imaginarylogs | prelude {{ Log 01.

prelude {{ Log 01.

Island Prelude ; Log 01

Life's a beach—

You wake up on the beach.

Okay, scratch that: you wake up on a beach. Some beach, somewhere. You don't know where it is, much less why you're there. You can feel the warm sun and a light breeze on your skin, along with the insidious prickle of sand worming its way into your fantasy Nikes. You have no memory of being here — but then again, you might not have any memory of being anywhere else.

At least you're not alone. There are other people scattered along this beach, toes trailing in the surf as they brush sand out of their shirts or shake seaweed from their weapons. Each and every one of them has an unremovable bracer locked around their wrist. Maybe you should get up. Lend a helping hand, or ask for one. Maybe somebody else knows more about the situation than you do. Maybe somebody else knows where that music is coming from. Is there a beach party going on?

—& then you d̵̡̪̻̿̽͒i̸̟͓͍͌̾͐ë̸͖͇̪́̔͊.

There's only so far you get before noticing that something's wrong, though. Even if you've got no memories but your name, something in you knows that trees aren't supposed to look like that. They're not supposed to be so . . . low-res. Right?

But these trees, not to put too fine a point on it, kind of suck. Some of them, anyway. Every few trees has one patch that flickers in and out of existence like an old neon sign. Every couple rocks seems to have spasmed and frozen up in one large pixel blob. If you touch these glitched spaces, nothing happens to you, but it certainly doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're touching anything at all.

Looking back to the space you woke up, you might notice a pattern. The section of beach strewn with newly-conscious amnesiacs is exceptionally glitchy. There are a couple small patches of sky that seem to just be missing. And out at sea? There's way more of them out there.

If you're a strong swimmer, you might try swimming out toward the horizon. There's only so far you can go, though. After about half a mile, you hit some kind of resistance and blip back onto the beach. Watch the sea long enough, and you might see some boats making the same mistake — although they just end up closer to shore rather than beached, fortunately for them. Boats are expensive, and the barrier, whatever it is, seems to be doing its best not to damage them.

(Jaws Theme)

Walking up the beach towards the source of the music, you start to feel a little bit watched. Turn, and there's no one there. Just a quaint thatch-roofed vending machine with a strange cat face on the plate. Innocuous, though, and certainly nothing to worry about. So you keep going.

Except then you feel it again. And if you manage to pause in time, you'll hear this shuffling sound, like wood dragging through sand. Turn again, and the vending machine is right behind you. Like, right behind you. There's no way it moved fast enough to close that distance, and yet.

There are some options here. You can run — but it'll catch up. You can try to fight it — but you'll just hurt your hand (or other appendage). You can try to reason with it — but it's unrelenting. What it wants, as you'll soon discover, is to yeet a small bottle of dark, thick liquid at your face. It's also very insistent that you drink it. If you don't, it'll just fling another one at you, and keep flinging them, until you're crushed to death by vials or drink one, whichever comes first.

Everyone gets this treatment. The vending machine is never in two places at once, but its ubiquity might make it seems as though it is. When one inevitably breaks down and drinks the Kool-aid, it tastes just awful, but at least it's over and done with now. Surely this will never come up again.

This sparks joy

If you follow the music for long enough, you'll find yourself in easily one of the busiest places on the Island. The marketplace that spreads out before you is known as the Boardwalk, a fact that's easy to discover from any of the friendly locals. For most of you, these will be the first people you've encountered who didn't wash up on the beach alongside you. They're very fuzzy faces, too. The Animalians, a menagerie of anthropomorphic animals, almost all speak Common and seem pretty unfazed by the cluster of bewildered strangers. After all, new faces mean new customers!

There are a truly ridiculous number of things for sale on the Boardwalk. The predominant one is food, of course, and the smells hanging over the canvas tents and open-air stalls are positively mouth-watering. There are a wide variety of foods represented here. Maybe one or two of them will strike you as familiar, or trigger a memory? Pretty much all of them are delicious, though, so there's nothing to lose by digging in. Other goods include clothing, weaponry, art, and jewelry in a variety of styles. If you're lucky, you might find a tent that sells beautiful locally-made instruments — a Bard's dream!

Lack of coinage won't be too much of a handicap here. Barter is welcome, and should you not have enough to barter with, most sellers are happy to trade goods for services. It's highly likely that a newcomer or two will be found up to their elbows in dishes by the end of the night, or doing similar odd jobs for vendors.

