Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The first thing that the dreamers of Manhattan might notice is that the ground is a good deal closer than it normally is. The second thing they might notice is that their surroundings are larger than they might expect. The playground looks almost daunting. Of course, there are other ways for the dreamers to occupy themselves on this hot summer day: a charming fountain bubbles away a little distance from the playground. There's an ice cream stand with treats free for the taking. Beyond the paved area is a meadow, covered in wildflowers and dominated by a huge, sprawling tree, perfect for climbing.

It's all prime entertainment for children. So really, it's just as well that 'children' is what the dreamers will find themselves to be - once more, for those who had childhoods, or for the first time, for those who didn't.

Perhaps you'll remember everything: the Rift, Manhattan, the friends (and enemies) you've made since your arrival. Or perhaps you'll only remember who you were when you were young, and find this an opportunity to forge new friendships - or new (and probably pettier) animosities. Run around, get dirty, have a good time. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Mental and emotional regression is optional, but physical regression is mandatory: your character is in the body of a little kid - human, or human-ish - regardless of who or what they are in the waking world.]

Comments

[andhiswife]

Out in the meadow, not quite under the branches of the great tree, but close enough to take advantage of its shade, there's a little girl in a cotton dress, her dark gold hair frizzing out of its braid. She's singing in a clear voice, with the uncomprehending good cheer of a child who knows a song well but hasn't ever had cause to really think about it:

Fare you well, my dear, I must be gone,
And leave you for a while;
If I roam away I'll come back again,
Though I roam ten thousand miles, my dear,
Though I roam ten thousand miles.

As she sings, she fiddles with a little heap of wildflowers she'd gathered into her lap. By the end of the second verse, she's made herself a little circlet, not quite a crown but close enough. She settles it on her head with a grin - it lists a little, but only a little - and starts in on another one. Maybe someone else will come along to play Princes/Princesses with her.


[ooc: Greta's about six and fully regressed and adorable.]

[postictal]

This isn't his room. He knows his room, it's got four walls and no windows and a nurse who comes in three times a day, and this isn't it. It's not the park either, but he doesn't recognize it.

Where did he go this time? He feels like he'd remember if he ran away again, but sometimes he forgets and he doesn't know what he's meant to remember anymore. The playground is terrifying in ways he can't enunciate, so he hides instead.

He hides, but it'll find him. The tall man always finds him.

All alone at the base of the tree is better, because maybe he can hide for a little longer. He's supposed to be alone, he's meant to, can't anyone see? There's a tall man behind him. He can't see it now and it disappears every time he looks over his shoulder but it's there, he knows it is. It whispers. It tells him horrible things. Things he doesn't want to do.

There's a lighter in his pocket, and he doesn't know how it got there. Maybe it got put there. The tall man makes him do things, and if he says no it makes him hurt and cry and scream, makes him cough, makes his nose and mouth drip black gobbets of blood, makes it so the pressure builds behind his eyes and his head until he wishes it would stop.

Tim is eight years old and sitting with his knees drawn up and his head buried in his arms because he doesn't want to remember the screaming.

He doesn't want to play with the tall man anymore.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine hates wearing skirts, especially in summer. They're too heavy and too hot, and they make climbing trees harder than it ought to be. At least this tree's easy. It's almost like it wants to be climbed. She'd be tempted to ask it, but trees never talk to her. And she can't take the squirrels at their word that of course it wants to be climbed, because squirrels think everything wants to be climbed.

She can hear them giggling at her as she makes her way along a branch, far more slow and clumsy than even a young squirrel. It's a friendly sort of giggle, though, like they're pleased she's trying. They're not jeering, like the children from the village do, sometimes. So it's with a lopsided grin that she tells the nearest one, "You'd be slow, too, if you was wearing these," and gives her skirt a pointed flap with one hand.

[ooc: Daine's about eight and remembers nought of the Rift or Manhattan.]

