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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

[debug_mode]

[ it... wasn't really meant to be a physical box, but whatever, let's roll with it. It's grabbed. ]

[ It's pretty wide, though. Like full wing-span arm length if he wants to lift it up and down. ]

[pictureimperfect]

[he would have grabbed for it whether it was real or not but it being real is a big relief, big scarf arms wrapping around the huge thing to help him climb on top of it, flopping pathetically]

Whew.

[debug_mode]

[ And, second box, second message:

"Better, now?" ]

[pictureimperfect]

It’s still NOT GOOD, but sure, comparatively, better.

Who’re you?

[debug_mode]

[ "The trash compactor! prepare for crushing-- !" ]

[ Three more boxes appear, about to converge on him from the sides and above. ]

[ The box clicks down: "10..." ]

[pictureimperfect]

WAAAAAAAH NO NO NO I’M TOO CUTE TO BE TRASH

[SCARF HANDS FLAIL!!!]

[debug_mode]

[ "10... 9... skip-a-few... 1... ZERO!" ]

[pictureimperfect]

[trying to hold the boxes back with the scarf arms, they are big and strong and long]

[debug_mode]

[ The boxes stop short of actually closing in on him. ]

[ "...negative one... -2... -3..." ]

[pictureimperfect]

…is this a countdown that never ends that’s an entirely different kind of hell.

[debug_mode]

[ "...did I scare you? I was actually trying to, that time." ]

[pictureimperfect]

[pushes at the box with his human arms out of petulance, he wants to pinch it]

Oh no why would almost being crushed in the void be scary?

[debug_mode]

[ "It's a spooooky void! Full of spookiness. Not sure if you die in the void you die in real life, though." ]

[ Yes, those boxes will finally pull back, except for one in front of him so she can keep communicating. ]

[pictureimperfect]

[what if you are already dead]

Isn’t death supposed to be fake here. Not that I wanna test it. Don’t start counting again.

[debug_mode]

[ "10... 9..." ]

[ pause. ]

[ "Okay. I'll stop." ]

[pictureimperfect]

Bully!!

[baps against the box! Lightly tho, he’s relaxing more with someone to talk to]

Mean text boxes out here trying to make little boys cry.

[debug_mode]

[ "Trying?" ]

[pictureimperfect]

Cry MORE.

[debug_mode]

[ "Much better." ]

[ "So. My void is your void, I guess. Where do you want to go?" ]

[pictureimperfect]

Someplace cool. You got a theme park around this void?

[debug_mode]

[ "Do you want a theme park... of DEATH?" ]

[pictureimperfect]

Ghost trains are never as cool as advertised, pass.

[debug_mode]

[ "...it's no fun when you guess the twist." ]

[pictureimperfect]

Ha! Be less predictable next time.

[debug_mode]

[ "You're a regular ankle-biter! You're cruising for a long straight hallway with narrow walls to walk down, forever." ]