#sponstar

[impinged]

@sponstar !

It wasn't your intention to find them again. So soon. Too soon? That's debatable. Your answer would probably depend on your mood. You didn't expect to see them here though.

It only kind of irritates you. You like this spot. You like the way the sand feels under your shoes, looking out at the boats, trying to seeing something that doesn't exist out over the horizon. This was your spot!! And they're here!! Whatever. You're over it. Not really.

You hide your gaze under the brim of your hat as you approach. Might as well bother them if they're going to bother you!

"Look what I found." You make a show of rooting around in your endless pockets, but you know exactly what you want to show off is. When you're confident your fumbling has them as quietly annoyed as you are, you display a dried starfish, bleached by the sun.

You hold it out in front of you, stretching your arm straight. It obfuscates their face and yours in turn probably, with the distance you have set between it and one another. You tilt it, adjusting it so one of the pointed protrusions covers their eye—the eye that is a darker shade. You're not sure why that eye, but it feels right. You feel more hidden this way.

They didn't want to see you anyway, right? This counts. Probably.

You continue to stare at the starfish, or, excuse you, sea star, as you're sure someone would correct you. You do not regard it with the same strange fondness you felt when you first found it. But the connection is still there. More so now than then you think. If you unfocused your gaze, it'd blur and blend in with the faint glow of their head. Hardly distinguishable.

"It kind of looks like you."

[isolaradiale]

following up on prior reserve, here is Loop from In Stars and Time! application can be found under the 'app' link on the side or /a !

Welcome to Isola Radiale, Loop!

You will be housed in CONDO 421.

You will retain your REGEN ability to heal mild to moderate wounds.

You may also keep your Silver Coin.

Enjoy your stay!

– andromeda ☆

[guiidingkey]

@sponstar liked for a starter !

He can't help the way he stares - distantly, he's aware that it's probably rude, but that pales in comparison to the sense of awe he feels. He hasn't really seen anyone like this before. Yes, he's seen more than his fair share of blinding lights, but never in a concrete form before. Definitely not as a person. At least, he's fairly certain that's what they were..? He'd rather not assume, so he supposes the easiest thing to do is ask.

"Excuse me - what... are you?"

The closest thing he can think of is a star, shining with light in all directions, and they sort of resemble how they look in the sky. But stars are supposed to represent worlds, aren't they? He's not sure if someone can be a star. Not that the idea isn't cool.

[impinged]

Your hand is free. You hold your knife close. Cradle it. It hovers hauntingly close to your neck. An easy swipe... You could still get what you want. Loop doesn't care enough to stop you now, only deflecting and turning you away. That's fine too. You can always do this in private. If you wanted to. If the feeling remains.

No need to cause a scene, you've already shouted at each other enough for that.

You stare at your hand. The way the split finger of your glove dangles against a wetted mess of fabric. You cannot see the shade that you know currently stains your skin. You know of it. But you don't see it. You glance up at Loop. Can they see it? Ah, well. It doesn't matter.

Another idea crosses your mind.

Nothing’s stopping you. They can’t see. You could lunge now. Plant the knife in their back. The perfect betrayal. A real show-stopper.

…………But why would you do that? Seems an awful waste. Silly Siffrin. The intrusive thoughts are getting in the way of your suicide again~!

It would be satisfying though. But your knife suits your stomach, your throat, your heart far better than it does Loop’s back. That’s just a fact.

Besides, Loop has been so gracious as to finally let you leave. They don’t want a thing to do with you! Far from you to complain, you wanted this the second you laid your eye on them. So you’re happy to oblige.

“Good.” One more sneer at their back before you turn and leave them to fester in whatever anger has taken hold of them. “You won’t.”

You don’t have anything else to talk about. Whenever that happened, you’d always leave. Habits die hard. You die harder.

You make good on your word, and leave.

they're aware of it. disgustingly so.

that deep shade that traverses the length of his finger, dips through the creases in their hand. soaked into the glove. it came so easily to him. too easily. they hated just how simple siffrin made it seem, how much it no longer mattered to them. stars, why should it?

did the thought of pushing the traveler's arm not just cross the stars mind? how they could so readily shift this in their favor, take the credit for the inevitable plunge! siffrin didn't deserve all the satisfaction of it. they've done so plenty, haven't they. again, and again. an easy way back, a simple trigger for the loops.

a readily available means of backing out. what a terrible idea. loop disagreed from the start, but that didn't matter. none of what they said ever seemed to matter!

. . . just one push. . .

. . . quick, simple . . .

. . . take it, take it, take it . . .

' . . . . . . ' an exhale, then, they let go.

arm jerked back, as if stabbed themselves. their hand remains rigid as it's drawn back, brought to rest within its opposite. a thumb pressed against their palm; pushing, prodding away the feeling left behind.

loop manages a step back. then another before they shift, turned away. they didn't want to see him anymore. didn't want to listen to the impulses that sat with them so readily. regardless of how strongly they wished to listen, how they yearned to erase that which was in the way. that which was all they had. . . ha.

. . . hahaha! hahahahahahahahahahaha!!

aah. not anymore!

' . . . then, go. ' a pause, ' i don't want to see you. '

[crystalknuckle]

in that mere second of eye contact(!!), isabeau encourages them with a satisfied huff. short-lived as it was, it's promising to hear them laugh at all! baby steps.

