Next stop, collective brain-screw central

[ParanoidAndroid]

After focusing himself on each of the four directions, West heads to the one nobody ever thinks of naming : Inside. He flies by his own personal dreams, catching only a brief glimpse of the things that accompany him through the nights. He zooms, momentarily, past his own personal consciousness, not long enough to see anything past the realm itself. And, finally, by going inside the inside, he reaches his destination. The dreamspace of humanity itself.

The Temenos, as it appears now, is sprawled before the Acanthus. And apparently the collective unconscious has decided to manifest as an M.C. Escher painting today. If Escher had chosen to take more crack. Stairs no human being could climb, doorways no one could possibly reach. Corridors that, from his point of view, twist and turn in ways that defy every known principle. Walkways doing loops. In the air floats a Mobius strip, somehow just within reach, but at the same time far from any other surface.

The entirety of it made of glass. From the foggy glass at West's feet, to the tinted glass above his head ('above' being quite relative in this case), to the clear, clear glass that makes up a few doorways visible from his location.

Through the entirety of it, lilting notes ring, at just the right tone to make the entire ensemble feel like it's shaking. Each ting sends tremors through the Mage's feet, and has just enough time to fade before the next.

In fleeting glances, West can see figures appearing here and there, only to vanish just as quickly. Above, below, to the sides. If they notice or see him, they don't show any sign of it, and in fact, the Magister would be hard-pressed to see the same figure twice.

From his current 'position' on a suspended platform, two directions seem obvious : A stairwell, going down, and a walkway, going straight for a few feet before going in a corkscrew and headed towards other platforms.

[West]

West considered the sight for a few moments; some Mages might argue it represented a collective desire to make sense and order of things that should, but didnt't -- perhaps the global markets. Others might claim it was a cry for something original, untainted by mass media. Still others would suggest it was a paradigm broadcast by one of the super-entities of the Dreamtime.

He was no economist, artist, or xenologist. It simply... was.

The son of Chronos and Lachesis looked first up, then down, and chose the stairwell. He remembered showing Ankh the Eiffel Tower;

What would she have to say about this?

[ParanoidAndroid]

As West starts to descend the stairs, each of his steps leaves a little something behind. Once a black puddle, another a footprint that looks to be made of pure light, yet another a small patch of flowers. The effect is different with each step, but one thing is common to all of them : It clashes with the pure environment.

As he keeps going down, down, down, the stairs split and divide themselves into more stairs and platforms. One thing changes, however. The figures that were only darting shadows at the Acanthus's entrance point become more defined. Some are immobile enough for him to catch a glimpse of them. Nothing seems to define them in shape, gender, race, age, or dress, though most are recognizable human. Some look gaunt, sickly. Others look damaged; Shapes broken, limbs missing.

((Gimme PER-5. You don't have to wait for the result to keep going.))

[West (The Mage)]

West moved slowly, staying alert even as he absorbed the changes. His imprints were mostly ignored, much as one might leave foot prints on a beach. The only true attention he paid them at first was to make sure there was only one pair.

The unwholesome people bothered him. Whether they were avatars or an individuals' constructs, most of the explanations he could think of were not particularly good. Even as he continued, his navy suit became hazy before re-solidifying -- his semiconscious almost changing it to military fatigues.

Perceptive.

2010-12-05 22:33:19
West rolls 13 to PER -2 (Trained Observer) (10 Again, Rote)
5, 10, 6, 8, 9, 2, 1, 10, 6, 4, 7, 5, 9, 5, 10, 8, 8, 9, 10, 4, 2, 8, 1, 8
12 successes

[ParanoidAndroid]

In a casual look up, West notices something on the ceiling a few 'meters' above his head. A small pinprick of light. A short distance from it, a swirl of purple. Footprints. His footprints. Or at least, they certainly look like his footprints. And that platform/ceiling certainly looks like the place he started from.

An unrelated, but still current, concern, is a figure on the same stairwell the Acanthus is on. Even from this distance, it's relatively easy to tell the figure is male, and dressed rather neatly. Charcoal jacket, white shirt, blue tie tie. Very neat. From under its collar vivid red and blue veins reach up until they fade, approximately at chin-height. Perhaps interestingly enough, his steps don't leave any sort of mark on this place.

[West (The Mage)]

West inwardly sighed, and wondered if he was going to have to manipulate Space to travel. He decided against it; treating symptoms wasn't a cause for cure.

