[OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

[spaghettification]

Who: Siebren and friends
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles

1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
You can't believe how easy it is. You just have to go... a little crazy. And then, suddenly, it all makes sense, and everything you do turns to gold.
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
metamorphosing
assimilating
unpacking
digesting everything that occurred that night. He stays at home, alone, trying to avoid everyone and everything.

much. It's too
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...

too much. It's
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.

For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.

And then, there is silence.


Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?

Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.


Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.

He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.

Right?


A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
Find me on Discord to plot, PM me, or just throw a thing!

Comments

This is the sound of energy

[fuelmayor]

It's the third day after the gala. A week ago, a coffee mug with a glaze resembling the night sky and the sandwich that accompanied it vanished from Siebren's residence. The sandwich is long gone, but his eeriest neighbour from down the road has caught the culprit (the Lileep tucked under the Fuelweaver's arm, eyes narrowed like it would be scowling if it had a visible mouth) and is here to return the dishware from whence it came.

Or at least that was his intention. That sounds like screaming from inside the house. A more familiar sound than he would prefer, but this isn't the Village. He can believe that his intervention will help, not worsen the situation for both himself and the poor soul inside no matter what action he takes.

He raises his voice. "Doctor De Kuiper?"

[spaghettification]

There is no answer from inside, beyond the continued chaotic sounds of Siebren's struggle.

(It is a violent act to hatch from an egg. The shell must break to do so.)

[fuelmayor]

Is the door locked? Fuelweaver's going to try the handle first. (The Lileep mutters to itself.)

[spaghettification]

The door is not locked.

The home is in a chaotic state of disarray. Gravitational powers in flux during an episode like this lead to flying objects, some of which had significant mass (but in zero G, no weight). For example, a wardrobe, dashed against a wall, clothing spilling out like the lolling tongue of a sun bear. Dishes broken in shards.

Siebren is on the floor, curled into a fetal ball, hands covering his ears.

[fuelmayor]

He's taken aback at the sight, and the Lileep squirms out of his grip. What could have caused this? It looks like the work of too much magic in too small of a space, if he were to guess. He sees no wounds on his neighbour, nor any blood spilled. If there was an assailant here they left no trace distinguishable from the chaos left by thrown objects.

"What do you hear?" A cold, inhumanly proportioned hand with a strange texture touches Siebren's shoulder.

[spaghettification]

He flinches tighter into his ball when touched, but finds enough bandwidth to make a response aloud.

"It's all in my head."

The emphasis, perhaps oddly, is on all.

[fuelmayor]

He hesitates, uncertain how to interpret that. He's seen a great many ways for a person to be overcome by mental crisis, some of them opposite in their expression. (In fact he's stoked some of those crises when he had no other option. There are only so many ways to procure Nightmare Fuel.) Those who were overwhelmed by memory or illusion or fear itself and sought to hold onto something they had no doubt was real, and those who shrank away from light and sound and touch and were only driven more insensate by conversation or instruction. Furthermore, his neighbour commands an unfamiliar magic and may well be reacting to something impossible for the Fuelweaver to even perceive.

"I am here with you now in person. It is not all in your head." He withdraws the hand, as it seems to be unwelcome.