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Everything Matters Where Nothing Matters

Crystallize | The cola wars - Gallagher & Blade

neverendingdeath

"...in more ways than one." Concerns surrounding distrust did not vanish into thin air with the shake, though they evidently subsided. Blade was not one for imagining things, but there was much left to be filled in with how Gallagher spoke of the places he'd eventually lead him off to. "So long as the sights make the trip worthwhile." There was no need to think any further on why a hound might bother with such things, even dogs had dreams they'd like to seek. "Considering the suddenness, it's more likely it did stem from some untouched place." Though it was only a hunch, killing two birds with one stone wasn't the worst thing they could do. Feet neither tired nor enthusiastic followed after Gallagher and the question raised black brows. His eyes searched along the walls until he found a door, similar to many but different in that it was obviously an eatery. Normally he'd just try the door. A surprising amount of them were propped open enough but- he had not the mind for that right now. His sword struck straight through the crack and with a stiff shove, he popped it open. Two, three steps in and an entire case sat ripe for the taking. Two bottles were grabbed and before any occupants could speak scream of even move really, he had exited. One bottle was held out to the hound as he caught back up to him.

#neverendingdeath #thread : everything matters where nothing matters #commissions: harmony

There didn't come an answer to his question for some time, and when Gallagher realized that his new companion might have gotten lost somewhere down this straightforward and uncrowded alleyway, he glanced over his shoulder again. Sure enough, Mr. Sword wasn't there anymore.

He'd been left a few feet back, where he was now strolling out from a cafe with a pair of bottles in hand. Like Gallagher, the employees and customers inside were likely too dumbstruck by the blatant thievery to react right away, but by the the swordsman had reached him again, the door swung back open to a young man in a white dress shirt and black slacks, with an apron tied around his waist - clearly someone who worked there.

With a huff, Gallagher slapped a hand down on the man's shoulder as if apprehending him for the crime. The shouting stopped all of a sudden though, and the cafe employee jogged slowly to a confused stop. As if seeing neither thief nor accomplice anymore, he looked around the alleyway as if he wasn't quite sure where he was, or what he'd been chasing.

After all, what he saw at the other end of the street was not two men, but a pair of Clockie mascots tagging along at the end of a whole parade of them.

Gallagher shoved Mr. Sword down a side street and released him.

"None of that now," he said with an exasperated sigh, and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. "The Family's serious about how it handles lawbreakers."

It was almost as if he himself wasn't part of the Family, and that he was hiding his own status as a Bloodhound. That was true, of course, but it wasn't a card he'd show the swordsman quite yet. Instead, he took the SoulJoy Mr. Sword had offered him a moment ago and looked it over.

"... We've got new bottles, but they're not gonna lead us to the source. Don't tell me you just wanted to snag one for yourself." He glanced up with a smirk. "Once all this is said 'n done, I'll pay ya back for the one I broke with a better drink. Promise. So no need to go around stealin' these."

brief even as bright

⏱︎ [ misha & gallagher ] ⏱︎

"This works! It's a great view of the park," Misha responded, grinning and sitting down on the bench that Gallagher led him towards, "I guess you'd know all the good spots as a Bloodhound."

His bag of candy sat on his knees, wrappers jutting out from the hole at the bottom of the paper. He made no mention of how the plastic poked into his skin, even if he did find it kind of painful. Instead he mirrored the Hound's casual movement, taking a piece of the candy and popping it in his mouth. It was a miracle that he did not end up choking on it.

The candy was sweet—maybe a bit too sweet, but Penacony always flooded the senses with excess. Misha got used to the saccharine the longer it stayed on his tongue, and soon even began to enjoy it. He reached for another, but soon dropped it back in the bag.

"Drop the—whuh?"

Misha's eyes widened. Gallagher occasionally said things he could not understand, but he had always chalked that up to indecipherable grown-up sentiment. This was the first time he had heard him say something well and truly absurd. He opened his mouth to speak—then quickly realized it was a bit of a rude gesture. So he quickly tried to swallow. The candy went down his throat like a tough pill, and tasted quite like it too. The cavern of his mouth tingled with a sudden bitterness.

"No, I'm not Mikhail… that's Grandpa. Did you know him?" He didn't think anyone knew his Grandpa aside from him, but it made sense that Gallagher might. He had been in Dreamflux Reef since forever. Maybe the two met before Mikhail left for his travels. That does not explain why the Hound would mistake Misha for him, though. Worried, the boy reached for Gallagher's shoulder.

"Are you alright, Gallagher? You said something about—Aagh!" Abruptly, he froze. A hand went to his head, which by now had a throbbing pain splitting it in two. He felt a cold drop of sweat run down the back of his neck, "S-Sorry, I'm so so sorry, my head is just…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, quietly whimpering. Memories ran through his head like a reel of film being rapidly spun, but Misha found that he could not really hold onto most of them. After each vision passed, his mind turned blank. Severance was the best way he could describe it—as though one part of his mind was being cleaved from the other and thrown elsewhere.

( And when it landed, it had begun to form a small mind of its own. Somewhere in the vague Dreamscape... )

Suddenly, Misha rose, his hard-earned candy spilling all over the floor. The bellhop turned to Gallagher. There was something like horror that was imprinting itself onto his expression: the symptoms of a grave realization being made. He grabbed Gallagher's hand.

"Are you still looking for Mikhail?" he asked, hushed and frantic, like a criminal whispering contraband, "Because, The Watchmaker, I… I think he's here. Somewhere..." Misha winced; another spike of pain ran through his head, "But we have to find him before anyone else does!"

#dreamblazed #thread : brief even as bright #commissions: harmony #// no worries! this works yeah haha #// for the record I don't mind slower paced threads

One thing happened after another in quick succession, and within seconds, what had begun as a cordial catching up between friends had devolved into some intimate chaos, unknown to anyone who passed them by for the concert at the center of the park. Even those who crushed runaway candy underfoot only glanced curiously toward the bench. In a world where people were regularly found vomiting rainbows along the sidewalks, there was nothing unusual about a boy spilling a bag of candy.

But for Gallagher, this scene was much more symbolic. The candy pieces tumbling nonstop from the paper bag felt like his own preconceptions falling apart. He'd thought Mikhail had-- No, he was wrong, then. Hope was a fool's game, and here he'd been tricked into it by those optimistic Nameless from the Astral Express. He'd started to apologize, and to excuse the blunder for having too much to drink again, that he was showing his age and not thinking straight. But Misha's hand on his shoulder, however light it had been, seared like fire. The boy didn't need his excuse, it said. He already thought his mind had given out.

And maybe it had. With a rough, uneasy laugh, Gallagher started to brush the concern away anyway. 'Yeah, sorry, you just reminded me of him all of a sudden' rose to the surface but never quite gained a voice, because shortly after, Misha was doubled over in pain. Now it was Gallagher's turn to reach for him, and to ask: "You alright, kid?"

His eyes, shadowed by a heavy, furrowed brow, followed the young bellhop as he rose to his feet. Then, all of a sudden, his concern broke open into surprised confusion. His eyebrows rose with curiosity.

"He's here...?" Of course he was, Gallagher wanted to say. The Watchmaker's body, anyway. It'd been in the Garden earlier that day, just where he'd left him, watched over by his son and Penacony's eternal moon. Even now, he could close his eyes and reach deep into the darkness of his mind, and see the old man in his permanent repose through the eyes of a watchful hound. But Misha was an an earnest, innocent kid, and he could scarcely believe that he'd learned how to lie. Still, he wasn't so quick to his feet, even thought Misha tugged at his hand.

"Where, kid? I thought your grandpa had left a long time ago." He pulled back on his hand. "Why don't you take a seat and relax for a sec? You don't look so good."

✧　if only you walk long enough.

　　　　　　　　　　　　❪　 vaporize　/　pepeshi　❫

SHE HADN'T EXPECTED THIS MESS AT ALL ,　✧　but then she supposes he didn't know that. yet the absurdity of it——a speaking metal dog fighting with a tiny man with a fuzz ball on his head in an abandoned bar over sentiment and aesthetics——seems at the same time to fall right in line with everything else she's experienced here. her eyes briefly follow gallagher where he ambles to the front of the store and watches him casually flip the sign and close the door with a jingle of its bell, and she thinks again that he must be more than just a regular, to be so comfortable here. she'd been so distracted by the commotion as it'd happened that gallagher's reaction hadn't even occurred to her ; she'd missed the terse regret, the way his gaze had lingered.

