[Ky studies the Vine for a moment once the feed picks up before she shrugs.]

I suppose that in general it's not a problem if we duplicate each other's work, since we're coming from different angles.

But it seems like some sort of central repository of what people have tried and what they have learned might be helpful. It might seem like a lot of hassle, but it would in effect save a lot of time for everyone.

And more importantly, since I would imagine that most of us have an overabundance of time, it might save some frustration.

[Ky understands paperwork, and imposing a little organization on this situation seems like it would be helpful.]

As well as we could make it clearer to new people what the full situation is, rather than simply sharing our personal experiences.

[Hi, Gardens! It's Feferi. She's looking pretty perturbed at the moment.]

One short question for everyone.

I think it's better if one is...intimate with someone else for the first time when you have strong feelings towards the other. SOMEONE is claiming it's just another option in a ruler's playbook.

What do you all think?

It is lately I find myself curious... I have heard many a strange and curious tale of your homes. But a question burns at my mind, one that cannot be settled so simply.

Where I come from, the Kingdom of Ivalice, we exist as a monarchy with a feudal system. Land and property are alotted to noble houses, and they in turn pledge their allegiance to the crown... no matter who holds it. This is the only system of governing I have ever known... And yet I have been told of other methods.

So, I may ask... to what powers are you beholden in your world? Governments? The Church? Who controls the masses? Who pacifies them, and cares for their needs... or fails to, in any extent?

[ Caprica is in her kitchen, having just finished doing a round of dishes — her attempts at cooking have been more successful lately, with some of the cookbooks she's found in the library. The sleeves of her dress are rolled up, and she dries her hands on the towel nearby before smoothing them down over her arms. It takes a moment for her to notice the Vine, but she's so accustomed to its presence by now that she barely reacts save for a brief, acknowledging glance. At least, not at first.

Presently, she speaks — addressing the mirror idly, unrelated to anything she'd just been doing. But it's something she's been thinking about, of late. ]

There was a place where I used to live—

[ She steps around the counter island that separates the kitchen from the dining area, passing by the dining table, fingertips grazing its cool glass surface. ]

A city that bordered on the sea. Even over the traffic and the pollution and the bustle of so many millions of people, you could still smell the sea salt, sometimes. Hear the calling of the gulls. See the sunlight on the water, if you had a tall enough building with enough of a view.

[ She's smiling faintly, only a small amount of barely perceptible tension about it. The memories are pleasant, if a little bittersweet. Her forward movement stops near the windows that face out onto the rear balcony, hands resting on the glass, only touching lightly. ]

There are lakes here, rivers, streams, but no oceans. I wonder why.

[In the Vine's mirror is the visage of a goddess, more composed and focused than the first time the network had seen her. She poised to make an impression, now dressed in her favored bronzed armor and her great avian wings fanning out from her back to cast shadows on gleaming metal. Her expression may be calm, but her gold eye betray an ever burning ferocity that should not be underestimated.]

Mortals of the Gardens.

[She doesn't mean it in a derogatory way, as it is simply how she sees the shorter lived species.]

I do not know what faith you follow. I do not know who you name as your protectors, your saviors, or your rulers. I do not know of the realms you come from. We are from different versions of the same existence. This much I understand, and this much I appreciate.

What I cannot comprehend is why you would deny the truths of the universe that extend beyond the barriers of time and space.

You would deny me, you would dismiss all that I am. I am not perfect. I am not your specific vision of celestial life. I have no illusions of such. Yet my power is real, and my purpose is grand and ever continuing.

I am a goddess.

I know what I am. Why would you think yourself so learned that you may tell me otherwise? Why do you suppose yourselves higher than I, when all you have achieved in your short lives is to quarrel with and suppress one another? Why do you assume I lie when I have nothing to gain from you?

I would offer you proof, and you would dismiss it, wrapped within your cocoons of rusted logic and skewed perceptions of the world around you. You would call for me, and I would answer, yet once your victory has been won you would assume all the glory for yourself. What am I to do with such narrow-minded beings?

