epidemiology | ( open. )

CHARACTERS: the artist formerly known as arya and you
DATE: spanning several days
WARNINGS: will edit if needed
SUMMARY: arrival shenanigans aka indoor plumbing is the single greatest thing you guys

[ with the purple hood pulled over her shaved head and clad in her new black trousers with the white and purple piping along the sides, her feet encased in tall, good boots, the new girl looks like she belongs. zokla is her name, for being the word to come to mind after discounting the others. she did not know what to expect to risk cat as she might otherwise have done; she could no longer be beth since her vision was returned. she wasn't sure if the kindly man would have insisted on "no one" or if that here too would not serve.

it's a good word, she decides. fierce. the girl turns it over on her tongue. zo-kla. it has a sound like a pause, then a sharp strike. much like the creature it means. it will make a good name.

the bedrooms had been dull, each one identical to the last. at least, those she could open. she tried to pick one of the locked doors, but without the proper tools gave it up for lost. there is plenty more to see, however, and zokla's steps soon speed up until she is dashing through halls and rooms trying to see it all.

she is outside, studying the strange animals stabled with a curious eye and wishing she could mount a horse and ride out, but zokla has never touched a horse much less mounted one so she pushes aside the memory of wind through her hair and the ground falling away ( that memory belongs to another girl, and anyway she has nowhere to ride to — )

or she cranes her neck at one of the suits of armor, distracted by it, as if she might catch glimpse of the person that must be inside before stepping closer to knock on the metal and being greeted by the hollow sound, and when it sets off on its patrol, she follows behind, often getting it to divert from its path to show her where to find this place or that one until she has memorized the paths herself —

or she is piling a dish high come mealtimes, grabbing a little of everything and then some more because zokla would know the hollow ache of going to bed hungry and would cheer that those days are now past —

or she is in the kitchen standing on tiptoes before the faucet, laughing in delight at the splash of water on her fingers the temperature of which she can change, now hotter, now colder, with a simple twist of the knobs and from which she can drink deep, the water clean and sweet —

or she stumbles across the greenhouses and spends a day up to her elbows in loose, dark earth, learning which plants are safe and which will raise an unsightly purple rash on her skin, which are good to eat, good for injury, good for aches, and which will render you ill almost to death ( or kill you outright ) — when she's not chasing after a wide-leafed bush with pale red flowers that likes to get up and walk away on rope-like roots —

or she comes into the forge when it looks empty and passes a hand over the tools, picking one or two off the wall ( those that she can lift ) and thinks she might have known someone once who would have lived here happily —

or she makes her way through the dungeons to come upon the strange sight of a thousand, thousand mirrors stretching so far up and so far away she cannot see those furthest and spends hours among the reflections as if she might make sense of them. ( as if one of them might show her a wall made of ice at the end of the world. ) ]

(( note: feel free to use any of the suggested locations or use another! if you'd like a personalized starter, pm me or comment to this post! ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...It's that, and more.

[ time to get started, then. moves his mug aside so he can gesture at the table, launches into an explanation like it's second nature, ]

Lesson one. Your world - the planet you live on, its sun, and all of the stars in your sky... that's your universe. [ he splays his fingers and moves them in a wide circle. ]

But there are an infinite number of universes running parallel to yours... so we cleverly call them 'parallel universes.' Some of them might be very nearly identical to yours, with some minor cosmetic changes. Maybe Braavos's sails are lime green rather than purple. But others will be nothing like yours at all - different stars in an unrecognizable sky. [ holds his hand up in the air, in a wide arc. ]

You can think of the multiverse as pages in an impossibly massive book. It's nothing like that at all, but if it helps. You exist on one page, one universe, and you can't see or touch or hear any other page, you can't visit them... unless you know how to punch through, like ALASTAIR does. The page we're on right now has been torn to shreds, until only a little piece remains.

We're here to stop that happening to the rest of the book.

[ it helps. she tries to think of a book. it's hard to imagine everything she knows fitting onto one page. makes it all seem…smaller somehow. makes her feel that much smaller. not a mouse anymore, but something even more miserable. she fiddles with the bracelet. ]

The mist, [ she says when he's finished. she lifts her eyes. ] There's nothing in it. It's all barren. It always brings you back here no matter how deep you walk into it.

[ kids react to: our cosmic insignificance and helplessness before the yawning maw of the void.

of course, if you ask him, he thinks that makes everyone all the more important. he's the doctor and he's optimism till he dies.

and once it's clear she's absorbed the whole thing and more or less understands it, the doctor crosses his arms in front of himself on the table and leans forward slightly, eyes bright. ]

That's right. You can't walk beyond it, because there isn't anything beyond it. All you're really doing is walking in a circle. Looping round what's left of the world.

[ he doesn't sound duly distressed nor disturbed by the fact that an entire universe has been reduced to nearly nothing. horrific phenomena are fascinating phenomena. but he does think to add: ]

...There's no need to start worrying about your world now, though.

[ it can rot, she thinks, and regrets the thought immediately after. the kindly man and the waif weren't true friends, but they had given her a place to stay when she had nowhere else to go and given her a bed, clean clothes, soap and candles, food, and were teaching her useful things, besides. umma let her nibble in the kitchens when the girl helped out with the cooking. there were all her friends in the city: brusco and his daughters, brea and talea; merry and her whores who always greeted her warmly; the mummers of the ship who taught her bawdy songs and filthy japes; tagganaro who wanted her to come work with him and casso, the king of seals; smelly old pynto who never washed, but let her sit by the fire and told her stories. she thinks of them and the bakers and sailmenders and the brewers and beggars, ropemakers and taverners and paddlers she had known.

she thinks, for a moment as aching as it is brief, of the brother she had clung to when last she saw him, raining kisses on his face. ]

I don't want any more worlds to die.

[ all men must die. but not like this. ]

[ he waits a moment, tilts his head at her. the corners of his mouth turn up briefly, but it doesn't really qualify as a smile. softly, ] No. [ in agreement. ]

Nor I, nor anyone. No matter which slice of reality we're from, that unites us all, doesn't it? Any rational being, anyway. We're all affected.

[ he glances down at the table. ]

For an entire universe to collapse... what happened here, it's never meant to happen. And it should never, ever happen again.

[then leans back in his chair. face lined with the bone-deep weariness of a man who has seen enough "never-supposed-to-happens" happen to last a dozen lifetimes (and then some)... and the unflinchingly determination - confidence of someone who's walked out of the fire alive more times that he can be bothered to count. it's simple, really: ]

So we won't let it.

[ it would be nice to be so certain. maybe one day she was like him, but she does not remember how to be anymore. she may not grasp the specifics all, but she knows risk. there are many ways this can go wrong.

he's been kind to her, though, so she nods instead, and drains her cup. ]

What is that?

[ she points to the toaster.

teach her about toast. ]

[ much as he loves discussing the potential demise of the multiverse, he happily latches onto the subject change. slides right out of his chair and over to the toaster.

where he gestures at it like he's on a game show. ]

An entire machine devoted to browning your bread. And basically, people are completely obsessed with it.

[ beans on toast, spaghetti on toast, toast on toast - it's a magical and hopeless world. ]

( open. )

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wrapping up?

works 4 me!