[lottawork]

Nick has appropriated the slide as his own, because no one else would think to use it for its unintended if unquestionably superior purpose. The interplay of gravity and friction buried in the twist of the downward slope is not a particularly revolutionary undertaking but it is far more worthy of his time than any alternatives a distinctly uninteresting playground may provide.

Obviously this is not Glasgow - Glasgow is gray and full of rain, and this place is neither of those things - but Nick is still in possession of a pocket knife. He scratches studiously at the wood paneling beside the slide, chipping in his sprawling, untidy script;

mgh = (1/2)mv²
He stands back to scrutinize his completed work with a scowl, arms crossed over his chest.

[ooc: Rush is in the 10-11 range and he doesn't remember anything about Manhattan, the Rift, etc. He's also going through a difficult time in his life regarding gender and identity, so be warned.]

[rae_of_sun]

Rae feels terrible.

She hates that she and her mom had to move away - away from her dad, and her grandmother, and her house and her room and all the things that were hers and aren't anymore. She hates how her name has been chopped in half for reasons her mom can't or won't try to explain. She really hates their new apartment, which is dark and gloomy all the time. It's like the shadows in her new bedroom have been creeping into her while she sleeps and taking pieces of her away, important pieces that she needs, and she wakes up feeling sick and empty. School is too much - first grade is too old to be sent home crying, but she can't help it.

She should probably be scared because she doesn't know where she is, but it's sunny here. Sunshine is the only thing that makes her feel better anymore. So she's lying on her back in some tall grass, eyes shut against the heavy beat of the sun against her face. After a minute, she hikes up the hem of her shirt so it can shine on her belly, too. This is nice. She'll just stay right here being a tripping hazard.

[biscuit_powered]

Asmodia is obviously not allowed to be here. She's been warned more times than she can remember about wandering away from the inn and she knows full well the scolding that's in for her whenever she gets back. For now, though, the prospect of an afternoon away from chores and away from Lusana's bossing sounds really good, and she's not too fussed about finding her way home. She knows better than to approach the playground where she can see citizen-children climbing and playing, a playground bigger and better than any she's ever seen in the city, even though she aches with the desire to try it out. Maybe if she waits long enough they'll go away and she'll get to climb and slide and swing by herself for a little while without anyone noticing.

Climbing the tree had felt risky and daring, especially the part when she almost fell out of it, but she's proud of the hiding place she found where a bunch of branches come together in a big knot up high. The idea was that she'd watch and see when the children leave, but that got boring quickly and she's since occupied herself by pulling bits of bark and twigs and leaves off the tree around her to make into what might be generously deemed a doll. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she ties it together with a bit of twine from the pocket of her smock -- and, in a fit of half-daring, leaves the end of the twine trailing off from its middle to be a tail.


[Asmodia is somewhere around eight and fully regressed. She looks like a bitty version of her adult tiefling self, though her horns are just little stubby things at this point.]

[fucking_ebay]

This is a pretty great playground, and Peter has already done a lot of running and shrieking up and over and down and around to get the lay of the land. Now that he's explored, though, he's already getting bored of playing by himself. He could climb to the highest spire and be a dragon surveying his castle, or he could crawl into the lowest, darkest little hiding place and be a badger in its den, but if he doesn't have anyone there to see that he's being a dragon or a badger it won't be as much fun as he really thinks it should be.

That's alright, there are lots of other kids here. Peering over the railing of the high platform he's scaled, he spots someone down on the ground and calls out to them without the slightest hesitation or shyness. "Hey!" he shouts. "Hey, yoo! Wanna play tag?!"


[Peter's maybe five or six and does not remember a dang thing. Mmyep.]

[unpurify]

Maybe playgrounds are for normal kids, but playing is the last thing on Sam's mind, like always. Dad hammered it in his head as soon as he was old enough to talk, told him over and over never to go off unarmed, and while he's pretty sure that's not a normal thing dads are ever supposed to say, he has to acknowledge with a sinking twist in his gut that Dad's right. He's always right. He doesn't have a sawed-off or anything, but at least he's got one of Dad's hunting knives in his pocket. Just in case.