I do not assume I will ever understand you, mortals. I only admit, that even I, can be dazzled by your unexplainable ways.

[Her wings flap restlessly. She is not used to this, having to deal directly with nonbelievers and skeptics.]

[Sephiroth is seated at a table, outside, one of the ornamental tables that one can find here and there within the Gardens, among the flowers, an idyllic spot. On the table is a curious chess set, which was Sephiroth's gift for the Winter Holiday. She is regarding it thoughtfully, alone but for the tendril of Vine coiled companionably around her wrist.

She's been quiet of late, but she's starting to feel more--what is it that she feels? Sociable? Restless?

Sephiroth has been here almost a year now, and she and the Vine are old friends. She's spent a great deal of time bonding with the plant, fascinated by it.]

I used to play chess often as a child. My favorite was the variant in which one can view one's own pieces, but not the pieces of one's opponent. It took three boards and a referee to play--one for each player, and one for the referee to view, to see how the pieces stood together. War chess, it's called. Like a general, one only sees and guides the movements of one's own troops. As in war, there is no perfect information, unlike in standard games of chess.

[She'd never lost. She picks up one of the monster-shaped pieces, turning it in her hand.]

This is like the sets we used. I wonder, does anyone else like to play? Ordinary chess will do.

[It looks like the Vine has accidentally activated due to someone rampaging through the Gardens. Well, she’s not rampaging yet, but the tone of her voice says it might just be happening soon. In profile is a woman, who’s not quite human judging from her feathery ears and the way her skin glows with something not of the mortal realm. But what is very clear is that she is not very happy, and she seems to be taking it out on one of the messenger cats.]

What is this ridiculous nonsense ?! You take your little scrolls back to your conniving cat master and tell him I will wear his hide as a trophy! This is unacceptable!

[She turns and addresses the air, apparently calling out to the person she thinks has done this to her regardless of if it’s the correct culprit.]

Do you hear me, Acarien?! There is more than one way to skin a cat!

[Obviously she has been so caught up in her anger that she only now notices the dress she’s wearing. And she is horrified to be garbed in such a thing.]

And what is this impractical rag?! How is one to lead their forces to battle in such a thing…

[…a rip and a tear later, and the dress has been “remodeled” to be hiked up for better mobility and the sleeves have been entirely removed. She’s been too preoccupied yelling at poor defenseless cats to walk the few feet pass the bushes and discover her armor waiting to be retrieved. She then storms off, and the Vine idles before closing the initial connection.]

[ The mirror unfurls on a location it hasn't for some time: the rear balcony of a lakeside house in the southern part of the Gardens. A blonde woman who may be familiar to a few of the more long-term residents is standing there, hands resting on the railing, seemingly unaware of the presence of the Vine as yet. The expression on her face is difficult to discern: she might be happy, or she might be close to tears. Perhaps both.

After a moment, she turns a little, catches sight of the mirror in her peripheral vision. She startles, briefly, but then she seems to calm, schooling her expression, and the look in her eyes as she reaches out to graze her fingertips for a moment along the mirror's edge is somewhere between wry and almost affectionate. The Vine is an obnoxious, nosy thing, but it's familiar, at least.

When she speaks, she's plainly addressing the mirror, but her glance is directed slightly off to one side. ]

It's been so long. For a while, I was almost convinced—

[ She stops, and shakes her head. There's the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. ]

I'm not sure this qualifies as 'less eventful.'

[ Finally, she turns her gaze directly to the mirror. ]

I'm sorry. I... may not have met some of you. Call me Caprica.

[ Has it been over a year, as it feels to her, or only a few months? A few weeks? She can't tell. ]

[ video ]

[The mirror opens on a young woman sitting cross-legged in a clearing. Her expression is blank.]

I have been instructed to use "the Vine." This appears to be a complex communications system disguised as a natural growth. I will follow instructions.

Stand by. Reaching conclusion...

Conclusion: trauma has caused me to form a vivid inner world wherein all military and political concerns are void. I was unaware I was capable of such elaborate human forms of denial.

