11853/Wonderland: Whiffling Through The Tulgey Wood

Wonderland: Whiffling Through The Tulgey Wood
Date of Scene:	03 July 2022
Location:	Somewhere Jabberwockish
Synopsis:	Jon got et by the Jabberwock. But it's even weirder than that.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Jonathan Sims

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
It is cold and windy, or perhaps it is merely the memory of cold and wind. There certainly seem to be a lot of memories floating around, so thick in layers and yet so thin in substance that the world seems like an explosion of spider silk, moving in the memory of the breeze. Half-faded images are conjured and fade at a dizzying pace.

The inside of the Jabberwock is certainly not what was expected.

Or, perhaps, this isn't inside the Jabberwock in the literal sense, but in the figurative sense. There is a hunger to this world as well as a fragility- the urge to encroach, to consume, to assimilate, a greed for what Jon carries...

But also fear that keeps it at bay, while at the same time surrounding them with a filigree of shredded pasts.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon wasn't really expecting to survive being nabbed and swallowed by the Jabberwock, even if his choice of potential last words was spoken in the hope that he can, indeed, emerge again at the opportune moment, Gandalf-like. He's already managed that once before, though. How many do-overs does one really get in life?

    They take a swift, silent inventory. They managed to hold onto their staff in the trip down the Jabberwock's gullet. They're still in their armor. They still have all their fingers and toes, and--for now--their head. Thus far Wonderland is being very un-Wonderland-esque in terms of people losing their heads. So, they're alive and whole, for now.

    Or whole, at least. In their experience, being dead feels a lot like being alive. They'll know soon enough if they start losing any desire to go back home. And they /do/ desire to go back home. They'd promised their girlfriend this very thing would not happen, and even if the prospect of explaining things to her is daunting that's better than the prospect of not making it back at all.

    Once they have a good handle on themself, they look around the space where they... float? Stand? The remembrance of a breeze, stirring the spider-webbing of memory. They reach up a hand to touch one such strand, frowning thoughtfully.

    "What's the matter?" he asks, tone somehow combining concern and derision. "I thought you were hungry. Don't I taste good?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
They tease, and the web of memories almost boils in anger, swirling away from Jon as the hand touches the strands.

An unformed demimonde no more, Jon is now standing at the top of a garden, all in greys and blacks like a graphite and charcoal drawing. The sky is a bleak light-grey, denoting enough light, but decidedly British in climate.

The garden has multiple topiary doors that lead to passages beyond, into a topiary maze. One topiary door, nothing more than an arch, in disrepair with blackened leaves and barely any foliage to cover the metal frame. But directly across from it there is an arch with blossoming flowers and lush leaves. Underneath it, a sullen young woman stands, staring at Jon. She is tall and thin, almost emaciated, with light grey hair tied back in a severe bun, her light grey eyes staring a little longer before she turns around and vanishes into her respective door, her skirts being the last thing Jon sees as she fades into the labyrinthine corridor.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks around the garden with a raised brow. "Just like home," he murmurs. "Right down to the grey... everything." He hesitates for a moment, looking between the pathways. Follow the girl, or go through the arch full of such disrepair? He might get lost in that maze... but there is a way for him to have a feeling for getting through such a maze swiftly, to find what he needs without trouble.

    It just means actually calling on Ma'at. And they're in a 'separation period' just now.

    He sighs, and closes his eyes for a moment. "Temporary truce," he murmurs. "I'm in no mood to talk things out yet, but I need help. Well. /Wonderland/ needs help. And I think we can both bend our stubborn pride enough to see that they get it." A pause. "Besides... I have to get home."

    When they open their eyes, there's only a faint teal overlay; Ma'at is keeping back, both so as not to be an overwhelmingly tempting morsel for the Jabberwock, and to let Jon see this through mostly for themself. They swing their head back and forth, eyes narrowing. Is there a better choice between the two paths?

    What the goddess' sight shows him, the path of fate and Truth, is neither the ruined gate nor the lush one. Instead, the sparkling teal path in his vision leads toward the far end of the garden, a third gate that he barely even noticed before.