Sam's staying away from the playground, away from all the other normal kids. Maybe eight-year-olds aren't supposed to be morose and lonely, but it's not like Sam even really counts as a kid anymore. Maybe he wasn't ever. Freaks don't get friends, just knife collections and a long, long list of grisly things they know how to kill.

The swing-set's a cliché, but it's empty, and that's good. Sam kicks at the ground, hands wrapped around the swing chains, puffing up little swirls of sawdust where his sneakers scrape over the stuff.

[omnomnom_feels]

Nhodd cannot remember why he manifested in this place. Full manifestation is difficult enough not to be done except under exceptional circumstances, and none of the bright little flashes of life around him seem in such dire need as to justify it. In addition, this is a strange manifestation -- it is most unusual to take the form of one of the mortal sapients' young. How is he meant to convey a sense of authority when he appears to be so very small?

Perhaps it is not authority he is meant to convey, but comfort. Even so, he does not know who is his target, and it is troubling that he cannot remember on what plane he was last situated or on what task he is meant to complete. He tilts his head and stares up into the sky, stock still, as his aetheric essence expands and reaches out for his brethren, seeking contact so that he might make the necessary inquiries before taking action. That he cannot immediately sense them is unexpected but not outside the realm of possibility. Perhaps he should dispense of this physical body and leave this place to seek them out? But if he made the effort to put himself here in this form, surely there was a reason and it would be wasteful to undo it so quickly, and wastefulness is abhorrent. Frozen in indecision, he remains where he is, his little form unnaturally still, as he considers the options and their consequences and waits for someone who may give him instruction.


[Rashad is pre-fall and is very confused about why he has manifested as a nine-year-old child. This is a celestial automaton more or less how he was before he got broken the first time.]

[singthesong]

This is the best playground ever, and he's gonna use all of it.

There's one little boy happily running and climbing and crawling all over the giant wooden structure. Not entirely in the intended ways, either - you probably aren't meant to walk along the upper railings like that. He's got both arms out to his sides like a tightrope walker, and despite the occasional wobble he's comfortable enough to be humming to himself while he does it. He doesn't really remember how he got here, but that doesn't worry him. There's plenty of other kids around, and it IS a playground - so obviously he should be playing on it!

Maybe later he'll go down and get some ice cream, too. He's pretty sure it's not normally free, but he's been watching the stand for a while now and no adult's come back to run it. That means it's free now, right...?

(( OOC: He's about seven or eight and fully regressed, if that is indeed the right word for it. ))

[has_a_horn]

(ooc: Gabe is about as regressed as an angel can get. He's pre-humanity. The vessel looks about 12)

Gabriel wanders through the little meadow covered in wildflowers, enjoying the breeze, but only until he realizes that he's not alone here. He looks about 12 and is draped in a white linen gown. These creatures around here are strange and new- like small upright apes, but there's more to them than that. They've got a special spark to them that he doesn't quite recognize.

It's strange that he looks like one of them. His Father must have done that, and he wonders why. Is he supposed to learn something here? Probably. He props himself behind a large branch of the great old tree and watches, half hidden. He doesn't think he's quite ready to interact with them yet, but he's very curious.

[erratic_hematic]

(NOT regressed, looks about 9)

"No. Agh! What in the buggering hell is this supposed to be about. Fucking-"

He's a child. Obviously, a child. And wearing fashion that went out of style a couple hundred years ago. All in all, this feels utterly ridiculous.

He plops himself down at the little fountain and crosses his arms over his chest. Nothing to do but wait for this whole thing to end.

[powerdealer]

[Seth is about 10, and fully regressed - though he has his powers, but he probably won't realise unless they become necessary.]

