castle_perrault | when and what and why and--

From:

Chara wakes up groggy and hungry and generally feeling awful, but this isn't unusual enough to really bother them. But it does mean they need to get breakfast, so like any unsupervised kid would they drag themselves out of their blankets and creep to the room full of free cake.

They almost don't notice Edward at first, not with his face to the table like that. It's enough to make them pause partway through a brownie and consider leaving but... they're really hungry and he doesn't seem to have noticed them yet, and curiosity is currently a stronger force than caution. Enough so that, after a few minutes they go from lingering at the other end of the table to poking his face with the side of a book from their inventory, thoughtfully chewing a cupcake while they examine his reaction.

From:

unriddling

He's had a long few days. The book alone rouses him just enough to try brushing it away, as if it's his own hair against his face.

Only then, on the way down, his hand plants directly into a slice of cake.

Edward bolts upright with a shout, then freezes completely. The surrounding room is so completely different from what he fell asleep to, even his sharp mind can't process it at once. Blanket beneath his elbows--no, tablecloth, ceiling a hundred feet high, miles of food (on his hand too?), a person.

A person. Edward twitches away, eyes fixing on them.

From:

buttercup_eater

Chara bites back a giggle at how the stranger tries to push away the book, and winds up squishing a cake instead. Less amusing is the shouting, but they take a few hasty steps back and blink at him until he settles down.

(The first thing Edward might notice is how much smaller Chara is compared to him, or even an average adult. The shabby sweater and the smear of icing on their cheek from a cupcake currently clutched half-eaten in one hand are also noticeable. The red eyes, slightly less so, thanks to their overgrown bangs.)

"Greetings," they say in a monotonous voice. "Were you having sweet dreams?"

From:

unriddling

Person. A child. He takes in the details he finds relevant--mainly the food. No, that's his body betraying his mind. The eyes stand out even partially hidden, if only for the fact he's yet to meet an albino.

The visual details of them don't matter. What they have to say matters. No, what they have to answer is what matters.

"I wasn't--" No, it seems he was. Some idiot frats might've carried him out, despite the fact they should know better. But how long did he actually end up out? He needs to find a computer, a newspaper, something with a date. He might've slept an entire day away.

Edward twists out of his chair and stands, towering. "Where am I?"

From:

buttercup_eater

Towering- but so many people do and this stranger seems more confused than wrathful right now. "You are currently in the ballroom," Chara says, helpfully. "By the way. You might want to be careful where you stick your hands."

They pause, take a bite out of their cupcake, chew it for a few moments, and swallow, all before clarifying: "You can sometimes find sharp things in the food."

From:

unriddling

Edward almost wipes the frosting (pink and white) against his lab coat, changing his mind and wiping it off on the tablecloth instead.

"Sorry, but I made no plans to visit the concert hall this week," he says, trying to sound dry and ending closer to 'strained'. This obviously isn't the massive one he knows, but it's the one experience he has with such a thing.

He knows things about children, or at least their brains and ways how they differ from adults', but in practice his knowledge is limited. They tend to be obnoxious and loud when it's most inconvenient, they can learn certain things more quickly than adults but fail to put that information to use, and they're often nastier than adults around them want to think. Most of these he knows from when he was young. The university tends to be low on them, aside from the occasional young mother that bring toddlers around when they can't find sitters for a class or two.

Sharp eyes slip to the surrounding cakes, and then back to the child. "You're risking your own mouth, then." He doesn't quite believe them.

From:

buttercup_eater

"Your apology is accepted," Chara says, innocent as can be, before stuffing the last into their mouth. They finish it off quickly and absently wipe their frosting on their cheek off on the back of their hand, then onto their pants.

"I was hungry," they say with a shrug. That, and they already poked around in the cupcake before eating it. They're sharp enough to catch that skepticism but can brush it off. Not their problem if he doesn't believe them.

From:

unriddling

"Being clever, are we?" He looks at them again, already knowing he won't find anything useful. The sweater is too threadbare to indicate they're from some wealthy chunk of mob.

His stomach sends him a pang. He ignores it and turns away.

"Why am I here?" Edward's sure he won't get a useful answer, but even scraps of information might be helpful later. He has to get back to campus.

From:

buttercup_eater

"Would you prefer me to play dumb?" Human grownups don't seem to like it when they're being smart after all.