[A pause.]

Shall I be comforted by the knowledge that I am? In accordance with most stories of such things, other people from my past will now manifest as representations of facets of my personality and discuss this matter with me. Please begin. Please begin. Please begin.

Diana?

[ Caprica has been avoiding Gaius's house ever since she accidentally conjured it from her memories. Once she considered trying to burn it down, but eventually decided she couldn't bear it. The original is already ash and splinters because of her; she doesn't want to repeat that.

But inevitably, she's back there again, sitting on the balcony, where a tendril of the Vine has crept its way up the side of the house — it's becoming part of this place. She has a cocktail glass of something a dull green color — ambrosia and rum, almost unbearably sweet, but she likes it that way — and she's staring off past the mirror, watching the lake as the sun begins to set over it.

When she speaks, her tone is idly curious, or seems that way. She still doesn't look at the mirror. ]

What do all of you miss? From home.

[Private thoughts, hackable if you can read her mood]

For all the holes I could point out in the Warrior Princess's reasoning...why didn't I keep investigating on my own? At the first remotely plausible suggestion from one of the kidnappers, I just sat back and followed orders. Used the meager tools I was given for tiny, insignificant comforts instead of continuing to look at the big picture.

That's not happening again.

[/Private]

[Public, Audio, intended to be filtered from NPCs]

I understand a few people have traveled to the boundaries of the Garden and returned. I'd appreciate any information you have to give, as well as volunteers for some reconnaissance-in-force. I'll be leading an expedition to determine details of the border areas and try to find any unguarded and traversible paths that may exist, as well as bringing back more samples of the strange matter there should we fail to find an exit.



Even if I have to go alone, it's time we forced some detailed answers out of this place.

[ Hands and cheeks pressed against the mirror, the image one would get through the vine would be of a blonde girl all squished against it, before she pulls back, though only barely. She tilts her head and blows against the mirror, looks up, looks down, in a very skittish nature, very energetic, almost. Like a bird trying to find her way out of a closed house.

She knocks on the mirror softly and waits. When nothing happens, she pouts, puffs her cheeks out, then seems to stare directly at the viewer - not that she's aware that this is some sort of communication device. ]

Lost, so lost. So very lost. [ She says in a little wail, her tone a bit of a sing-song like sound, pressing her forehead on the mirror again with the saddest look. ] Lost like the Stars. Must find my way back home, yes, yes, I do, must find the Stars again, too, also, yes. [ She gives a strange wail-like chirp and presses her face to the mirror, looking rather comical, but her eyes, big eyes, golden, so very sad. ] Will the lost Stars be here, yes, no, please, maybe?

[ She presses her hands against the mirror again and wails again. It's almost as if she's acting like a mix of a spoilt child that has just gotten lost and a wary caged bird - and really, that's what she is. ]

[Sometime after nightfall, Hallibel activates the vine and speaks. She sounds distracted, though, like she's waiting for something...]

If I am not mistaken, not one of us has wished for a person and had them actually arrive. I received mementos of those I wished to see instead, as I am guessing the rest of you have also received. It is... unfortunate.

[There. A twinkle of movement in the sky, of a star falling in the form of a meteorite. A glowing red ball of energy flies from her hand and soars like a bullet through the sky to catch it in midair before it can hit the ground.]

I have also noticed new structures appearing where there had been nothing the day before. Who is building them?

[ Death is out in the ruins, putting the falling stars to good use. Behind her, on a half-crumbled wall, are six wooden frames, each one different in style. There's no picture held by any of them, but on the backing where a photo or painting would be placed, the letter D has been scratched onto the surface. Beneath each frame is an item; a heavy, moth-eaten book, a helmet made to resemble the skull and spine of an unidentifiable being, the handle of a sword, a rock in the shape of a heart, a hooked ring, and a small glass vial, containing a liquid made up of ever changing colours; and they are all quite useless. The book has no words, the helm is too small to wear, the sword is clearly harmless, the rock may well have always been there, the ring has been cut and no longer forms a circle, and who would even considering drinking whatever the liquid is? ]

