(Participants include Marly, Cousjava, and Daedalus. The part of the Mutant was played by Shiloh)
PLEASANTVILLE
(48m44s) Lost Lamb Marly's movements, for the last few. . . days? weeks? She's lost count. In any case, they've not entirely been under her complete direction. Or rather, her complete direction is less than accurate with any amount of certainty.
(46m58s) Lost Lamb Marly, in short, has been getting lost. Vexing, irritating, and a sure way to be late for tea. This is normally a bad thing; you arrive late and all the best sammiches are gone and there's no cookies left. But Marly is usually late for tea.
(44m40s) Lost Lamb Marly has decided not to get overly worried about this new habit of hers. It's not like she's gotten lost on her way to the bathroom in her own house, or accidentally walked into the PSK's backroom when looking for the Drive.
(42m44s) Lost Lamb Marly doesn't rule out that last option. Give it time. But wherever her erring hooves lead her, it usually turns out to be right where she needed to be. Some would find that uncanny, others distressing. A higher power leading her by the nose.
(39m55s) Lost Lamb Marly isn't number among either group. She's a Joker, no matter her size or shape. The feel is familiar, the taste in the air and the crawl to her skin when things start to go a certain way.
(37m29s) Lost Lamb Marly is surprised but not startled when her thoughts and wandering feet take her to Pleasantville. She stands still for a moment, looking about the outpost, at the slime and the mud and the cleanliness.
(33m57s) Lost Lamb Marly peers at a poster about a poetry slam. Only they don't call it a slam, they call it a Social Conglomeration with Negative Overtones Suitable for Enhancing and Advancing Rivalries and Bleak Putdowns in Iambic Pentameter.
(32m28s) Lost Lamb Marly blinks. They lost her about halfway through that. So, wait, are there. . . . rival Mutant poetry gangs? And they. . . Way too confusing. She shrugs and moves on. She's got a thing she has to understand, and it's not Mutant society.
(24m46s) Lost Lamb Marly fluffles her hair with both hands, pausing to pull on her ears as she looks for someone who looks like they might know something about things that aren't Real.
(17m36s) Lost Lamb Marly whines. “How'm I supposed to find a way to break reality if'n I can't find anybody what knows about it!”
(10m20s) A nearby Mutant wetly slides a myriad of mucus-slimed eyeballs towards the sheepy Joker. He (she? It?) slorshles her way, wearing an expression of enlightened curiosity on one of its several twisted face-like appendages.
(7m36s) Lost Lamb Marly keeps a hold of hidden ears and eyes the mutant. “Hallo, good morning. . . Um.” Because she has been raised well, Marly asks, “Pardon me, are you by any chance of a poetic or metaphysical inclination?”
(2m27s) The Mutant is impressed by the sheep Joker's lack of vomiting inclinations. It splorches closer, leaving a thick, gelatenous trail of slime behind it. “Why yes,” it replies with its topmost mouth-like orface. “A fellow philospher?”
(14m15s) Lost Lamb Marly's fingers take up a subtle, worried, calming motion on her scalp. I must not freak, freak is the mind killer, and boy is this freak killing my mi- “Not really. A student, more like. How does one live in the shadows?”
(10m22s) The Mutant wonders at the meditative powers of head scritching. If only it had a proper scalp to scritch, so that it could test this itself! Woe! “Ah,” it replies, impressed by the suitable gravity of the question. “Well. . .”
(8m47s) The Mutant begins to discourse. “By avoiding the Light, in a physical and metaphysical state. We Mutants are in a constant realm of shadow, plagued and beleaguered as we are by the cruel jibs and ridicule of more perfect creatures. . .”
(8m41s) Lost Lamb Marly bates her breath.
(4m12s) Lost Lamb Marly stammers out, “but. . . but what if it's not to hide?”
(3m49s) The Mutant continues, unheeding as a bit of limb-like material squelches off of its body and plops wetly to the street. “Our minds are filled with a never ceasing depression, exposed as we are to the underbelly of creation! We do not have-
(2m26s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava lsurches in, pausing to wave a tentacle at Mebanold.
(1m51s) The Mutant pauses. Not to hide? Oh, but he has it now! “Trapped? To escape? Yes! We Mutants know of this as well! For only in the solace of our shadows, by embracing our misery and vileness can we truly endure! That is the shadow of the soul!
(1m5s) <Wise> Daedalus pauses on his way to the steak house. An existential mutant? Experiencing ennui? He listens in silence. No, that wouldn't work. Silently is how he listens.