They shrug, again. "I don't know. When I came in, there you were." They think for a moment, and decide to stop beating around the bush. "Is this your first time in the ballroom? Or are you new to the castle all in all?"

From:

unriddling

Where the kid can't see, Edward's mouth thins into a line. It wasn't that long ago he was talking to Julie about the truth, the past, his father, and perhaps that's why it rises into his head so easily.

"No, I wouldn't. But I'd prefer..." a riddle, really. Something hinting at what he wants, leaving him to untangle it. But even with their clever answer, that isn't the kind that gives anything useful, and he's sure this is beyond their abilities. "...an actual answer, for now."

And he gets one. When he looks around and down at them again, his forehead is pinched.

"I've never been here before. Do you know who owns this...castle?" He's guessing it's more of a mansion.

The demonstration is going to be inside one, his thoughts remind him, and he glances around for a door.

Edited Date: 2018-05-03 02:46 am (UTC)

From:

buttercup_eater

An actual answer? Chara considers the idea while waiting for him to turn around.

"A variety of people live here. But nobody owns it. It seems to be very old, and abandoned, in some parts. If anyone did, they're long gone," they speak haltingly, partly out of habit but also gauging how Edward reacts as they explain. "Nowadays, it seems as though the castle owns itself."

(His forehead is pinched, and so appears to be the rest of him. It's as if someone took a more normally proportioned human man, took either end between their fingertips and stretched it all out like putty.)

"Were you hoping to leave?"

From:

unriddling

Edward listens carefully, though his face slides further into a scowl by 'abandoned'. Altogether it isn't much information, but it still galls him that it doesn't ring any bells. He knows of Gotham's abandoned places, from warehouses to Cobblepot Manor, and none of it matches with this massive ballroom.

"I have to," he answers immediately, putting a hand to his chest and just as quickly arcing it towards the doors. "I have a demonstration soon, and I still have to finish preparing for it." He didn't, before, but for all he knows whoever kidnapped him did something to his invention.

...Is this Gorman's work? Getting him out of the way? Edward bites his lip in thought. He does seem like the type to play dirty, though he'd expect a watery grave than a musty abandoned prison.

From:

buttercup_eater

This person sure is unhappy! It's a shame, Chara thinks, that they're the ones stuck with this conversation. They could try to placate him more, the way they assume Frisk would, but they don't really want to no matter how much more sensible it would be.

Speaking of which:

"You probably won't make it," they say, simply. "A demonstration for what?"

From:

unriddling

The thought alone plunges a knife through his chest. But he's speaking to a child, and children have far more limits than the usual adults, let alone one as sharp as him. "Hell or high water, I'm going to make it," he says firmly.

And--ah, that's a question. He shifts into a shaky grin.

"My invention, the bio-harddrive. A disc that'll change the way people think! Can't remember a phone number? Boom!" Edward flashes his hand next to his face. "More memory. Having trouble with homework? Boom! More power to process it."

He's obviously been kidnapped for this tech, though that only mildly tempers his excitement explaining it. Even to a child.

From:

buttercup_eater

"Neither of those are exactly the problem," Chara says. "But. You may as well hold onto your determination." They haven't really tried to leave the way others have (passive suicide attempts aren't exactly the same thing, they think) so who knows, maybe he just needs to ~try harder than everyone else!~

They listen to his explanation, with an air that's at least polite, if not especially enthusiastic. They can tell from the way he talks about it and from thinking about it logically that it's very impressive, but if they were to try and change the way people think, Chara feels like overall intelligence wouldn't be near the top of their priority list.

They're still hungry so they partly turn their attentions back to the desert table and begin pulling apart a cake with their free hand for stray jewelry, though they also resume talking as they do. "So. It's like the operation from Flowers for Algernon?" That ended rather badly, as Chara recalls. "How do you use it? Most people don't come with CD drives."

They pull a small, jeweled brooch out of the cake, brush some crumbs off, and slip it into their pants pocket.

From:

unriddling

Edward's had to explain this to plenty of people (professors, fellow scientists) enough he rattles it off as if by rote.