[ apparently pleased with her lot, Death is sat on a rock, legs crossed as she tends to the “table” in front of her. It is, in fact, only another piece of the ruins, but she's thrown a sheet over it, and set up a small tea set on the surface. She pours and stirs the piping hot water, adding in leaves and sugar and honey, and while she seems to have no interest in drinking it herself, she may well be waiting for company ]

[ after a moment, she speaks into the vine ]

A long time ago, when the skies were still pitch-black, the First Man set about placing all of the stars in the sky. It was, as I'm sure you can all imagine, a long, arduous task, and he set out to do it the only way he knew how: methodically, with a sense of complete order and control. The First Man decided that he would place all of the stars in rows and columns, each an equal distance apart, so that the night sky might resemble a grid, no matter which way anyone or anything gazed upon it.

But! – and here's where it gets interesting – he spent so very long mapping the position of each and every star that the trickster god Coyote was able to steal them from him! Now, on the surface, Coyote appeared to be less serious about his work than Loki, and less frightful than Wisakedjak, but a trickster is as a trickster does, and it isn't very smart to assume that how they present themselves is anything close to their true nature. For the First Man and all those who followed, Coyote was the portal through which chaos bled into the world, and with it, the ability for mortals to gain wisdom and differentiate between what they should and shouldn't do. Morals, if you will.

Now Coyote, he took the stars, and threw them without care into the sky, scattering them in clusters and constellations across the heavens. Ever the wise fool, Coyote didn't particularly intend for anything to come of his unruly behaviour, and yet, with the way that the sky appears to be falling, I can't help but be reminded of him. Not that I'm suggesting you're a trickster in any way, shape or form, Ms. Damsel, but it'd be nice if everyone could be at least a little careful.

And remember, the inverse law of wishing: the more you want something, the less likely you are to get it.

[Mireille is seated outside of the necessities on the grass, looking up at the bright night sky, an amused little smile on her face. She's done some scrouging and come up with a dark blue skirt with lilies on it that she deemed acceptable, and a simple light blue blouse. Her purse is resting on her lap.]

Wishes. Although I imagine we can't wish to leave, that would be far too easy, wouldn't it?

[She looks down at the vine image.]

I suppose I'd be happy with rooms that didn't randomly change, at least. So, taking 'going home' off the table...what is everyone going to wish for?

[ action ]

[As the sun sets, the usual darkness overcomes the sky. There is no moon in the Gardens, and there are no stars. The only lights are fireflies, whatever marks the necessities, and the distant glow of actual fires.

Tonight, that changes.

It starts with a tiny *pop!* noise, and a single bright star appears in the sky. Tentatively, a *ding!* rings out, and another star appears. *Bip!* and there's another one.

Then, in a symphony of small, obnoxiously cute noises, stars cascade into being in the sky. For the first minute or so it's a nice picture. But it doesn't stop. Not until the entire sky is filled with stars, and light shines as bright as day.

Then silence falls.]

[ voice ]

Oh, no, I think I did that one wrong...

[OOC: Players are welcome to use this post for reaction threads or make their own. The Queen will be responding only sporadically.]

Message posted on or about 2115 hours, 11/29/17 by my home's calendar.

Mirelle has told me that the area bounded by the Garden is finite, and that there's a definite edge with... something beyond it.

I'd like to scout it out, and would like some assistance doing so. If any of your are skilled fighters or investigators, I need your help.

Something is going on out there, and I for one would sleep better at night knowing what it is.

Thank you in advance.

- Anna Lin

( OOC )

[ action ]

[There is a teenage girl asleep in the orchard, nestled securely between two branches of an apple tree. Or she was asleep, anyway; now she stirs a little and starts to mutter to herself.]

You have to open your eyes, Katniss.

[She opens her eyes, and when she speaks again it's a bit more audible.]

You have to get up, Katniss.

[She pulls herself to her feet.]

You have to get out of the tree, Katniss.

[Slowly, she starts climbing down the tree. A few apples bounce to the ground as she goes.]