"shot down with a pun? you're making it soo hard to act bummed out!" he's not, for the record. what he's actually feeling is another sobering round of sympathy; unlike sif and bonbon, they're in the same boat? adjusting. reeling from the turn of events back home... at least he had his snack leader to ground him from the start.

"seriously, no worries. i'm just going with the flow, myself-- brain's not built for this sort of reality-bendy, sci-fi stuff." bonk! he punctuates the lie with a knock to his head. theorizing's led him nowhere, anyway.

it only makes him realize how hard he dropped the ball, unable to offer anything aside from a friendly face in case loop needs it. which they don't, clearly.

...'a friendly face'? wait, that reminds him! before they go--

while he still has his stride, isabeau whips out his 'phone' and taps on the massive list of names he'd discovered earlier, scrolling... scrolling faster... aha! "okay, promise i'll leave after this, but there's something i wanna run by you real quick? feel free to say no," his screen a visual aid, back camera showing him at an unflattering angle (and blissfully unaware of it), he explains, "ever heard of mirror pictures? apparently, these thingies capture reflections, too! and i think you can set them for people on the 'contacts' screen, see? for when you talk to them! neat, huh?"

uh huh. the point, isabeau? "and iiii, uh, wanted to give it a shot?" since they'll keep in touch? hopefully? it's probably dumb, but... a photo would be nice.

. . . pfft. by the time they're aware of the sound, it's too late. a laugh ( though small ) plays the role of verbal cue as the stars eyes flicker over. almost granting the fighter a proper stare; acknowledgement aside from their poor excuse of a greeting. what a silly mistake that was. couldn't even stomach a mere second of eye contact before a blink redirects their vision.

the flickering shades of an overhanging streetlight catch their attention first, eventually redirecting onto another person in the distance. legs taking them across a different walkway and through an opened door. focus on something, anything! anything but the reality of the situation they were in, the company they were with.

' a spot reserved just for me? aw, you shouldn't have! '

no, really. he shouldn't have. even if it won a chuckle from them.

. . . no, especially because it earned a chuckle from them!!

they still feel sick. would that be a good enough excuse? it wouldn't, would it? he was already so willing to help without even knowing the problem loop implied. he's always been like that, right?

. . . surely they haven't forgotten that much. of course he was -- is! they've only had to witness that worry and care over, and over. too many times over. that's why this was so -- . . . so annoying? infuriating? ( upsetting. )

slowly, they allow themselves a steady inhale, an exhale following shortly after. if they chose to insist, they knew isa would eventually give in. like it or not. he wouldn't force it, after all. even so, they find themselves easing into character. just enough, just for now.

' it . . . really is fine, though. juuuuust, ' yeah? finish the thought, ' a bit of heavy adjusting, is all! new place, new sights . . . adding two much on my plate might not go so well! '

was it possible for a star to retch? certainly felt like they'd soon find out.

[viladlind]

the view is so stunning that fiyero almost doesn't know how he missed it in the first place.

   a star come alive claps for his performance once the last note fades out. they're not the only one, but they call to attention, sat to the side as they are. something they seem to realize once a few eyes follow the sound of their voice ... fiyero pauses, muses.

   his smile is mischievous when he straps his violin to his back and pulls the rather newly acquired harp from the belt around his hips. it's not the golden harp from back home, but a wooden one he'd bought from the same maker as his violin, on this very island. it seems more soothing for the occasion, doesn't it?

   walking up to the low brick wall they're sitting on, fiyero takes a seat next to them. he's aware of the attention, but he revels in it. was made for this, really. chuckling quietly at their joke, he sets his harp on his lap and reaches out for them with his other hand. a claw drives just underneath their bright face, as though scratching their chin, only he isn't touching at all.

   ' perhaps, ' he hums, loud enough for the rest of the audience to hear. ' will you answer a question for me in return? ' his fingers dance across the strings of the harp playfully, only pleasant notes, not a proper song yet. a tease, you could say. his gaze rests on them, a genuine interest in his look.

   ' how would one go about kissing a star? '

ah. that was stupid, wasn't it? clapping along near the tail ends of a performance, wishing the sound to drown out amongst the others gathered around to see. not a problem, really! if they had been part of the crowd, that is.

but off to the side? just out of view? now there was sound in a differing direction; an indicator of someone else partaking in the show provided. orienting themselves with these streets was a headache enough, let alone adjusting to the reality of being seen -- exposed to the open like any other. no branches or leaves to obscure them.

they exist, like this. with others. stand out a fair deal, too, don't they?

oh! that's a look towards them, isn't it? look alive, loop, you've a show of your own to play out, here! just breathe, this is fine! absolutely! even if impulse got the better of them for a short-lived moment. it's fine.

' my, that was quite a performance you gave us! ' their hands sit idly tented, paused from their previous clapping. eyes crinkle upward, a smile they're failing to hide despite bubbling discomfort.

' . . . could i treble you for an encore? ' [ @viladlind ]

[impinged]

Not cute? Well, you weren't trying to be cute. You regard one of your hands absentmindedly. Your gaze fixates on your fingers, the gnarled, practically torn to shreds look of your nails. Absolutely littered with hangnails, every single one of them. You do not remember leaving them in such a state, so it must be second nature to just eat away at yourself like that.

How much of your nails would you have to bite away until all of yourself winds up in the pit of your stomach?