"No, not like that--it's not an operation at all. Entirely external, the disc is a patch that's placed on the forehead. It uses electronic pulses," Edward presses a finger to his temple, tapping along with every two words, "to assist in storing and recalling information, and the majority of it stays on the drive instead of overflowing the average human brain. The only side-effect is increased perception of concepts for a few minutes after removal, which is easy enough to negate outside of extreme sources of stimulation. In other words, don't use it at your next rock concert or the circus unless you'd like a nasty headache."

Edward pauses, finger shifting from head to tapping at his lips, changing gears from excited to just on the edge of flat in an instant. "That is quite a sharp thing." It's an observation, not admitting to anything. He didn't say he didn't believe what the child told him before.

From:

buttercup_eater

This person certainly gestures a lot, especially when he's excited. Chara listens to him with much more reserved body language, and imagines a CD stitched into somebody's forehead. They suspect that's not actually how it's attached. Unless this person is some sort of mad scientist. He does have a bit of that air, now that they think about it.

"It would make a lousy weapon. And an even worse snack." Unlike the cake itself which, having investigated it, Chara is now contentedly eating with their bare hands. (A bit reminiscent of a joke, isn't it?)

A thought occurs to them and in between swallows- they're at least polite enough not to talk with their mouth full- they ask, "So. Besides the overstimulation. Does the information stay on the drive after you take it off? If so, could you share a memory by attaching it to a second person?"

From:

unriddling

That nets them a small chuckle, surprised and unmocking, though his forehead pinches again. "And do we know why the baker is sabotaging their work?"

...Now he's curious. One lanky-legged step back to the table to reach for a fork, as he doesn't need to get more frosting on himself, and he starts jabbing the prongs into the first cake that looks appealing. (In other words, one with mainly green frosting.)

"Very little, once it's removed. The key to it all is the individual's brain, and the smallest difference between one and another would render any potential absorption of what is left next to impossible, though a different person could use it just as well as the first for their own separate reasons. But once it's taken off, many of the facts that were there are harder to recall--stored in the subconscious. There are different levels of how much it's necessary to continue wearing--tiny details such as an address or a phone number or a shopping list would be easy for the brain to save, with the harddrive merely keeping it more prominent once removed. For a bigger example, if you decided to read, say, a particularly wordy book on baking..." Edward points oddly, three fingers on his free hand, at them, at their meal, at the surrounding cakes. "...with hundreds of recipes and thousands of ingredients, my harddrive would let you read it all in seconds and access every individual recipe and step as soon as you thought about them! But once removed, most of it would fade. It's an advanced fact filter--it would overwhelm if every detail was as easy to find as it was while wearing it. Photographic memory is supposed to be a curse, and it absolutely would be. Yet once you put it back on, you have nearly as much access to everything you absorbed before--most of it's still there, in your head, just placed where it isn't needed.

"But not every single thing. Memory is discarded easily enough for our brains to cope in general." And doesn't that gall him. He'd prefer it if his invention was absolutely perfect, but he's settled for 'utterly amazing' after much stress and peer compliments instead. "If it's being used in a scientific setting, it would be used to absorb incredibly dry details from texts with volumes and pages that go into the quintuple digits. And in that case, it would be better not to remove it at all; not until everything important has been done with your experiment or theory. It was made to be worn for hours at a time if necessary, though it shouldn't have to be."

Edward may have strayed from the subject somewhat.

From:

buttercup_eater

They have to suppress the pang of gratification at that chuckle. Not enough people appreciate their sense of humor!

"For the aesthetic?" they suggest. Choking hazards in the pastries, a cage in the candy room, sweet little birds singing about murder and cannibalism- the castle seems to have a thing for the macabre. ~~(Another example: Chara being There.)~~

Chara eats and half-listens as Edward goes into detail on his bio-harddrive. "So it's more of a stimulator than a storage space?" they say. "Did it take long to make?"

From:

unriddling

"Something sweet hiding dangerous beauty--that doesn't sound wrong. If the baker had more sense than style, there'd be poison or needles instead. But! That still doesn't get to the root of it. Any ideas on who that baker would be? I'd like to investigate, if I have the time." He likely--hopefully--won't, but sometimes waiting is all you can do when things need to slot into place.

As he speaks, he hooks a a emerald-and-sapphire bracelet and lets it hang. Less dangerous by lack of points, yet still rather dangerous for the molars. He wipes it on the opulent tablecloth as well before tossing it from the fork to his other hand, almost absentmindedly.