". . . even if she acted quite aggressive, isn't ' nightmare ' still a little harsh?" she poses in return, caught off guard by the judgment passed on the dog——daisy——for being so eccentric and looking from him to the inert body of plates and bolts that moments ago had been so alive. whatever kind of meka these were, they seemed in some ways even more sophisticated than fontaine's. or maybe sophisticated wasn't the word, but——person-like? could they even deteriorate like a person and become erratic?

the thought fills her with a drop of inexplicable grief.

perhaps fortunately, gallagher disturbs it quickly with a wry joke before it can settle ; or at least she assumes it's a joke. she's already standing in any case, so part of her does consider taking the chance to slip away, mismatched eyes sliding back to the entryway and its threadbare welcome mat. but what's to say she wouldn't run into lowell again shortly, or in some other place? and there's more than just that. baffling as this has been, the. . . what had he said he was——a pepeshi?——is the first and only living thing to have given her some recognition and direction. the rest of this place was so overwhelming, and all its patrons flitting here and there from sight to sight and impossible to talk to. even if lowell was getting the wrong idea of her for some reason she still couldn't understand, he'd at least given her something to do other than aimlessly wander and wonder where she would sleep or stay if it came to it, where to even go in this endless amusement park.

for a bit of temper and some presumptuousness, it felt to her——as she considered it truly for the first time now that the opportunity had been presented to leave it behind——perhaps worth it to stay and see this to. . . some end.

so instead of leaving, she sighs and half-turns back to the customer turned impromptu janitor who has in fact not moved at all to start cleaning the mess, making her wonder if he had meant to imply by his words that she should leave, that whatever was happening here had become too private and no longer for her to see. she almost reconsiders ; but then, in a buoy of obstinance and curiosity, crosses her arms instead. "who. . . is rudy porter?" or was?

#fanfaire #thread : if only you walk long enough #// love writing a chronic liar because if I happen to have forgotten some bit of lore we established in an earlier post #// and gallagher contradicts it in this story - well - that's simply IC hahaha

With a question like that, Gallagher takes one more sweep across the bar's destruction and turns around the lean the broom against the wall again. It won't find much use in his hands, which, by the look of him, might not come as so much as a surprise, and so instead he picks his way over the shattered glass and dark puddles of wine to the backside of the bar.

"To put it simply," he starts as he bends over to retrieve two bright pink and green cans from the miniature refrigerator beneath the counter, as if he's right at home here and hardly needs to ask for their location or permission, "the last owner of this place, before it became Daisy's."

One can cracks open with a bubbling hiss.

"Daisy's owner, too, actually." This time he doesn't mean the bar, and glances toward the silent machine hound on the ground before he takes a swig from his drink and makes his way slowly back around the counter. "By that, I mean creator. Rudy Porter was the lead designer for the Bubble Hound model seen all over Penacony today. Daisy was the first. The prototype, in other words, for what's become the most successful SoulGlad delivery service in the dreamscape."

With an exhausted sigh, he drops down onto one of the cushioned benches of the nearest booth and makes himself comfortable, arm draped over its low, plush back, his hand with its drink resting on the round table in the middle without a coaster. One more ring of water damage would only add to the collection of them that have gathered across its scratched top over the years, so he doesn't bother. The weariness of a man who's been out barhopping until sunrise settles over him then, as if the fight between Lowell and Daisy had taken everything out of him despite how little he'd been involved. He gestures to the bench on the other side of the table for Miss Assistant to join him, and slides the second can across for her to have it.

"You'll like this better than that sugar free trash," he says with a smirk, and then settles back again.

"Without Miss Daisy, this bar wouldn't exist. Once upon a time, so the story goes, Rudy had gone out too far in the undeveloped part of the dream and encountered a meme that gave him a vision. He'd create the dreamscape's first bar to offer direct delivery to customers on the go, but, see, memes are usually pretty dangerous. This one was gonna kill 'im. Fortunately, Rudy was a veteran of the liberation war and could hold his own against one meme, so he destroyed it and made his way back to the civilization. But he kept a shard of that meme, and that's eventually what became Miss Daisy. She began delivering SoulGlad and other orders from this bar to customers all over the Moment of Stars."

There's a pause in the story as Gallagher sips from his drink and then looks around at the disrepair of the back half of the restaurant, which had been spared from the scuffle between Daisy and Lowell earlier but had not escaped the hands of time. Lowell had, of course, been making notes about this part when he'd arrived, and there are small measurement marks on the back wall, barely visible among the other streaks and scars. Gallagher stares at these for a moment.

"... One day though, at the height of his success, Rudy left and never came back."

frame story

comm. ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀hanu adventure.

AN EXPERIENCE WORTHY OF ' THE PLANETARIUM '　♤　slides across the speckled marble. rather than gustatory, the drink gallagher had prepared is a visual journey first before he even gets to the part about drinking. following an unspoken directive instinct, the toothpick twirled in his hand comes to the decorative balloon first, piercing it in a burst like a small supernova that oozes down and into⠀(⠀and over, some of it⠀)⠀the sleek sides of the glass. dark, insidious ink permeates and eclipses bright color, swallowing idyllic sunset.

he's just about to laugh and comment on the visual expertise before he realizes that it's not quite over. he'd nearly missed something, and has to peer closer to the glass to make it out. there, dots of silver twinkling amidst the darkened liquid as if they were living ; the blanket of complete indigo had provided the perfect canvas for the stars to shine, whatever it was in the formula that caused them. the gravel of gallagher's rough irony pairs well with it coming over the countertop, though even aventurine couldn't say for sure whether he sounded happy with himself or just the opposite.

looked like the answer lay in giving the drink a taste.

it goes down faster than he expects from the cloying way the syrup had permeated through the layers: bitter and confusing at first, turning to sweet like a punctuation mark——then all of it gone at once, as fast as it'd come, surprisingly light with almost no texture or aftertaste. it left him wanting to try it again to make sure he'd gotten it right the first time, but he guesses that made sense ; it was only a short arcade game after all, and a fairytale story. was gallagher trying to say that it was fleeting, incapable of leaving a lasting impression? a wry smile laughs at himself. he's probably overthinking this.

"mm ~ " swallowing the last of it, he sets the glass back down with a clink, nodding. "interesting choice of ending. ' a deal that satisfies everyone '. . . haha, you're not just saying that because i'm here, are you?" knowing look only lasts for a second, playful and unaccusatory. "i also like happy endings, naturally, especially the ones where everyone wins." without leaving a chance for the bartender to think more on the remark, he launches into a follow-up question while eyeing over the row of bottles that gallagher had pulled out, head tilted to scan over colored glass necks and vintage labels. "but what about hanu's friends? the ones who didn't get to star in the story? what i hear, they get captured at the beginning and never show up again, even after the heroes save the day. no one's thinking about them by then, of course." even the game's maker, he wagers. to them, they'd always just been no more than a plot device, which was fair enough.

"but that leaves plenty of room for imagination. i'd like to hear what you think should have happened to them, friend ~ good or bad, this isn't anything serious. feel free to be creative while the stakes are low."

#avcnturine #thread : frame story #commissions: abundance #// genuinely didn't think this reply was going to get this long when I started it lmao #// tfw you have to describe stuff #// realized after writing this that I wrote it in pRESENT TENSE #// smh messed me up

Pleased by his guest's reception of the drink, Gallagher begins resetting his workstation - rinsing used utensils, putting bottles back in their places, and wiping down the counter - for whatever challenge he'll throw at him next. It's only when Aventurine makes some half-joke about catering a happy ending for his sake that he glances up again and smiles. It's a look that says "status DOES buy better treatment." Or maybe it's merely the gesture of a seasoned bartender well accustomed to anticipating and satisfying his customer's every need. But he doesn't say anything more, and with that smile still tucked into the corner of his cheek, he lowers his eyes to the countertop again as the Stoneheart finally makes his way to a new prompt.

"What happens to the supporting characters, eh?" A quick glance to meet the young man's multicolored eyes, but his hands are already pulling new glasses and bottles into play. This time, he gathers three cups in total: two short shot glasses, and a third, taller, thinner one.

"I guess you'll have to find out."

Perhaps a testament to his experience and skill, it doesn't take him long to concoct three distinct drinks. They're more like small samples, barely more than a shot each, even for the tall glass, but each wildly different from the other two. Noting that Aventurine had managed to get at least halfway through the last one before he'd finished this trio, he takes the liberty to pick up and move that drink aside to make room for his newest creations.

One by one, he sets them in a line in front of his guest. The first, in one of the shotglasses, is stuffed full of silvery clump of cotton, its rim lined with crackling, neon blue candy. Giving a tumbler a few final shakes, he uncaps it and pours what looks like liquid gold over the top of it, and the cotton dissolves like sparks eating through steel wool. From it, comes the scent of cinnamon and orange.

