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synthneon2023-12-08 03:31 pm
outlierdirector) wrote in synthneon2023-12-08 03:31 pm
oceanview || ❝ made a promise i'm coming out alive. ❞
Through the waves, I break
The nightmares finally over
— initiation 0: songbird (🐦).
[ A few steps one way. Another few steps another way. Not quite pacing, but moving as she listens. The Dark Presence can change its form and shape. How it is seen. Which means it has a true face of a monster deep beneath all the allure.
Elizabeth knows a few things about monsters and the faces they wear. ]
How many people actually know what it is that would underestimate it?
[ Elizabeth comes to a stop then and her arms fold. Water glistens on the blue velvet jacket she wears. Blue eyes like the sky settle on the writer.
It's interesting to simply observe Alan Wake. He is someone who has traversed a door and been unable to open it again. Yet, there are still ties to that door that would take him home. Some of those ties are more obvious than others. He could use them to go back to his world... but he doesn't. Or, perhaps, it is more accurate to say he won't? ]
You can call me Elizabeth. [ Her arms remain folded as she turns to look at him properly. ] I don't need to talk to anyone to know things, Mr. Wake. I'm not afforded such a simple luxury.
[ There are so many ways she can phrase what can be said to answer his questions. None seem as satisfying as the flair of drama she can build. More of her father is in her than she would like to admit to sometimes.
A hand raises and gestures to his person. ] Look up, Mr. Wake.
[ The Writer's Room is dim as always. A single light on the desk casting a light into a muted room. Chalkboards to one side, a pair of windows behind the writer, and an ever watchful owl. Dust settles everywhere.
However, one thing has changed. A variable in a set of constants.
Elizabeth stands in front of the opposite side of the desk. Her arms crossed until Alan addresses her. Then, they lower to gesture to the room around them. ]
The attic room. This is actually where you are... and the New York City is a construct? Something you created to navigate the outside world. [ Despite the tone of fact checking, Elizabeth sounds impressed. The frayed bob at her cheeks moves as she turns her head to look over the room again. A radio, a television. ] You've learned how to shape this world to what you need to explore and learn it further.
[ A hand raises to the ceiling. ] If you can change the surroundings... then why haven't you given more places for the light to come in? I doubt you can create things that don't already exist somewhere. But, can't you at least give the opportunity for the Dark Presence's antithesis to exist here?
no subject
That depends on how you define "actually knowing". There are people who know of it, who have seen what it's done: the people who live in Bright Falls, for one thing. Maybe they don't know exactly what it is they've seen, but weird things have been happening there for years.
[ His gaze shifts as does his expression when he feels her gaze land on him, beginning to observe him. He crosses his arms in front of him as if the examination unsettles him on some level. What she's looking at and what she's seeing when she looks at him, he can't be sure, but he still finds the act of observing him a little unsettling even if she doesn't present an unsettling figure. Still, he knows better than to underestimate someone. ]
Elizabeth. All right. [ His eyes narrow slightly at her next words, and he can't stop himself from inquiring more. ] You don't? So what are you, then? Some kind of clairvoyant?
[ She tells him to look up, and almost automatically, he does as asked. He startles slightly when his senses catch up with him and he's sitting at the desk, hands poised over the typewriter. At first, the scene looks the same as it always does. Everything's in place, and he's in his place, and- wait.
What the hell? How- Huh? Is she another parautilitarian like Jesse? How did she get in here? ]
Yeah, that's right, I've done all of that, because that's the nature of this place and how it responds to art, but... How do you know that?
[ She continues talking, and then she asks that question, and something in Alan's jaw seems to tighten as he responds. ]
The Dark Presence's antithesis? [ He's shaking his head already. ] I know someone who... represents light. Or at least, a positive resonance. It's not safe for people here. It's not even safe for not people.
[ That sounds ridiculous as soon as he says it, but he can't call it back. ]
Look, I don't think that would help even if I tried doing it. There's too much darkness everywhere here. I'd have to have a hundred floodlights, and even that wouldn't be enough.
[ Not that he's tried that, but he just thinks it's impossible. ]
no subject
Elizabeth ponders the name as she waits for his senses to return to him. It must be the name of the place he came from. The world beyond the door he stepped through. It would make sense such a place would have myths and legends to explain things beyond their knowledge. Things that seem more ungodly or otherworldly.
Something else she knows a thing or two about.
Elizabeth pauses. It responds to art. Her mind wanders to the paintings that littered her room in the Tower. Places she had seen through doors. Paris. The mere name sends an old familiar painful beat in her blossom.
That was a long time ago. Wasn't it?
Her eyes focus on the ceiling. They move along each plank of wood, each crossbar. Looking. ]
No, I'm not a claravoyient. It would never be so easy to describe me. [ She doubts scientific terms would help either. Even if those are the words she knows. Her hands raise again beside her as she steps back, eyes continuing to scan the ceiling. ] Think of me as someone who can see all the woods. What's behind all the doors. Everything that remains the same or changes. Sometimes I meet others... sometimes I don't.