Edward is silent a moment, playing with the gems (if they're real, he's playing with thousands of dollars). The answer itself is simple; the fact that they're asking more intelligent questions than the curious investors he's fended off is more worthy of attention, though he says nothing on this quite yet.

"You could say that. It functions as both, and there are upgrades already in the works." He grins at them, a little too wide and crooked to be real. "Once I had the supplies, we had a working prototype within two weeks. It took not quite a year before the current, completely functional item. Most of the delay were thanks to rules, regulations--red tape I didn't need." And that was hell. Knowing exactly what he needed and could do and being held back from doing it, not even being able to slip behind the scenes to keep from drawing suspicion. (Just because Edward knows how necessary waiting can be doesn't mean he enjoys it.)

From:

buttercup_eater

"Not a clue. This is just one of the castle's functions that runs itself. Or reruns itself," they say, and without missing a beat they add, "Were you hoping to give the baker Fun Murder Tips?"

They glance at the bracelet, briefly, when Edward removes it from the cake, but don't pay it any more attention. Finder's keepers, and they're too used to this sort of thing by now. At this point, the food is still more interesting, though Chara's eating has slowed a little.

They know next to nothing about the kind of paperwork that goes into this kind of thing, but they supposes that kind of delay would make sense. "Most people don't like it when you mess with their minds," they say. "Regardless of your intentions."

From:

unriddling

"Oh, no. If they're not smart enough to choose something functional, it's far from my job to assist," Edward replies. ~~(Says the man obsessed with complex traps.)~~ It's, of course, a joke. He doesn't want children being poisoned or the like, though it's also not quite his job to go find it out. This child's smart enough not to fall for it. Unless it's a trick fallen for before, of course. Smart enough to fish out the pieces, if not smart enough to hunt down the source.

Another flick of the wrist; another pass of the jewelry. He doesn't like this. This place, those memories, layers of stress triple the heights of the largest cake in the room.

Edward shakes his head, lip curling for a total shift to disgust. "No-one is going to be forced to wear it. Besides, I don't want people paranoid about its' functions getting their hands on my invention in the first place."

From:

dunwhale

The ballroom reminds Daud unpleasantly of the Boyle's lavish parties, and reminded even more unpleasantly of Corvo's solution for Waverly. He only comes to snatch food from the tables, but most of it is sickeningly sweet to someone used to eating tins of fish and jellied eels. Those are found in the kitchen, so he spends most of his food-finding time there.

He's glad that he's decided to come up here, though! There seems to be a new arrival to the castle. For once, he's not the one out of the loop in this place. It's a good feeling.
The difference between a Tether and a Pull is much slighter in intention than it is in action. Pulling something is easier to master, and even some of his Master assassins plateaued at nicking keys and money pouches from someone's belt. Daud has mastered both. It's the work of a moment to snatch a piece of cake from the table. He doesn't like the cake. He's convinced himself of that, but for some reason he keeps eating it.

He meanders around the table and finishes eating before he decides to wake the stranger. There are many ways of waking a person. Daud would much rather let his targets wake up on their own, if they're abductees, so they don't panic. This man is not a target and Daud doesn't have anything against him so he taps his shoulder.

“Don't try to escape,” he says. There are much better openings than that but at the moment he can't think of any. “But I doubt that many of the people here want to.”

From:

unriddling

Edward's eyes snap open and his shoulders lurch, but nothing else moves. Despite growing more-than-rumors of something trying to clean up the dark, Gotham is Gotham, crime writhing in every shadow.

But he's always managed to dodge the cops and the criminals alike, easily moving independently of mob ties and awful bribes, he's too good for that. Nobody should have a trail to follow to him.

And the University was supposed to be safe.

(His own mistake for believing that.)

He swallows down fear and fury. He tries to decipher the second part as he slowly lifts his head, peering back to see exactly what he's going to be dealing with. "And what are the demands?"

From:

dunwhale

As considerate as Daud thought he was being, the man seems to think the exact opposite. Daud pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and looks to the ceiling, then back down to the man still slumped among the cakes, now looking at him. The scar dragging down his face tingles as he talks. Normally, he can just ignore it and he’s not too bothered about it—his exploits are far more fearsome than his appearance—but the underlying thought that these people, this person, can’t possibly know him makes him self-conscious.
“No demands. I thought so too, but as far as I can tell you, and I, and everyone else on this island are simply stuck here.”

