>Gaze upon your reflection, aren't you gorgeous? A face like yours belongs on a stage. Don't you agree?
>Wouldn't you agree?
>You will agree.
>You do agree.
>I agree.
>Going about your daily commute in Hatchetfield, You notice something strange. Something new.
>There's not a lot of New things in Hatchetfield, is there?
>Especially not new buildings.
>It's a small town. A new place opening would be like the towns woodstock.
>But... You'd never heard of this.
>Not even once.
>Its a small building, beautifully decorated like a travelling Clairvoyant's Vardo, just minus the wheels.
>It's a dark blue, a shade like midnight with swirling light blue patterns.
>It has a banner, just above the door.
>'Reflection of your Soul'
>Strange.
>Using the vintage door knocker, you check if anybody is inside.
>A blue light flicks on from inside.
>And the door gently swings open.
>Nobody is there.
>All that sits is a blue velvet armchair, across from an ornate mirror.
>Between; a long table, with a flowerpot and a tea tray.
>And that mirror...
Is me.
Hello there one and all.
My name, is ACT.
Just so you know:
#ACTreflects is my tag for Interactions.
#ACTinvites is my tag for those I would like to meet :)
And I am the ever-changing, magnificent reflection of your soul.
Why don't you sit down?
Relax, drink some tea.
Allow me to take a look at your wondrous visage.
Allow me to tell you what lies beyond the windows of your soul.
Allow me to become you.
Allow me to become you.
Allow me to become you.
OOC:
HEY GUUUYYYSS! made a new hatchetfield oc rp blog :3
@j7nkovich is my main :3
this is my wonderful loser, technically Pokotho's chud son, a curse that Pokotho put upon one of my oc's bloodlines but it's lowk just a major loser that keeps failing at its one job
i have some trivia abt ACT so ill copy paste some of that
-Has the humor and personality of a 4channer once it finally has you deluded and stuck talking to the mirror for long enough
-ironically not good with cameras at all despite being associated with Pokey. having a camera pointed at it will cause it to just freeze up and stare
-It actually has a music taste! and despite being associated with musicals it prefers more soundtrack-y/ambient music without lyrics. Stuff like cyriak, aphex twin, or kane parsons.
-Can reflect the face of those it has seen, so it can alter your reflection to look like somebody else.
-If somebody is staring into the mirror long enough it can become semi physical, only enough to reach out of the mirror but never enough to leave. Almost like it's feeding on their reflection to become real. however if you move out of the mirror's reflection while its out of the mirror, whatever part was outside of the mirror will turn into mannequin parts and fall to the floor.
-it can hear everything it just cant speak until spoken to. it knows things you never told it but cant see things you've never shown it
-To speak to ACT you must allow it to reflect you, its an actor after all. it cannot speak if not through you.
-ACT can bend and alter your reflection to its will, however, It's reflection of you will never be perfectly identical. an un-altered ACT reflection will look pretty much like a still-life.
He's just walking by. He isn't meant to stop or stare or even think about going in.
Hidgens is just out grabbing necessities that he can't get Alexa to order to his door. And he hates being outside. Hates interacting. But this thing...
It calls to him.
And so, he walks in and carefully sits down.
He's always wanted to be in theatre. Always. Forever. And for once, Henry can feel like he's on stage without fear. Or at least, without fear for now, anyways.
Once he clears his throat, he begins.
So, how does this work, exactly? Is it a... gimmick? Some seance style nonsense where another knocks below the table to fool me into thinking there are ghosts?
>His reflection fades into view, a whispy mist before its full face is revealed.
>Or... faces.
>His reflection stares back at him, a panoramic puzzle of misplaced features.
>His reflection the strangest of all those that it had reflected thus far.
>Each peers into the muse's soul,
>Greg's was tame, a normal man.
>Eleanor's split into three, just like their mind.
>But Hidgens' perpetual delirium leaves his reflection as much of a mess as he is.
>A reflection reminiscent of The Scream.
No gimmicks, no third person my dear.
I'm little more than your own beautiful reflection!
>It's voice was like his echo, although slightly warped like his face.
>It smiled warmly at him with both of its mouths. As though it was an old friend greeting him after a long drawn parting.
He balks at his own reflection momentarily, peering side to side to take it in. He mutters to himself. It's like the lightning...
Then he shakes his head and focuses on his lap rather than look whatever that is in the face. Apparently his own reflection counts as someone he'll avoid too.
I'm not stupid, you... facade.
I don't know what you are, but you have called to me anyway. How. Why. For what purpose. Not a question because I think I know but I want to hear you say it.
>The reflection sighed in Hidgens' own voice, it's face contorted into a pout.
You know, near everyone who's entered my little abode here has been so unabashedly rude... And all because my reflections are a little off-kilter! I was under the impression you might've been a little nicer to me, but alas...
...There's truly no need to be so hostile off-rip. We aren't all that different from eachother! I too enjoy musical theatre quite a lot, you know...
>It's distorted face looked away from him, covering its face theatrically as crocodile tears welled up in it's mismatched eyes.
