Marissa

A voice to ease all burdens and still all troubled minds.

[songstress-marissa]

Even if only you, it's a wonderful thing to have an audience again.

___

Hi! Lynne again, with my second canon rp blog and overall seventh rp blog. Why did I do this? I felt like doing a canon character seriously this time lol (even if she’s a Kickstarter backer character)

Mod: @adrenalynne

Not much else to say lol. Uhhhh some facts about how she will be played:

— She/Her

— Is unaware she’s a ghost

— Stuck in the Pleasure House and cannot leave (can be helped by magic anon stuff tho)

— Devoted to keeping her performance going and hopes her audience comes back

— Yes, you can dream-nail her; but she always comes back so killing her permanently is not an option here

Rules:

— No NSFW

— Be nice and respectful

— Shipping is…not allowed for now, but some flirting is fine.

— Long-form RP welcome!

Tags:

#(ballad of longing.) — General IC posts

#(the audience’s calling.) — Answering asks

#(song for the troubled.) — Interactions with other blogs!

#(mod talks.) — OOC posts by me, Lynne!

[songstress-marissa]

Well you may be able to be touched and held and can move around

But only in the dream realm

Idk might be wrong but I mean you might be able to go there if you wish

But I can't do it I'd have to ask like the radiance or something

And you also can't stay there forever I don't think

The…‘Dream Realm’? I can’t imagine how I’d access such a place…or what it would be like. Is that a place where spirits should go, instead of lingering in areas where the living still roam?

And who is this ‘Radiance’ you speak of…? I’m unsure if that is somebody I should know of. My memories are rather fuzzy, at best…

[songstress-marissa]

Oh nooo! They made you cry!!

Aaah!!

Here, have a cup of tea and a scone.... Sorry about the whole

Y'know

The spectral songstress attempts to take the cup and scone, only for both objects to phase through her hands. The cup shatters as it lands on the ground, the scone scattering a few crumbs.

…I…a-appreciate the thought…

[songstress-marissa]

It's not so bad being dead

You could go anywhere now maybe

No, I couldn’t! Even before I made that realization, I have tried to leave this stage. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t take even a single step off the stage. I’m trapped here. I can’t go anywhere…I can’t…

[songstress-marissa]

Butterfly

I am a butterfly, yes. Did you come all the way here just to remark on such an obvious fact?

…

I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. There are just far too many troubling things on my mind right now.

I’d advise you to return another time, when I am more…myself.

[songstress-marissa]

How you feeling, Marissa?

…Not very well, to be frank.

I’m dead. I’m dead and have been dead for all of this time…and I didn’t know. Or perhaps I did, but I simply refused to confront the truth. Until that visitor arrived…and then I could no longer refute it. Not when it’s been laid out so plainly in front of me.

I need time to process this epiphany…it’s far too much to bear.

[songstress-marissa]

Congrats, have a Casseopea thrown at you!

---

*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*

*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*

*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*

*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*

@mapmaker-vess0l

Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.

Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.

Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,

Hello?

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*

*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.

There was hardly any point in trying again.

She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.

As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*

*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*

*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*

*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*

*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*

*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa watched them the entire time, bemused by their actions. She wasn’t sure what it was they were doing, and couldn’t by any means figure it out. She was completely oblivious to the breeze that had wafted through the room when she had moved.

As the stranger began to write, she lightly shrugged her shoulders and refocused on the stack of papers on the edge of stage, spectral claws picking through each and every one. Faded music sheets she vaguely recognized, programs of events held in the Pleasure House in years past, most bearing her name.

As she rifled through the papers, some of them fluttered over towards the general direction of the stranger, carried by an unknown source of wind, slightly stronger than the previous breeze.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*Once more, the stranger paused, although perhaps it went unnoticed. Paper fluttered by without a discernable breeze, the match experiment couldn't find gaps in the walls to let forth a string enough wind, the room layout was wrong to cause a draft and there was too much moisture-*

*Eventually, they turned, golden yellow cloak fluffed up like a startled mosskin as they noticed the fluttering pages from the stage, yet with no other bug. They seemed to be being sorted, and with a voided paw, they pointed in surprise.*

¡-ɐɥɐ∀

*It was a garbled sound, raspy, staticked and distorted, yet more than a hum, and certainly one made of surprise as it tore from their normally silent throat. The pages were moving on their own, and the stranger - at least to themself - was not one to believe in the supernatural.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched, the noise startling her. She turned to look at them in surprise. She was sure they couldn’t see her, and yet, it seemed they had at least seen something. She wondered what it was.

