[This was, Emet-Selch was fairly certain, the most ridiculous thing he had been part of.
It wasn’t just being here in the dreamworld, but this carnival. These events. These fairy godmothers that looked drastically different and older than the fairies from his world. These shooting games with rickety guns that could never feel quite as solid as the one he as used to. And brooms to fly around in? Ha. Ridiculous to need such a thing. Why not just fly?
But spooky stories, Emet-Selch could do. The others bored him with tales that were predictable with their attempted scares (did anyone understand the proper way to build tension?) and he leveled an exasperated, flat look at all the people and the little cauldron monsters. Was this all there was?
When it was his turn, he cleared his throat and looked around, still maintaining that tedious expression that felt so at home on his visage.] Fine, fine, I suppose I can be a spark of inspiration for those of you who are less horror inclined.
Once upon a time there was a perfect world with little strife and a want for nothing. The people were wise and powerful and had created an utter paradise with the magics they had.
[Gold eyes shifted to the cauldron, waiting to see what may emerge, if anything at all. Nothing did yet, but then he hadn’t gotten to the scary part.]
House of Mirrors
Narcissism
[The House of Mirrors was intriguing if nothing else; a pathway filled with images of himself meant that at least he would be surrounded by the most interesting person in this blasted place. It was refreshing to be away from the music and the din outside, finding solace in poor lighting and reflectivity. His boots scraped across metal floor as he turned a corner.
More of himself. An infinite series of Emet-Selches that stretched back to oblivion. There was something so wretchedly poignant about that, and the sentiment brought a curve to his lips. It – He – just went on forever, and these golden eyes had seen it all.
One gloved hand rested against the glass as his smirk widened a little. He had grown accustomed to this look over the years, one depicted in paintings, in tomes, one that was known by scholars and the like. And why shouldn’t it be when he had controlled so much of his star, pulled the necessary threads to lead them towards the necessary conclusions and chaos? It was a shame that it wasn’t his true name in any of the lines, but it was fine; he didn’t need the acknowledgement of fractions when he was whole.]
It matters not where you go, you will forever be the most powerful person in the room.
Dream
[A few winding hallways of more mirrors later, and he found another …wing? corridor? in this maze. These mirrors were noticeably different, the golden frames traded for cold silver, and while Emet-Selch would have been happy to keep walking by them, it was a flash of color that caught his attention.
Purple. Lavendar, really, the color of lilacs in the fields, plaited perfect and slung over a dark clad shoulder. He recognized the smirk under the white curves and lines of the mask, and he knew the sound of the voice that would emerge if anything was spoken. He often waited to hear it again.
Behind the familiar figure were the tall sharp angles reaching to the sky, buildings Emet-Selch knew. Buildings he had re-created under the water and filled with—filled with many of the people he knew, including the one smirking at him now.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.] Well, this is a cruel little joke, hm? And here I have been told that I have a poor taste in humor.
Emet-Selch | FFXIV | TDM
Spooky Stories
[This was, Emet-Selch was fairly certain, the most ridiculous thing he had been part of.
It wasn’t just being here in the dreamworld, but this carnival. These events. These fairy godmothers that looked drastically different and older than the fairies from his world. These shooting games with rickety guns that could never feel quite as solid as the one he as used to. And brooms to fly around in? Ha. Ridiculous to need such a thing. Why not just fly?
But spooky stories, Emet-Selch could do. The others bored him with tales that were predictable with their attempted scares (did anyone understand the proper way to build tension?) and he leveled an exasperated, flat look at all the people and the little cauldron monsters. Was this all there was?
When it was his turn, he cleared his throat and looked around, still maintaining that tedious expression that felt so at home on his visage.] Fine, fine, I suppose I can be a spark of inspiration for those of you who are less horror inclined.
Once upon a time there was a perfect world with little strife and a want for nothing. The people were wise and powerful and had created an utter paradise with the magics they had.
[Gold eyes shifted to the cauldron, waiting to see what may emerge, if anything at all. Nothing did yet, but then he hadn’t gotten to the scary part.]
House of Mirrors
Narcissism
[The House of Mirrors was intriguing if nothing else; a pathway filled with images of himself meant that at least he would be surrounded by the most interesting person in this blasted place. It was refreshing to be away from the music and the din outside, finding solace in poor lighting and reflectivity. His boots scraped across metal floor as he turned a corner.
More of himself. An infinite series of Emet-Selches that stretched back to oblivion. There was something so wretchedly poignant about that, and the sentiment brought a curve to his lips. It – He – just went on forever, and these golden eyes had seen it all.
One gloved hand rested against the glass as his smirk widened a little. He had grown accustomed to this look over the years, one depicted in paintings, in tomes, one that was known by scholars and the like. And why shouldn’t it be when he had controlled so much of his star, pulled the necessary threads to lead them towards the necessary conclusions and chaos? It was a shame that it wasn’t his true name in any of the lines, but it was fine; he didn’t need the acknowledgement of fractions when he was whole.]
It matters not where you go, you will forever be the most powerful person in the room.
Dream
[A few winding hallways of more mirrors later, and he found another …wing? corridor? in this maze. These mirrors were noticeably different, the golden frames traded for cold silver, and while Emet-Selch would have been happy to keep walking by them, it was a flash of color that caught his attention.
Purple. Lavendar, really, the color of lilacs in the fields, plaited perfect and slung over a dark clad shoulder. He recognized the smirk under the white curves and lines of the mask, and he knew the sound of the voice that would emerge if anything was spoken. He often waited to hear it again.
Behind the familiar figure were the tall sharp angles reaching to the sky, buildings Emet-Selch knew. Buildings he had re-created under the water and filled with—filled with many of the people he knew, including the one smirking at him now.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.] Well, this is a cruel little joke, hm? And here I have been told that I have a poor taste in humor.