From:

unriddling

Someone who's definitely seen a lot of fights. A thug, or an enforcer, subtly different in how much they know. The clothes are bizarre, so the latter's more likely, some kind of theme. Edward has enough sense to stare at none of these, turning slowly to look him in the eye.

Island hits him like cold water to the face, straight down into his lungs. "What?" he snaps, on his feet so fast he nearly overbalances and the caution's already flown into the wind. "How? No! I have work to do, I can't be trapped on some island! Who did it?"

From:

dunwhale

The man looks him over. It’s good that they’re taking each other’s measure; Daud hates people who don’t pay attention, unless they’re a target, in which case he doesn’t even spare a shred of disdain for them before they die.

Edward snaps something, a question and a protest all in one, and jerks to his feet in a motion that makes Daud think attack! But it isn’t—he still Transverses back and his hand goes to his blade.

“Calm down,” he barks, like he’s commanding a skittish Novice or a feral hound. “The castle did it. It’s strange, but that’s the consensus.”

From:

unriddling

The man falls apart like coal ashes only to reform further away, coupled with a noise that cracks against his ears in the otherwise-silent room.

Calm down he says, as if that isn't the direct opposite of the desired outcome in the best of circumstances; Edward tries to back up and hits the table with force that rattles all the plates at once.

What does that mean? "No, that's wrong, that doesn't mean anything!" not to him. His mind skips to people over a place, staring at Daud for some sort of insignia with ever-increasing panic-rage-panic-bewilderment driving his heartbeat up.

From:

dunwhale

The only sign of allegiance on Daud is his red coat and the criss-crossing belts, the sleek-looking wristbow on the carriage wrap on his arm. It’s not a sign Edward will recognize.

Daud couldn’t look imperious if he tried. He just looks tired, frustrated, and on the precipice of angry, but in the face of Edward’s yelling he forces his own voice quieter. Back to speaking volume. He regrets waking him. This, this is what he gets for trying to be friendly!

“You are here,” he rephrases, “because something wants you here. You’re not the only one.”

From:

unriddling

Something, not someone. What does that mean? Edward isn't going to voice that one, it's too stupid a question, though the one his head bounces to next feels almost as much with how ridiculous it is:

"Is this a cult?"

They exist, they're bizarre, he's failing to glean anything else. Or anything at all.

Edward starts edging to the side. Not towards the doors, the goal he has now is short-sighted; just away from the man he's speaking with. Everything's spinning out of control in a way he never remotely predicted.

From:

dunwhale

The person he used to be would lean in and make Edward even more uncomfortable. He’s not, though, so he shrugs.

“Not a cult. There’s no pattern to the abductions so far as I can tell.” But he hasn’t looked very hard, now, has he?

“Think on it,” he urges, and finally decides to let the shaken man be. “I’m not the only one here, so I doubt you’ll be alone for long.”

From:

unriddling

"Of course I'll think on it, what do you think I am?" Edward snaps. Even if it's impossible to tell precisely what he is--engineer, student, upcoming master of neuroscience and genius--it's not as common for idiots to be wearing labcoats. His kidnapper(s) must want someone useful.

But--but. He needs more information. "Who else." He loves his questions, but he clenches his fists and isn't chancing a question mark. This man did something seemingly impossible right in front of his eyes; a good trick, he must admit, but that doesn't mean he can connect the dots as well as Edward can.

From:

dunwhale

“I don’t know who you are.” He tilts his head back, eyes narrowing. It’s threatening in the way that everything Daud does is threatening without his input or consent; he’s a large man, and scarred, carrying weapons. He carries threat within him that only a fool couldn’t feel. “And I know you don’t know who I am. I’m Daud, and I am not your enemy. Treating me like one won’t get you anywhere.”

He expects Edward to introduce himself. That’s how these things usually go—but he doesn’t look to be from Daud’s stomping grounds, so he could be wrong. “And I don’t know any more than that. This place is not… forthcoming.”

From:

unriddling

"Edward Nygma." He answers due to pride, not social niceties. It's his name. He chose it, or at least half, made it into something better than it once was.