The second, the other shotglass, fizzes like SoulGlad, light green in color. For this one, Gallagher fishes his lighter from his pocket, flicks open the lid and strikes a flame. It takes two quick passes before the liquid alights with a nearly translucent blue fire that smolders gently for a moment before a marshmallow-like cover begins to bubble out of the top of the glass, complete with the scent of a campfire. Below, the SoulGlad seems to bubble more violently, like a cauldron over a fire, until the flame disappears in a thin wisp of a smoke and the drink settles: a fizzing base with a gooey, scorched layer of foam.

Then comes the last one. The tall glass is filled with barely an eighth of something clear and inert, which might as well be water. Gallagher slides open the metal lid to the icebox embedded in the counter and extracts a perfectly round ball of ice, which he sets with tongs into the glass. It appears to barely fit, and won't slide more than halfway down, but he doesn't force it. Instead, he reaches for another pitcher and slowly pours turquoise, floral-scented concoction over the top of it. Alongside the quiet cracking of the ice, the turquoise drip drips its way around it and into the clear liquid below, suddenly turning it rich royal blue and crystallizing into a slushy, honeycomb texture.

Gallagher gestures to all three of them once he's done, and like before, sits back to see what his guest makes of his newest creations.

"Start with whichever you like. Think of each one as a character whose story you're about to learn."

WHAT IS GALLAGHER? Theory # ?/?

This is a question that has been plaguing the HSR fandom for nearly a year, and nothing that has been released so far has come close to giving a definitive answer. Part of me hopes that we never get an answer, because this ambiguous writing fits the nature of Enigmata, but the other part of me would love if one of my 5384955 theories winds up being validated ha

I've talked about of handful of my theories here and there, and what they all seem to have in common is how contradictory they are to one another. Most of them can't be true if another theory winds up being true instead, which is why I haven't committed to any of them in my writing within this group. For now, they're just fun ideas to think about.

With that said though, I wanted to dive into one of them that I've never seen brought up within the fandom before. Granted, I don't dive very deep into fandom spaces, but it's certainly not one of the common ones.

Read below only if you're fine with major story spoilers that WILL spoil Penacony's mystery.

#out of character #headcanons #// I didn't think this meta would take me that long to write because it wound up so rambly and loose #// as always I never feel like I manage to get ALL my ideas out there on paper but at least this is here #// so I can keep referencing it for future meta #// I cleared gallagher's drafts today so this was a little treat for myself

✧　if only you walk long enough.

　　　　　　　　　　　　❪　 vaporize　/　pepeshi　❫

OF EACH OF THEM HERE ,　✧　she truly has the least investment in the decision. a little man determined to make this bar shine as the frontpiece of a newly-refurbished. . . neighborhood? she's not too sure what to call each of these segments of this bizarre world just yet. a store manager——who happened to be a meka dog——sentimentally tied to tradition and the way the bar has always been. and. . .

she looks at gallagher, who's been the most enigmatic of the three. apart from asking her a few questions as to what she thought, it's impossible to tell how exactly he feels about this place changing or not. initially she had thought he would also resist lowell's intentions as one of this place's apparent long-time customers, but now that she thinks about it, he hasn't displayed any particular hostility to the small man bustling around with his tape measurer and notebook, and his remark just now to daisy sounded tired, as though this wasn't the first time they've had this conversation and he too is ready to move on to other things.

of them here, daisy seems suddenly to be the one outnumbered. and it seems like she knows that too.

the dejected quiet lasts only an instant, then suddenly with a lunge from the yellow creature, their gathering is thrown into chaos. her abrupt movement jostles the counter, knocking over a pair of salt and pepper shakers, the latter into gallagher's near-empty glass with enough force to send it clattering in a domino effect. all three pitch off the counter to the floor ; glass breaks with a shattering chime, but this is drowned out by daisy's own frenzied barking, filling up the whole storefront. furina, who'd hurriedly stood from her seat as everything had flown off the countertop to avoid soiling her clothes, whips around now at lowell's irate yelling, shocked and mortified and momentarily frozen, unsure if she should help or if it would only turn daisy's sudden frenzy onto her instead.

"NO CHANGE. RUDY BACK. RUDYRUDYRUDY BACK!"

"you—mmrh—feral sack of screws! goddamnit! don't——agh!"

a metallic bang, and furina lurches forward with a gasp, sure that lowell's suddenly been bitten or in some other way seriously injured, but then everything quiets as daisy seems to freeze, all her parts locking. her ears droop on their hinges, the snapping mouth slides shut, and with a strong grunt, lowell shoves her off him like the chassis of some skeletal carapace. she falls onto her side on the floor, unmoving like a giant toy, and he gets onto his feet, backing up a couple paces and glaring at her as he fights to straighten his clothes. "good god, absolutely out of control. this is exactly the reason why rudy left this place. no class. no decency. just one neurotic parasite after another. i'd sue if it meant anything."

the silence that hangs is fraught, heavy, and full of questions. it's clear from the way he'd said it that if daisy were——awake? conscious?——to have to heard it, his words would have only made things worse. furina glances to gallagher again, trying to read the situation from his face.

but lowell doesn't let the pause sit for long. "she's not the only one who knows rudy porter," he says, defensive and still looking at daisy, though furina gets the sense he's talking to them now, and in a way that makes her feel it'd be insensitive to ask him to elaborate.

so instead, she asks: "is. . . daisy. . . ?"

"she's an old model. still has the shut down controls in the neck panel. if you want to wake her up, do it after i've left. or maybe after you've put her in a cage." he sniffs stiffly.

#fanfaire #thread : if only you walk long enough #commissions: vaporize #// shoving the npcs away for a few moments

As the bar explodes into chaos, Gallagher makes some token attempt to stop Daisy from snapping the pepeshi's face right off. He stands from his stool, wincing against the glass that shatters just behind him and splatters his new drink across the floor for the second time, but before he can reach for Daisy's collar, she's already fallen into unnatural silence. And it's as she slides lifelessly off to the side that Gallagher, so insistent on playing the bystander, finally shows a little bit of something other than impartiality. He draws back his hand and the lines set hard around his mouth. Even as Lowell huffs and complains on his way back to his feet, Gallagher's eyes linger on Daisy with tired regret.

Then they snap suddenly toward the pepeshi again.

"You know Rudy?"

Stopping mid-swipe down his suit front, Lowell tuts and rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says and swings his hand. "Why do you think the PABAR even cares about this dump? Call this a favor for an old friend. That hound," his eyes flick sharply toward Daisy lying stiffly nearby, as if she could still hear him, "would rather his legacy fade into obscurity. Now, where is the washroom here?"

With a soft huff, Gallagher nods toward the swinging door with the port window near the counter and the pepeshi walks briskly away without another word.

The bar had not been loud to start with, but a rigid, uncomfortable silence drops over it the wake of Daisy's frenzy. With an exhausted sigh, Gallagher rubs the back of his neck and looks around at the destruction: the backside of the bar had been stained maroon with spilled wine, glass littered most of the counter and the seats below, and the bartender was now incapacitated on the ground by the door.

"Didn't expect this mess for your first job, did ya?" His eyes flick toward Miss Assistant with sympathetic warmth, or sheepish apology, and then he goes to lock the entrance and flick off the neon sign. As he passes Daisy again on his way behind the counter, he pauses for a moment to look her over, then continues on in his plodding manner to retrieve a broom.

"Don't worry about her. Since this seems to be your first time in Penacony, you probably don't know all the differences between the Sweet Dreams Troupe and the Dreamjolt Troupe. Miss Daisy used to be a Bubble Hound in the Sweet Dreams Troupe, but she's gone out of date and has lost a few screws over the years. Most places won't employ nightmares like her... You can probably guess why."

With an arm draped over the top of the broomstick, Gallagher yawns as if he has no intention of actually cleaning up the mess, and then smirks at Lowell's unwitting young assistant.

"If you wanna run while he's cleanin' up, I won't tell."

frame story

comm. ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀hanu adventure.

