TO: EVERYONE.

[bloomly]

( it's not like she means to, and certainly not like she wants to broadcast her thoughts, in the neat, curling cursive that it comes in, to people that she doesn't even know, in a place where she's fairly certain she's all alone. sure, there had been the sudden intrusion before, of words splashed on her bedsheets and the wooden walls where she sleeps--but she had figured that must have been some sort of hallucination, perhaps even magic, or worse, some sort of curse; she doesn't know anything about this place except what those here, in solvunn, have told her, and what's a halloween anyway? some sort of other curse?

or is this something different? it wouldn't be the first time the planet said things to her that she didn't understand, a cacophony of voices scrambled together: some happy, others upset, some desperate to be lost to the lifestream entirely. but this isn't gaia, and this isn't her flower garden--the cries of the planet don't reach her here, or do they? is that the meaning of all those words before?

it's late at night when her eyes close: maybe if she thinks hard enough, long enough, she can find that pull, the tug of the lifestream to draw her thoughts together with the planet beneath her. maybe she can find a way out of here. maybe there are a lot of 'maybe's. )


𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝑒?

( the text, all loopy and warm and rounded, pops up with no discretion for who it's sent to, or why: it's just there, to everyone open to it, and repeats patiently if ignored. then, another: )

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅?

( and, of course, there's a neat little signature at the bottom of every message: )

- 𝒜𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒽

Comments

[frontlinetitties]

What are you offering?

~Gideon

[abyssions]

[This network thing is not Yuri's jam, but he's doing his best to deal—or rather, studiously ignore. Something about this message gets him, though. Maybe it's the form it takes, all looping cursive, or maybe it's that final question, both details reminding him a little too much of a certain princess at home.

He tells himself to ignore it, but after a minute or so, in his own no-nonsense handwriting—]

Who is this?

- Yuri

[Yeah, sure, Aerith, but a name doesn't tell him much.]

[bravers]

[He's seen more than his fair share of stuff that isn't real, thanks- but this? Actual words forming over the edges of everything in his field of vision, actually consuming everything he's not focused on and running over those objects as if they're carried by water?

...Nope.

He's doing his very best to ignore it. Because after all, all this is, is something imagined, right? Something that he needs to ignore, keep quiet about, and keep concealed. Especially since he's presently on guard duty, and the person stationed at the edge of the barracks with him won't shut the hell up about a lot of things, and the last thing he wants to do is give him a cause to go off again.

So ignore it he does.
...For... a long time, actually.
Except it keeps repeating. Over and over, and the name amongst all of it seems to be showing up more often and...

He's imagining it. He has to be.

By the end of the day, When his shift is covered and when he's in an uncomfortable little single bunk back at the dorm, the words are behind his damn eyelids when he closes his eyes- or rather, a single word.

Aerith.
It's driving him crazy. Crazy enough to open them, to take a small stub of a pencil from his roommates table, and curl back up on his bunk. This... it's stupid. He stares at the wall a while before he does it, but he starts to scribble over the letters. <

Aerith's response should read:]

[rinwell]

[It's taken practice to bring her 'voice' letters down to a less shouty size, conversing back and forth with Alice via her book. Rinwell has neat handwriting, but the words she replies in show as printed script, type lettering from old research books and novels, carrying none of her age but all of her curiosity.

And perhaps, concern. There are so many ways one can read that first question, after all. ]

Are you okay?
~Rinwell

[unnecessaryflourishes]

Had you expecting there to be something?

[While there is an identifying signature attached to the message it's less a name and more... a sense of a person. A feeling of magic, old and powerful (and perhaps also a person who doesn't much care to actually physically write their name in response and is willing to simply let what identifiers come along for the ride speak for themselves).]

[fourarmedandangerous]

[Compared to Aerith's loopy handwriting, the one she gets in reply is harsh, and severe, and devoid of any elegance. The handwriting is as straight to the point as the message she gets back.]

You are not wanted.

-Goro

[Far away, in the Cadens military outpost, Goro's lip curls in frustration at having his evening libation (of what passes for alcohol here, at least) interrupted, goblet still clutched in his massive hand. Nothing here is built to his scale and that does not help his mood. Normally he'd have ignored the message, but the wine is not entirely without some charm, the hunk of meat he's procured is passable fare and he had been starting to actually feel relaxed for a change of pace when the question had intruded on a nearby wall, proving difficult to avoid.]

[hylife]

[ Ah. Link knows this. Not just the strange, magical network of communication forming among the otherworlders, but also the feeling of quietly simmering desperation behind this message in particular. It's hard for the search for your guiding light to go fruitless for so long, at a time when you need her more than ever.

Link doesn't consider that he might be completely off-target, too consumed with his own losses to read this message free of their influence. After all, it's just as likely this is just a stranger trying to contact a friend, rather than a too-familiar prayer sent into the ether.

The message doesn't even have to repeat before he answers: ]

Your gods and goddesses will not answer you here. But take heart, they are here.

- Link