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[crittersheep]

WHO: all
WHERE: all
WHEN: Day 9, evening into night

[the sun goes down; the two moons rise.

it all looks...quite different. the laundromat lengthens and transforms the silhouette of Woolietown in the distance. the lighthouse beacon comes to life for the first time, throwing strong, brilliant light and stark shadows across the meadow and into the barns. the lazy river encircles the pasture in a glittering band, the bobbing shapes of the pool toys a little bit eerie until they drift into full view.

perhaps some of you are winding down. perhaps some of you are just gearing up for a wild adventure in the shadows. perhaps some of you, regardless of if you sleep or stay up, find your dreams and nightmares crawling out beyond the bounds of your own head tonight, drawing others in...

the night is full of possibilities.]

Comments

[beathollow]

... My destiny... is that what it was...

( the princess picks up one of the bleeding books. this one seems a bit newer, the leather binding shinier. and yet, it's one of the ones bleeding. it, like the others, is empty for the most part.

the first chapter details life in woolietown. )

... I don't want to remember any more. But I don't want to forget, either.

[finalbows]

If you got both those things at once, you'd become a riddle.

"I may know without recalling, and yet I may lose without forgetting. Who am I?"

[beathollow]

There is no answer. There's never been.

[finalbows]

Oh.

I was going to say "a book."

[beathollow]

( blinks

looks away, clearly flustered- )

[finalbows]

Hm, hm, hm. See, everyone can be something. Even if it's nothing at all, nothing is still something! She's a three headed something, or sometimes it's a very tall something with twisted wings and holes all through its face and-- anyway.

You can be a princess, or you can be a shy little bunny rabbit living in a hidden burrow. You can be a doll, or an angel, or a sheep or a fox or a villain or a-- book,

but you can never be nothing. Even though it all can vanish like dew in the light... or like paper melting in the rain...

It was still there.

[beathollow]

( the princess is quiet as she listens- she always is, always attentive. dried tears still stain her cheeks, but for perhaps the first time, she almost looks... hopeful. )

... Is it okay that I don't know what I want to be, yet...?

[finalbows]

Naturally. How else would we ever get anyone who is particularly specialized or at all refined in their role? And you don't have to pick just one. I'm at least seven.

[beathollow]

Seven! I would get so stressed, trying to fill seven roles.

( the princess wipes her eyes finally, though its a bit useless when her gloves are still damp. but what to do with all of these books still? memories of a past that no longer fits, like too-small clothes. but all she has after that is the one still being written. )

... Did you ever get scared, of who someone wanted you to be...?

[finalbows]

Those are just the ones that I deign to still play. <sub>[ titter, titter.

at least, if some of all those old books are left off the shelf... it won't buckle so often under the weight, right?


...her question sobers him quickly.

the little house is full of eclectica, reflecting the mind of someone who, indeed, professes to enjoy such a variety of identity. a tea set, mismatched in every piece. colorful bottles with who-knows-what inside. the messy, overflowing basket of notions and fabric scraps. why did the books have to also bring bones? he's trying to bury that. a matched pair of masks on the wall, one laughing and one frowning, one blue and one red. the jeweler's loupe, and the pickaxe resting near the hearth. ]</sub>

...Yes, in fact. Quite a bit. I suppose that is why I prefer to enjoy so many, now.

[beathollow]

( so many different roles. so many memories. compared to her collapsing bookshelf and empty books, blood and ink swirling together on the flood... she's almost envious. )

Have your books ever... emptied, like this?

[finalbows]

It feels very scary and unnatural, doesn't it? You have to remember, though, all people start just the same. They unfurl, slowly, over an adventure of many days, pages written under their fingers before they even know the words. It seems intimidating now, but you've done it all before, and you don't even have to learn how to grip the pen again this time. 'Twill be as if scooping up a handful of fresh snow from a bank.

...
Ah,
but I started out with half a shelf full, myself! It was really very tiresome. I had to work hard at learning how to grip the pen right, and it was so frustrating looking at all the lopsided little shapes next to the things that were nice and neat and perfect. And when it came time to put up on the shelves things I liked and had picked out myself...

Some of those books I had when I started...

I wasn't so fond of, anymore. And some of them I had picked up in my haste, I realized I did not actually much care for.

_{[ the control freak has logged on ]}

...I suppose it made me more and less prepared, in ways, when they all did suddenly go blank on me. _{[ a pause, and he looks around.. ]} Where DID I put my sealed bookcase...? That old winged cur hasn't come and hauled it off again, has he...?

brief suicide ideation

[beathollow]

( the princess continues to listen attentively, quietly- she always does, even if it might not seem like it.

it's comforting, that he's cleared the shelf, that he's had his books emptied too. that even now he is here, fulfilled and living.

she wants to live. she wants to die. she wants to want to live.

after a moment, the princess stands and wraps her arms around the miner, as one would a caretaker (and that is his role in this story, isn't it?). )

Thank you.

[finalbows]

_{[ confused miner noises. like any dedicated show piece, touching him feels a little strange and like maybe something is going to get wrinkled permanently, but the emotion of the dream's implicit truth overrides what reality might otherwise insist upon-- he slowly relaxes into the hug, and a bit stiltedly, pats her atop her head. ]}

..You're welcome, Princess.

[beathollow]

( the princess smiles up at him and eventually steps back, unbothered by the stiffness. but there's still the mess...

after a moment, sonata places the book he had picked up back on the shelf. the others... )

What do I do the empty books...?

[finalbows]

_{[ ah, this is much more his ballpark. ]}

Well...! I'd pick one with a cover I still like, if there are any, and work on filling it out with something new. Keep it on a desk with a pen. The others...

...You're still working on getting that shelf steady, right? You don't need all that many sitting up there.

[beathollow]

Mhm. It keeps collapsing under stress...

[finalbows]

Then don't bother with them, til you've finished your first. They're blank.

[beathollow]

... Okay.

( she's still not sure what to do with the blank books, but... at this point she's kind of trusting him to help with that. )

[finalbows]

That's the spirit. One task at a time, that's how the pile changes size.

_{[ the house has a lot of little bits and bobs in it, but.. there's room for some blank books that nobody needs immediate access to, he's dismissively confident. gonna start floating around the cottage fussing with objects until a good spot is freed up. ]}

[beathollow]

( the princess watches before quietly going to the kitchen. when she returns, it's with cleaning supplies to try and mop up ink and blood as best she can, sweeping old bones out- she tries very hard not to think about what they represent, or how her chest hurts even days after. )