The Canopy (A Look Outside Story)
Not everywhere was an apartment building. When the Visitor came, more that mere bricks would meet its gaze; oceans frothed and roiled while trees danced and mountains melted. Filaments of flesh and abstract form stretched out to touch the sky. Meanwhile the world's denizens joined the landscape - the unfortunate; the lucky; the Cursed. Suddenly the reality outside on March 11 was a colorful nightmare.
For the end of the world? You couldn't ask for a more beautiful view. Course that'd mean looking up, but there were worse terrible decisions.
Pat used to think going camping was one of them, but now she was only thinking of her boots as thick rubber soles trampled the worm churned earth beneath her. A loaded knapsack of supplies and gear rattled behind her shoulders. The sturdy leather protested as their host broke into a full tilt run!
Dark clouds were lightening in tone. It was getting easier to see past the forest, and that was not good.
She leapt over rotten logs. Dodged the standing trunks that towered in the rainforest. Her ears twitched as something unfortunate groaned off to the east. Rabbits and deer and foxes - those who still could be called such anyway - scampered away as she ran. Oh, they were smart. Smarter than she was by far. 'No time,' she thought. 'Have to keep going. It'll pass so-!' A breeze laughed past her and to the West she already spied what she feared the most - beams of golden light from high.
Pat acted fast! A scratched stone marked with a chalky hand print caught her eye and at its sign she banked a hard left and dove into a rocky outcrop!
Her palms met the floor first, leaving the reunion with some pretty scrapes. But as the only wound she got from her outing, the wanderer was all the thankful for it. Before the sun could cross over her haven Pat zipped the thick tarp up that was nailed into the harsh stone. She pressed further inside. It was a stable solace of simple stone. It wasn't home, but it wasn't terrible. Terrible was outside. Beyond the safety of the tarp and turf a racoon witnessed a piercing cry that cut through the air. The creature froze and in its terror looked up for the threat. Past the layers of needles and leaves. Through the thick layers of clouds.
And beheld a heaven of a thousand hues.
Fur unwound as the stripes on its tails began to wrap and wrap and wrap until its body was all bands of grey and black. The creature made disturbed cries that quickly rose in pitch and panic. Blood dripped from each place the colors bordered. As if made of two springs trapped inside one another, the poor animal felt half of its body twist out of the grasp of the other until two distorted creatures wobbled and bounced with only two legs each and half a face - one hind, one forewards. The duo screeched in ear-rending disharmony before scampering away.
Pat bore the brunt of the gruesome sounds. Thankfully, few things reached past the entrance to the makeshift camp. Two days in and the harsh hideaway had been covered with blankets and tent linings, while in a corner a portable kitchen set awaited its craft. A radio had become best buds with the Bakelite sheathed mini-TV; the antennae called to mind a warren of bunny rabbits. Further into the cave was a makeshift shower on one end, and a tent with a single sleeping bag warded more for peace of mind than peace of flesh took the remaining corner. But now back safely in the haven, things could relax. Survival was pushed away. Other matters surfaced.
The host started to tabulate the haul. "Stakes. Gasoline. Flares and a flare gun. Blue Box, okay good. Boo-"
"did you bring back presents?" a small voice squeaked.
The hands twitched. The zipper fell open. The paw of a stuffed tabby cat fell out, and a sweet high pitched squeal stole the silence.
What grip earlier clung to satchel straps and scraped across the earth softly shifted to a new pilot.
Only one pair of prints had so far graced this haven. However, these accommodations were not solely belonging to Pat, for she was but one of a variety of minds that existed within the shared body. As soon as the plushie was visible, Pat's place at the front became shared with the youngest and softest heart: Molly.
"Hey! Hey! Molls can I- look I need to make us some food."
"cuddle time. 5 minutes. you all promised."
"I know I know, but you're not gonna wai-?"
The hold around the purloined plush tightened.
.....Quiet coated the cave. The newly dubbed Queenie Whiskers was hugged as tight as a vice for six minutes before being sat down. The worn hands moved to the blue boxes. A cheesy scent clung to the air awkwardly.
Before it came, Log would not be what most would think of as a system 'capable in a crisis'. Jobless. Disabled. More a talker than a fighter, with some fleeting exceptions. But a romantic camping trip gone wrong jolted the members of Log. Some took on new roles. Others vanished in the shock. A few had been quiet in the headspace. The system as a whole was slowly adapting to the crisis that befell them, and as the host Pat held the unfortunate duty as "the responsible thing doer". That wasn't to say everyone else shirked their tasks though - each head mate applied themselves to the situation as best they could. When Log came to in the copse of trees, their memory wasn't clear. Recalling how they got there was... difficult. But together, the system had found some old teenager hangout and spruced it up with camping gear.
Midway through the meal, shadows lengthened from beneath the entrance. Clouds had once again concealed whatever was causing all of this nightmare. Pat considered heading out again with Molly; the younger mind always seemed to like the nature, no matter how scary it got. Yet Pat recalled from earlier today how the trees were starting to look a little odd. They reminded her of the animals who've been more aggressive and skittish. Of the things she saw from the campgrounds. The corpse hanging from that one tree nearby. Of-
...Well. The forest wasn't like it used to. And it was only getting stranger. Would she and the others be safe sticking under the clouds and the shadows of the leaves?
....
....
"maybe this time it'll be okay."
"...Yeah. Yeah maybe it will. Let's go."
With a flare gun, a lantern, and other assorted supplies, once more unto the breach!
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GODS this game gives me ANXIETY. I'm an avid consumer of fan content, the music, all of it, but I can't even actually play the game because it just - heebie jeebies.
That being said, the game is weirdly special to us? It's so warm and heartfelt, not in spite of its horror but inextricably linked to it. So, we wanted to make some fan content!
Because we're plural, we wondered what would happen if a system was exposed to the Visitor, and just in general how it might look like for a Post-Apocalypse protagonist to be plural. And so we got Log! Pat is the Host, tending to front with strong feelings of responsibility and independency, while Molly is younger and more caring, but also the monsters are scary and it hurts to see others hurt.
I like to think that, if they were a party member, Log would be stance based. Pat, Molly, and the other alters yall haven't met would behave differently and swap between each other, creating some mechanical set ups.
Thanks for reading! I hope to come up with some more ideas and post more! I hope to hear what yall think.