    "Naturally," Jon murmurs. "The truth is rarely one thing or another. Well, then." They head toward that path, though they keep a wary eye out.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The leafy corridor of the topiary maze takes many tight turns, and it has a large share of forking paths. However, Jon's senses allow them to move with certainty past the distractions.

And, indeed, there are a lot of distractions. The young woman comes back several times, at times entreating with her eyes, at others threatening. Sometimes the ground threatens to collapse and throw Jon down a leafy precipice, but the Fate-Sense allows them to sidestep the perils of the maze-

Until they arrive at a cottage, rather small and worn down, barely in livable conditions.

At the door, the young woman stands again, her eyes hard and glowing purple the only thing in color in this place.

"You may not pass," she says, her voice raspy and decidedly not human in sound, but a very convincing imitation of humanity. "Turn back. I will not allow you."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon navigates the maze not quite with ease, but at least with, yes, certainty. A few close calls, a few wide jumps, one moment where Jon's distracted enough wondering just who the young woman is that he very nearly falls into a hole in the ground and has to manifest wings to carry him past the obstacle. After that, he focuses. He'll be able to find out what's going on when he tracks her down.

    And track her down he does; he frowns at the cottage for a moment before focusing on the young woman. After a moment, the frown fades, replaced with concern.

    "I'm here to help," they say. "That's the entire reason I came in the first place." They collapse the staff and hang it at their waist, then spread their hands. "See? I'm here to talk. Are you Alais?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
At the mention of that name, the memory of the wind picks up again, slashing at Jon with tendrils of frigid air, stripping the maze of a sizable amount of leaves, which cascade around them and obscure the world in a mantle of grey vegetation, occasionally the woman's pitiless eyes can be seen through gaps in the leaves, until they are not there.

The leaves subside and the cottage is gone, replaced by an forested path bordered by tall ash trees. In the distance, the small shape of a little is running, rounding the bend in the path and vanishing out sight.

The woman, her face more emaciated, almost cadaver-like in its thinness, steps out of the trees and bars the way for Jon, a metallic glint in her hand. A sword, dripping with dark grey blood.

"You will not pass!" she hisses now, the point of the sword aimed at Jon's chest.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon ducks down as the wind whips up, instinctively protecting his head from the leaves that fly about him, and so almost misses the moment when the woman disappears. By the time he straightens, she's holding a sword on him. He frowns at the sword for a moment, then focuses on the woman's face.

    "So... not her." He doesn't speak the name, lest the world react again. "Are you her mother?" A pause. "Please... just /talk/ to me. I can help. I... I know what it is to lose someone you love. To lose a child."

    They hold out a hand, despite the sword. Firm in the face of all that defensive anger, if compassionate. "It doesn't have to hurt this much. Just talk to me."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The blade flashes once in a threatening arc at Jon, although it doesn't touch them, yet. It leaves silver slivers in its wake that disappear after a second.

"No more questions," the woman hisses, and raises her sword hand once more, this one intended to deliver an overhead chop. She gestures with her free arm for Jon to turn back.

At the end of the path, by the bend, a small head appears in the distance, peering out of the trees. She is small, and has short-cropped black hair. It is hard to see any details at this distance, but she seems to be paying close attention to what is going on.

And then, behind her, an identical twin to the woman currently assailing Jon steps out from behind the trees and, putting a hand to the little girl's mouth, begins to drag her back down the bend, the little girl resisting.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Shit!" Jon's going to have to brave the sword; he dives forward, trying to roll under the sword and past the woman. Hopefully if nothing else, she'll turn to see what Jon's lunging forward to try to get to. Hopefully that will do any good. Maybe she'll just stab Jon in the back.

    The diving forward does not go well. Instead of a neat roll and come-to-his-feet, Jon gets tangled up in his own outfit, tripping over the cloth at the waist and having to scramble to try to get back upright.

    "Let go of her! Alice? Alice! Alais!" There's a subtle difference in the pronunciation of the names; he's throwing out both names to try to get her attention. "Damn it!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The woman wheels about, ready to deliver a chop at Jon.