SITTING AT A BAR DURING THE DAY　♤　was like wandering a venue the morning after a party. a naked feeling, like seeing a surprise before it was ready, or something in a state that it wasn't supposed to be. there's the humorous urge to look away, come back another time——to not ruin the illusion.

here, today, a midday calm that broke at odds against the loudness of the interior: gold statuettes, gold lamps welded with bronze, gold shelves stocked with lavishly carved glass; an ivory fountain from some intricate baroque age towering at the center of the circular bar with its brown and gold marble inlay countertop shined to reflection ; and of course: that panoramic domed glass ceiling that'd earned ' the planetarium ' its misleading name, stretched from end to end over the bar with a dizzying view of what would be the shimmering night sky to an ordinary patron at the right time, dangling with heavy copper ornaments from the hanging beams like shooting stars at intervals.

it's one of the more controversial places lost amid the endless sights to see in penacony's dream. maybe the spirit of the maverick architect who'd designed it lived on somehow, because even so it still managed to draw heated debates over the integrity of its composition from artists all over. some saw it as nothing more than a gross declaration of noise like an antique shop cluttered with too much and specializing in nothing, the contemporary ultra-lavish grating against idiosyncratic appearances from other styles, corners bumping against corners, accomplishing nothing other than to be overwhelming. others appreciated it for its whimsy, finding something new at every turn and never committing to a single lineage or getting too comfortable with itself.

whichever the case, as a result it tended to draw in a clientele and show list of those equally off the beaten road, the type of people who didn't mind sitting on gilded, floral-cushioned stools like something out of a shah's palace from centuries ago right next to a squeezable silicone lampshade shaped like a dog from a children's play store.

and so amidst all this, they stand out like sore thumbs too——or maybe because of that they fit right in: a grizzly bartender slouched and unshaven, wrinkles across his ill-fitted clothes and a tie looped on like an afterthought. and his singular customer in a burst of peacock color, who might just camouflage with the ostentatious golden figurines if he were made of a little more of it. just they two and nothing more when all the rage was taking place three blocks away at the plaza. in several hours, maybe those same thrill-chasers would come streaming back in in flocks, eager to drink off their new-won high around a table of friends into the night, but by then, he would be long gone.

"how's that for your first real story?" he puts forward like a playing card across the table——an easy afternoon, just playing for fun. "after all, the last one was just a warm-up. but the twist on brother hanu that's got everyone so excited? this time, the hero's the one who needs saving, and the usual guest stars are nowhere to be found." he sits back up in the stool with interest, tapping the ends of his empty glass idly on the countertop, back and forth, back and forth. . . "i'm pretty interested in seeing what kind of ending you'll make of it. for someone who's been in penacony so long, you'll have no shortage of ideas. right, mister gallagher?"　/　@garmgeyr

#avcnturine #thread : frame story #commissions: abundance #// realizing at the end of this allegory that I may have just set us up for literary analysis inception ha #// yes the brother hanu story is supposed to be the fictionalized counterpart to gallagher's role in the penacony story #// yes the ending is ironic in more ways than one HAHA

”The lone wolf alone again,” came the grizzled bartender’s answer, tinged by a wry smile. He’d already started picking through the spread of bottles, garnishes, syrups, and liqueurs that littered the bar and some parts of the guest-side countertop before his peacock-colored companion had even turned over the stage, unable to resist the urge to create. Drinksmiths existed in just about every corner of Penacony, for every bar - and there were many - needed one or two good ones. It was not a particularly in-demand job, nor one that required any more skill than its counterpart in reality, but there were few among them who could stand to rival Gallagher. After all, few so blatantly disregarded the precise and measured in favor of eyeballed guesstimates and gut feelings. His concoctions built themselves out of stories and emotions, and whether or not they tasted objectively good mattered little compared to how they made a guest feel.

One bottle, then another, and then a glass - Gallagher found what he was looking for in his disorganized array of ingredients with a speed that suggested one of two things: either there was some method to his madness, or he’d simply picked things at random. Each held equal possibility for a man who barely managed to fasten all the buttons of his shirt before clocking in to work.

”Folks these days love happy endings,” he murmured to the tall, fluted glass as he filled it with a white, marshmallowy fluff. “This new spin on the Brother Hanu series is more optimistic than the original. He might not have any of his friends by his side, but he’s still alive. Heh.”

The look in his eye as he glanced up at Aventurine, as always, seemed to be hinting at some hidden irony. Then he reached for a silver measuring cup - decidedly not to be used for any sort of measurements - and looked away. Haphazardly, he began to add pumps of neon syrups, so bright they nearly seemed to glow, and spun a tale that reached far back in Brother Hanu’s canon:

— Shopkeeper Leaf had been preparing for this day. Boss Stone had come to Dreamville on his tip and had captured Brother Hanu, which sent the citizens of Dreamville into a panic. What were they to do without their leader and guardian? Clockie, too, had been captured and sealed away, along with each of the branch heads, so there was no way for anyone to reach Brother Hanu. Not even Professor Owl. So Dreamville, left undefended, became Shopkeeper Leaf’s golden egg in negotiations with Boss Stone.

Brother Hanu had convinced Boss Stone that he was utterly helpless without his weapons, so the crocodiles threw him into a dark, empty abyss and shackled him to the big, heavy monument that sat in the middle like a pin holding the whole place down. Brother Hanu was used to working alone, of course, and he tried at first to break the chains with his own strength, to no avail. Then he tried toppling the monument and releasing the memoria it had pinned down, and that didn’t work either. Then he tried crying out with a terrifying, wolfish howl, but no one heard him.

It was then that he noticed a pinprick of light far up overhead. At first, he’d thought it had been a star, or a very small moon in the endlessly black sky, but then he realized it was some kind of hole in the memoria. This space had been built by the special bricks and gems gathered by the Origami Birds, but Boss Stone was no architect. Of course he’d built his prison poorly.

In a stroke of inspiration, Brother Hanu pulled off the white band around his hat, cut open his palm, and inked a message onto the fabric. Then he set about making a slingshot from the monument, the chains, and his tie. He folded the message into a little airplane and tried three times to shoot it through the hole. Only on the fourth did it finally disappear through the pinprick of light. He could only wait and hope that someone would see it. Someone who wasn’t Boss Stone.

Gallagher set a glass full of rosy pink, like fluffy clouds at sunset, on the coaster in front of Aventurine. A little blue balloon sat at the top, clinging to the gilded lip. When prodded, it would burst into a rainfall of ink that would rush downward into the clouds, snuffing out the sunset.

”Since this story is supposed to have a happy ending, Brother Hanu’s message made it into the hands of some heroes from beyond the stars,” Gallagher continued, crossing his arms to wait for his guest to notice the glittering silver that would trail down into the ink and brighten it like a galaxy. The first notes would be bitter, heavy with trepidation, then in a sudden, surging flash, rise into cloying sweetness.

“When they arrived, they pushed Boss Stone back out of Dreamville, not with force, but with charisma. They made friends everywhere they went, and in the end struck a deal that satisfied everyone.”

The smile on Gallagher’s face was perhaps more ironic than the last, and he tilted his head to gauge a reaction. “What d’you think?”

sleepie times

The coffee in scent alone perks Chiori up in ways one might think impossible. It's like a child's cartoon, how just letting such bitter warmth waft through nostrils. That first sip is like heaven, and the two that follow, despite a singed tongue, were indescribable. It takes only a few minutes before she's more amicable.

Initially, questions are answered with a faux politeness, only to remember that that was completely undeserved. Even as her temper becomes more apparent, it is leagues more tolerable than it had been. "No, I don't know what any of these words you're saying mean. I don't know what the Reverie Hotel is, I don't know about any barges aside from the ones that bring my materials, and they aren't at the edge of the star system, they are within a relatively large body of water."

She was only here because of that creature. Even if she can take solace in this being a dream, Chiori can only question what that extends to. Everything has felt so real, no pain has woken her. A calm shake of her head once more. "I've never heard of Penacony. I've personally been to Inazuma, Fontaine, Liyue, Mondstadt... do any of those names ring a bell?" The reactions he offers only discourage her further. As if the gravity of the situation is settling upon his shoulders as well. She almost feels bad.

An interconnected dream that was overseen by a group. What she'd have initially called insane feels more true than she wants to admit. Chiori is here, after all. Flaring up at the prospect of being a fugitive, she stops herself from lunging for his collar again. A deep breath, though still effectively just snarling at him.

"I didn't want to come here. How could this be? There's no way to go back without asking them?" Leaning forward, any sense of civility dissipates. She had heard him before, but suddenly the realization that this is far from literal hits. "How can I prove that I didn't break any rules or laws in being here? How can I show you and the family that I was brought here without my knowledge?"

#cisoriaseams #thread : sleepie times

Now things were starting to get interesting again. At least from the vantage point of the rest of the cafe, where heads once more begin to swivel and conversations begin to quiet in order to overhear what might have incensed the young woman enough to push threateningly into Gallagher's space. A lover's quarrel? some whisper to one another as they watch furtively from the corners of their eyes or from behind newspapers as if the scene unfolding at the bar was from a soap opera on TV. Those who have come to know Gallagher over the years, however, believe no such scandal, but look on regardless, curious and fascinated. Gallagher, of course, feels their eyes more sharply than he fears Chiori's claws, and lowers his head as if inspecting something embedded in the countertop.