"Excuse me for being concerned after being kidnapped from my home." In his sleep, no less. He absolutely must've been drugged, though it's worn off enough now, his movements aren't particularly sluggish.

He doesn't trust Daud as far as he can throw him. "Say you aren't, but there are always people getting in they way of the facts." As soon as he's free from the table, Edward's path curves around him, giving a wide berth. This man is useless (and unsettling); there's no reason to stick around.

From:

seditixn

Orrrrrr.

Or!

Sed could just let him sleep. Dude looks like he needs it. Sed pulls up a chair opposite (quietly) and begins to arrange some of the pastries in front of him by color (also quietly); he's willing to play the waiting game, if for nothing else than because he kind of wants to know the fuck this guy's deal is. Who just falls asleep in the middle of a bunch of cakes?

Well. Maybe someone who knows how to party. Maybe this sweet-infested ballroom is one of this dude's memories. (Fuckin' strange mishmash of a dreambubble this place has been so far.)

From:

unriddling

Edward's been less tired on finals week than now, exhaustion lines plain on his face. Dread and excitement in stomach-swooping equal measures.

In other words, it'll be a long wait. Either literal hours or until the slightest too-loud noise, and his eyes slowly open to focus on what's in front of him.

Floral patterned frosting. Sweetness in his nose. A cake.

What.

"What."

And when he notices the stranger with grey skin and horns across from him, he stops completely.

A few years later, his city will be overrun by freaks; mad clowns that try poisoning the city and birdlike men and unwilling shapeshifters to start, and he'll be putting together his own strange spandex suit and gathering connections--but that's then. This is now, when the worst of Gotham is the endless gang war devouring it just out of sight.

So.

"...It isn't Halloween, I hope you realize."

From:

seditixn

It's been long enough at least that Sed's had time to color-code the entire table of confectionaries, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was the movement that woke Edward up. He'd just been contemplating moving onto another table of sweets to pass the time. It's probably for the best that the stranger woke when he did.

But his reaction makes Sed wonder if he's never seen a troll before -- which, come on, that's delightful. Sed could be helpful, if he didn't also want to see how long he could play this out.

(The look on this guy's face is priceless enough that when Sed looks thoughtfully to the side, it's only half to keep from laughing. He's not mean enough to willfully laugh in the face of a man who's obviously pretty confused.)

"...No, if it were Halloween, I'd have my spooky cloak on," he muses. "And I don't see a white sheet pinned to this bad boy, so I think we're golden." He gestures to his plain, un-sheet ghosted cloak. "Or, er, ungolden? I don't recall which particular colors are associated with the holiday." Semantics. Bleh.

He leans back fully in his chair, grinning mostly politely. "And a candy-coated hellroom isn't a very good place to catch a nap, I hope you realize."

From:

unriddling

Edward looks around, eyes darting between the cakes to the entire massive ballroom to the presumably-painted face in front of him. Did someone slip a tab into his coffee? Trying to get rid of him? Or trying to loosen up the geeks in the science wing in general?

It's surreal. Too much for even a genius of his caliber.

Perhaps he's only dreaming.

Yes, that option's the most likely.

"I wan't planning on a nap. I have more important things to be doing," he says. Even so, he doesn't bother moving just yet. He's never managed to knock himself out of a dream on purpose, not even a semi-lucid one.

From:

seditixn

He rests his chin on his hand and cocks his head to the side just so; he's the best listener, it is him. The human seems to have settled just a little bit. Probably for the best, though Sed can't help but wonder if it'll last.

"Don't we all," he says sympathetically. Or maybe it just comes off as patronizing. "Either way, it kind of looks like you needed it. You look globetrottingly wrecked."

Dude has bigger bags under his eyes than Sed did when he was alive. Yikes.

"But if you really have someplace to be, you should try waking up."

From:

unriddling

"I'm sure you do," Edward says. "Judging and whatnot." He doesn't often have fictional things in his dreams--it tends to go for broken memories on repeat, or being chased by something definitely human--but it's an easy enough conclusion to make, that he's sitting across from a demon. There might be something symbolic, here.

Edward leans back and stretches. "I am. I should. I have things to do...but there's nothing really left I can do right now." He would never admit this if he was conscious.