(15s) Lost Lamb Marly blinks and tries not to make a face of despair. That would only encourage the Mutant. “And. . . if one wanted to live in light. As dust motes.”
(7m2s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava injerects, “One would fail. Again.”
(5m8s) It places a wobbling hand-thing over the left-center of its bloated body. “Ah. . .the glimmering dream. Impossible for us, but to grasp at with despairing thoughts.” It squints several milky eyes at Marly. “But for you. . .”
(2m36s) It nods to the interjecting Mutant. “Best the shadows for us,” it agrees. To Marly: “Your thoughts must be free and light, as bright as that world which we cannot but dare in our quagmires to even dream of glimpsing.”
(1m13s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava says “Agreed. The Shadows are the closest we can come to the light.”
(36s) Lost Lamb Marly winces. “I don't like the sound of quagmires. It sounds all gloomy, full of things waiting fer you to trip. It's a long way down, and results in scabby knees.”
(1h9m) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava says “It is. Oh, such a long way. Down, down, down. . .ever falling. . .down. . .into the shadows. . . .”
(1h7m) The Mutant thinks, perhaps, that it is in love. This sheep Joker, she understands! It trembles with joy and-dare it?-hope! But woe! Such a lovely creature is so far above! Woe! Woe! Never could it be! Its eyes glaze with despair.
(9m40s) Lost Lamb Marly does not like this conversation any more. “It's not for me. I gots to find a way fer someone else, see. And it's not real so how can she be there.”
(8m5s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava questions “What is real?”
(6m) Lost Lamb Marly answers with childish petulance, “Real things.”
(5m36s) <Wise> Daedalus moves on his way, contemplating Marly's dilemma. He murmurs: “Find a cave. You can best see dust motes when you are in the shadow and they are in the light.”
(4m32s) The Mutant hiccup-sobs, a sound more like gas bubbles bursting from a pungent bog. “Hope is not real, not for us.” It tries to recover, halfway. “She isn't real if she's there. She is trapped by hopeless dreams and desires never to reach.
(4m12s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava is amazed by Deadalus' insight to the core of a mutants existence. Always in shadow, seeing the light.
(3m24s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava says “The entire world is a dream in the eyes of Hatayos.”(3m18s) Lost Lamb Marly frowns. “But she is real, even when she was. . . So, wait. Dreams?”
(1m55s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava says “All is etheral, northing is real. We are but of blighting synapses.”
(1m19s) The Mutant wobblingly nods, and slime drips from three of its chin-like bumps. “Dreams,” it sighs, and nodwobbles again to his fellow Mutant. “She is trapped within Dreams.”
(57m15s) Lost Lamb Marly's hands finally stop their worry. “Dreams. Alright. I'll. . . figure out something.” She curtsies, takes a step back. “Thank you.”
(19m22s) <LDD>Technical Sergeant Cousjava replies “As are we all.”
(16m51s) The Mutant blurbles and shluffles a step closer. “Before you go, a name! And permit me to bequeath you with a token of my unworthy affections and admiration!”
(14m24s) Lost Lamb Marly blinks. “Um. . . M. . . Marly. And really, that's not. . . necessary. At all.”
(10m56s) The Mutant thinks that it is absolutely necessary. It must fan the flames of unrequited love so as to more keenly taste the bittersweet tang of miserable despair. It spelunks several knobbly arms inside its main body, searching.
(10m6s) Lost Lamb Marly closes her mouth very firmly and holds her breath, looking away. As is only polite to keep from chucking.
(7m17s) A wet, sickening snap emanates from somewhere within the opaque gelatenous blob. The Mutants arms resurface, with. . .with something cupped in its bowl-like syrupy hand-things. The something is. . .semi-clear, like a coagulated glob of-
(6m58s) Lost Lamb Marly backs up. Backs far up. “Excuse me, I have to go save someone from almost certain pain. Not the pleasant, inspiring sort, either.” She runs, in a hurry to save herself.
(5m13s) -mucus. A bit of chalk-white bone lies in the centre, and blue-green veins extend outward, emerging from the slime as wobbling, writhing tentacles. “A piece of my spine, for you are the pillar of my thoughts and my soul!”
(3m33s) The Mutant sees that woe! His unobtainable love has run off, but oh for a noble cause has she gone! To save someone! Yes, she is truly a scintillating symbol of Light, one that he can never touch! Never reach! WOE!
(2m58s) The Mutant slorshles off to a corner, bubblesobbing in beautifule, exquisite, agonizing heartache.