Still, no one gets through an excursion to the Boardwalk without being swept into at least one dance. It comes out of nowhere: an Animalian's paw or claw on your elbow, a gentle nudge at the small of your back, and you're swept toward the gazebo, the source of the music that's been swelling all day and into the evening. It's joyous and captivating, the Animalians' love of dance infectious. Even buzzkills might be tempted to softshoe just a little.

What's this? What's this?

The Island seems to be sprouting miscellanea. Extremely distinctive weaponry stuck up a tree, books half-buried in sand or earth, clothing neatly folded or possibly being worn by an animal, or Animalian . . . At some point, it just becomes chaos. There's a great deal to recover, or to steal if that's more your bag. On the other hand, you might choose to be helpful and match belongings with their owners. You never know: a found item might help someone find the memory that goes along with it.

Just west of the Boardwalk, there's something else that might be familiar. At the center of a saltwater lake, easy to get to by rowboat, is a miniature island and swim-up bar. Each place is adorned by a menu listing strange and deja vu-inducing items, from nanchos to decaf espresso paradox. Some are helpful. Some are harmful. Some are just weird? He'll make you anything on the menu, but nothing more. Strangely, should you be overcome by the urge to ask the chef for something special and unique, he will gravely extend one of his tentacles and place a single, smooth, heart-shaped stone in your palm. The squid does not speak Common, but you understand an IOU when you're delicately, slimily handed one.

There's so much to explore here that, by the end of the day when you stumble back to the cabanas and attempt to sort out where you're going to collapse for the night, you haven't covered more than a sliver of it. There's tomorrow and the days after for looking around more, for stumbling across more of your belongings (or other people's), for discovering ruins and murals and memories. No matter how much time you take to fuss over sleeping arrangements, everyone ends up more or less in the same place: an open-air cabana, with the breeze blowing over them through the night and into the morning.

Everyone dreams — peacefully — of the moon.

OOC

Welcome, everyone, to the first Island log, our Prelude! While we will not be taking RNG requests during this log, we encourage you to stretch out, explore the space, and get your ~~sea~~ island legs. For questions pertaining to this log, go here. For general questions, head to the FAQ. For more places to explore in this first log, check out the Setting and NPC pages.

NAVIGATION ⯈

code bases by tricklet

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[This whole place . . . he should probably be more worried than he is, but somehow, everything seems like it's gonna be pretty much fine. He's comfortable, like he's surrounded by people he knows — and maybe that's true. He hasn't decided how much of what he's seeing and perceiving is real and how much isn't, but regardless, he trusts his instincts, and they say there's nothing to be afraid of. Not yet.]

[So he gravitates towards food and people and, once his belly is full, dancing. The air is thick with laughter and his face hurts already from smiling. Except he hasn't been. He hasn't been, he can just . . . feel it. He likes it here. He's having fun dancing. Even though he isn't dancing yet.]

[It feels natural. He doesn't think about it. Breathes in the salt air and meanders toward the gazebo.]

[And then there's a hand held out in front of him. Wanna dance? she asks, with bright enthusiasm he can feel from his weak knees to his heating cheeks and buried deep in his heart like it's making its way from the inside out again.]

[He nods. And takes her hand because what is he, some kind of fucking monster? It'd be a crime not to. That and — and he thinks he's supposed to. He's got to. This is where he's meant to be.]

Do your worst. You leading? [God, she's pretty.]

[It's funny. Since she woke up, there's been this strange feeling; she both does and doesn't understand it, but it's felt like a part of her was somewhere else. Weirdly at peace with this whole situation, but then, she's not really one to talk. She's either fine with it or she has to be fine with it, because the alternative means — she doesn't really know what it means. But she knows it's not good.

The point is, she feels like that peaceful part of her is getting closer as she dances. And she can't help but gravitate towards it, like a planet pulled into orbit around a bright point of light. Not consciously, but that's why—

That's why she reaches out to him. That's why, when their eyes meet properly, her breath catches in her chest and her heart feels like it's floated up into the stratosphere. Her face is hot and her knees feel like they might give out— or do they? No, her knees are fine.

He asked her a question, but she doesn't answer it right away because she's looking at him with wide eyes and deep intent. Like he's everything.] It's you.

[What??? What does that mean? She laughs breathlessly, a little embarrassed.] I mean— ahaha, if you want me to!