Unfortunately for her, she did not account for a low-hanging branch, into which her vigorous swing buries the sword. There is a struggle as she puts her foot up to the trunk of the tree and pushes, trying to pull the sword out of the tree, giving Jon some time as, up ahead, the little girl finally disappears, being dragged by the duplicate of the woman struggling with her sword.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes off as soon as he's on his feet, long legs covering ground to make up for the moment's stumble. "Alice! Where are you? Call out if you can hear me!"

    When he reaches the bend he charges right on around, into the trees, wherever it is that she's been dragged off. The little girl seems to be the key, after all.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Leaves are falling from the trees as Jon turns the corner and down the bend. The leaves seem unusually sharp, like blades that leave a faint cut if they touch skin on their way down.

Alais is there, being held fast by the other woman, who is just like the first woman. She, too, bears a sword.

The sword is pressed against the little girl, her eyes wide while the rest of her remains immobile.

"Turn. Back." The woman hisses, baleful eyes fixed on Jon.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon ignores the cuts that are left on his skin--the leavings of the leaves, as it were--as he comes around the corner. It may, in time, be enough to make him bleed, but for now he must press on.

    "I can't do that," he says firmly. "You're making this more difficult than it has to be. /Who are you/? Answer me!"

    There's a pulse of power, teal light flaring in the colorless world, a compulsion to /answer the question/.

    Jon keeps moving forward, though, implacably, almost daring the woman to stab either him or the girl, as he reaches out to try to grab her away.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The woman is compelled to answer. As she does so, she pushes the girl away, to the ground, as she steps forth and delivers a swing of her sword with every answer, silver blade slashing the air white and black in the grayscale world.

"I am the muzzle." Swing
"I am the keeper." Swing
"I am forgetfulness!" Swing.
"And the silence that comes after!" Swing.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The swings connect, one after another, driving Jon back. The first two slash through the armor, and then the third and fourth into Jon's chest, drawing blood. He stumbles back, gasping, goes to a knee. He presses a hand to his chest on instinct and pulls it away with dark, colorless blood. For a moment he just stares at the blood.

    This isn't working. This is /Wonderland/. This is puns and riddles and games. /Think/.

    "I am Truth," they gasp. "I am Memory." Think. Think. Think your way through this. "I am Order. That's why I'm here, right? Because I threaten, or because I empower. Or maybe both."

    They look up, flicking a glance between the girl on the ground and then the woman. "No more questions. Just... let me tell you a story." They hesitate, to see whether the woman presses her advantage.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The sword point wavers in mid-air and stops.

Wonderland is many things, but the one thing that is woven throughout, whatever the other threads may be, is the skein of story. It wants to be told. It wants to grow, as well.

"You may tell it," the woman says, eyes narrowed. "And then you will leave. Or perish."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon doesn't reply to the threat, but his jaw shifts. Perish is going to have to be the choice. He can't leave Wonderland in this state. That's not why they're all here, everyone outside the Jabberwock, fighting. They're here to save Wonderland from the rot at its heart.

    But he takes a breath, and says, "Once upon a time, there was a man who could not forget. He wanted to forget, desperately so. It's said that time heals all wounds, but time could not lessen the blows of the losses he felt. He remembered every mistake, every blow and pain, as if it had just happened. A reminder would throw him back into the memory, crystal-clear and perfect, would revive all the pain and heartache."

    He presses his hand to his chest again, trying to will the blood to stop flowing. "The man had a child, and in the same moment she was born, the man's greatest love died. And so he made his first mistake: he called on another for aid, and in return for saving his love's life, he handed the child over to her." There's a flickering image: Jon holding a newborn baby, handing the child over to a dark-skinned woman with white hair. "He thought the baby would be well-cared for, but it turned out that she was being handed to his enemy. She was raised in a cult, without love or affection, afraid of the world outside. He failed her. So desperate was he to forget that he handed his flesh and blood to a stranger that he lied to himself and told himself she wasn't his child at all. As if that made it any better. As if that erased the mistake."