Huh, what a weird thing to think! You blink back into focus. You frown, though you're not really sure why. Again, you weren't trying to be cute. You're not offended. Really. Especially not if it's Loop that thinks so.

"I should really paint them or something." That's a temporary solution. It's a bit hazy right now, but you don't really like thinking about the state of your gloves, why you ended up having to go out without them. Or at least feeling like you had to. Wearing just one would throw off your thermal equilibrium, or something technical like that.

You weren't really paying attention when Loop calls attention to leaving. You're not bothered by the idea, but something about how suddenly it comes about leads you to panic. Weird!

"Why?" Why leave, you're not questioning the weather. "You said you liked it." Why leave a good thing? They said they liked the feel of the sand. Your head hurts. They said the sound of the waves was nice. Your head hurts. The sounds of the passing boats and people was nostalgic. Your head hurts!

"Want to go shopping with me?" It's forced out of you, but you're strangely not upset you offered it. "I want to buy nail polish." That's what you were talking about. Nothing else. This is good, you can save this. "I can get the kind that tastes really bad, so then you can laugh when I try and bite them again and almost throw up."

Why are you doing this? You don't want an answer. It feels weird. But it feels right too. Is that allowed? Can both be true? It doesn't matter. Despite your offer, you don't move as if you're going anywhere, you don't dare to take your eyes off them.

Your eyes do move down to their fingertips though, since you're on the topic and everything. They don't really have nails. You don't think so anyway. Their fingers sort of blend down into what looks like nails, but there's not a definable difference like your hands. You wonder if they still pick and bite at whatever shape is there too. If they even have the habit in the first place.

oh, stardust . . .

culpable quiet meets their drifting silence, offering a careful stare amongst the rolling waves that played like white noise between them. sometimes, they knew what he was thinking. sometimes, they knew what he might feel. this time? there's a gaping nothing; a running blank. like the hand reaching for their face, there was nothing. nothing but a sense of familiarity, because of course there was.

they couldn't remember, either. they'd forgotten, too.

bits and pieces stuck out, sure. but the how's and why's were always so fickle, unstable. coming and going whenever they pleased, some lasting longer than others. some deemed more important, some others . . . not so much. it still hurt to have them go, to know they were gone.

to watch them drift away. just as they were doing now, as siffrin took a breath. those mental blanks growing larger, save for a few. it had loop drawing in a breath of their own, holding it alongside theirs. like a reminder, but for whom?

' . . . '

he speaks up again, looks their way. loop averts their gaze. right. not fixed yet. wonder what could have happened to them. silly them, for forgetting something like that. it would have been fine if they could have kept forgetting, truthfully.

oh well.

' i'm teasing. ' a clarification meant only to keep them from fading, again. to avoid sinking into that ever looming spiral. you're not forgetting a thing, in a sense. it's nothing important, is what they mean. they're not quite sure what prompts them to bother; to offer a helping crutch. but they do.

maybe the sceneries calm has them in a good ( enough? ) mood. maybe they just don't want to end up falling along with them. who was to say? certainly not them!

' also, you really should look into kicking that little habit. your gloves can't save you from it forever and. . . it's really not cute! ' neither were the rest, but let's focus on what was mentioned. for now. it was easier to snicker at, anyway.

aah.

' . . . i think that's enough beach for today. ' not like they knew where they'd go from here, but the spot had lost its appeal some time ago. ' you're right, anyway. it is kind of cold. '

[impinged]

They're. Touching you. Your body twists and jerks when Loops fingers clench around your wrist. Your hold on your knife doesn't give, but your eye takes in Loop if only because they're just about all you can see now. You fight against the grip, but only amount to writhing and squirming.

They want to know the difference? Ah, well, only some of the script has been altered. Dormont was just too drab for scenery. Mira and Odile were too boring. The House far too confusing for the audience to follow. The King's motivation was too unclear, Euphrasie was simply way too repetitive. But this?

Why, this is the audience's favorite part !

"Not this part." They must have missed it in the rewrites. Not that you'd complain. You're happy to play it. And you do it so well.

Your free hand reaches out. Nothing about this dissuades you. Nothing pushes it from your mind. You're desperate. You want to remind them. You're the sponsor, Loop. Don't you like this show? Don't you think it'd be so nice if this arc ended just. Like. This ?

It's your fault, after all! Did they change their mind? Will they say they didn't mean it?? Haha. It's okay. It'll all be okay...

The longest finger on your free hand nicks the hook of your knife. The fabric of your gloves gives way so easily. Did your flesh do the same? Stars, you can hardly tell anymore. You barely feel a thing now. That hasn't changed.

Ha. Hahaha. Change. Oh, that's good. You bet they're laughing. If they can even see you here. You bet they love this! You're almost certain Mira could, or maybe you could even ask Isa to, spin this all in the way of their belief. You can practically hear the words yourself now. To change, something has to break!

Something has to fail!!

SOMETHING HAS TO ROT!!!

Well, that's not quite how that goes. Oh well. It's not like you believe in it.

Something that welled up at the tip of your finger starts to race its way down your hand. Looks like your glove is ruined. You don't really care. Maybe Isa can fix it, if he doesn't pester you as to why it tore there in the first place. You give one more futile tug against Loop.