Seth is so overwhelmed by the scope of the playground that for a while he just kinda stands there gaping at it. They don't have anything like this where he lives. There's a lawn and some unclimbable trees, and that's about it - and the lawn is usually full of either people (always older than him) or trash or both. There's a swing-set at his school, but they're either all broken or taken up by people (again, always older than him).

He cautiously starts exploring the playground. There are other kids running around too, and Seth finds it's almost just as fun to watch them play as it is to climb the fort. It doesn't quite occur to him yet that he could approach one of them.

[timeladylost]

This is so cool.

She's not used to being able to play so openly. Nyx loves to run around, she loves to jump and shout and play games in the fields, but the other students at the Academy think that it's unseemly, or messy, or that they'd get in trouble. And yeah, maybe they will, but who cares? But her arguments tend to fall on deaf ears, and she's left to run around on her own.

But this? A whole structure made for playing on? Forget using bogs or fields or fruit-stalls, or trying to climb up the smooth walls of one of the libraries in the Capitol. She could do whatever she wanted here. She didn't even realize it at first, not until she watched a couple of the other kids.

And so there's a rambunctious, blonde Time Tot racing around--spinning the tic tac toe board, jumping off of the more moderate platforms, and swinging from the hanging bars. Just wait until Keikophnyxol finds out what a slide does.

[not in the game (yet???), so fully regressed to about 8 or 9.]

[driftseeker]

There's a little girl in the fountain, really truly in it, giggling over the way the water tickles over her fingers when she blocks the streams of water with cupped hands. This isn't her father's workshop, but that's okay. It's bright and sunny but not in the humid way like at home, not like it's about to rain. And best of all, there aren't any ominous echoes on the radio, no hush-static voice murmuring about the deep dark things from the sea crawling their way out onto land.

Here is bright and pretty and peaceful, and Mako likes playing in the water even if she's well and truly soaked by now. No more caring about things she hears on radios, not today. She's having way too much fun to worry about that.

[ooc: Mako is about 10 and is also probably still learning English.]

[anguiform]

Well, this is odd. Zaphkiel... doesn't know where he is, and that's rarely happened. Yeah, there was the Beginning, but things get nebulous that far back anyway, and since then there's been the spheres of Heaven, which are all well-trod and known, and-- more recently-- the Earth. Which is pretty excellent, Zaphkiel thinks. He knows some of his stodgier brethren are a bit dubious about the whole thing, but it's so, well, excitingly wild! He's been down a few times and had a wander-- just for the purposes of observation; he's not in the business of guarding or shaping or any of that.

This has got to be Earth, strange though it is that he can't remember how he got here, nor how he ended up in this body, which-- he looks down at his hands-- seems uncommonly small. He spares a frown of thought, but puts it down to ineffability with the shrug of one who is perhaps already getting slightly cheesed off with that whole concept. The structure that dominates the field looks like a sort of... crude imitation of some of the palaces of Heaven. Funny. But it merits exploration, he thinks, and he sets off curiously to do some poking about.

To those dreamers who hail from Manhattan, they might recognise this particular boy as looking much like an aged-down version of the demon Crowley. Or, at any rate, what that body would look like if it were about twelve; weedy, with wild hair and-- unusually-- dark and entirely human-looking eyes. But Zaphkiel wouldn't know anything about that; he's an angel, and demons haven't even been invented yet.

[stronglikebear]

This is, like, infinity times better than all the other times he's been a bear. He's not in a cage! There's stuff everywhere! There was a fountain! There's food!

A very damp (and very round) bear cub can currently be found pawing open the door of an ice cream stand someone went and left unlatched. He very studiously pries it open, shoving his nose into the crack so he can use his face to push it the rest of the way open and clamber up inside. He is going to wreck this place until he gets the ice cream he can smell, and possibly wreck things some more after that also.


[Shut up it's close enough to the full moon, I do what I want]