    A deep breath. "But the pain was so great that he fled his home and found a new home across the sea. There, he took in his love's daughter, and raised her as if she were his own. Every time he looked at the girl, he saw the baby he had given up, and he swore to do better by her. To raise her right, to keep her safe. He was a doctor, a healer, but he learned to defend himself and how to handle a crisis, just in case it was ever needed."

    He has to blink back tears. "The crisis came. Aliens swarmed the city, and it was only him and his daughter, and they had to leave their home and run for safety. While they were fleeing, they came across one of the monsters, a thing without pity or compassion or remorse. The man froze, and the monster killed his daughter."

    He swallows. "And then he killed the monster. He had the power. If he hadn't frozen, she'd be alive. It's his fault that she's dead. His alone. If he hadn't frozen in fear, she would be alive."

    Jon pushes themself to their feet, staring at the woman. "He picked up her body and took it to the nearest shelter. He refused to believe she was dead. He screamed at the people in the shelter to help her, to save her. But in the end, he had to hand her over to a stranger. Another daughter that he failed. Another child whose life was ruined, because of his mistakes."

    They swallow again, take a deep breath. "I've tried to run from it. I've tried to forget. But forgetting does no good. It only lets the pain fester, underneath. Because the truth is--the Truth is--if you'd /truly/ forgotten, you wouldn't even need all of this." They gesture at the leaves, at the sword. "The Truth is, you know. You remember, somewhere underneath. Because letting go of the pain, forgetting the pain, would let it heal. Because that's how we heal. We let go and move forward. If you are forgetfulness, if you are silence, you have /failed/."

    A pause. "A year ago, I would have begged you to take the memories from me. But now... now I know I have to find a way to forgive myself. Because even if you falsely took away the memory of my mistakes, the /result/ would still be there in the world. Alais is dead. Wonderland has grown from her grave--a land beloved by millions, perhaps billions. She will never be forgotten. Isn't that enough?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The woman's face is a mask of grief and anger. In a moment of raw emotion, she spits at Jon and thrusts her sword arm back, winding up to deliver a fatal blow.

"We wish to forget! We wish to end! And we will end it! We will end /him/. And /you/! And there will only be-"

And then she gasps, her eyes wide.

The little girl had managed to get up, quietly. As the woman reached her hand back, she grabbed the sword-

The same sword that is now protruding from the woman's chest. But only for a moment, as the emaciated figure disappears into blackened leaves blown by the breeze, the sword clattering to the ground.

The little girl, face tear-stricken, rushes to Jon, her voice is a strangled sob.

"They keep burying me! I do not want to go back! I do not want to go back to the dark place!"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    For a moment, Jon braces, expecting the blow that will come, knowing he probably can't really stop it, not here. This isn't just about magic and power; it's about metaphor, and if the Jabberwock is going to kill him--

    And then the blow doesn't land, and Jon blinks.

    On instinct, Jon goes back to a knee opens his arms to hug the girl as she runs at him. Comforting little children is one of the few things he'll clearly say he's good at. "There's no more need for that," he murmurs. "No more burying. No more darkness. Let's get you back up out into the light, shall we?"

    After a moment, Jon pulls back to peer at the girl. "Do you know the way out? If not... I think I can find the way." He eyes the sword for a moment, then gently reaches out to pick it up off the ground.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I can't go out," the girl says quietly, biting down her tears. "I am already out. He cast me out and will not let me in. M'sieur... you must tell him to let me in. I have not seen him... for so long."

Rustling. Someone running. The other woman has finally freed her sword, probably, and is running towards them, from around the corner.

"M'sieur you /must/ tell him to let me in! But look, they're coming! Run- Run this way! I will distract!" she points down the alley of trees, and then se runs in the opposite direction, to collide around the corner with her guardian.

There is a loud crash and an 'oof'. Collision successful.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I'll tell him! Je le promets!" Jon shouts this as he wraps his hand around the sword and starts to run in the direction the girl pointed. Now all he has to do is get out of the Jabberwock, find the Red King--presumably--and convince him to let Alais in. Simple, right?

    But he runs, and runs, following the teal trail back out. Or maybe further in, and out the natural way. The Jabberwock /did/ eat him, after all.

    Look, any potential exit's likely to be messy.