The papers! She realized. She had been touching them, sorting them. They had probably seen them move, though with every part of her invisible it would have looked strange.

She now wondered if they could see her move other things. Slowly, she reached over, grabbing their quill and lifting it up, watching their expression for any reaction.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

¡-ɥ∀

*Another gutteral, gargled sound tore from the stranger's normally silent throat, a sound more felt than heard in tumbling ever hungering void far, far below the city in an abyss unknown to most common bug. The stranger themselves ever dropped their notes and another struck match, the flame sizzling to nothing in the lingering damp and mildew of the once grand Pleasure House stage.*

*To them and their tripled sight, the pages, the quill, all had been floating on their own. The quill too now hung in the air as if betwixt claws, poised to write, a strangeness they had only heard of in tall tales, had brushed off as nothing but superstition, as paranoia, as nothing of consequences. But how else would the quill hang such, having been dropped from their bag? How else had the pages moved into slight sorted piles? And the breeze with no discernable source too, too much to be mere coincidence.*

*But how does one present themselves to something they didn't believe in? How did one bridge the gap between knowing and unknowing on limited means?*

*And so in common sign - unsteady yet forcing itself sure - a voided paw gave a single sign in question, unsure of even getting an answer at the point.*

Hello?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched at the sound of their voice again, nearly dropping the quill before quickly realizing they were actually acknowledging the fact she was holding it. She’s no longer invisible! Not literally, but at least the stranger had noticed they weren’t the only one in the room. Despite this insignificant accomplishment, a slight sense of triumph coursed through her shell.

Looking over at the movements of their paw, she recognized they were asking a question. The songstress took a moment to decipher it before looking around for a page to write on. Eyes landing on the nearest faded music sheet, she grabbed it, turning it over and writing in slanting cursive script,

𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The stranger's eyes widen, unblinking dark voids upon the faded sheet and the cursive handwriting. A singular word.*

"Hello"

*A greeting like their sign had been.*

*They were quite literally floored, the unseen whatever communicating back. Ghost, probably, faded dream as travelers spoke of in tall tales, as the hopeful prayed loved ones carried on.*

*Still, this was quite the revelation in and of itself. Ghosts were real. One was communicating with them through quill and page. And so, trying not to seem to overtly out of their depth, the vessel took a seat in one of the old chairs, blinking for a moment without much a word spoken jr signed.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa wordlessly watched them for nearly a full minute, still terribly confused. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to their stunned silence; it was understandable, really, had she been in their place she would have been bewildered at the fact she was communicating with an unseen presence. The songstress hovered in place, wings gently flapping and dress billowing around her, quill and sheet still in claw, as she tried to think.

There were many questions she wanted to ask, but she was sure writing them all at once would greatly overwhelm the poor stranger. Perhaps it would be better if she started simple, to ease them into this odd way of communication.

𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊?

The sheet was then gently held up in front of the seated stranger for them to see.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*It took the stranger another moment of just sitting and process the sheer fact that something of the supernatural was trying to communicate with it before it found its gaze settling on the new page, the new sentence. A simple question.*

*Voided paws that were normally so sure faltered as a stutter would in a voice before managing to spell letters of common trade sign, pointing to themself to close it.*

Casseopea

*A name. A greeting. Much like any normal conversation on the road or in markets. Just like any normal, trackable, structured conversation, one could think.*

*Just a normal conversation. The vessel shook themselves out of their half stupor then. Yes they were conversing with a ghost. Don't focus on it. Power through. Paws make quick work of the next signs, and echo of the question asked before.*

Who are you?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa was, in short, thrilled. They were communicating!

Without wasting any time, she penned down her response. She wondered if there would be any recognition at her name—but it would make sense if there wasn’t, even if the thought sent an involuntary pang of sadness through her. She couldn’t remember when was the last time she’d ever properly performed for anybody. Would her past audience, previously so enraptured by her song, still remember the one who provided them a gentle voice to ease their burdens?

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒶. 𝑅𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*A songstress? To Casseopea's voided eyes they had once thought keen, all that was there was floating pages and quill marks upon such. But if the unknown presence called themselves a songstress, who were they to argue? They didn't have an ear for music anyway.*

*Still, slightly valuable information. This place was or had been called the Pleasure House. What that could mean carried different connotations through cultures, but at least one thing the building had was a hot springs given their previous path downward.*

*The vessel didn't yet move, mulling over this new information with what looked to be passive neutrality on the outside, the shift of voided paws, the slight twitch of its center most eye. Then sorted through what they could ask (and what if the presence chose not to linger? Every question should count) before simply signing something very blunt and perhaps a little redundant.*

You are dead

*The rather ill wording hit them a moment later, a twinge of discomfort at their seeming ineptitude.*

[songstress-marissa]

“What?”