"Don't make a scene," he directs in a sharp whisper, although he has a feeling that's not going to stop her. Still, he bides his time for a moment.

"Listen. I believe ya. Only 'cause most folks would give up everything they own to come here, and you're nothing like any of the stowaways I've met."

Lifting his eyes, he catches the attention of their host and raises his empty glass to signal a refill. The amicable, redheaded man comes to their side of the bar gladly to oblige, and Gallagher thanks him. A minute passes in silence, as Gallagher pointedly busies himself with picking invisible lint off his wrinkled vest, and then their host returns with a new glass of bubbling red Pica.

"Your food just went into the oven," he says, and Gallagher smiles politely.

The whole distraction had been to accomplish one thing: to force Chiori to sit quietly and think for a moment. And to give him the opportunity to think, too.

"Convincing the Family's a whole different beast though. Some of 'em wield the power of Harmony like walking lie detectors, so your motives aren't the problem. Usually doesn't matter to them if you came in on purpose or not."

She's decidedly not from Asdana. Not even from a star system with space travel, so it sounds. Of the names she'd rattled off, Gallagher recognized a few of them, both from the same planet, so he can't blame her for being in such disbelief. Or so desperate to get her feet back on solid ground. After a glance over his shoulder, he turns to look steadily at her again.

"So I'd be careful about announcing that. Now, I never said we had to go ask the Family for help." A sardonic smile breaks across his face. "Unless you're already sick of me, I have a few other tricks to try first."

jadeshielded

This Place (where dreams go to die)

Gnostic Hymns Penacony Commission

jadeshielded

It surprised him, the sharp relief that loosened rigid limbs as the captain explained that the dead would indeed rise again, physically unharmed. The only explanation that made his hands stay at his sides as a dragon began its rampage. He nodded even with Gallagher’s back turned, wordlessly following the command – to trade one battlefield for something more advantageous. Here, the monsters appeared freely, flowing from wherever they were created with a swiftness that suggested they would gain no ground even if their two-man line was never broken.

With the captain’s men holding the area, they would find the heart of the nightmares and shatter it.

The space was…cramped. In ways that called to the winding tunnels under Mount Tianheng for how they closed in, undecipherable, the dreamscape seething around the edges of his elemental sight. An endless, man-made void that seemed naturally resistant to the skills at his disposal. Face neutral, he found himself mirroring Gallagher’s shuttered expression. “So long as they are living, they will forge on. People are…resilient.” With decades of practice, Zhongli didn’t say humans, though it was a close thing. Some strong, some weak, but all with the same appreciation to crawl towards life, if given the chance. He doubted he needed to offer that comfort to the weathered face before him, but the sentiment stood as real as the offered hand from moments before.

Then, his attention shifted beyond. Past the fence and what awaited them, Gallagher’s easy explanations the only knowledge he had of this world. The other’s easy acceptance of casual horror, not an ounce of fear or hesitance flickering there…he admitted to himself that he’d have to trust that he was right, follow this new plan to wherever it led.

“I will trust your instincts,” A nod, as much as it was respect for a station and the man that had already demonstrated the strength necessary to dispatch enemies with no more than his bare hands. “I’m afraid I have little idea for what source we hunt,” He had walked through the dreams of others, able to communicate through them, though these were singular minds, where this world was built to harness the minds of many. What It meant for the nightmares…he couldn’t guess. “In what manner do these nightmares usually appear? To whom do they belong when the entirety of the world is built away from reality?” One hand lifts, gesturing to the world as a whole, equally in awe and frustration that the concept itself still isn’t something he can grasp.

Stepping to Gallagher’s side, he noted the way the world expanding beyond the gate seemed to dim as it stretched on, losing the impeccable detail of the vibrant city where guests were allowed to roam. As if the darkness that caged in these forbidden places was meant as a deterrent in and of itself. Carefully, a gloved hand braced to the rail, stepping fluidly over the side and- he was right. The world was slightly darker, a film over his vision and the slight tug of wrong, one hand remaining on the gaze as he watched faced the Captain. “For a moment,” With little distance between them, Zhongli let his voice lilt, softer than he had allowed before. “One of the enemies was…from Teyvat. A malicious sort, and not one that I would imagine to be natural for the world. Is it natural here, than the nightmares will reshape, tailoring to an individual?” His gaze was steady, focused stone, refraining from saying more as he waited for confrontation. If it was true, he would need to consider what evil they might prepare for from him alone.

Or, whether the Captain would be safer without Zhongli at his side.

#jadeshielded #thread : this place where dreams go to die #commissions: harmony #// sorry gallagher's whole thing is just expo dumping in unnecessarily long-winded ways hahaha #// these two are going to take their sweet time getting to wherever they need to be going

How to explain the underlying mechanisms at play beneath the construction of dreams? Gallagher's mind picked over the pieces for a starting point as he hiked a leg over the fence and followed Zhongli to the dim, off-limits alleyway beyond. Here, at least this close to the fence, the brick walls and nondescript metal doors of the amusement park's many staff entrances hardly looked any different than those they left behind, but farther beyond, the masonry seemed to fade into hazy lines, and a thick, ethereal fog consumed the end of the street. That was the most obvious place to start. Not for their search, rather, the existence of nightmares.

"When we fall asleep, our physical bodies stay out there in the real world, while our minds drift into the sea of memoria that floods this star system. The only reason we're able to meet like this is because our consciousnesses are swimmin' around in this shared ocean. Doesn't look like much of an ocean here though, does it?" He slipped his hand into his pocket and nodded toward the thick, stagnant fog at the end of the alley. "You can see a little of it past there. That's the part of the dream that the dreamweavers haven't developed yet. The rest of this," this time he gestured lazily toward the buildings around them, "took Eras to build. Just to give our consciousnesses some safe, familiar place to meet."

That was not the source of the nightmares, however. Not in this case, anyway, and therefore not the journey they'd be making. Instead, Gallagher pivoted on his heel and turned down a branching side street where an iron gate divided the labyrinth further. A sign above it, in bold, black script, read Studio 12, and beyond it were the backsides of buildings that gave little indication about what they might be for. Gallagher approached the gate and rattled its lock, but it rolled easily open on oiled wheels.

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Zhongli was keeping up, he continued, shutting the gate again behind them.

"Our minds carry all kinds of baggage though, and that gets dumped into the sea along with us. A smart guy like you can probably connect the dots, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm over-explaining." The silver lighter he fished from his pocket again clinked open and he lit his cigarette. After a puff from it, he laughed dryly. "Force of habit."

A monster from Teyvat had been among those Zhongli had seen - and felled - and he'd come to the conclusion all on his own: the dreamscape's entities shifted and transformed with the memories and emotions of all of those who'd waded into the sea. Still, the back of the Tunnel of Love was still a ways down the road, and the cries of the horrors near the entrance were little more than surreal echoes back here, so Gallagher meandered his way to his story's conclusion without any hurry whatsoever. As he often did.

"Anyway, when you entered the dream, you brought your nightmares with you. The Family's pretty good about security, so most of 'em get shooed off past the city or wind up trapped and contained in the other Moments. There's something weird about this attraction though. Nightmares usually don't just spawn in the middle of populated places like this unless there's some real strong negative emotions to draw 'em in."

The back door to the Tunnel of Love came into sight ahead of them, marked by a stylized placard with pink hearts and bold, bright red text. Here, Gallagher stopped and turned to face Zhongli again with a sardonic look.

"I wonder what love's got to do with it then? Break any hearts back in the day?"