This is one of the times I've met someone.
[ Her eyes widen slightly. ] Aha, there!
[ A hand raises and waves. A blue ripple appears in the ceiling above her. A distortion in time and space, allowing something to slip through that shouldn't be there. It flickers then fades to reveal an old ceiling lamp. One that fits the era of the cabin. ]
Here, Mr. Wake. Shine a light on it. Either from the lamp on your desk or a flashlight.
[ Art can be whatever he makes it. Who is to say you can't light a light with another? ]
If the Dark Presence can't stay in the light, then that is what will put it in check. If one is Dark, why not a Bright?
no subject
Alan watches her carefully, with a hint of wariness in his gray eyes. She's a stranger to him, come from who knows where, and he doesn't know a thing about her. She doesn't seem hostile, at least not yet, but he still can't help but be cautious. ]
Sometimes someone who can see too much is just as dangerous as someone who can't see anything at all. I know this is going to sound really rude, but- why should I trust you? It's just that this place makes it hard to know which way is up and that includes everything from trusting what you see and what you think and remember. You seem real, but you could also be something I'm imagining.
It's not personal; I just have to be sure.
[ He hopes she understands his perspective, but if she just turns and leaves, well- maybe that's for the best. It's safer for her, at any rate.
But then she exclaims and points at something above them, and his eyes zero in on the blue ripple. It looks like an echo, something he's seen in his ventures around this version of New York, but it's different at the same time. It can't be too different, though, given her instructions.
He decides to take a leap of faith, so to speak, and trust that she's not someone with nefarious intentions. Pulling out the flashlight that's served him well this whole time, he points the flashlight beam at it as he's been directed. ]
There was a Bright Presence at one point, I think. I don't really remember specifics because... well. [ He taps the side of his head with his free hand. ] My memory isn't what it used to be, and it feels like it's been a long time. [ It feels like a long time and not very much time at all. That's just the way the Dark Place functions. ]
no subject
Though... being cautious isn't a bad thing.
[ Her blur eyes remain trained on the light above. Her hands move slightly up or down for him to get the angle just right. The ceiling light comes to life once that shift has happened. Light floods the room, and even Elizabeth has to hold her hand up to shield her eyes while they adjust. One doesn't realize how dark the room truly was until a light comes on. ]
There, that's much better.
[ Elizabeth takes her time to wander around the attic as Alan adjusts to the light. The gloom still somehow remains clinging to the space. Perhaps it's source is the Writer and not the Dark Place itself. She weighs the options as she stops in her wandering in front of the blackboard that has the map of the New York City that has been constructed within the Dark Place.
With the room illuminated, more details of her appearance can be seen. The dress that is in fashion of the turn of the 20th Century. The white lace choker around her neck with a broach of a bird flying with outstretched wings. White lace is at the bottom of her velvet skirt, but is torn in some places. The velvet itself on the jacket and skirt is damaged in some places.
Her arms cross underneath her bust. ]
I can see all the doors and what's behind the doors because of what I am. A writer may not understand the intricacies of a quantum superposition. [ Her head tilts back slightly. ] I traveled through one and it brought me here. There is nothing more or less to it.
[ Elizabeth pauses to consider how to answer the next statement. ] No. Not "was", but "is." Just because you can't precieve something hardly means it isn't present. Can you see the wind? Gravity? [ She turns to look at him, arms folded, head canted with the frayed bob framing her face. Almost as if the hairstyle was done by her own hand. ] You have to write to escape. Is that right?
What makes writing a door to leave so difficult?
no subject
[ But he still retains some measure of wariness because he knows by now that things have a funny way of turning around, and not always for the better.
He has to pause too, blinking repeatedly until his eyes adjust to the light. It always takes time, even if the source of light seems like a drop in a bucket of darkness, but he gradually adjusts after a minute or two.
Once he does, he gives Elizabeth a glance, taking in her appearance and just observing her for a second. There's something about her that he can't quite put his finger on, and looking at her isn't really clearing anything up for him. ]
Doors. [ His mouth presses together forming a thin line. ] Why is it always doors? Does the name Warlin Door mean anything to you? Quantum... what, like quantum physics? No, I don't know much about that. About either of those things. And I wasn't kidding, by the way. It's really not safe here, so as soon as you can, you should travel back through and get to safety.
[ At her next words, Alan just laughs dryly. ] No, you can't see those things, but look around. Other than here with the light on, everything's pretty dark. It makes sense that something light wouldn't like being here, doesn't it?
[ Alan doesn't mean to sound so skeptical, but- well, he is skeptical. Disbelieving. ]
Yeah. I write to escape. It's what I'm good at, apparently.
[ His eyes snap back to hers when she asks her next question. ]
The whole process is difficult. It might look simple on the outside, but there's so many ways for it to shift even if you didn't mean for a shift to happen. And unlike you and your doors and your traveling... A door can't be created out of nothing. I can't create a door out of nothing.
no subject
[ A sliver of bitterness leaks into her tone. She wonders who is using Alan--who he is using in return.