He slowed as he saw the other figure, looking to see if there was any Resonance to study even as he acknowledged their presence.

"Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong."

[ParanoidAndroid]

The man starts to walk past West, but stops at the... unusual greeting. He stops, and looks the Acanthus from head to toe, then from toe to head. "Seriously?" The tone is as incredulous as it ought to be. "Have people ever really said that?" Whether he knows the source material or not is not apparent.

There is indeed Resonance to the man's Pattern. Whatever its nature, it looks to pulse outward from the heart, sending small ripples through his aura with each beat.

[West (The Mage)]

West returned the vertical appraisal, focusing on the latticework of Resonance even as he shrugged in reply.

"I've been greeted with stranger," he said, hitching a shoulder in another half-shrug.

"Where are you headed?"

He was curious if he'd pierced somewhere unexpected.

[West]

Continued via PM...

[West]

West's focus on the Resonance yields one easy, obvious result. Death. Quite a bit of it, in fact.

"Somehow I have trouble believing that," the man answers. If he's trying to turn it humorous, or to smile, it doesn't show on his face. His tone, however, just has a touch of sarcasm to it.

"Looking for the exit. Stupid place just loops in on itself. You?"


"Just looking," West answers. "But... yeah... I'm not getting anywhere. Where did you start?"


Internally, West sighed. He supposed he wasn't any different, everyone here was probably looking for something. Sooner or later, he would have to decide what he was looking for.

"Same place everyone does." And, apparently, that is sufficient to him. But he realizes that may not be enough for everyone, so he continues. "Big double doors, look like wood but not really, one way entrance," he explains. "That way," he says, and starts points off into the void. When he realizes it isn't really a viable travelling direction, he shrugs. "Well, some way anyway." For a brief moment, he looks over West's shoulder. "You always leave little breadcrumbs like that?" Apparently West's involuntary trail hasn't gone unnoticed.


West smiled and looked behind him. "We don't all start in the same place," he answered as he turned back. "And those have been following me since I arrived."

He paused, then added, "I'm looking for someone. A man named Peter Cartright."

He doubted the name would mean anything, but one never knew.


There's a brief moment as the man thinks. "Huh. That name doesn't really ring a bell. But this place is huge, he might be just around the next corner." That last word is spoken with a hint of sarcasm, as though there was a whole implied speech of 'except it's not really a corner, and yaddi-yaddi-yada'. "Got any idea what time he'd have been here? I mean, there are a lot of people here." With another nod at West's trail, "But I gotta say, that is a first."


"It's been a while," West admitted. He concentrated, taking a few moments to Scrutinize himself, his breadcrumbs, and the area.

Maybe something's trying to keep tabs on me?


The Acanthus's Scrutiny reveals little. There is nothing Supernal about these tracks. They are apparently part of the nature of this place.

The man watches West examine the tracks, and finally just shrugs. "Well, listen. If it's been that long," the man says, in what seems to be good-natured honesty, "your guy's probably in deeper. Just keep going down, down, down, and you'll find him, eventually. A word of advice, though. Don't go through the black door. However you got here is probably a safer way out than that."

It was less than reassuring to know that he was actually following Magister Undrichmann as well -- and someone probably more deserving of the title than he.

"Down, huh?" he echoed, turning back to face the man.

"What's the black door?"

West knew that some constructs --and denizens-- of the Temenos were permanent, but sometimes had different aspects or appearances. Knowing what the vox populi was could make the difference.


"Yeah. Usually, longer someone's been here, further down they are." He shrugs. "I guess it just happens." His voice takes on a tone of vague menace, not unlike a parent warning a child about some 'grave danger just around the corner'. "Not sure what it is. All I know is, someones goes past it, they don't come back. Closer they get to it, weirder they get. And no matter who you talk to, they don't know what it is, but they're all trying to get there." He rolls his eyes, a discrete motion. "Pff, idiots. I ain't going near that thing. They're just lucky the way there is long, and getting longer."

His eyes turn back to the Acanthus's face, trying to look 'past' it. "So why're you looking for this Cartright guy?"

West opened his mouth to answer the question, and paused.

Why am I? And why did I say Cartright and not Undrichmann?

He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, rub it as if his head were some lamp which would free a genie to provide answers.

"Just wrapping up loose ends, I guess," he finally said.

We still don't know who killed Cartright, or whatever became of The Magister.

The thought was ironic, considering that there were only a handful left that would realize 'The Magister' wasn't eponymous.

