castaside | Heart Game: dreamwalker variety

There's a flash of deep purple light just as your eyes close, and you "wake up" on the ground. Those who were in Macaque's heart game will recognize it, although the vibes are slightly different in that it seems a good deal more peaceful.

You have all the items you had on you when the dream took you, and your abilities seem to be working. They may not work correctly in all places, however. Things go awry in heart games.

You're in what appears to be a hotel lobby if one stuck it in the middle of a jungle. The night sky is starless and a bright full moon watches over you. Instead of walls, thick trees surround the lobby space, though the tree canopy isn't too thick to allow the moon's light to shine through. You can hear all sorts of animal life: cicadas, frogs gently singing, the chirp of insects... and monkeys. Every now and then there's a rustle in the trees and a faceless monkey made of pure shadows will peek out at you, curious little buggers that they are.

As expected, there are shadows here. You feel watched over, safe, comforted. No matter which way you face, your shadow is always in front of you.

On the North end of the area, there is an elevator, closed at present. Between you and that there is a single desk, made with wood that is an inky purple which appears to be natural wood rather than a stain.

Edited 2025-02-19 22:32 (UTC)

Candid's eyes snap open. Or they closed? He isn't sure but he knows where he is. He ran into some glitter and suddenly felt sleepy. Now he was in an all too familiar lobby. It isn't his memories though. No. He wasn't in here. The original was. But he has those memories still. Memories of a group going here, trying to fix things, regrets and worries he made it worse.

"I'm...oh. Ooookay, Candid. Remember the rules. Damage nothing. Kill nothing. Only touch. Don't...don't think I can fix things myself. Macaque? Can you hear me?" He asks first and foremost. Somehow he's ended up back in Macaque's heart and he needs to know if, somehow, Macaque also knows.

The shadow below Candid morphs into Macaque's familiar shape. It gives him a thumbs up. Yes, he knows you're here and it's okay.

Okay. Macaque knows and it's okay. Alright. He nods and will move to the desk for now. He'll touch it, tracing the purple wood with his fingers before looking to see if there are any drawers to open.

The desk itself carries no memory, but you feel a sense of being nearly frantic to have a structure in your life that won't collapse beneath its own weight, and one that you might actually not destroy (for once). It seems like that might be happening, and you feel equal parts relieved and afraid of it.

On the desk there are several items: a desk lamp, a text book on Japanese language, and a text book on psychology. In the drawer is an empty liquor bottle, a miniature ice skate, and a small, clean napkin with a red and white check pattern.

Candid resonates with that feeling of a need for structure and being terrified it might shatter. Not the same but it's similar to his own fears. Macaque's have to weigh more in his mind. After so long. He reaches out for the desk lamp first, gently touching it and seeing if he can turn it on.

The light snaps on, although it's moonlight and not incandescent light.

You are Macaque, and you're standing on a hill minutes after dusk, looking down on the ground below you which is sprinkled with flat stones that glow in the moonlight.

You turn to MK, who is sitting on a blanket beside a mostly-eaten picnic. He's still afraid to have you touch him, but it's okay. You don't need to.

You point to the stones. "We'll each take one and make it into something. It'll be something that's just ours."

MK brightens and it's like staring into the sunrise.

Candid blushes hard as he feels the memory. The time of touch aversion. He remembers that time so well. He blushes feeling that affection in the look. Part of him jealous because of course the original shines like that. He feels stupid for thinking he could somehow replace that. He's mad at MK and himself. He sighs and moves on to the tiny ice skate.

"I wonder if I'll ever shine that bright," he mumbles to himself.

You are Macaque, and you are escorting Choco through a portal to the ice rink. There is much you want to give her today: a nice time, some exercise. Perhaps a new family member, if all goes well.

Hell, you're actually nervous about suggesting it. It's almost funny; the great Six-Eared Macaque laid low by feelings for a teenager. But that's what being a parent-figure does, or so you've read. Time will reveal the accuracy, or lack thereof, of those particular texts.

Her enthusiasm is infectious. She tugs you to the skate rental desk, works you through the process of getting ready. You're delighted to see what she can do, especially since she seems so thrilled about it. You want to share this good thing with her. You've shared some bad, and there will be more, but this is a moment for good things.