I want you to.

[The answer comes easy. As easy as his hand comes to rest on her hip, even though that isn't really the kind of dancing they're doing; he looks at it, then at her, a little surprised, a little questioning — is this okay? Is this weird? Doesn't even think about saying it out loud. Just assumes she'll get it. She'll know.]

[Of course she will. And of course he does. If he can't trust her to lead him to safety, who can he trust?]

[Whatever rising discomfort there was dissipates as quickly as it came. Her hand is warm in his. They've done this before. Her laugh is really pretty.]

I know you, [he mumbles, and they're moving, dancing albeit clumsily, mostly because he can't stop fucking looking at her to pay attention to his feet.] I do know you, right . . . ?

[It occurs to her in some abandoned corner of her brain that random boys probably shouldn't reach for her like that, but this isn't a random boy. She knows it's not. And as his hand settles on her hip and her free hand finds his shoulder in turn, there's a new kind of automatic reaction. Or a not new one. A wash of heat beneath her skin that has nothing to do with the island's warm weather.

She gives him permission with a smile, one that's a bit more crooked this time with the unexpected rush of...attraction. Yeah, that's what it is.

Thankfully, she knows the steps. They're not exactly the steps she's learned from the Animalians, but they follow the beat well enough. They're just a bit too big, too excited.

She answers quickly, without doubt.] Yeah! Definitely! [And then, stumbling over her words a little, too many feelings and not enough syllables happening quickly enough:] We— we have to know each other. I felt you. You feel it too, right?

Wow.

[Which is stupid. So fucking stupid, but she puts her hand on his shoulder and leads him step by step, and he thinks his whole self might actually be a little on fire. Not in a bad way, just in a . . . wow way. Because this is crazy.]

This is pretty crazy, huh?

[Breathed out low and slow, only audible in the space between them. Not because it's something that needs to be kept secret, but because it's unbelievable and yet the most concretely believable thing he's had happen on this island so far.]

I felt it, yeah. I felt scared when I wasn't scared, and confused when I wasn't confused, and then I think . . . dancing, I think I felt you here dancing? You were really happy. [No, that's not right.] You're still really happy. You're happy to see me, huh?

[He's smiling, dumb and goofy. Not thinking about what he says, as usual.]

[He sure talks a lot. Did she know that? Maybe. She talks a lot too, but it's fine. What he's saying, though, is...

There's a deep, instinctive part of her that wants to shrink away. Because he says what he knows, and he knows her, and— and he knows her. Scared when I wasn't scared. She's been trying so hard not to be scared, not to let anyone know how viscerally the glitches on the island affect her, but— but he knows. She should be afraid that he knows. No one should know that much about her.

And yet.

She laughs again, clearly caught out but not so embarrassed as to look away from him. Is there anything that could make her look away from him? Maybe not.] Yeah! I was hoping I'd find you.

[Find whatever was on the other end on the connection she was aware of.

God, he's really cute!! Her hand inches along his shoulder, a little closer to where it meets his neck.] I think you're pretty happy to see me too, ehehe~

[Hmm. His neck prickles, hyper-aware of the proximity of her fingertips. He thinks again: yeah, they've done this before. Like this but not like this; the music was different, but the feeling wasn't so different at all. And he was happy to see her then, but that was different, right? Smaller, if no less real.]

[He chews his lip. Finds himself tempted to lean in, to press his forehead to hers and just absorb everything she's feeling, figure out the places that separate their emotions and perceptions. There's something dark and frightening behind their connection, not in the connection itself but what catalyzed it. He isn't afraid of it anymore, but at the same time knows it's there. It's important, somehow.]

[Instead of letting himself get lost in it, in her, in whatever she was afraid of, he takes a deep breath and — spins them. Grinning, wicked and playful.]

Sorry, sorry! I know you're leading, but I gotta keep you on your toes!

[The smile doesn't go anywhere. It seems like it's pretty fixed by now.]

Course I'm happy to see you. Who wouldn't be? I like you a lot.

[There's an urge to get closer and now she's not sure who it belongs to. She's also not sure if it matters who it belongs to; even if it's his, it feels like she has so little at this point that she doesn't mind claiming it as her own.

But then he gets this look in his eye, and before he even does it, she senses that she's in trouble.]

Uwah—!!