I'm only here for those who wish to peer deeper into their soul. Past the window of the eyes... I reflect what you cannot see yourself.
You can ask me about the uncertain past... The m-mysterious future...
Or s-somebody else entirely...
>It reiterated the words it had said prior to that old workin' boy, Greg, as the echo of Hidgens' voice began to shake and blubber.
Or you can just be d-downright discourteous...!
>The reflection sobbed quietly, completely disingenuous, of course, but it had decided to take an alternate approach to the disrespect. See where this might get it.
[ooc: GIGGLES im just imagining that stan twitter cinderella meme but its ACT reflecting hidgens]
For whatever reason, the crocodile tears seem to work. Enough to have Hidgens frown and glance back up. Seeing his own distorted face blubber about is odd, yes, but standable in small doses.
I apologize, strange object. Possessed pewter. Or whatever you are.
...
...
...
Can you truly reflect that which I which to see?
Could you -
Could you tell me about my... boys? Are they alright? Happier in whatever glorious afterlife they surely deserved?
>The reflection hiccupped, sniffling and steadying itself back to composure. And by that I mean quitting the shit but that's rather informal.
...Thank you. You're the first to make an apology...
>It cleared its throat, wiping the faux tears.
Eh-Hem... Your boys. Of course, no wonder you're curious.
I assure you they're doing quite well. As well as they can be, at least.
Although you both have quite similar woes.
I actually had one of them come through here earlier today if you could believe it.
Greg, I think his name was?
Looked something like this...?
>The reflection warped and changed into that of Greg's face. Looking back at Hidgens.
>It's voice changed to suit.
He seems to miss you to death. I think they all do.
He asked me a similar question to yours, actually.
He asked me how YOU were doing.
It seems even the veil cannot separate a bond like yours.
>The reflections face flitted for less than a blink, turning sour. It seemed... Jealous.
>But just as fast as the expression came, it went. The reflection smiling sweetly at Hidgens, tilting its head.
>The welcoming hum of the mirror seems almost surprised despite being a melody.
>Hannah Foster? Surely not?
>She's under the watchful gaze of that DUMB BITCH of Webby, is she not?
>What business does she have with ACT? Webby would have dragged her far, far away by now.
>Whatever the case may be, the aroma of freshly baked cookies and carefully brewed tea invited her to have a seat before the mirror.
>The building was as curious as to why she had stepped foot here as she was curious about the building itself.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
Despite how much he wants to look, it hurts to do so, like trying to keep his eyes open while staring into the sun. His entire being wants to get away. It's that heinous repelling sensation from when he first got here, multiplied tenfold.
(A part of him needs to know...)
Greg falls off the chair. Pretending to sit wasn't a very big priority anymore when he was physically in duress. He grips his ears, the sensation unbearable, everything horribly unbearable.
>As Greg fell from the chair, everything stopped.
>The mirror tweaked and blipped back to normal as his reflection was no longer there to be morphed and molded.
>The room fell silent, the mirror blank aside from a light mocking hum, like melodic laughter.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
Despite how much he wants to look, it hurts to do so, like trying to keep his eyes open while staring into the sun. His entire being wants to get away. It's that heinous repelling sensation from when he first got here, multiplied tenfold.
(A part of him needs to know...)
Greg falls off the chair. Pretending to sit wasn't a very big priority anymore when he was physically in duress. He grips his ears, the sensation unbearable, everything horribly unbearable.
>As Greg fell from the chair, everything stopped.
>The mirror tweaked and blipped back to normal as his reflection was no longer there to be morphed and molded.
>The room fell silent, the mirror blank aside from a light mocking hum, like melodic laughter.
>The welcoming hum of the mirror seems almost surprised despite being a melody.
>Hannah Foster? Surely not?
>She's under the watchful gaze of that DUMB BITCH of Webby, is she not?
>What business does she have with ACT? Webby would have dragged her far, far away by now.
>Whatever the case may be, the aroma of freshly baked cookies and carefully brewed tea invited her to have a seat before the mirror.
>The building was as curious as to why she had stepped foot here as she was curious about the building itself.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
He's just walking by. He isn't meant to stop or stare or even think about going in.
Hidgens is just out grabbing necessities that he can't get Alexa to order to his door. And he hates being outside. Hates interacting. But this thing...
It calls to him.
And so, he walks in and carefully sits down.
He's always wanted to be in theatre. Always. Forever. And for once, Henry can feel like he's on stage without fear. Or at least, without fear for now, anyways.
Once he clears his throat, he begins.
So, how does this work, exactly? Is it a... gimmick? Some seance style nonsense where another knocks below the table to fool me into thinking there are ghosts?
>His reflection fades into view, a whispy mist before its full face is revealed.
>Or... faces.
>His reflection stares back at him, a panoramic puzzle of misplaced features.
>His reflection the strangest of all those that it had reflected thus far.
>Each peers into the muse's soul,
>Greg's was tame, a normal man.
>Eleanor's split into three, just like their mind.