"If they're all trying to get there, then maybe I'll find him there?"


The man puts a hand in his pocket, striking the kind of pose you'd see on any stereotypical portrait meant to make someone look dignified. "That must be one hell of a loose end," he remarks.

"Sure. Black door's at the bottom, so just keep going down. Your guess is as good as mine from there." He hooks a thumb off in the distance, among the twisting and turning surfaces. "There's other paths to go down there. A lot of paths. If you don't find your friend on the way down, maybe pick another path and come up. Fair warning, you could be looking for a long, long time. There's lots of people trying to make their way down there."

"Fair enough," West replies. He smiles slightly.

"Thanks for the help. What was your name?"

"Burt. Burt Aronson." He gives the Acanthus a few seconds to reciprocate. "It's been a pleasure. Look, just be careful out there. More people than you can count out here, a man could easily get lost." Although that probably applies less to a man that can't help but leave a footprint behind.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," West says, looking serious and sincere. He can't help but think of the Arch cultists of Ringworld, but, like the visitors, can't bring himself to say anything.

Down, down, down.

For all of his tactical nature, even West sometimes let the Lunargent Thorn's moonlight dictate whim, putting his trust in Fate.

And so he stepped off the step.


For a moment, for the briefest of moments, it looks like West's foot is going to land on the platform's underside. His body starts to turn so his head is pointed 'downwards'. But the place seems to change its mind, and suddenly the Mage is sent to where he intends to go. Down. and fast.

As he goes further down, he passes by more and more people go in a blur, almost all of them shuffling their way in single file down the stairs and across the platforms, spread out as far as the Magister can see, and probably further. Those who aren't are immobile, a very small fraction, are standing out of the way of the main path. For a split second, the Acanthus thinks he notices Abraham Lincoln standing there, in that well-known suit and top hat. But then he's past.

Which does lead to two interesting questions. Just how far can the bottom be, and how does one stop a fall towards what has been described as something no one comes back from?

West's initial reaction is to assume the belly down position of a parachutist and stablize himself; but he does not, instead letting himself "fall" for a few moments while he observed the effects.

More than anything, he was increasingly curious as to what was causing such a large spread effect in the Temenos; who, or what, was making the interpretation.

Concentrating, he willed himself to slow or stop, or create a new platform.


As soon as he wills himself to stop, the Acanthus's Astral body slows down, and one of the platforms bends out of its path to catch him. At the same time he slows, but not fast enough. And even though the speed he impacts the platform with should be enough to hurt, it only jolts him, an impact that reverberates through his bones.

Looking up, he can clearly see that his fall left behind the same trail of footprints, hanging in midair and headed down, exactly as though he had simply walked down the air. If he looks down, he can just make out a small dot of pure blackness at the bottom.

All around him, on every platform in sight, even his, are more of the people. They're significantly different from the ones above, however, in two things. For one, many of them are whole, intact. On the flip side, all of them seem fixed in time. A smile here, a frown there, hair fixed just so and completely immobile. They slowly make their way, single-file, down, down down.


For a moment, West is tempted. Tempted to look for her. Tempted as he always is, to sift through the echoes, maybe even lose himself. The movie Inception had startled him, to see something he had contemplated so many times, played out.

Instead, he banished the thought, carefully reconstructing his memories of Peter Cartright's appearance. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and imagined the stairs spinning like a spice rack, or roulette wheel, until it came to stop on the former Hierarch.

From the moment West closes his eyes, he can feel the world spinning around him, this way and that, then that way some more. Whether the platforms move around him, or he's moving around, is anyone's guess. A moment passes in that feeling of velocity, of pure movement, then another. Finally, it stops., and the Acanthus can feel that whatever movement he was feeling has stopped.

When he opens his eyes, his sight is greeted by the exact same platform he was just seeing. With the same ramp. Or maybe it just looks the same. What is entirely different, however, is the people on it. They're still strangers to the Acanthus, but it's clear they're not the same ones.

And in the middle, right there, is Peter Cartright, just as West remembers him. Hair just so, expression just so. He hasn't noticed West yet, and instead stands in line like all the others. Like those around him, he doesn't look quite right, like he's frozen in that pose.

For a brief moment, West is reminded of Ankh, of the meeting with Cartright after her aging ritual. In retrospect, he wondered if that had been a sign of things to come; her readiness to change what she did not like rather than to accept and confront.

And they say men are the ones who just want to solve a problem.