From:

seditixn

"Well, there is one thing you can do." Sed glances around at the cakes laden on the tables, a sea of pastel neon fondant and such. "Relax...? Have some cake? Might be the only thing you can do for now, actually."

The over-sweet smell fermenting in the room is starting to get to him, but the undertone of nausea is nothing he hasn't swallowed down before, for worse reasons than mildly interesting conversation. He thumbs a brownie off of a plate in front of him and starts nudging it around the table, before pointing a finger up and raising an eyebrow at the human. "This place yours?"

From:

unriddling

Edward is staring at the cavernous ceiling, waiting for circuit-lines to draw themselves across the surface. It doesn't happen. "Hmm."

Languid, he reaches without looking for where he expects a cupcake to be. It's pure luck that there, in fact, is one. (Or rather, Sed's color organization.) It's purple.

"Well, it is my dream, isn't it?" He shifts until he's almost sitting correctly, only he seems to overdo it until he's hunched over his prize like it's a keyboard at a too-low desk. "I've been dreaming about old classrooms and projects more often than not. This place is new," he answers, taking a bite that consumes half at once. His body hasn't forgotten it's hungry.

From:

seditixn

Purple. Good choice. Or maybe some sort of symbolism that Sed isn't clued in enough to pick up on, though he tucks the probably irrelevant information into the back of his mind in case it comes up again later.

Which is like, totally normal.

"Ah...Hm. Then maybe it's not yours after all." Sed's own gaze wanders. His foot taps subtle patterns under the table in groups of three, half purposeful and half not. "You don't happen to remember what you were doing just before you ended up here, do you?"

From:

unriddling

Nothing wrong with data acquisition. Though Edward would be suspicious if he knew. (And thought Sed wasn't a part of his own brain.)

"I was in the university lab, working out details that have been worked out for days," he says dryly. He notices sound on the edge of his awareness, starting to drum a matching beat with his fingers against his chair's side. "This isn't the first time my mind's made a new location, or people--it's only been a while."

From:

seditixn

And, okay. Sed's kind of been operating on the assumption that they're both aware this is a dream bubble, but if this dude genuinely thinks this is a dream --

Tricky. Tricky tricky.

The pause as Sed tries to figure out what he should say is noticeable. Should he prod more to confirm that this human thinks he's only dreaming? Should he jump right into exposition? But after what amounts to pretty much stringing him along, Sed isn't sure he wants to deal with the possibility of Edward reacting in shock, or anger.

It'd be mean to purposefully play this like it's a normal dream though. Hfhghfrhg.

Sed's body language has been pretty nonchalant and relaxed so far. He's sitting up now, the same brownie as before beginning to crumble as he picks at it with a claw. "I'm - uh, sorry, I thought you knew. You've never been in a dream bubble before?"

(This is not a dream bubble. Not in the slightest. But Sed doesn't know that yet.)

From:

unriddling

Edward waits with the patience of the dreaming; alternatively, with the patience of someone who's so exhausted that nothing has meaning anymore.

Though what the devil-person says next sends a shard of irritation through his head. I thought you knew, implying he doesn't know something in his own dream--or in general, and his placid stare hardens into half a glare. "It sounds like a quaint term for a trip," he answers flatly, fingers digging into the edge of his sweet. "And not the kind I'd willingly go on."

If he has been drugged, heads are going to roll. Or at least grades. He absolutely wouldn't hesitate to ruin the marks of some idiot stoner via hacking for anything like that, but the timing of it couldn't be more horrible. (Or terrifying. He's so close, he can't, he won't lose it all at the last second.)

Edited Date: 2018-05-07 08:06 am (UTC)

From:

seditixn

Ah, oh, yep, looks like the emotions are coming. (':B

Sed's just gonna...lean...back, a little.

"I...suppose you could call it a trip?" Sed says it hesitantly, completely misinterpreting which sort of trip Edward means. "Like a...uh, collective dream of sorts, a host of subconsciousness held together in one place. Uh...like a bubble. Dream bubble. Ha." He laughs lightly, shrugs the same. This all makes total sense.

"You should wake up normally, though!" Added hastily. "It's not dangerous."

For all that this isn't the first time he's explained this sort of thing, he's always been too cowardly to be the bearer of bad news. No one ever takes the idea well, that they might actually be dead.

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