Eyes scan over the maps once more to memorize it. She locates where she had spoken to him moments ago. A finger presses to it, then trails up along the streets. He was soaking wet due to the rain, but she could hardly tell where he was headed. ]
Door?
[ Elizabeth pauses. Her mind seems elsewhere for the briefest of seconds. Then, sky blue eyes turn to look at him. She turns to face the writer. The light catches off another detail that can now be seen. The pinkie finger on her right hand has been damaged. Half of it is gone, but capped with a silver thimble. She hardly seems to notice or even be bothered by such an oddity.
"I don't see myself as a gate. I remain humble. I'm something smaller. A hatch."
Something and someone like her. ]
No. I haven't met the man. But, I know of him. Who he is. What he is. If you caught his attention? You must have done something. You did do something. Didn't you, Mr. Wake?
[ She listens quietly to his explanations. Light can't reach him with how far down in this oceanic like reality. He writes to escape as this reality responds to art. A question about quantum physics. He can create art of things in existence but not make things out of nothing.
A delicate process indeed.
Elizabeth turns back to the blackboard with the maps. Then, both arms unfold. She swings her weight to the balls of her feet and grabs atop the board. With a grunt of exertion, it gives way and spins to the blank side. She reaches over to the board beside her with notes and grabs a piece of chalk. Once more she is on the balls of her feet and begins writing as high as she can. ]
There's a million, million different worlds. Some all similar and some all different. [ She draws several small boxes. Then, a line between them and a circle around them. ] Me... people like me. We exist in all of them at once. We can see them all and precieve them all. I can be here in your attic, I can be in your constructed New York City... I can even be in a diner in that town, Bright Falls. All at once. Seeing them all at once. Noticing them all at once.
Everywhere and anywhere but not necessarily anchored to one. Not having a "home" world. Although, I believe you'd call them realities.
[ She draws a line from the several boxes down the board. The line then rounds to become a circle--almost like a underground lake. ]
This place connects to all of them, doesn't it? You need to use your art not to make a door... but to use a door to escape. Not just any door. The right door to the right reality. Back home.
[ A sad look croses her eyes before she turns her head back to Alan. ]
I find things I can bring into a reality I am in. Teacups to opening spaces. It's just really using a connection and door that already exists. I guess you could say it's the right door to the right key.
[ Alan has brought up a point that in all technicality, she has no purpose in being at this door. There is no reason to stay. No reason he can see. However, Elizabeth can see the reason. It's all around her.
Someone else trapped in a cage. ]
I wasn't always like this. As I grew up, I was ... restricted, you could say. I could open "tears"--windows--and see other places. Bring things over. I could never leave. [ She taps the chalk in her hand harshly. ] I was locked away from the world by my father. I taught myself to paint and would try to use the painting to open a way to escape.
[ She sighs and gives a shake of her head. ] All of that is to say, Mr. Wake, that I understand what this is like.
no subject
If it helps, the only plan that I have is ending this story and finding a way back home.
[ He watches Elizabeth's reactions, wondering how she's taking everything he's telling her, and everything that he isn't. She has a look about her that makes him think she's perceptive, with or without her abilities, and that makes him wonder what she really thinks. ]
Yeah. Warlin Door. I thought he was a night talk show host, but I'm starting to think that he's a lot more than that. I don't know what he is, exactly, but there's more to him than meets the eye.
I guess I did do something. Several somethings, if you ask him. He talked about peeking in, poking holes, and just being an unwelcome nuisance. But I guess all nuisances are unwelcome. All I'm doing is trying to get home, but my efforts are apparently putting me in his way.
[ His eyebrows lift when she spins the blackboard. She's another one who seems to be more than meets the eye. When she starts to write, he's briefly reminded of Tim and his crazy wall. ]
That's... Well, it's a lot to take in. But wait, if you can exist in all of them at once, can you... No, that's crazy, forget about it.
[ If I wanted to try and reach Jesse, I could do it. I've done it before; she's reached me before. I don't need to inconvenience someone I just met. I don't want to use people. I don't care what Casey says: I don't like to use people. ]
How do you not go crazy, knowing what you know? If you see all of them all at once and know what's going on in each one, how do you not go completely nuts?
[ He rubs the back of his head as he tries to make sense of all this. It's a lot, even for him. Trying to understand it all makes his head hurt. ]
How am I supposed to find that door? That's like searching through a haystack trying to find a needle. Even if I could see all the doors and what's behind them, how long would that take? And the Dark Place isn't connected to every door ever, at least not as far as I can tell. What happens if I open the door to the wrong place? What if I open the door and step through and get immediately eaten by a lion?
Maybe that's not likely to happen, but what if it is? What if there's a door out there with a lion behind it? The lion doesn't even have to be a lion. It could be a person with a knife.
[ No, the more Alan theorizes about this, the less willing he is to go poking around trying to find the right door. ]
I'm sorry. That sounds like it was rough. But I assume you managed to escape in the end, didn't you? Maybe one day I'll be able to escape too. I hope I can, anyway.