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 Gideon, Verse One, Back From The Edge
Foolamancer
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 01:13 AM
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The Lie Thy Soul Hath Spoken


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I am reaching, but I fall
And the stars are black and cold
As I stare into the void
Of a world that cannot hold
I'll escape now from that world
From the world of Jean Valjean
There is nowhere I can turn
There is no way to go on

- Inspector Javert, Les Miserables

Two years. Two long years of hate and isolation and being unable to practice your art.

It ends tonight, if you have any guts. That's what you keep telling yourself, in the darkness of the house. You're sitting on your bed, still fully dressed even though it's past midnight. The only light is from the street lamps outside and the red glare of your alarm clock.

You set it once already, then flipped it off again. Then you retrieved the pill bottle, the same one that you're rolling back and forth in your fingers right now as you try to work up the courage.

Ironic that it would be sleeping pills, you think. Sleep is something that you haven't experienced in a long, long time. But enough of them and dreaming won't be a problem.

Slowly, you pop off the cap and pour the entire bottle into your right palm. Your hands are shaking. One or two of the pills fall off and roll away across the floor. You don't bother to pick them up. Instead, you stand and make your way into the bathroom.

The light stabs into your eyes for a moment as they adjust, but it isn't too bad. You lower your head for a second while they do, counting the pills in your hand absently. Then you look up, wanting to see your reflection one last time.

Only it isn't you looking back at you from the other side of the mirror. Not really.

It looks like you. But instead of the pills in your hand, you're holding something else: a rolled-up magazine or newspaper of some sort. As you watch, the not-you shakes its head, once, slowly. Then it lifts up the thing in its hand, unfolds it, and presses it against the other side of the mirror.

It's a newspaper. A tabloid, titled The Mad Marquee. And it's dated two years ago.

The day before the accident.

And the headline is THE GREAT GLIMMER CAST DOWN.

CODE
This is a game topic for Don't Rest Your Head, which will hopefully be getting its own subforum soon. This is a thread involving Dee Arris' character Gideon, and no one else's. Anyone can post in here to make out of character comments, but please place all OOC banter in the [code] tags, to keep it separate from the rest of the thread.

Now, for Dee: this is your character's Awakening. The stress of the nightmares and your own sleep deprivation have just combined to finally push you over the edge into the world of the Nightmares. As such, your character feels that something is different, but doesn't know what yet. This scene will hopefully give you a basic introduction to the Mad City and your own new abilities.


LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
- Death, in Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man

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Dee Arris
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 01:47 AM
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Fighter


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I throw my empty hand up over my face for a moment, cursing the visions that staunchly refuse to leave me alone. I've given up on everything. I've barely had the willpower to even wash or shave properly recently. I can only recognise my own face by squinting. I don't remember the last time I even talked to friends or family. The things I used to live for are gone now. I'm effectively dead! So what else do those scavengers want from me? Damn their eyes! I glare at the mocking image through slightly parted fingers. My hand balls into a fist and starts crushing some of the sleeping pills. I did nothing wrong. What did I do to deserve it? I'd be fine if somebody could give me an answer. Maybe I could live with myself if they would tell me I was Josef Mengele or Atilla the Hun in a past life, but I'm told nothing. It was random chance, and the bastards swooped on me and picked me clean for it. I'm trying to end it now! Why isn't even that good enough for you? WHY ISN'T IT GOOD ENOUGH!?

I give in to my rage and throw my fists at the mirror image, that animalistic part of my mind taking over and not caring how much I bloody myself.
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Foolamancer
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 02:29 AM
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The Lie Thy Soul Hath Spoken


Group: Conspirator (III)
Posts: 670
Member No.: 63
Joined: 10-January 12









It isn't glass that meets your fingers. It's paper. The tabloid that your mirror image is holding up to you crumples around your fist, ripping down the middle. The double's hands relinquish their grip on each of its halves, and the papers flutter towards the floor, scattering everywhere. And then your double turns to run, ducking out through the door that should lead into your bedroom - but when it opens, it reveals a dark, crowded city street.



LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
- Death, in Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man

Madverse Fearblogs
In The Shuffling Madness - Incomplete, Possible Reboot
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And Much Of Madness - Active
Where Murder Lies - Inactive
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Dee Arris
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 03:56 AM
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I stare, aghast, at the shredded paper clutched between my fingers. My eyes scan the trail of pieces strewn across the floor around me, and then fall upon the open door. I stand there for almost a minute, trying to absorb this. I have done illusions, very elaborate ones in fact, history-worthy ones, but this is so beyond me. The sounds of the crowd and the feel of the air from the strange street are so realistic, but it can't be truly there, can it? Nervously, I reach for the door.
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Foolamancer
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 04:01 AM
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The Lie Thy Soul Hath Spoken


Group: Conspirator (III)
Posts: 670
Member No.: 63
Joined: 10-January 12









The tabloid in Gideon's hand is shredded badly from the force of his strike, but the headline is still intact, and a few snatches of phrases can be made out. The golden boy of stage - routine performance - will collapse on stage - permanent brain damage from the seizure - will ruin Glimmer's career utterly. It is quite definitely real.

Checking the door takes rather more work. Getting through his bathroom mirror is difficult, but he manages it after a moment. The room on the other side appears to be an exact replica of his own bathroom in all respects, save for the shredded remains of the newspaper lying about on the floor.

The city beyond the door also seems to be real, if nearly mind-breaking in its positioning. Given the layout of Gideon's home, he should be standing inside his living room right now. Instead, he's standing in a duplicate of his bathroom, staring out at a city full of bizarre, mismatched architecture, old-fashioned gas lamps, and citizens dressed in clothing from any point during the past century in a half.

It can't be real.

But it is.


LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
- Death, in Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man

Madverse Fearblogs
In The Shuffling Madness - Incomplete, Possible Reboot
Call The Schoolmaster - Complete
And Much Of Madness - Active
Where Murder Lies - Inactive
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Dee Arris
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 05:08 AM
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Fighter


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I glance back over my shoulder into the bathroom behind me. I look over my hands and check my face for any wounds or other signs of foul play. Certain that there is nothing to be found, save perhaps for stubble you could probably use to cut through solid steel, I uneasily venture forward into the city.
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Foolamancer
 Posted: Nov 22 2012, 10:30 PM
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The Lie Thy Soul Hath Spoken


Group: Conspirator (III)
Posts: 670
Member No.: 63
Joined: 10-January 12









Continued in The Long Hand Of The Law.


LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
- Death, in Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man

Madverse Fearblogs
In The Shuffling Madness - Incomplete, Possible Reboot
Call The Schoolmaster - Complete
And Much Of Madness - Active
Where Murder Lies - Inactive
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