Behind Ourself Concealed

Harmony | Dream Syrup drink - Gallagher & Arlecchino

balemouns

a familiar face is welcome in a place otherwise unknown, even if that familiar face came with a strange unnerving sense in the way he reminds her of their previous encounters. a ghost story around a beachside fire, one unsettling enough in its own right --- then, a tower, a prison cell for a goddess. after that... a place where they finally grew more accustomed to one another's names, if nothing else. mr. gallagher makes an offer that receives a slight nod and a careful glance around the barren establishment; ears listen as marked eyes scan, noting the sounds of each practiced motion between the light conversation he has to offer.

why is she the only one here? is he a bad bartender?

his drinks seemed fine enough on the beach all that time ago.

but thoughts focus on what the man is discussing with her as she waits, an elbow leaning on the bar counter.

asdana locals, whether a film would ever be seen... she glances back just as mr. gallagher notes that he would not be offering her a free drink that was to her usual tastes. "as long as it's not overly-sweet, I'm sure the taste should be sufficient. I'm not terribly picky, and your generosity is much appreciated," darkened hand reaches forth to take the glass as it's offered; a sip and a sigh quickly follow as she considers the taste of the drink he's prepared, the subtle bite undercutting more complex and unusual flavors she can't quite put a finger on. something... nostalgic? but it feels like it is not nostalgia of her own, rather... borrowed, even stolen.

then, arlecchino looks up, deciding to elaborate on the idle question mr. gallagher had brought up. "I honestly couldn't hope to tell you why I'm here. it's an excellent question, in truth. my responsibilities are back home in fontaine, the place where that film festival was held... and, as you perhaps recall from our time in that strange film, I have a family there depending on me. being here is not an ideal situation for me." it never really made sense, how this curse seemed to take her from place to place, crossing boundaries she wasn't fully aware of --- sometimes it felt like she didn't belong anywhere, even the places she considered home. another sip, slow and contemplative as she looks away once more. "wherever this is, I don't believe I've arrived under the usual circumstances that would be expected of foreigners. but is all of this place so... empty?"

it almost feels like a whisper in the back of her head as she turns back to the man across the bar's counter to seek his answer, a trickle of a paranoid feeling usually suppressed. maybe there's something wrong with this lifeline, whoever or whatever he is.

#balemouns #thread : behind ourself concealed #commissions: harmony #// yeah I don't mind just having them shoot the breeze for a little while hahaha #// makes it feel natural and establishes dynamics/trust

She liked the drink. Or, at the very least, didn't hate it. Over the years, Gallagher had gotten pretty good at telling whether or not one of his creations was a hit just by watching a guest's body language, and the sigh that punctuated the first sip sounded more wistful than disappointed. Satisfied, he began to wipe down his workspace and return bottles to their places as Arlecchino filled him in on her reason for being in Penacony.

Or lack thereof. He paused with a glass halfway back to its cabinet and flashed her a curious look from beneath the edge of the counter. Then he shut the door and rose back to his feet to gaze down the length of the bar toward the other end. A dozen stools sat all in an orderly row, each unoccupied, with a gold-embossed menu card set down every few seats. Dirtied cups and old decanters had long been cleaned up from the earlier rush - now several system hours behind them - and even the little rings left on the counter had been taken care of by the bartender for lack of anything better to do. Past the warm cones of light from the hanging lamps was a cool, oceanic blue that enveloped cushioned booths, similarly empty, in private darkness and turned the lone melody of the autonomous piano on the stage into meandering, melancholy echoes.

"You strike me as the type who's not too fond of crowds, so you picked the right time to show up. Any earlier, and you would've had to contend with a gang of noisy televisions. Any later, and this place'll be full of dreamchasers lookin' for a cozy spot to unwind after their sightseeing tours." Gallagher turned back to his guest with a wry smile. "Doesn't sound like you really had a choice though, huh? Out of one world and into the next..."

No wonder she didn't look quite ready to relax despite the drink made to her - as far as he could tell - satisfaction. That family she spoke of, and the responsibilities she held, all still weighed on her mind - where most visitors to the Planet of Festivities soared freely through the starlit skies, worry had sunken her to his little alcove at the bottom of the sea of dreams. His eyebrows raised sympathetically and he leaned on his hand planted on the countertop to see if he might have a way out for her.

"You remember fallin' asleep?"

Maybe she'd seen Death there, watching her with its multicolored eyes. He wouldn't ask, and hoped he wouldn't need to - his pet had caused too much trouble crossing the boundaries between worlds already.

"Sounds like the dreamscape's not as airtight now that the Order's out of the picture..."

See You Tomorrow

Gallagher & Sunday | reunion

thecharmonydove

He couldn't quite find the words he wanted to speak , he remained silent momentarily , as the two dropped their disguises and saw each other for their true selves , as they shared a moment of silence , as they stared down each other . . . Sunday couldn't help but let out a laugh .

" Is that it ? it almost felt like you were trying to tell me it was you . "

despite it all , it felt as if he was catching up with an old friend -- even if him and Gallagher haven't been on the best terms all the time . . . nonetheless , this was someone who was . . . a part of his life , more often then he may even realize , the two didn't have to face off this time , they didn't have to act so tense towards each other .

this time , it was two strangers , telling a story , before moving on in life -- before the next page in their story .

" The story . . . of my tomorrow . "

what . . . was his tomorrow ? he contemplated , he thought about it for a while , staring into his drink , before finally taking his first sip from the mug , then speaking .

" I plan to leave Penacony . . . I truly don't know when , or if I'll return , what I know is . . . I want to see the world outside . "

his body language betrayed his words -- eyes shifting to the side , nervously tapping against the cup . . . he didn't WANT to leave Penacony , that much was clear , yet he knew what he had to do -- the dream . . . was just about all he's known , for as long as he can remember , yet -- it was his time to wake up .

" I want to adventure beyond the stars , I want to . . . find a way to help , in my own way , perhaps . . . I don't know where my journey will take me , but I think it's one I truly need to take , I'm sure you're well aware of the . . . recent events . "

he'd pause for a moment , muttering something under his breath , a name barely able to be heard .

out of nowhere , the thought crossed his mind . . . something that had been on it ever since he was let free -- he was still thinking . . . just how he'd say goodbye to her .

" My final task I've given myself here has been making sure everything was in order . . . nothing going awry in the dream , before I depart . . . truth be told , I have little clue what comes after that -- but someone has assured me I'll know where to go when it comes to it , so I've . . . been saying my goodbyes , funny how it had led me here , isn't it ? "

#thecharmonydove #thread : see you tomorrow #// no need to apologize for the wait ha it took me a bit to get to this reply too

"Did you hit your head when those Nameless kids knocked you outta your big high tower?" In other words, Gallagher had heard about what had happened. Witnessed it, even, albeit it some inconspicuous place where the statue of a little hound might be able to hide. He'd never managed to get too far into the Grand Theater before, but exceptions could be made for such momentous occasions as once-in-a-lifetime finales. And Sunday's had been as spectacular as anything he'd ever seen.

So it came as quite the surprise to hear that Sunday had now decided to set out on the very same path that Mikhail had. To adventure. To see the stars. To help anyone he could.

And then to be trapped. To have his wings cut. And to smothered out hopelessly by the Dreammaster and the Order.

The smile on Gallagher's face was crooked and teasing, but his eyes sharp and studying. Sunday was not Gopher Wood - he had made that abundantly clear by now, even if Gallagher hesitated to let go of old grudges. However, each step on the path to tomorrow would bury the past as long as they stopped looking back. He had just as much of a duty to release it as the Nameless he'd sent on their way.

Just like this wanderer who'd discarded his life as the Head of the Oak Family.

Suddenly, Gallagher laughed when Sunday revealed his 'final task.'

"There it is," he said and pulled at his loose, off-centered tie. "That's the control freak I know. You still gotta make sure everyone's got their ties on straight before you leave."

It was always easier to poke fun at someone than to be soft and vulnerable. Mikhail had learned that about his hound early on. If Sunday aspired to be one of the reckless, bullheaded Nameless, too, then this was just a rite of passage. And so was saying goodbye. After a moment, Gallagher sobered and pulled a rag from a bucket to wipe down an already-spotless counter just to give his hands something to do.

"Things'll be fine here. Penacony might not be ruled by the Order anymore, but you'd be surprised by how often folks choose to act in the best interest of their community without all those rules tellin' 'em what to do. Same goes for you." He glanced up and caught Sunday's eye with a softer smile. "You'll know where to go from here. Whoever told you that sounds pretty wise to me."

memoriauteur

Behind the Scenes: Scorchsand Vacation

SCENE: Penacony - SoulGlad™ Scorchsand Audition Venue DIR.: Mr. Reca FEAT.: @garmgeyr as GALLAGHER

A monstrous actor and an intruder on set make for a troubled production.

memoriauteur

On the other side of his set, THE DIRECTOR rewinds the opening sequence of his movie, adjusting the stand-in for FIREFLY he had created earlier. He has no idea why AIDEEN insisted on including either plot branch when the protagonist would obviously pick the path he hadn't before tread. No one will miss such unnecessary scenes if he omits them from the script, surely?

His attention is instantly seized when he senses an intruder in the memory, readjusting his priorities to match. Now, who would be entering a work-in-progress dream bubble? If the staff needed him, they had his number…but a twist is a twist, and any director looking for inspiration would do well to investigate. His initial annoyance turns to curiosity the more he speculates; with any luck, this was no mere extra.