"Stop touching me." They have a lot of nerve to do that. Could they do that the whole time? Why only now did they choose to stop you with force??? Whatever. It doesn't matter. "I want to go."

there. that sharp anger thrust at them in the form of two, simple words. it should hurt, shouldn't it? maybe it does. somewhere, below the surface of the stars front, it hurts. stings. sharp and twisted, wedged right where it should be. right where they deserved it; this hurt.

where they refused to listen before, they listened now. did as was demanded. really, it was more like they said what they wanted to, content to let everything sink in with the following silence, now. despite the pang in their chest, the words didn't mean much.

neither did the dagger that drew their eye.

a passing glance at the weapon, nothing more. loop's gaze traversing back to siffrin's wettened own. focused, unwavering. they've been through this before. this time, the star wouldn't push for the other to breathe, to calm down.

they'd watch. they'd wait. as they always did, always have.

he wouldn't lunge at them. he wouldn't draw the dagger away, nor discard it. it would remain clasped between tightened digits, locked in a desperate hold without a proper idea on how to proceed.

but they both knew, didn't they? knew there was a fourth option, an alternative that casts a frigid layer over the stars gaze.

they weren't sure when they had moved, uncertain when the first step had been taken. but it had been, siffrin appearing closer far quicker than they could process. an arm moved, then, practically snapping into place to close darkened fingers over a gloved wrist. they tighten, squeeze -- anything to see that dagger remain frozen in their hold. to watch it lightly rattle with the tremble caused by their strained hold.

' don't. you. dare. '

it wasn't funny the first time, it still wasn't now. no fairness in it, either. why should he get the means of an easy way out? where a simple rewind wasn't an option, why was something like this still allowed? still considered? still flaunted in their face?! they won't stand for it, won't allow it!

they won't, they won't, they won't they won't they won't they won't they won't they won't!!

' it's different here. is that not what you told me? so . . . why are you following the same script? w h e r e ' s t h e d i f f e r e n c e ? '

[impinged]

You like those things too. All of them. You want to say that. Open your mouth and agree, but no words come out. You're fixated on the water, something within you stirring at the mere sight of it.

It is nostalgic.

How? You're not entirely sure. You know it. You know if you went to the dock and got yourself a boat you'd know how to use it, how to sail out to the horizon and see what's beyond it. And then you forget why you would know these things, or why that is a pull you feel. Your eye stares at the line where the sky meets the sea. Why is it so familiar?

A hauntingly beautiful cycle of knowing and forgetting has started, and you are caught unaware. Just left seeing and forgetting. Feeling and forgetting. Remembering and forgetting. You know this place, but you forget how. You could do it so easily, but then you forget why. You've always felt so at peace here, but then you forget when. You remember and then you forget that you remember and then you remember and then you forget and then you remember and then you forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You remember the way the sand feels. No, actually, you forgot already. You remember how the waves sound. Well, now you've forgotten that too. You remember why the boats that sail out here feel so familiar. Wait, what are those vessels out on the sea? You fear you've forgotten what they're called... You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget. You forget . Y O U F O R G E T . . .

A static replaces. You blink. An unknowing begins. A gasp for air. Did you forget how to breathe? It goes like this: In, and out. You repeat. A breath in . . . Hold ... for how long . . . ? You don't remember. You think this is long enough. A breath out.

What were you talking about again?

Oh, there's something on your fingers. Oh! You don't have gloves on. How strange! Oh, right. You ruined them, haven't gotten them repaired yet.

"I haven't fixed them yet." You rub the tips of your fingers together, best to get that pesky dust off you! "It's kind of cold without them."

A beat of silence, you turn back to Loop with a strange sense of discontentment.

"Is it?" Unlike you? You didn't know. Don't remember? You feel like you may have forgotten something. "I only really wear them because I bite my nails..."

it doesn't have them wanting to reconsider, watching that sea star crumble away. from the moment they were shown it they had disliked it. knew what the other was trying to imply; to show.

it kind of looks like you.

and now it was broken. crushed. thrown away into the sea where it would go forgotten. swept away and left at the mercy of the waves. maybe it would corrode over time, or be picked apart. doesn't really matter what happens to it, it was dead. right? it doesn't matter, didn't matter, shouldn't matter, wouldn't matter!!

. . . what a silly thing to get caught up on.

regardless, they find themselves held in their own arms. there was nothing for them to hide under, or within. this was all they could do. their only means of staying grounded when they were anything but.

they couldn't ask for more than this. they wouldn't. even if they. . . kind of. wanted to. wow, they were a bit desperate, huh?

ha. hahah.

loop was grateful siffrin bothered to speak up, again. rolling with their punches, improvising at every opportunity! they were good at that, always have been. they've done it all before. so many times. they take it as their cue to avert their gaze, eyes peering further over the ocean. passed the point from where their sea star had fallen, fixated on the blurred horizon.

' i like it here. '

simple enough, right? they thought so. liked the change of scenery, too, the freedom to see more than just the branches of the favor tree. than just the looming silhouette of the castle, or the hills leading to it. funnily enough, they had preferred all that to those wretched corridors beaten into memory. but this was better than all of that, ' i like the feel of the sand beneath me. the sound of the waves, the passing boats and people. '

' it's kind of nostalgic. rather calming, too, i think. '

with a pause, they steal a tentative glance towards the traveler. lingering for a fraction of a second until shifting in the sand, almost rocking on their heels before they fixate their focus along the sand. ' how about you, stardust? ' they know already, but that was fine. it kept the conversation going. gave them something to listen to, even if replies were short. ' you even came gloveless! how unlike you. '

[impinged]

Oh. Right. Yeah, you’re even now. You can’t argue with that.