She deserves the world. She deserves far better than you can probably give. But whatever you have to offer, it's hers without needing to even ask.

And so you tell her: I'd like to be your parent. Cautiously, and with plenty of space for her to say 'no thanks, I'm all set for a family'. It would be understandable. But her eyes are first wide, then wet as she grabs for your other hand, her voice crumpling as she crashes into your chest, face-first.

Something inside you untwists as your arms slide around her, below her wings of course, and you press a kiss to the top of her head. It's as much an answer as either of you needs.

You hold her, and your eyes sting, and you're now nervous in a different way. A lasting, unfixable way. A constant, low hum of anxiety way, a string of thoughts about all that you lack and how you could possibly be all that she needs, all she deserves. Like the stretch of an under-used muscle, you feel that accomplished sort of sore and you know it will never fade, you will forever be fretting about her health and well-being in ways big and small and at the same time glad of it.

So that's what all those parent-writers were talking about.

Oh that is soft. So so soft. That feels like such a private memory and Candid feels his eyes watering up experiencing it. His heart is racing and he's sure if this was reality, he might pop himself from the feelings of Macaque's anxiety and his own swelling emotions feeling Macaque so nervous, so excited, and Korone just so happy. He pulls his hand away and chuckles, wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

"Okay. Yeah. Noooot ready for kids yet if that's how it feels. Oooh boy. Okay. Uuuuh. Let's try this one," Candid touches the empty liquor bottle.

The liquor bottle gives you a few memories in quick, dizzying succession:

You are Macaque, and you're drinking. Alone.

Again.

You and Wukong fell out weeks ago and you're still searching for answers or respite or whatever the fuck at the bottom of a bottle. It's pathetic. You're pissed, and that's it -- and yet, it isn't. It's confusing and frustrating.

You keep drinking until you stop feeling confused and just feel pissed.

****

You are Macaque, and you're laughing. You watch Red Son slug back another full glass of booze and he resumes bitching about life, mostly Wukong. The laughing is camaraderie that you haven't felt in a long time. A place to bitch and moan and not be judged.

It's nice. You're not ready to refer to yourselves as friends just yet, but there's no denying that whenever something happens, this is what you do and who you do it with.

****

You are Macaque, and you're slumped against a tree, drinking Saya's stolen hyperbooze. You just had an epic blowout with MK that ended in him pounding a crater into the ground and sobbing, and you just want to drink until it stops hurting.

The attempted fix for Choco's magic limiter is tomorrow. You can't be doing this. But you don't know what else to do. You never meant for this to happen.

All you want to do is fix what you broke, but you can't tell MK the truth about what Donnie did to your head. Wukong will find out if you do, and everything will be even more ruined than it already is. Somehow. It's difficult to imagine anything more ruined than it presently is, but you'd never put it past life to find a way.

****

You are Macaque, and you're up in a tree. You hear someone meandering around beneath you, tracking you, and you sigh and call out to Wash, asking what he wants. Wash climbs up into the tree and offers you a bottle, and a shoulder to cry on.

You don't really deserve one, based on how MK's heart game just went. It's your fault, all of it. You should have checked in with Candid more. You should have seen the resentment growing dangerous. You should have been able to talk him out of it. Everything could have been different if you were only better at this sort of thing.

Wash is kind. Supportive. Understanding. You don't deserve it and yet you crave it. And you know that Wash gets that, all of it.

You and Wash have been dancing around casual dates for months. This is possibly the worst time to be thinking about how ungodly attractive it is to have someone understand you this well.

Those are four whole whirlwinds all at once. Candid's head swims with the memories and emotions. There is a lot there and Candid isn't sure it's his place to unpack any of it. The resentment does spike with the memory about MK. Stupid idiot didn't help that situation at all. Though even he has to admit, MK is getting better at keeping secrets, if cutting him and Porty off from his memories is any indication.

Though that might just be a side effect of repeated soul shattering and reconstruction at this point. Still.

He is glad Macaque found people to talk to in Red Son and Wash. Time to move on now. Next he checks out the checkered piece of cloth.

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