The interloper has a quicker pace in mind, stepping in clear view of the lens of THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR. A slightly disheveled, friendly face, well-built frame, confident in how he carries himself, contrasted with the enigmatic nature of his appearance, and his apparent sway over the monstrous meme…it doesn't take a Memokeeper to be able to deduce the actor's possible identity. The realization has THE DIRECTOR cover his mouth in shock, giggling to himself incredulously--this development may just be the sort of thing this film needs!

(If only he could ignore that the production is a commission… Alas.)

Characters must be established; introductions are in order. Revealing himself to GALLAGHER, he first responds through the mechanical frog, who has a hand to her chin. He starts off friendly; joking.

"Haha, not quite~ Rather, it is the assistant director that stands before you."

Next, his formal entrance in the scene, heard before he's seen, yet there's no sound announcing his presence other than his voice.

"Though, the director himself would never be too far behind her~"

He is, quite literally, behind him. THE DIRECTOR bows when he enters GALLAGHER'S field of vision, still cautiously polite.

"You must be Mr. Gallagher? You may call me 'Mr. Reca,' though this project is still under wraps… This meme has been uttering your name on and off while I work, and, intriguingly, its demeanor has transformed completely due to your appearance on set. It would seem a happy reunion, but I'm lacking context. If you'd spare this director some details…"

He slides up next to GALLAGHER, closing their conversational distance. Head held high, he squints at him searchingly, tone suddenly serious.

"…Namely, what your intentions are with my production--I didn't sign off on any special guest stars."

#memoriauteur #thread : behind the scenes: scorchsand vacation #// oop sorry for how long it took me to reply to this

The dreamscape was abound with sentient objects and strange creatures barely organic in anything but their animalistic forms, but still these things often created quite a shock for new dreamchasers. The telephones listened to you, the benches moved with a mind of their own, and even frogs could talk. This was why the voice that didn't croak so much as rattle out of the little robot's voice box hardly stirred surprise across this dreamchaser's face.

He was no dreamchaser, anyway. And this frog, as it turned out, was no ordinary meme either. This was the assistant director for this production, said the voice, but Gallagher was certain that there wasn't too much of a difference between the two. With hardly a pause inbetween, the voice suddenly projected itself from over Gallagher's shoulder, and he turned with only half the energy of the spirited Mr. Reca to greet the true director in full.

"Heh. Didn't think I'd be running into a big name celebrity like you today," he said half-jokingly as the eccentric director raised from his bow. For Gallagher's part, he only offered a smile of the sleepless sort, wearied by the very act of dreaming. Not to say that what he gave to this 'celebrity' was mere lip service, but squealing excitement was better left to the younger folks and cinephiles. Few of the director's films ever trickled down into the grungy alleyways of Dreamflux Reef, besides. Gallagher knew him in name alone.

And the director knew him in turn, thanks to a certain meme's incessant crying. At its mention, his eyes flicked past Mr. Reca to the shadowy nightmare watching them carefully from its cage.

"Don't worry, I'm not tryin' to worm my way into stardom. It's too late for the silver screen for a man like me." As if he'd ever wanted the spotlight to begin with. Even now, he stood just outside of the ring of bright studio lights focused on the creature trapped on stage. In the land of glitz and glamor, of timeless youth and unending beauty, this seemed only natural for a man of middle age, unshaven and unkempt, scarred and drunk, but a discerning eye might note the way smoke only looked solid when nothing shone through it. His smile was self-deprecating yet warm, however, and he crossed his arms to look back at the director.

"I came out here lookin' for my pet. Heard it ran off not too long ago--" The monstrous meme suddenly slammed into the invisible walls, once, twice, before it let out a long, pitchy whine. Beneath the aggression, it seemed to be responding more specifically to Gallagher, as if it knew that it was being talked about. Gallagher, however, ignored it.

"Never thought it'd wind up on a film set though. What d'you think, Director?" His smile turned sardonic. "Does my dog have what it takes for fame?"

brief even as bright

⏱︎ [ misha & gallagher ] ⏱︎

"I'll have... a big bag of the Dreamweave candy, please…"

As Misha speaks to the man running the stand, his eyes dart back to a spot behind him, searching and searching through the sea of parkgoers until he sees that familiar gray vest again. He'd feared losing sight of him when he'd gone over to the stall, but of course, Gallagher is always there when he needs him. Relief washes over him, and he is able to pay for the snack with a bright smile on his face—as though it hadn't cost him most of his allowance for the week. This trendy new candy was expensive, but he'd heard nothing but good things about it. He'd always been fond of Gallagher, besides, and he knows the Hound to be quite the connoisseur of flavors. It would make for a nice surprise, Misha thinks. A well-deserved thank-you for always protecting Dreamflux Reef! He'll earn the credits back in a week or two, anyhow.

He makes his approach, an overflowing bag of hard candy in his hands. He's careful not to spill any, but clumsiness is his curse. Elbows and shoulders bump into him, sidewalks seem to manifest right in front of his feet. He trips over a cat at some point? It's as though some Aeon of Tragedy were putting him on THEIR path. When some of the candies inevitably fall, he bends down to pick them up—only to have more fall from the side of his bag. It's a vicious cycle, and eventually Misha accepts the loss of a handful of candies. Maybe other people can pick them up and eat them? No, that'd be gross... He groans.

The whimpering bellhop finally reaches Gallagher, after his Sisyphean task has ended. The bag is significantly lighter now, with a small hole torn through the paper. Still, all woe melts away when he sees the hound. Misha beams.

"Gallagher!" He calls, a boyish grin about his face. He presents him with the bag of candy, "I saw you from across Aideen Park and wanted to say hi… and share this with you! I know you like making drinks so I thought… maybe you'd get inspired by this candy? Ah, that's a little silly... e-either way, I heard it tastes really good so... just try it, okay?"

Misha jostles the bag in offering. One can see that the candy itself is clear, pearlescent, and cut like a diamond. It's fancy for what was essentially a big hunk of sugar, but there's something deep within its facades. Like a warped reflection of someone's face, twisted into something unrecognizable—or a vision of a face that's all too familiar.

@garmgeyr

#dreamblazed #thread : brief even as bright #commissions: harmony #// a half a year later and I get a thread with miksha again #// I meant to post this sooner because it was already written but end of month had me scrambling hahaha #// anyway very excited for another thread with you <3

"Hey there, kid.” There weren’t many in the Dreamscape who had the privilege of seeing the kind of smile Gallagher gave the hotel’s bellhop. Between his smirks and sneers, the customer service smiles, and the enigmatic ones that left his listener wondering if they’d missed something, sincerity rarely colored his expression more than it did now, even deepening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He plucked one of the crystalline candies from the top of the heaping bag, but didn't yet pop it into his mouth. He turned it idly between his fingers instead, a sly look leveled at the young bellhop.

"Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked. Shouldn’t he? Misha could very well ask in turn. Gallagher’s “patrol” of the park so far had been little more than a leisurely stroll from one end to the other, interspersed with stops at stalls and, as the boy had caught him doing just now, watching the instruments play a familiar set at the center stage. There was a lull now as the saxophone spit out a reed in exchange for a new one, but the lights suddenly turned on overhead and a large, glittering ball started to turn. Nearby parkgoers flocked around like moths to a flame until a crowd had soon gathered. Realizing that they'd be hemmed in soon, Gallagher gave Misha a hearty pat on the back to steer him through a cleared path out.

"Let’s go someplace else to enjoy these. Careful," two candies dropped one-by-one from the hole in the bag and bounced between feet on their way to one of the grates in the street, "you're gonna lose 'em all.”

The kid had two left feet, but Gallagher's laugh was affectionate, not cruel. Clumsiness aside, Misha had more than enough generosity and compassion to make up for it.

"How’s this?” Gallagher lead them to an unoccupied bench situated along the park’s perimeter. It was out of the way of the main flows of traffic, yet offered a full view of the place. With Misha's approval, he settled down on one side of it and draped his arm across the slatted back. Then he raised the little candy he'd taken appreciatively toward the bellhop and popped it into his mouth.

“Thanks, by the way.” As he turned the candy from one side of his mouth to the other, his smile faded a little, but there was still a melancholy gentleness in his eyes. “I was hoping to talk to you, actually. You can drop the act now, Mikhail. No one’s gonna hear you.”

Cycranes Anonymous [Gallagher & Navia]

July Commission | Cycrane Therapy

dellarosula

One might assume a miracle had just occurred with the way Navia blinks between the two of them. One may as well have-- the absence of the cycrane's mechanical squabble could be called few other things.