Marissa paused. It took her a moment to realize she had just spoken aloud; her voice, she knew, falling on deaf ears considering the stranger’s—Casseopea’s lack of reaction.

‘You are dead’.

What did they mean?

But she did know what they meant, deep down; the answers and realizations slowly crawling over her and forcing her to confront them despite her protests.

Her apparent invisibility…

Her inability to leave the stage…

Her prolonged loneliness…

It all added up, did it not?

Without her notice, the quill and sheet slipped from her spectral fingers, the paper fluttering to the ground gently while the quill plunged to the floor with a dull thud.

[songstress-marissa]

Congrats, have a Casseopea thrown at you!

---

*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*

*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*

*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*

*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*

@mapmaker-vess0l

Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.

Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.

Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,

Hello?

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*

*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.

There was hardly any point in trying again.

She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.

As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*

*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*

*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*

*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*

*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*

*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa watched them the entire time, bemused by their actions. She wasn’t sure what it was they were doing, and couldn’t by any means figure it out. She was completely oblivious to the breeze that had wafted through the room when she had moved.

As the stranger began to write, she lightly shrugged her shoulders and refocused on the stack of papers on the edge of stage, spectral claws picking through each and every one. Faded music sheets she vaguely recognized, programs of events held in the Pleasure House in years past, most bearing her name.

As she rifled through the papers, some of them fluttered over towards the general direction of the stranger, carried by an unknown source of wind, slightly stronger than the previous breeze.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*Once more, the stranger paused, although perhaps it went unnoticed. Paper fluttered by without a discernable breeze, the match experiment couldn't find gaps in the walls to let forth a string enough wind, the room layout was wrong to cause a draft and there was too much moisture-*

*Eventually, they turned, golden yellow cloak fluffed up like a startled mosskin as they noticed the fluttering pages from the stage, yet with no other bug. They seemed to be being sorted, and with a voided paw, they pointed in surprise.*

¡-ɐɥɐ∀

*It was a garbled sound, raspy, staticked and distorted, yet more than a hum, and certainly one made of surprise as it tore from their normally silent throat. The pages were moving on their own, and the stranger - at least to themself - was not one to believe in the supernatural.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched, the noise startling her. She turned to look at them in surprise. She was sure they couldn’t see her, and yet, it seemed they had at least seen something. She wondered what it was.

The papers! She realized. She had been touching them, sorting them. They had probably seen them move, though with every part of her invisible it would have looked strange.

She now wondered if they could see her move other things. Slowly, she reached over, grabbing their quill and lifting it up, watching their expression for any reaction.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

¡-ɥ∀

*Another gutteral, gargled sound tore from the stranger's normally silent throat, a sound more felt than heard in tumbling ever hungering void far, far below the city in an abyss unknown to most common bug. The stranger themselves ever dropped their notes and another struck match, the flame sizzling to nothing in the lingering damp and mildew of the once grand Pleasure House stage.*

*To them and their tripled sight, the pages, the quill, all had been floating on their own. The quill too now hung in the air as if betwixt claws, poised to write, a strangeness they had only heard of in tall tales, had brushed off as nothing but superstition, as paranoia, as nothing of consequences. But how else would the quill hang such, having been dropped from their bag? How else had the pages moved into slight sorted piles? And the breeze with no discernable source too, too much to be mere coincidence.*

*But how does one present themselves to something they didn't believe in? How did one bridge the gap between knowing and unknowing on limited means?*

*And so in common sign - unsteady yet forcing itself sure - a voided paw gave a single sign in question, unsure of even getting an answer at the point.*

Hello?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched at the sound of their voice again, nearly dropping the quill before quickly realizing they were actually acknowledging the fact she was holding it. She’s no longer invisible! Not literally, but at least the stranger had noticed they weren’t the only one in the room. Despite this insignificant accomplishment, a slight sense of triumph coursed through her shell.

Looking over at the movements of their paw, she recognized they were asking a question. The songstress took a moment to decipher it before looking around for a page to write on. Eyes landing on the nearest faded music sheet, she grabbed it, turning it over and writing in slanting cursive script,

𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The stranger's eyes widen, unblinking dark voids upon the faded sheet and the cursive handwriting. A singular word.*

"Hello"

*A greeting like their sign had been.*

*They were quite literally floored, the unseen whatever communicating back. Ghost, probably, faded dream as travelers spoke of in tall tales, as the hopeful prayed loved ones carried on.*

*Still, this was quite the revelation in and of itself. Ghosts were real. One was communicating with them through quill and page. And so, trying not to seem to overtly out of their depth, the vessel took a seat in one of the old chairs, blinking for a moment without much a word spoken jr signed.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa wordlessly watched them for nearly a full minute, still terribly confused. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to their stunned silence; it was understandable, really, had she been in their place she would have been bewildered at the fact she was communicating with an unseen presence. The songstress hovered in place, wings gently flapping and dress billowing around her, quill and sheet still in claw, as she tried to think.

