with feline grace, purring.

“I’ve had this form for quite a while, actually. Just felt like slipping into it today. It’s the sort of day for sitting in window sills and sharing secrets with the raindrops, don’t you think?”

He moves into scritching distance, inclining his head in the way cats do when they’re indicating “you may touch.”

[tisnotthehouse]

"Well, I think it's charming." Tarantulas grins, gently stroking his hand down Theodore's back as he's sometimes seen humans do. The fur is very soft under his hand, though it threatens to build up a static charge if he pets it too quickly.

"I suppose I have been feeling a little restless," he agrees. "None of my works in progress can really keep my attention today, it seems."

[blindwatchersees]

"Have you tried molding your ideas into little balls and juggling them? Maybe batting them around a little and letting the yarn unravel? Goodness, I do love shapes, I do love how they change," he seems restless himself, pawing at the ground a little.

"Or perhaps you could form those trains of thought into words, and we could share them like tea and biscuits."

[tisnotthehouse]

"Oh, being able to turn my ideas into yarn would be lovely," Tarantulas agrees. "I taught myself some basic crochet a few months ago, so I could make an enchanted scarf for a --" He hesitates. "I'm not sure you can call him a friend anymore, but I made it for him all the same. But if I could turn ideas into yarn, crochet with them, and then read the patterns like blueprints...wouldn't that be wonderful?"

He absently adds, "I think I still have a few balls of the normal stuff somewhere around here, if you'd like to play with them. Just try not to make too much noise, my daughter's napping."

[blindwatchersees]

His eyes grow as wide as saucers.

“Yarn?! Lovely, soft, silky yarn?! Oh, you do know how to speak to a Daedroth, now, don’t you?”

is that a song you know?

[cacophonish]

Jeff follows after the man, this seemingly frail and human manifestation of that elusive something always teasing at his perception. He moves softly, as if he's wearing something far more delicate than his boots. Or maybe it's more like his steps keep landing in a dream.

He doesn't rush. Even if he's a total city boy, the woods don't unnerve him; if anything, they're an odd source of comfort. A land soaked in blood and fear, where monsters and other impossible things roam. It's a lot like Dogtown, in that way. He often used to lose himself there.

With languid, dreamy steps, he follows Sheogorath, a soft hum dancing through his throat. He's not bothering to hide, but he isn't calling the man over, either. He'll just keep following, until there's a stopping point.

[blindwatchersees]

He continues to wander, always just ahead enough of Jeff that he has to hurry to keep up, but always close enough that Jeff never feels completely at risk of losing him. With practiced footing, he slides down the slope of a collapsed bit of ground, into Paradesium. And he just keeps going, moving on and on. The flora and fauna described in the papers slowly give way to alien life, and the side of the caverns seem to be covered in bark and fungal strands. All of it belongs here and doesn't belong here, an intrusion of something not even remotely out of place.

There are frogs singing somewhere, unseen, and bright little jewels- chrysalises- hang from the low branches.

He keeps going.

[cacophonish]

He slips out of time. Not just time, but this whole... plane of existence. Of being. That's how it feels, burrowing further into this primordial essence. He's disconnected from here and now, and following the old man all the way into someplace Other.

A part of him wants to stop and try and take it all in, but he doesn't have time for that, not right now. Curiosity's burning too hot, and he's compelled to see it through. And so, harmonizing with the frogs in a wordless melody, he continues to follow to the old man further and further away from anything grounded and known.

cw: psychoactive substances, transformation

[blindwatchersees]

The air is sweet on his tongue, a greenish haze growing more dense in the air. It's coming from the mushrooms, from the strange growing pods, from hollow, broken-off boughs that seem to exhale. The caverns are breathing, and now suddenly they're twisting, too. The spores worm their way into Jeff's being and show him a network of being spiraling down, down, down, down..

The old man stops. He turns to face Jeff, and he smiles, showing teeth. Those teeth start growing long and needlelike, the man's whole smile too large, too wide, as his whole being starts to stretch and contort and expand. His fingers twist out into branches of branches of branches, fractals ever-growing, while his eyes multiply as fungal stalks, each of them still somehow capable of blinking in an asynchronous shudder of movement. His flesh rises like a tidal swell, splitting to reveal a tangle of roots and moss and mycelium, a magnificent beard of hyphae cascading from an etched-bark approximation of a face. And all the while, that mouth is opening wider, wider, wider...

Re: cw: psychoactive substances, transformation

[cacophonish]

How glorious this is. Glorious? That's a word he's never really conceived of before. It doesn't fit in his vocabulary. It feels alien, rolling through his head. But he can't think of anything else that could encompass all that he's taking in.

Terrible grotesque divine inspirational. Is there any word that captures every word?

He breathes in time with the world, in dreadful harmony. He's a part of this, isn't he? Jeff looks down, as if expecting to see roots where his feet were, but no. He's still one thing and not many. Not yet. His gaze shifts to his fingers, and he flexes them. Straightens. Curls. Stretches. It almost looks like they're twisting, when he moves them. They're still flesh, but the edges seem less defined, like maybe... maybe they can reach through the barrier of senses and definitions and stroke a sound, or grasp a song...

Jeff looks at Sheogorath, beholds him with blown out pupils like he would something divine. There's fear and dread, of course, wiggling in his guts. But that, too, is in harmony with his awe and ecstasy.

He exhales. He's grinning like a hungry, feral thing.

"You're amazing..."

[blindwatchersees]

It leans forward, dreadful teeth and twitching fibers close enough for Jeff to feel its warmth and its coolness and its intoxicating presence.

As it speaks, it speaks with a voice cobbled together from millions of distinct sounds, parroted back to create a semblance of a voice through the squeak of fruiting fungal bodies rubbing past each other.

"Wiggly thing... made of lines... ^covered in bugs... do you like the tailed ones? The hollow ones? Do you wear ^hats, rightside ^up, ndsᴉpǝ _poʍu? You could be made of skins, and bones, and sinews, gifted to so many, many, many, and the bugs _cr^aw_l inside their ears."