"...my friend here is right," her voice eases through the silence with all the grace of a first step upon a rickety bridge. Archons forbid she undo all that Gallagher has so impressively accomplished. "If they're wrong-- which they very clearly are-- then you should have no issue proving it to them in one way or another, right? And then they'll realize it was you who was right all along!"

And her honest-to-goodness smile, intended to drive the point home, ends up sitting on her face long enough to wilt in the silence that follows. Even after an encouraging nod of her head, the cycrane says nothing else. Navia clears her throat.

"Ah, the time! We'll have to hear how that goes for your colleagues next time, okay?"

The bird nods as much as its mechanical joints will allow, which isn't much, and gives the action a sort of artificial absence. The motors in its wings begin to thrum and then it's off, retreating back the way it came at a fraction of the speed.

"You're not so bad at this yourself," her attention turns to Gallagher, then, chin inclined. "When someone is so buried in their own perspective like that... That's a real talent, y'know."

One that she's quite impressed by, in fact.

"Do you happen to do this often?" You don't seem the type. "It's either that or you must have some pretty exhausting friends."

#dellarosula #thread : cycranes anonymous #commissions: vaporize

And there goes their second client for the day. If the cycrane has developments to report on next time, then it's likely in the hands of some new therapist - intern or otherwise. Gallagher doesn't mind, of course. He's accustomed to that flavor of indifference and distance that comes with the territory, because it's foundational in the world of drinksmithing, too. Knowing that the customer who sits across the counter will be gone in half an hour to live the rest of their life, of which the bartender only sees a slim fraction, makes it easier to be bold, to speak difficult truths, or to blatantly lie.

So when Navia asks if he's done this often, he lets out a laugh.

"Exhausting friends usually means learning tricks to make them less exhausting." He does this often enough, in other words. Their final client for the day seems to be running late, so Gallagher rises to his feet to stretch and walk the restlessness out of his legs.

"My day job," or night job, really, "sees all sorts of ingenia comin' through, some more messed up than others. I'm not a therapist. There's other folks out there more qualified than me for that sorta work, but lending an ear's the next best thing for a lot of 'em."

After a long covering a long yawn, he slips his hand into his pocket and glances down at Navia. "All of us, human, ingenium, or memoria, just want some kinda connection at the end of the day. Helps us get out of our own heads."

Then he adds with a tired smile: "But what am I telling you this for? You volunteered for this work, so you must have the experience, too."

sleepie times

A short yet powerful exhale, eyes honing in on the man at the mentions of food. Appetite hadn't even been a consideration since the fall into this nightmarish trip that part of her doesn't even know whether to indulge. Just then, it is made very obvious to the both of them that the seamstress hungers. Even with her penchant for sweeter treats, the pizza did sound good. "Fine. That sounds good enough."

Leaning onto the bar more, her forehead rests on folded hands. Eyes still remained open, flicking back and forth to other patrons of this establishment. Murmurs deafened by her own conversation suddenly become easier to focus on. The little nudges they give each one another, the way drinks and hands try to naturally cover lips to prevent the possibility of them being read, the insincere snickers at jokes made about them no doubt. It inspires Chiori to pick herself up.

Even in a dream, eyes still found that which did not belong.

"It's certainly better than the mess outside." Fire dimming with each word, there is comfort. Be it the warmth helping to erase the air beyond those doors and its frigid touch, or that her legs may dangle, she is more content than she had been before. Another glare, perhaps hooking onto that 'alive' word.

"Tch, I could really use that right now. It feels like it's been hours, but at the same time not even five minutes. I can't tell if time is moving the same or differently. This feels like one of those dreams where," a hand waves around in a small circle a few times, "where you wake up more fatigued." All she can hope is that food would help.

Drinks are finally served, and a reminder that the food will be just a little longer.

Hands clasp around the small, ceramic cup, lifting bitterness to cracked lips. Despite steam and the jolt of such heat on tongue, the woman is reinvigorated. Eyes more wide than they had been, even she is shocked by the relief.

His question earns a blank look at the counter, trying to discern if any of those words actually meant anything to her. "I don't know what that is. All that I know is that I went to bed in my room as I do most nights. I thought it was just a bad dream, your... whatever it is dragging me here."

#cisoriaseams #thread : sleepie times

The sigh that Gallagher heaves rivals anything that had come out of his bedraggled guest so far. It's clear without him even saying so that he doesn't like her answer. For a few moments, he watches the pink bubbles lift one by one from the bottom of his glass and pop at the surface, his arms crossed, the playfulness in his expression earlier now replaced entirely with the evening's exhaustion.

"Well, that complicates things." It all he says for a while, and lets the coffee work its magic on Chiori in their less-than-companionable silence. The only good thing that comes out of this halt in their conversation is that the others in the restaurant have given up expecting anything interesting to come out of it and have returned to their own conversations and newspapers. Gallagher is, after all, a usual fixture around these parts, and his foreign guest, petulantly inert, fails to be any more entertaining than the neon lights flashing across the signs outside.

"You didn't fall asleep in the Reverie Hotel? Or a barge at the edge of the star system?" Gallagher tries, but there's no misplaced hope in his voice. Her description of her night had been so ordinary. And if she really was a stowaway, it'd be a first time he'd ever met one wishing to go back home so badly. He runs his fingers through his hair and downs his drink in three gulps, then returns the emptied glass to the counter with a second sigh.

"If it's any comfort to ya, you are in a dream. But that's also the problem. You've never heard of Penacony, huh?" It's rhetorical at this point. Everything about her has already answered that question - her blatant confusion, her reaction, or lack thereof, at his mention of the sweet dream, and the way she'd dragged her feet all the way here like he'd really brought her to the land of the dead. He pulls his hand down the length of his face and then blinks open his tired eyes to look at her more seriously than he had since he'd found her in the alley.

"This place is one big collective dream managed by a group called the Family. There's only one way in. Legally, that is. And it sounds like you just might be a fugitive. You get what I'm saying, right?" he asks. "I can't take ya back out the normal way or else they'll start asking questions."

✧　if only you walk long enough.

　　　　　　　　　　　　❪　 vaporize　/　pepeshi　❫

WAS IT HER IMAGINATION, OR DID HE LOOK MORE COMFORTABLE? was it just that he had thought she'd merely wanted to come in and impose her will upon this place? it couldn't be further from the truth——she'd only thought of this strange detour as another part of her dizzying wanderings, not entirely unlike groping around a padded room in the dark with her hands, being bumped from one spot to another on chance alone. her eyes drift momentarily over to lowell busying himself at the far wall end of the establishment, his not-quite-coherent mutterings faintly audible even from here. perhaps it was understandable, given that the little man appeared to intend just that himself.

attention returns to monsieur gallagher when he finally starts to talk, and her hand wanders absently to the bottle of soulglad on the idle instinct to nurse whatever was in reach of her while conversing over a table, only to belatedly remember its repulsive taste. the hand returns, as if nipped by something, to her lap instead. "a time capsule. . . " she parrots thoughtfully, then nods, not quite meeting his eyes but instead down at a slant as if to find the source of her musings in the weathered grooves and worn-down polish of the wooden floor. "that's not uncommon. anyone who's been around long enough almost always has some sentimentality for places to look like they've always remembered. it's one of the hallmarks of the human emotional experience and helps us decide who we are." now her eyes lift and find his again, plainspoken. "and that doesn't have to change."

casting around at their surroundings anew, she sees plenty in need of renovation or at least repair to bring things up to industry standard⠀(⠀. . . did this place have an industry standard?⠀) ,⠀but though the style of the venue wasn't to her personal taste, what difference did that make here, where she was just an (un)lucky visitor?

"there's a lot of places like this in fontaine—— ' the oldest bar in the quartier lyonnais ', ' ségoléne dormoy's apartment, preserved just the way it was when she died ', that kind of thing. "

"in a niche, tourist's alleyway, yes," a voice out of nowhere startles her, and she looks down to find lowell suddenly appeared, quiet as a mouse, tapping his measuring stick against the palm of his open hand like a schoolteacher's paddle ready to slap unsuspecting wrists. his look cuts from her to gallagher and back, wide and a little intense, but not as hostile as the interjection had made him sound. "but this is the front row seat of the moment of stars. you saw it, fair lady——right off the bubble pinball and it's the first stop on your right!" she'd nearly forgotten how animated he was with his gestures. lowell shakes his head. "that kind of real estate should be a welcome stop, a symbol, and you can save the charming hole-in-the-walls for a backstreet. we're trying to make the moment of stars lively again, not turn it into a museum."

furina blinks in the pause. then, honestly: "why not?"

lowell turns to look at her, bewildered. "why not what? turn it into a museum?"

her only response is to shrug, glancing at gallagher instead to see his reaction.