THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME

[beleos]

Sweet dreams are made of Bliss

As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”

It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.

The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.

Click your Heels together, Dorothy!

As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?

You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.

The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?

After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.

Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours

When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.

Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?

And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?

Catch [???] Winks

The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.

T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜

You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.

CODING

Comments

[punkisntdead]

[Oh, getting right up into the action is exactly her style, so she wastes no time pushing through the crowd a bit with him. It’s a lot easier with someone leading the way, and she can’t help the way it makes her recall a show years ago and the way Rachel had grabbed her by the hand and dragged her along with her to the very front…

Fuck.

Easier to pick up the righteous anger of the crowd than get lost in old sentimentality. She’s better at that anyway.]

If you make a whole lotta noise, they gotta pay attention!

[The truth is, a full on protest like this is a little out of her own experience too. Arcadia Bay had been too small and too backwater for anything like this to pick up steam, and most of the last year she’d spent in Seattle had been way too focused on figuring out how the hell she and Max were supposed to move on like things were normal.

Shows like this? She knows. The attitude inherent in fighting against a fucked up system? Got that shit in spades. She figures that’s enough to know how to fit right in with something like this.]

Whole point is to make it so they can’t ignore you anymore.

[baltimores]

[ Amos has the size and the strength to make their getting to the front of the crowd a little easier; Chloe's got the knowledge of what this actually is to make it make sense and be all the more fun. As far as he's concerned, they're a great team right now. ]

Huh. [ That part was more to himself; then, louder as he turns back to face her: ] People wanted to be ignored where I was from. Guess that's the difference here!

[ His ears are starting to ring a little, but also there's enough movement where they're at for somebody to crash into him. Amos gives them a good-natured push back, right into the outer tendrils of a mosh pit. That's where he takes a step back, looking up at the stage. ]

You ever done this before? [ The music picks up, and he has to raise his voice again: ] Fight to be heard like this?

[ is this the appropriate venue to be asking philosophical questions directed towards a person you've only recently met,

maybe? ]

[punkisntdead]

[Chloe can kinda get the appeal in being ignored, even if she wouldn’t easily admit it outright. When there’s not a lot you can do, it’s appealing. But here? There’s a whole mass of people here—in the crowd itself and all around the occupied Fort Mason Center today—saying ‘fuck that.’ Power in numbers, and all that.

She lets herself focus more on the music for a moment with that in mind, shouting along a few half-picked up words of the chorus and getting into some good-natured jostling of those nearby. Yeah, fuck, she needed this. Her life’s been so turned upside-down these last couple of months (and, hell, even just before she woke up in Kenos) that a little bit of familiar stress relief is going a long way.

So is the philosophizing a little weird in the moment? Maybe, but what better backdrop for talking through that kind of shit anyway?]

Kind of? Just… [Furrowed brows as she thinks on it, seizes the moment of elbowing someone who got a little too up in her space to wrestle with it a little more.] Maybe not on a scale like this.

[Which she almost feels lame for admitting, but that’s really just the kind of life she’d been dealt. Still, she looks his way and flashes him a grin.]

Feels fucking good, doesn’t it?

[baltimores]

[ Power in numbers. It's a wild thing to consider, but then again, this is a wild place.

Amos isn't paying attention to the lyrics so much as the sound of the music, the feel of the bass, loud and thrumming and antagonistic to his sensibilities, but in a good way. Like it's looking to pick a fight, and yeah, sometimes you just need that. He's careful as he pushes back on people who come into him, both because he's now supernaturally strong and he isn't actually looking for a fight at this time, but happy to have his body in a position to simply react. ]

It feels fucking amazing! [ This is without a doubt the most animated Chloe has ever seen him, but it's also potentially among the most animated times in his life. It's the rush of blood without the threat or anger behind it, the ability to simply enjoy feeling so alive— ] This is incredible. We should do this some other time too.

[ When they aren't world-hopping; when they aren't in the midst of an Oracle trial. The only problem is Amos hasn't thought that far ahead as to what this is actually about, considering how he's worked his way up into a seat of power in Highstorm. Maybe not consciously, but there's nobody there for him to rage at. Not like this.

Maybe he just wants more rock concerts, is all. ]

[punkisntdead]

[Look, Chloe is never ever going to say no to more rock concerts. There may be a more pointed purpose here and now, in this time and place in particular, but it’s scratching an itch that desperately needed some scratching. There is a reason music became a refuge for her over the years; it’s a great way to block out the world, simultaneously letting her forget about how shitty life had turned for her while also letting her grapple with her feelings without it feeling quite so open and vulnerable as it really was. The fact that it’s got a real, tangible purpose at a time like this is just a cherry on top.

And, yeah. Yeah, she kinda needed a good outlet to vent her frustrations. There’s only so much that defacing property and brushing people off got her back before they started this world-hopping journey—and the circumstances of that have been only been adding more fuel to the fire in that regard.]

Fuck yeah!

[She laughs, a short thing that’s both delighted and excited at the prospect of it. Please god, let them inject a little normal into the incredibly fucked up life they’ve gotten caught up in. The prospect of it is enough to get her to look past the, yeah, odd sort of dissonance of someone who’s arguably got a hand in being in charge of things condoning the rebellious spirit at play here. Maybe that’s something of a good sign, though.]

Say the word, Mr. Bigshot, and I’m sure we can make it happen.

[He gets a playful shove as the music transitions to a breakdown and the crowd picks up in its momentum.]

[baltimores]

[ Mr. Bigshot earns a playful laugh as he takes Chloe's shove, partly because he's having a good time, mostly because it's so divorced from his image of himself. He came from nothing; he's never been anything more than just a guy. Even with his accruing status in Highstorm, culminating in Cyrus' assassination, it's yet to properly sink in. He has more in common with the protesters and partiers around them than he does with, say, Florence, after all.

So it's with good humour and not a care in the world that he stumbles slightly before righting himself, swaying back upright to bump Chloe as the crowd around them feeds off of the increased energy from the stage. ]

I worked as a ship mechanic. Probably lots to figure out back home — [ Highstorm. Highstorm is home — ] but maybe I can jury-rig an amp or something.

[ It's loud. He's got to keep yelling to be heard, but there's endeared joy in his voice. This is the kind of thing he'd have loved as a teenager; was too broken by then to be able to appreciate it. ]

Highstorm could use something like this anyway, couldn't they?

[ Loud, frantic, alive. He enjoys the quiet, but the culture had never quite suited him — and this would be a hell of a thing to bring back with them, to make a note of to include in the new world.

It's good. It's so fucking good. ]

[punkisntdead]

[Look, the two of them are on the same wavelength there. The vibes of Highstorm just didn’t hit right for her, but throwing a little of this kind of energy into the mix? Well, hell yeah she’s on board for that. Maybe (definitely) this is the sort of thing that place really needs.]

Damn right! Dude, you would be my hero if you could get that up and running.

[Ship mechanic, huh? She’s thinking boats, maybe subs, but if he’s got the know-how to put it together then he’s gonna quickly join the running for her favorite person around here. Tezca weed-man, watch out.

She sways with the crowd and the playful bump from Amos, and as the band wraps up the current song leading to a chorus of cheers from all around them in the crowd, she’s gotta raise her voice a little more over the noise.]

I’m gonna hold you to it when we get back there! [Home? Technically, for now, yeah. It doesn’t hold that same feeling for Chloe as it does for Amos, but it is what they have for now.]