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player plot | when my time comes around, pt. 5
WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Everything's fine and we're going to have feelings about it.
WHEN: August 15 9:49
WHERE: Primarily the Gallows! But potentially anywhere.
NOTES: We made it! You are all free of my tyrannical plot grasp! There is a final OOC post with some notes + space for plotting here.
WHAT: Everything's fine and we're going to have feelings about it.
WHEN: August 15 9:49
WHERE: Primarily the Gallows! But potentially anywhere.
NOTES: We made it! You are all free of my tyrannical plot grasp! There is a final OOC post with some notes + space for plotting here.
This is a timeline where, some mild chaos aside, things for the last month have carried on as normal. Riftwatch hasn't lost anyone at all. There were no funerals. The work continued. The late afternoon of August 15 may find people at their desks, in the midst of meetings or debriefs, in the library, in the sparring yard. Or maybe afield, seeing to errands or meetings or missions somewhere else in Thedas. Maybe, if they are particularly unlucky, they are deep in conversation with an ally or embroiled in combat with an enemy agent at the precise moment when the magical connection between two realities closes and the diverging timelines snap together into one existence.
At that moment, everyone forgets what it is they were just doing. Instead they remember what they might have been doing in the world where a third of Riftwatch's number was lost, despite their hands suddenly occupied with the normal business of handling pens or swords or books they don't recall picking up.
For the always-living, it may feel as though they have been magically transported somewhere new mid-thought. For the dead—the formerly dead, the might-have-been dead—it will feel as though they have just woken up. Perhaps they'll have a vague sense of a dream they now can't recall, in between their last conscious moment amid the blood and screams in Granitefell and awakening just now in a quieter world, or perhaps they'll have a sense of nothing at all.
For a few hours, the worse world will be the only one anyone can remember. Over time, memories of the other world—the only one that really exists now—will filter in, competitive with other memories in a way that might require everyone to double or triple check whether they wrote a letter or completed a mission in that timeline or this one. But the memories of death and dying will never fade into anything less real.
At that moment, everyone forgets what it is they were just doing. Instead they remember what they might have been doing in the world where a third of Riftwatch's number was lost, despite their hands suddenly occupied with the normal business of handling pens or swords or books they don't recall picking up.
For the always-living, it may feel as though they have been magically transported somewhere new mid-thought. For the dead—the formerly dead, the might-have-been dead—it will feel as though they have just woken up. Perhaps they'll have a vague sense of a dream they now can't recall, in between their last conscious moment amid the blood and screams in Granitefell and awakening just now in a quieter world, or perhaps they'll have a sense of nothing at all.
For a few hours, the worse world will be the only one anyone can remember. Over time, memories of the other world—the only one that really exists now—will filter in, competitive with other memories in a way that might require everyone to double or triple check whether they wrote a letter or completed a mission in that timeline or this one. But the memories of death and dying will never fade into anything less real.
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"I don't wanna know," Abby decides. "Would you rather... never have to eat again, never have to sleep again, or never get sick again."
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"That's a hard one, though. Never have to sleep again, I guess. So I could get more stuff done." It would be convenient never having to eat, but she likes food. Plus it takes way less time to eat breakfast than it does to sleep through a whole night, so...
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"Sleep, yeah. I'd say food, but when you're actually hungry and you have food to eat, it's great."
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She's side-eyeing Clarisse for having never been sick before. Guessing that's another demi-god perk? Lucky. She adds, "I'd never sleep again too. And read every book in the world."
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Clarisse chuckles. "Okay, nerd." Imagine reading for fun... pfft.
She settles back against her pillow for a minute, thinking, then: "Would you rather get one gold coin every time you compliment someone or ten gold coins every time you insult someone? And it can't be fake," she adds. "You have to mean it."
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"Ten coins for insults. Obviously."
She'll insult people for free.
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Give her ten gold. Right now,
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She knows they'll ask, so she doesn't let either of them say anything before continuing: "Would you rather have Cotton Eye Joe blast at high volume every time you have an orgasm, orrrr never be able to have an orgasm again."
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"And obviously Cotton Eyed Joe. Sorry, Clarisse."
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Come what may.
Or... not come. As the case may be.
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Meanwhile, Clarisse is giving Abby the most pitying look, trying not to laugh. She settles for a pffft sound with her lips and shakes her head.
"Don't be sorry," she adds, to Ellie. "I'd pick the same."
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"Man, you need to have better sex," Ellie mutters in Abby's direction.
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"It's not even about that. Everybody would know it was happening. Or think you were having sex to Cotton Eyed Joe."
How embarrassing.
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Clarisse shrugs a shoulder. "I'd just own it."
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Torturing Abby with this is infinitely funny.
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"Yeah, that's why I'm choosing no. You have to respect my choice."
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Also, it was just Ellie who gave her shit about the socks, to be fair.
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She's just ignoring that she's the one who gave her shit about the socks too, so.
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Now she's part of it.
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"Abby's busy spooning Wags."
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