So then why does it hurt?

For the record, it never counted in your mind. What happened before. It wasn’t voluntary. You didn’t want to be stopped, except a deeper part of you did. A deeper part of you actually kind of liked the way their hand could have very well squeezed the life out of you. Better than how a knife feels across your wrist. Not that you know what that feels like.

Haha. Oh, you get it.

You’re not worth the act, not unless it’s a score to settle. Unless it’s selfish, right? To stop you, to take from you, whatever. Clearly you just give off the vibe that makes anyone think you hate it, so it should only be when absolutely necessary.

So you can’t ask for it. You can’t. You can’t say you’re dissatisfied. Their logic is sound. So, go on. Stew in your want. Desire. Touch. Acknowledgement. Warmth. You’re soooooo good at it!

“Sure.” Yeah, sure! You’ve never been happier with your present situation!! It’s all so wonderful!

NOBODY WANTS TO TOUCH YOU!

The sea star in your hand feels a weight, a pressure so intense it cannot steel itself against it. Not that it could even fight against it in the first place, it’s dead. One of its arms snaps. Not even it can stand you. The powder that dusts a part of your fingers now makes you sick. Go and put it out of its misery already.

You turn towards the ocean. With all the force in you, you throw it out to sea. Do you feel any better? No, not one bit!

But it’s fine. You’re over it. Loop barely thinks they exist, but at least you’re here to prove otherwise to them. You know you exist, you just have to cope with the fact that it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t.

“So then…” Changing the subject to cease your spiraling, that’s what you do best! “Why the beach?” You kind of figured they’d be like Isabeau, and seek out that giant tree for some familiarity. But you get the appeal of this too, as you stare out over the water. A connection, much like your act previously. Something that’s there, but not fully realized.

' i am, aren't i? ' too mysterious, that is. unknown. part of them liked it that way, enjoyed an extra layer to hide behind despite being here. out in the open. seen, heard. felt.

' suppose you'll have to keep guessing! '

this was easier. clutching at an excuse to slap a smile over a dampened expression, sinking onto it like a favored crutch. that's what it was, right? a means to keep themselves upright, keep themselves going. pretend it doesn't bother them! because it doesn't. why would it? why should it? they were fine! they were fine.

they were warm, and dead things weren't. that had to mean something, didn't it? a point they should take to heart. like some form of proof; a bullet to the theory they could be anything dead. for a star, they knew well deaths concept. stardust should, too! experiencing it over and over, feeling everything grow cold. watching the world as it's engulfed in a silent dark.

like they are now . . . would they grow cold? would they die like any other. or would their warmth only grow? hotter, and hotter. boiling, raging until the heat unmakes them. fizzling out like the dying star they'd become!

dead things aren't warm. dying things could be, though. and that cycle has yet to end.

. . . they don't want to think about it any more. they feel like they're going to be sick!

' get back at you? now, there's some food for thought. ' what would that even entail? they couldn't do the same to them. if they reached out, there'd be something -- someone -- solid. an existence as real as any other, despite what he might think. what they know he thinks.

quietly, they expel a breath.

' how about this, we say we're even! i've touched you, you've touched me. see? easy, done. settled! '

it wasn't, but they weren't in a mood to take it further.

[impinged]

You can feel the static in your ears, the way the world bends around you. It wants so desperately to reset. To swell and bloat and surge. Haha. To break and fail and rot. Erase this whole conversation. Roll it back! Not that it matters. Not that Loop would forget. Not that you even can. But it still hisses in your ears, something rips at your stomach, it’s there it’s all there and so familiar and you want it. More than anything.

You want it. You don't get it. All you get is Loop's anger in return. Their reminder. It's always you. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

It was you then, it's you now, and it will always be you.

Haha. Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!! They’re right!!!! They’re right!!!!!!!!!! They really did it! Told it to you straight!! Can you take that? Do you accept it?? DO YOU WANT THANKS, LOOP????

You can’t cry out your dead eye. You can still feel it though, when you do cry. Nothing wells but there's a frothy spike of pain and the scars no one sees or touches ache beyond belief.

You can still see them, blurred and unfocused and bright, despite it all. They're still talking. You, you, you, you, you...

"SHUT UP!!!!!"

You blink away tears that are barely even there.

There’s a knife in your hands. Your knife. Poised, pointed. Steady, aimed for the star. You could lunge. Attack. Hurt them, like they’ve hurt you. Payback. Revenge. It would be so easy to lunge forward and just attack them…

You don’t. You can’t.

Guilt roots you to the ground. You can’t move. Figures. You’re all bark and no bite. But you do not falter. Your knife is still fixated on them. Still threatening.

You breathe in, and out.

You can’t hurt them. You don’t want to hurt them. Not really. Not even if it feels like otherwise.

Your eye, clouded and sinking, no longer stares at your target. Instead, it shifts its focus on your knife. You stare at it. You consider your options. Weigh each and every single one.

You could hurt them. (Which isn’t want you want.)

You could put it away, pretend it never happened. (It feels too late for that.)

You could drop it. They’re unarmed, so it would at least make this an even fight. (You don’t want this either.)