[The world spins around her — around them — and she holds tighter to him like she might get spun right out of her body if she doesn't. She does end up pulling herself closer with that grip and the lingering momentum of that spin as it ends. Purposefully? Who knows. She's not pressed to him yet, but she could be with just a little more.

Her expression settles into something starstruck and dumb, cheeks red and eyes dazed as she takes one little dance step too many.] Whoa.

[Is she supposed to make whole words after he says and does stuff like that?? The corner of her mouth quirks up again when her heart comes back down to Earth. Or at least closer to it.] Ha, I totally don't mind if you lead like that.

I feel like— [Some well-trained part of her thinks better of the words, but shimmying and spinning around has clearly rattled them off their shelves, because they come tumbling out anyway.] I like you too much.

[He tips his head. What comes through their connection is the emotional equivalent of a confused puppy noise — undercut, of course, by the sheer excitement and joy of their proximity. She's close, and he likes her, he likes her a lot, and she likes him too, but—]

[Too much?]

Whaddya mean?

[What's it mean to like somebody too much? What's that about? How does it even work?]

How can you like somebody too much? Isn't that a "the more the merrier" kind of thing? [Not really what that phrase means, but it's fine.]

[She doesn't know how to explain it. There's just a kind of certainty that accompanies this affection she has for him — that she doesn't deserve to feel it so strongly. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as she considers the question and tries to dig words out of the confusion.]

...I don't know, [she says eventually, very helpfully. She gets the sense that there's normally something she does to help her try to answer these difficult questions, but she can't put her finger on what.] I guess you can like someone too much if you're not supposed to like them?

[Is that what it is? That doesn't feel right but it doesn't feel wrong either.]

Wait, you're not supposed to like me?

[Briefly distressed, he looks at his hand again, where it rests on her waist. Then at the other one, still clasped in hers. That doesn't feel like something that isn't supposed to be happening. It feels fine. It feels good.]

[He looks at her, faintly lost.]

I don't get it. I feel good about liking you. Is there something about me that you're not supposed to like?

[Oh, that ping of distress is terrible. A fretful frown follows, because he shouldn't feel like that! He especially shouldn't feel like that because of something she's said!] No way, I like everything about you!

[She doesn't even remember everything about him, but she knows that's how she feels.

After a second, as she glances down at their feet (still synced up, of course) and continues without thinking.] I think it's me. It's like— I shouldn't like anyone? Or no one should like me.

[Hm. That's depressing! She doesn't say it like it's depressing, though. She just says it like a fact she knows, like the sky being blue.]

Whaaaat?

[No way. He can't tolerate that! Shaking his head violently, he almost spins them again, although this time by accident. He just barely manages to smooth out his steps so he doesn't send them wildly off-course into a nearby Animalian couple, who are having some issues of their own due to being wildly disparate heights. Romance is beautiful.]

Everybody deserves to have somebody like 'em! Everybody. Unless you're some kind of crazy murderer.

[. . . Hm. Feels weird. Ignoring that—]

You seem really nice, too. I bet everybody likes you. I like you. Even if I shouldn't! I'll just be a rebel like that.

[Even if they are getting a little wild, Sayori doesn't have too much trouble keeping up. She's kind of wild by default, and it feels like she knows the steps even when they're improvising.

Her heart feels like it's trying to fly out of her chest again, though. She bites her lip on the smile that creeps onto her face despite the— wow, that was a really depressing thing she said, huh? She probably shouldn't have said it, but. He doesn't seem to mind?

Hm. Her face sure is warm! She gives his hand a little squeeze.] I'm preeeeetty sure I'm not a crazy murderer.

[And then, in a motion that feels familiar, she lifts her hand from his shoulder-neck area and taps the tip of his nose with her finger.] I probably like you 'cause you stay stuff like that. "Rebel" makes it sound super cool!

[Hm. He's . . . been booped.]

[Ears going red, he furrows his brow. Yeah, hell yeah, he's so cool! Gotta keep being cool to convince gorl he is really cool!]

I'm a rebel! I rebel against all kinds of stuff. Watching movies too many times in a row, eating too much dinner . . . [Just being "too much", in general.] Dancing too much, I bet. You wanna dance too much with me?

[Laughter bubbles out of her again as he lists off his terrible social transgressions.] Wow~ You're a real bad boy, huh?

[Hey: that's the worst thing Sayori ever has or ever will say.

