Calibrations Spill-Over Post

[thespaceopera]

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→ Calibration post A-M
→ Calibration post N-Z

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[experiencepoints]

... There's two paths forward, but neither of them are pleasant.

[The pedestal seems to be ornate silver, the same material and design as the frames of the broken mirrors.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[so it's all from the same place, he guesses. hm.

sticking his hand out towards a pile of broken glass seems like a terrible idea, but the mirrors aren't exactly inviting either. one of them sticks out to him very clearly, though, so... he supposes that's the way he should go.

he hopes that simply touching it will be enough to get him wherever he needs to go, because that's his first action.]

[experiencepoints]

[Well-done, Robin.

You suddenly find the room around you has changed immensely. The layout of the items is the same, but the room itself is completely different. You’re in what looks to be a normal, modern-style bedroom… If it had been the site of a hurricane. Or a riot. Maybe a bomb? Maybe all of these things at once. There’s a horrible chill to the room, on top of the general wreck- The atmosphere is beyond unfriendly.

Nearly everything is smashed to pieces. Graffiti, in large frantic text, is scrawled all over the walls, reading things like LET ME DISAPPEAR, and I DESERVED IT ALL. The bed is in splinters, the mattress torn apart, springs sharp and jutting. There’s shredded pages in piles on the ground, and against the wall, a twisted, shattered mirror. There’s a pile of trash in the middle. Even the door’s nameplate looks as though someone has attacked it with a knife, trying their best to hack it to pieces, even though the name ‘Aiya’ can still faintly be made out. There’s a trash can in the corner, but all that’s in it is a simple book.

Sitting on the trash pile in the center, Nightingale herself can be found. But she looks much different- Covered in blood, huge gouges taken out of her, clothes tattered, with a dripping knife in her hand.

The items in this room are simply scattered all over the floor. A game console against the wall, a duffel bag hanging off the scraps that were once a bed, what looks to be a restaurant bill skewered on a bed spring. Inside the trash is a shredded outfit that may have once been very cute. A phone is left on the splintered desk, glowing softly.

Inside the pile of trash is a miniature monster, that looks like a boar with a lion’s mane. Tossed aside in the corner are a pair of golden barrettes, on top of a letter.

A small bird is sitting on the remains of the shelf, its breathing shallow…

The cracked mirror on the side of the room looks ready to fall, and the doorway next to the nameplate seems to be unlocked.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[ah. all right. he takes a couple of seconds just for himself, to breathe in the state of the room and to remember that it isn't really his, as familiar as the feeling is. the golden hairpin shook him up, loosened up feelings he doesn't like looking at, but this?

he's used to this, in as much as anyone can get used to having a knife twisted in their gut.

he looks very carefully over everything. the sight of the injured bird on the shelf tugs at his heartstrings, as he's always had a soft spot for them... but he thinks he knows what's more important. he steps carefully over the rubbish and mess in the room, approaching the pile of trash in the middle, and kneeling in front of this newest reflection of his very recent acquaintance.]

Hey. [he smiles. he doesn't sound pitying. he doesn't really pity the wounded anymore.] You don't look so good.

[experiencepoints]

... Hey. I was wondering if anyone would make it down here.

[She looks him over, her body language very closed- She's looking at him in the same way someone would assess a threat.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[that's fine with him. this room's full of weakness, which makes his presence there very threatening. he keeps his eyes on her, going from crouching to sitting on the floor cross-legged instead. at least he couldn't lunge at her, that way--there's less potential for sudden movement.]

I said that I would. And I'm still interested in hearing that story.

[experiencepoints]

You heard the important part.

[She looks at him, but does seem to relax a little once he's seated like that.]

The world ended. That's not something you can survive.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[at least he's taking all of this pretty well. now that he has something to focus on, it's not so bad.]

So... Your definition of the world ending is a very final one, then. Which-- [he holds up his hand, gesturing for pause.] --I'm sure it sounds like a stupid question, but my world's had three of them, and only one was a genuine threat to all human life.

[experiencepoints]

Ended. Unmade. There is literally nothing there, where there used to be a planet. I'm not sure on the details, but it sounded to me like it was unmade to the point where it never existed.

It happened to a lot of worlds. Some of us didn't get unmade entirely, though. We had our souls shatter instead, and the fragments got brought to a hellhole to make us compete to get our memories back, and bring back our worlds.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Ah. [that's very final. and certainly not something to pick at.] Another nexus like this one, right?

[experiencepoints]

[It's hard to think of anything even more final, honestly.]

That's right. A sort of demiplane where we fragments of souls were brought.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Oh, demiplane, that's a good name for it...

[he looks suddenly distracted--a bit like he should have a lit-up lightbulb over his head. the phrasing has been a challenge for him, okay? but then he jumps back into the topic like he'd never left.]

Anyway, that's awful. What kind of competitions?