You could alter your hold, twist the blade and you could . . .

he doesn't need to tell them a thing. the message as clear as day, as it almost always is. by expression alone, that look in the eye, a mere twitch of a brow -- loop recognized it. knew about it.

siffrin says it isn't their fault, that he didn't do this. loop believes them, is the funny thing. they know, and yet . . . and yet!! there wasn't a means of logic they could make from it other than an obvious choice; a decision they could both agree on! putting the fault somewhere simple. somewhere it sat easily, given the history.

they'd blame themselves, too. isn't that hysterical?

' would it be so hard to believe if it was?! ' even knowing, they continued to press. they'd been angry from the start, that feeling refusing to diminish. it grew, in fact, the longer they spoke.

the longer they had to look into this blinding m--!!

' who knows what you accomplished during your last meeting with the king, despite my efforts to tell you otherwise! you ignore advice, you fumble, you fail!! '

let it go. let it go, let it go . . .! let it . . . no.

no, they're tired of holding their tongue. tired of sitting, watching and being dragged back every! single! time! they were brought here, too, with siffrin left waiting for them. all they've wanted was a way out of it all, but they would never get that, would they?

now was no different. oh, no, now was no different at all! they were still trapped! still left wanting! still left to watch any spark of joy that remained fall into the traveler's hands. . . !

' you were at fault for forcing every perfect conversation! you were at fault for failing at your job! you were at fault for allowing the king to get his hands on the kid! it was you, always YOU! why can't it be now, stardust!? '

they know it's not. they don't care. this is easier. . .

[impinged]

You open your mouth to get a word in, but they keep going. Begrudgingly, you're used to their interjections, their insistence that their word should precede yours. Whatever. They say you're somewhere you shouldn't be, well, you have eyes!!

Just one, actually.

But you know. You see. Whatever.

They've seen Isa already. Fitting, you think. When they were so determined to hide away from everyone, he was the one that still weaseled his way into their line of sight. You wonder if Loop ever saw........... Well, it doesn't matter. You don't really care about that. Push it from your mind, you have more pressing things to think about.

Like anger. You're angry. Your friends along for the ride? A mess you've tripped into?? SIMILARITIES????

It IS a coincidence!! NONE of this was intentional!!!! So what are they getting at?!? What do they mean???? Are they..?? Do they seriously think.....????

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!!" Why is THAT the conclusion they make?! They think they can show up and pin the blame on you right away?!? No!! You've already done that!!!!!

You would take the blame though, wouldn't you? You can refute it to them all you want, but you would if it was anyone else accusing you. Something about it being Loop that does just eats at you. You can't stand it. Lots of things are your fault, sure. Some intended, some otherwise. This is not. You don't know a lot about this place or how people even get here, but you know it's not your fault. It can't be. It shouldn't be.

It . . . it isn't . . . . . . r i g h t ?

...No. That would be ridiculous. It wasn't that broken. Wishcraft wouldn't just... No. It wouldn't. This is a different power. It has it be. You're not even going to entertain another possibility.

(But if your friends want someone to blame, you'd still let it be you.)

"I didn't do this. I just..." Stay here. Take it. Dare you say like it. You're not telling them that. But it's true, to an extent. You'd be happy here, you think, if this was the rest of your life.

You abandoned Mira in her most desperate hour, and you're happy.

You're so disgustingly selfish.

"...Shut up." You know they won't.

' different, ' loop repeats, voice no more than a dry echo. how different, they wished to ask, aside from the obvious; aside from where they were, what surrounded them. because when it was boiled down, it was similar, wasn't it?

not knowing where to go, how to leave, what to do -- stuck in a game not of your choosing. they've gathered that much so far, they were used to that much.

' sure. ' the star concludes, only to continue right after. ' you're still somewhere you shouldn't be, stardust. your friends along for the ride, too! '

' . . . i've seen your fighter around, you know, and i have a good feeling there's more than just him. you, your friends, and a mess you've gone and tripped into. ' they were not yet certain, but it was a good assumption, they felt. plenty still left unseen, even more left unsaid. they could tell.

in the tension permeating from the traveler's presence; the way he stood, spoke -- as if they wouldn't recognize it. as if they wouldn't get the hint of what thoughts crossed that troubled mind. a threat the star has stared down once before, a threat they would gloss over even now. while they could.

' and now i'm here. funny coincidence, don't you think, stardust? '

for why else would they be dragged in, if not stapled to whatever fate siffrin has gone and dug up. it was why they first appeared, after all. to help him. they shouldn't be here without that reason, right? as it stood, it's all they had to go on, like it or not.

and they most certainly did not.

' if you don't need me here; ' ignore the twist sitting in their gut as they repeat that, ' if i'm not to be of help to you... why don't you help me, stardust -- siffrin? enlighten me, because i'm seeing some glaring similarities. '

leave you alone? no one's stopping you from leaving.

[impinged]

They knew what you were thinking again. It doesn't bother you this time, because it's easier for them to say it than for you.

"Yeah." You know you're wrong, but the other lingering options only make you feel worse. "You're warm..."

Is that weird to comment on? Is it weird that that's what deters you from your theory now? The more you think about it, the more being so warm couldn't possibly make them a ghost. It's just unheard of.

"Dead things aren't warm..." Why did. You say that. Like that. You never thought they were really dead, but it's... Proof they're alive nonetheless? They're something. Someone. They exist.

They're... They're real. Huh. Right.

You fidget with the sea star a bit more now. It's dead. It's cold. Hm.

"Guess I'll have to think up something else." You could gag over how casual you sound, after something so strangely... intimate, as they said. "You're still too mysterious." Yet you trust them anyway, to a degree.