She takes the corner of her cloak in her free hand and gives it a little flourish as she steps in closer to him.] I'd love to, ehehe. "The more the merrier," right?

[That's still not the right way to use that phrase.]

[Wow. Yikes.]

[Awful as it is, Mista seems thrilled. His grin slides sideways into something less polite and more Nastee™, but most of all smug.]

I'm pretty bad.

[This is true, by the letter of the definition if not the spirit. That said, he is certainly bad enough to dip her. Whoop!]

Hey— [While she's still dipped. With her hair (and bow) dangling towards the floor, she's even cuter than when she's the right way up.] You wanna eat too much dinner with me later? [So saying, he tugs her back upright. And waggles his eyebrows.]

[Yuck.]

[Oh no. The smug face is hot.

Oh no.

There's a gasp as the world goes sideways and her weight shifts, held by his arm instead of her suddenly jellylike legs. One of those legs straightens out at his side, instinctively trying to find purchase — on the ground? On him? It finds it nowhere, but it sure does make this dip look fancier! Her free hand, meanwhile, lands on the back of his neck, holding him...not that tightly, actually, because she's not that worried about being dropped.

She realizes, as she's staring dumbly up at him with starstruck eyes and slightly parted lips, that she really wants to kiss him.

And then she's upright again, both feet on the ground, and she feels almost dizzy as the motion of straightening up becomes one of leaning into him. There's only one possible answer to that.] Yes.

[Disgusting.]

[There.]

[She leans into him on the way back up, partly because of gravity and partly because of inertia and partly, he knows, he feels, because she wants to. Mostly because she wants to. And with her pressed up against him, he feels not only smug but right, as though he'd missed her here.]

[He has missed her here. This is where she belongs, isn't it?]

'Kay.

[His voice is low, private. Is this still dancing?]

I'll get you two of everything. Ten desserts.

[He feels safe. Safer than anything else she's found on this island so far. Especially this close; she's not sure if she's hearing his heartbeat through his chest or if she's feeling it through whatever thread of destiny is connecting them. It feels like a million warm hugs.

Her feet still shuffle along, but for a moment she just lingers where she fits so well against him. She wants to hear what else he has to say for her ears only.] That sounds perfect.

[Soft, sentimental. Is she talking about the food or the sound of his heart beating? Tough call.

But then she grins as she turns in a tight little half-spin, pulling his arm around her by their linked hands as she does so. Her back is pressed to him now, and she tilts her head up and back to beam at him.] Don't worry, I promise I'll share!

[Oh. Oh no.]

[The direct hit is visible on every part of his expression, eyes wide and face flushed as he looks down at her. His free arm comes around her middle automatically.]

. . . Uh?

[Uh???]

Yeah, that'd be good. [A beat.] I like dessert. [??? why]

[Wow. She has no idea what she just did to cause that, but it's very cute. The urge to kiss him returns. Or gets stronger? Or something.

A giggle bubbles out of her as she does a little shimmy in his embrace. Which is a bit saucy, all things considered, but it's also revenge for the dip so it's fine.] Good thing there's no such thing as too much dessert, ehehe.

[Will she still be saying that when she has a stomachache? We'll see.] What's your favorite?

[uH??]

[The shimmy has the dual effect of making him stand up extremely straight, some warning so deeply ingrained in him by nuns that even memory loss can't push it away ringing in the back of his mind with a hiss, be good — and also pull her closer, his grip only a little tighter but more clingy, somehow. And a little sulky.]

No fair.

[Except he doesn't want her to stop being no fair. He likes it. Can't help but sway behind her, a too-slow rhythm that doesn't match the music. He wants to kiss her shoulder, her ear, the crown of her head.]

[There was a question.]

Um, cake. [No, that's not correct enough.] Fluffy cake. [............. jesus]

[She's not sorry.

She blinks up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. It might be convincing if he couldn't feel the undercurrent of satisfaction in her emotions as he tugs her more flush to him.

She sways with him, though, squeezing his hand a little tighter.] No fair? Fluffy cake seems pretty fair to me!

[This is just mean.]

You know what I mean!

[Squawk. That's a squawk, that's the sound he made. Hideous. Undignified. Awful.]

[He blows on her hair piqueishly, making it fluff up.]

You're no fair. [The pout isn't very convincing when he squeezes her hand back.]

prelude {{ Log 01.

4 (i changed my mind)

4...........heh

ehehehehe

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ban me

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