The second thing he wondered is if this were the fate of them all, Masters and Sleepers, waiting, seeking.

But where's Undrichmann?

Finally, he wondered if he were being examined, tested. By something in the Temenos; powerful, perhaps curious.

"Cartright," West spoke. Not a question, but nor a declaration. "Peter Cartright.

The man turns from his place in line (so to speak), and looks West up and down. And although the face barely moves, it's somehow plain that recognition takes a tremendous effort. "Arrow," he starts by saying, straining his voice, unsure of the word he's speaking. "West." That last could almost end with a question mark.

The line shuffles forward a fraction of a step, and Cartiright does likewise, without taking his eyes off the Acanthus. "What are you doing here?"

"My job," West answers quietly.

For a long moment he considered whether or not this was an echo, or some other manifestation of the former Hierarch; perhaps even an echo of previous journeys.

Or a projection of my own.

"Who killed you? And what happened to Undrichmann? He went looking for you also," West finally asked, getting straight to the point.


Cartright's face barely moves, barely shifts. His voice, however, makes it sound like he's trying to figure out a Rubik's cube using only his elbows. "I died?" The surprise is only momentary. "Right. I died. I think it was... it was... E-something. Ed? Elvin?" That last is offered as some sort of last-ditch attempt to be useful. "I haven't seen Undrichmann. I guess that means he's still alive. That's something, at least." Another shuffling half-step forward, in time with the others. He doesn't seem to notice the motion. "How is Sacramento?", he asks.

"Maybe," West murmured at Cartright's assessment of Undrichmann.

It bothered the Acanthus that the former Magister hadn't been able to get this far -- which either suggested this was false, or that something had happened. West rubbed his forehead with two fingers, considering using divination magic to discover which.

"Sacramento still struggles, but is stabilizing."

West lapsed into silence; he hadn't known the man well, and wasn't sure what more there was to say.


"Good," Cartright answers, solemnly, with an almost imperceptible nod.

"Look, it's pretty obvious you don't really belong here," he says with a look towards the footprints. "I have to ask. Did you see anything weird on the way down? This place used to be like a straight line. Now it's the worst maze I've ever seen." Even though his expression doesn't change, even a little, two fingers go to his forehead, massaging the skull. "Original thought's getting harder, too."


The question was too much of a surprise, and West finally asked.

"What are you even doing here?" he asked, but the question was more of an exclamation of surprise or even indignation.

He gestured around, continuing, "And why don't you just... move?"

Maybe something or someone could exert enough influence to shape the Temenos so drastically, but Cartright...


"I ended up here." The man shrugs, a motion that looks like it was rehearsed. "It's just where I belong, I guess. I tried moving away at first," he explains, "but this place just ain't having it. Just brings me right back in line." There's just a hint of resignation in the voice.

"Used to move forward. Now we're just going, erm... that way," he says with a pointed finger towards the people ahead of him. He nods, confirming the statement to himself. The motion is identical to the nod he gave only a moment ago, as though it were a perfectly-clockwork motion. It's a nod the Acanthus might have seen him do once or twice; In fact, it's perfectly identical to what he remembers, right down to the way the head doesn't come all the way back up, and the way the left eyebrow seems to go down a half-millimeter or so.

West doesn't respond, and mentally, emotionally, he's already writing off the shade. An echo.

Except now I know that Elvin and the Chepmunks killed him.

And Undrichmann's fate was still a mystery -- one that had to be considered, lest he make the same mistake.

Deciding the next course of action would be to see who the original Mages were to investigate the Disappearance, West focused on returning to the waking world.


Once he thinks of getting away from this place and its myriad people (or people-echos), it doesn't take long for the Magister to start gliding through air, following the same trail of footprints he left coming up. First he floats up, and over the stairs. He doesn't even need to move his feet, and he can still feel a platform under him. If indeed a platform there is, however, it's invisible, or the exact size of his soles.

The figure barely reacts to West's departure, lifting its head to watch him go, placidly. If he bothers to look back, West can see him/it takes its place back in line.

As he speeds up, and up, and up, figures and rows of people and single files going by in a blurr, a single face registers. The Acanthus could swear it's looking right at him, with blood dribbling down the mouth, eyes trying to ask a question, exactly the way he remembers it. In fact every detail is exactly as it was frozen in West's mental images. Jamie.

Before he can really will himself to stop, however, he reaches the starting point, then goes outside (or is it inside?) and returns to his body of flesh and bone, the dream and its myriad inhabitants left behind.

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