You fixate your eye on their shoulder. Maybe the head is... is just a bad spot. You should've poked their shoulder, but the thought of reaching out like that makes you nauseous enough to faint. You do not think about why. Except you do, because of course you do. You ignore it. You could have returned their gesture. A little poke at their hand. Surely their hand is fine. It touched you before. It grabbed at your wrist—you're blinding certain you felt that.

So then... Why? It doesn't make sense. Loop hasn't ever made sense. But it bothers you. It must bother them. And you think that's sad. You sigh. This isn't as easy as just drawing what they look like. How do you help here?

"You could... Get back at me for it?" Except it hardly means anything. They would touch you. You're... you're about 85% sure you're real. Tangible. You still mean it though.

there's . . . nothing.

or a small hint of something? once they can get passed the growing churning in their stomach; nauseating sloshing held firm beneath the pressure of a held breath. they can feel their own fingers flexing, curling. burying within the blackened skin of their arms, obscuring the freckled dots of light along it. they weren't quite sure when their hand found its place there, but they didn't care. not in this moment.

the more they dug, the more they felt. what pain came from it more affirming than the ghosting sensation of . . . stars, how would they even put it? a hand was against them -- on them? in them? and they could barely feel a thing! unlike a finger against the back of a hand, unlike their grasp held firm around a tempted wrist. that could be felt, they could still recall it. clear as day. but this?

no, they didn't like it. not a blinding thing about it.

siffrin's apology is the single thing pulling them free from an all encompassing roar of static, eyes following that retracting hand as if expecting -- wishing -- it left behind proof it had been there at all. that it had touched anything; touched them. it's like they weren't there at all.

nonexistent. ( . . . they may as well be, right? )

' calling me a ghost would make things easier, wouldn't it. '

a lingering fragment left behind to watch over things. haunting someone with a lingering attachment; importance, in an attempt to steer them right. ha! it sounded ridiculous. . . but perhaps there was some truth to it. only some, though.

' . . . i suppose you wouldn't be wrong in thinking that. still not right, either. ' eventually, they come to a sigh. ' a good theory to work with, though. '

and one they could find themselves rolling with easily enough.

[impinged]

Just how many times will this happen? Hearing your name spoken aloud by someone familiar in an unfamiliar place. Except this isn't your name at all. It's not even a name you particularly like. It feels more like a title. Unwillingly bequeathed upon you, at that. Much like the presence of the one that utters it, without fail, every time you speak.

You freeze. Flinch. Refuse to truly acknowledge.

The supposed "fresh air" they make mention of stalls in your lungs. First in annoyance. Then? Then... it pangs in your chest. It takes you a minute to realize it's not the air you nearly choke on that rends you clutching your chest. No, it's the clenching of your heart.

You missed them, didn't you? You'll never admit it. They would have a field day with that knowledge. You don't think you'd ever live it down if you said it. Plus, it's... embarrassing. You can get on fine without them. You have, actually.

Never once have you needed them here. There are no loops here, no looping. But now there is a Loop.

They must feel pretty useless then, huh? Welcome to the club.

You muster the resolve to turn. Face-to-face with that blindingly bright head of theirs. At least you don't have to pretend with them. Well, about the truth, at least. You will still have to ask the same question you asked the others.

But first...

"You're late." Too late. The arrival of some of your friends has already granted you front row seats to the consequences of your own actions, so any levity or guidance Loop could spare you is well past its time due. Especially if they're trying to seem casual about it. You won't let them.

Part of you hates that they're like this. Another part of you hates yourself for feeling that way. Hypocrite.

Lately, it feels like those sentiments are two sides of the same coin. Hm... No. Bad analogy.

were they capable of bristling? it certainly felt like it, seeing that all too familiar hat atop an all too familiar head. like a picture set out of place, hung on a wall it didn't accent very well. one they had to acknowledge time and time again, passing through the same hallway. over and over, and over, and over.

only this hallway was new -- this world was new! but there it remained. that same, crooked picture hung for them to see. would scribbling it out do any good? the thought has certainly crossed their mind ( more than once, truthfully ).

after everything said, everything done... this is where they end up. this is what becomes of those efforts. was the universe watching? was this what it had in mind?

here's the end! here's your way out! nothing gained, everything lost! with one final slap in the face ! !

. . .

you hate it.

' . . . enjoying the fresh air? ' there was a reason they were here, right? just like before, to help their little traveler, no doubt? that must be it. that had to be it. what else could it be? even if this deviated from the initial wish -- from what it was suppose to be. again.

ha! . . . just breathe, loop. play your role.

' you're a long way from home, stardust. but it must be nice, right? ' a smile arches the stars eyes, a chilled gaze peering through ever-present crescents. ' a well deserved change of scenery! '

[ @impinged ]

[impinged]

Will you? Stars, kinda desperate, huh? You can relate.

It suffices as an answer though. You press, or think you press, your finger against them. A blink of surprise. The expression on your face changes in an instant. You don't really know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. It's hard to discern much of anything, except a warmth. It's not uncomfortable or anything, but some part of you knows that if you pressed your palm flat against them— Are you right now? You can't even tell��� —if you held it there, it'd be enough to burn, to have to retract in pain. Your hand is blinded from you, enveloped in light. Which is weird. You complain about it, sure, but Loop is never really that bright. Physically. Not unless they're angry.