>But Hidgens' perpetual delirium leaves his reflection as much of a mess as he is.
>A reflection reminiscent of The Scream.
No gimmicks, no third person my dear.
I'm little more than your own beautiful reflection!
>It's voice was like his echo, although slightly warped like his face.
>It smiled warmly at him with both of its mouths. As though it was an old friend greeting him after a long drawn parting.
He balks at his own reflection momentarily, peering side to side to take it in. He mutters to himself. It's like the lightning...
Then he shakes his head and focuses on his lap rather than look whatever that is in the face. Apparently his own reflection counts as someone he'll avoid too.
I'm not stupid, you... facade.
I don't know what you are, but you have called to me anyway. How. Why. For what purpose. Not a question because I think I know but I want to hear you say it.
>The reflection sighed in Hidgens' own voice, it's face contorted into a pout.
You know, near everyone who's entered my little abode here has been so unabashedly rude... And all because my reflections are a little off-kilter! I was under the impression you might've been a little nicer to me, but alas...
...There's truly no need to be so hostile off-rip. We aren't all that different from eachother! I too enjoy musical theatre quite a lot, you know...
>It's distorted face looked away from him, covering its face theatrically as crocodile tears welled up in it's mismatched eyes.
I'm only here for those who wish to peer deeper into their soul. Past the window of the eyes... I reflect what you cannot see yourself.
You can ask me about the uncertain past... The m-mysterious future...
Or s-somebody else entirely...
>It reiterated the words it had said prior to that old workin' boy, Greg, as the echo of Hidgens' voice began to shake and blubber.
Or you can just be d-downright discourteous...!
>The reflection sobbed quietly, completely disingenuous, of course, but it had decided to take an alternate approach to the disrespect. See where this might get it.
[ooc: GIGGLES im just imagining that stan twitter cinderella meme but its ACT reflecting hidgens]
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
He's just walking by. He isn't meant to stop or stare or even think about going in.
Hidgens is just out grabbing necessities that he can't get Alexa to order to his door. And he hates being outside. Hates interacting. But this thing...
It calls to him.
And so, he walks in and carefully sits down.
He's always wanted to be in theatre. Always. Forever. And for once, Henry can feel like he's on stage without fear. Or at least, without fear for now, anyways.
Once he clears his throat, he begins.
So, how does this work, exactly? Is it a... gimmick? Some seance style nonsense where another knocks below the table to fool me into thinking there are ghosts?
>His reflection fades into view, a whispy mist before its full face is revealed.
>Or... faces.
>His reflection stares back at him, a panoramic puzzle of misplaced features.
>His reflection the strangest of all those that it had reflected thus far.
>Each peers into the muse's soul,
>Greg's was tame, a normal man.
>Eleanor's split into three, just like their mind.
>But Hidgens' perpetual delirium leaves his reflection as much of a mess as he is.
>A reflection reminiscent of The Scream.
No gimmicks, no third person my dear.
I'm little more than your own beautiful reflection!
>It's voice was like his echo, although slightly warped like his face.
>It smiled warmly at him with both of its mouths. As though it was an old friend greeting him after a long drawn parting.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
>The reflection's eye twitches ever so slightly as Eleanor draws on, repeating the same phrase ad nauseum.
>It appears to freeze up at Eleanor's last remark, it looks almost scared. It's voice falters, sounding almost like a more sane version of them.
You stole that from Lord Karaxis?
>Whether it be anger or fear, the reflection morphed incomprehensibly.
>It's face contorted into a mock-tragedy mask, letting out a wailing shriek, like a fox defending against it's rival.
>The reflection stilled. Unmoving as it cried.
>And cried.
>And cried.
No! Yous broke its! It's not fair, I hads a friend-sies that was just like we's. And now they're sads and we's sads and... and... and...
Eleanor flies away in a fit of tears and sad squawks as the crown makes them taunt out, again and again - 'You broke it. Broke it like your broken brain.'
( He points into the mirror towards His Brother’s reflection. )
I don’t see any— oh. Oh, I get it. You think You’re funny?!
( @thebloginblack )
>The reflection froze at the sight of the two Lords.
>Immediately beginning to shake it's head, attempting to perfect Pokotho's reflection.
>Each time it shook, it's face changed, although similarly wrong.
>No matter how hard it tried, it could not even perfect his reflection.
Shit--Shit!
HHHeyy--Uh, Hello Father.....!
>It's voice was a shaky replica of Pokotho's own, as it donned his reflection.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
>The reflection's eye twitches ever so slightly as Eleanor draws on, repeating the same phrase ad nauseum.
>It appears to freeze up at Eleanor's last remark, it looks almost scared. It's voice falters, sounding almost like a more sane version of them.
You stole that from Lord Karaxis?
>Whether it be anger or fear, the reflection morphed incomprehensibly.
>It's face contorted into a mock-tragedy mask, letting out a wailing shriek, like a fox defending against it's rival.
>The reflection stilled. Unmoving as it cried.
>And cried.
>And cried.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