Are they…? Angry? Do they not like this? You took their question as an answer, but they never said yes. You fight against the grimace that starts to form on your face. You're not sure if you like this either, honestly. In fact, the more you think about what it is you're maybe touching... You remember something.

You know this feeling. You remember it.

Undefinable, there but not, something but nothing.

You've done something like this before, haven't you?

Your hand jerks back. You look away, ashamed. Your fingers are instantly cold. The sea star you still carry finds itself poked and prodded at to keep both your hands occupied now.

"Sorry..." What for? The way they are? They can't help that. Saying sorry to that makes it sound like something is wrong with them. There isn't. Physically at least. That's just... That's just what they look like.

The thoughts you've had about Loop start to reform. They've asked you before, and you had a few theories. You were convinced they were working for the King for a while, before that was thrown out the window as a possibility. Tentatively, you look back up at them.

Your longest working theory was that they were a ghost of some kind. Not real. Or at least, not really a part of your world, not anymore. You don't know if this new experience is a point for or against that. Hm.

' this whole time, ' they echo, tone a matching melody. it was so easy to consider, wasn't it? or maybe not, he never tried it. all those moments stood in front of the favor tree, waiting, waiting and waiting. all for a touch that never came, a touch never asked for. what wonders saying something can do! image never going through those steps again -- or don't!

all those ghosted moments in the garden room, after going through it again and again. someone, anyone? imagine if they knew what that was like? wouldn't that be funny! if loop could somehow sympathize! if, maybe, they knew exactly how it was. if they knew how to make it different.

but, they didn't, did they? they only knew as much as siffrin did. another fact they'd have to accept, right? can't change that!

just like how they can't change the way their body grows rigid with distance dissolving between the two, or the hardness in their stare as it meets one of newfound intensity. how their chest grows tight from an extending hand, how it feels as though their shoulders are bristling with a nearing finger.

close. closer, still. too close . . .

hesitation seizes a breath, a deep quiet left to linger where an answer should be. an answer loop doesn't, yet, want to give. but they should. they need to. their own choice of words set the foundation for this entire moment; gave the traveler something to build upon. just as easily as he could ask, they could say no! they didn't have to allow it!

. . . they would, though, wouldn't they? to prove a point. just like before. it was difficult, then, too. . .but there was no one else.

no one to stop them last time, either.

' will you? ' question for a question, but an answer implied all the same. their gaze does not waver, their tension does not ease. they're expecting it, now -- waiting for it, even! get it over with.

[crystalknuckle]

o-oof! rejected! isabeau tries not to flinch (and succeeds!), but his posture drops a smidge closer to resigned, arms coming to a fold even after loop dampens the blow.

"aw, my pretty little head doesn't mind! it's only fair, right? think of it like a... 'you scratched our back, i'll scratch yours' sorta thing." plus, maybe he wants to worry? letting them 'take care of it' alone just wouldn't sit well with his conscience. it might be too early for them to consider him one, but any friend of sif's is a friend of his!

speaking of sif, it's... actually kinda silly? but, um, the way loop phrases it -- the 'fine's and selfless denials -- conjures the pointy-hatted rogue in the back of his mind. a comparison between the two that only cements his urge to pitch in, actually.

those psych textbooks weren't kidding; transference really is one crab of a thing!

"hmmm...? let me check," he mimics unfurling a sheet of paper and points to where the top would be, "yup, just as i thought! says here: time slot reserved in the very unlikely (very welcome!!) event i run into loop again! bolded and underlined."

pushy, he's aware, but he's also aware of how hard it is to accept help (knows it better than most). whatever it is, no one's exempt from needing a big, strong pillar to lean on-- loop included! filling that role's what isabeau Changed for.

head tilting sideways, extending what show of understanding he can, he reassures, "i won't force it, but two heads are better than one sometimes? even if mine isn't as, y'know, bright!" double meaning intended.

. . . to thank them?

crescent eyes widen to watch the given bow, confusion knitting their brows together above them. it made sense, didn't it? receiving a a thank you when offering help. there should be no surprise there, they should just take the words for what they were.

but they couldn't. not easily. it didn't feel right; didn't feel deserved.

their mouth would be agape, had they one to show. lost for words in the face of a kindness so dear, a feeling that left behind a residual aching in their chest. tight and restricting. they've felt it before -- stars, how long ago? how many times, now? it wasn't something missed.

' . . . you don't need to thank me, ' loop finally manages, a smile forced with bitter ease. their hold on themselves tightens, they pray its not as noticeable as it feels. ' it was only a few calls. '

only a few calls that were crucial for their progression, but they'd rather not think on the 'what if's any more than they already have. than they've already -- ugh. it doesn't matter.

' fate? ' they find themselves repeating, failing to repress the scoff that follows -- letting the sound roll into a ( partially forced ) laugh. ' that's a good one. ' ah, but it did help to fortify their persona for a brief moment. right up until isa's offering to assist.

oh, isabeau. . . . if only you could.

' no. ' spoken far more stern than intended, loop only retracting further with the realization. ' no, that's . . . quite alright. i'm used to taking care of it on my own. it's -- it's fine! ' oh, pull it together, loop, for universes' sake! ' nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about! '

. . . but you want to take him up on it, don't you? oh, stars, what are they even thinking? they've already said no, leave it at that.

' i'm sure you have . . . better. places to be! ' better ' other people to go helping? '