There were many questions she wanted to ask, but she was sure writing them all at once would greatly overwhelm the poor stranger. Perhaps it would be better if she started simple, to ease them into this odd way of communication.

𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊?

The sheet was then gently held up in front of the seated stranger for them to see.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*It took the stranger another moment of just sitting and process the sheer fact that something of the supernatural was trying to communicate with it before it found its gaze settling on the new page, the new sentence. A simple question.*

*Voided paws that were normally so sure faltered as a stutter would in a voice before managing to spell letters of common trade sign, pointing to themself to close it.*

Casseopea

*A name. A greeting. Much like any normal conversation on the road or in markets. Just like any normal, trackable, structured conversation, one could think.*

*Just a normal conversation. The vessel shook themselves out of their half stupor then. Yes they were conversing with a ghost. Don't focus on it. Power through. Paws make quick work of the next signs, and echo of the question asked before.*

Who are you?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa was, in short, thrilled. They were communicating!

Without wasting any time, she penned down her response. She wondered if there would be any recognition at her name—but it would make sense if there wasn’t, even if the thought sent an involuntary pang of sadness through her. She couldn’t remember when was the last time she’d ever properly performed for anybody. Would her past audience, previously so enraptured by her song, still remember the one who provided them a gentle voice to ease their burdens?

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒶. 𝑅𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒.

[songstress-marissa]

Congrats, have a Casseopea thrown at you!

---

*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*

*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*

*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*

*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*

@mapmaker-vess0l

Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.

Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.

Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,

Hello?

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*

*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.

There was hardly any point in trying again.

She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.

As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*

*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*

*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*

*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*

*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*

*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa watched them the entire time, bemused by their actions. She wasn’t sure what it was they were doing, and couldn’t by any means figure it out. She was completely oblivious to the breeze that had wafted through the room when she had moved.

As the stranger began to write, she lightly shrugged her shoulders and refocused on the stack of papers on the edge of stage, spectral claws picking through each and every one. Faded music sheets she vaguely recognized, programs of events held in the Pleasure House in years past, most bearing her name.

As she rifled through the papers, some of them fluttered over towards the general direction of the stranger, carried by an unknown source of wind, slightly stronger than the previous breeze.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*Once more, the stranger paused, although perhaps it went unnoticed. Paper fluttered by without a discernable breeze, the match experiment couldn't find gaps in the walls to let forth a string enough wind, the room layout was wrong to cause a draft and there was too much moisture-*

*Eventually, they turned, golden yellow cloak fluffed up like a startled mosskin as they noticed the fluttering pages from the stage, yet with no other bug. They seemed to be being sorted, and with a voided paw, they pointed in surprise.*

¡-ɐɥɐ∀

*It was a garbled sound, raspy, staticked and distorted, yet more than a hum, and certainly one made of surprise as it tore from their normally silent throat. The pages were moving on their own, and the stranger - at least to themself - was not one to believe in the supernatural.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched, the noise startling her. She turned to look at them in surprise. She was sure they couldn’t see her, and yet, it seemed they had at least seen something. She wondered what it was.

The papers! She realized. She had been touching them, sorting them. They had probably seen them move, though with every part of her invisible it would have looked strange.

She now wondered if they could see her move other things. Slowly, she reached over, grabbing their quill and lifting it up, watching their expression for any reaction.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

¡-ɥ∀

*Another gutteral, gargled sound tore from the stranger's normally silent throat, a sound more felt than heard in tumbling ever hungering void far, far below the city in an abyss unknown to most common bug. The stranger themselves ever dropped their notes and another struck match, the flame sizzling to nothing in the lingering damp and mildew of the once grand Pleasure House stage.*

*To them and their tripled sight, the pages, the quill, all had been floating on their own. The quill too now hung in the air as if betwixt claws, poised to write, a strangeness they had only heard of in tall tales, had brushed off as nothing but superstition, as paranoia, as nothing of consequences. But how else would the quill hang such, having been dropped from their bag? How else had the pages moved into slight sorted piles? And the breeze with no discernable source too, too much to be mere coincidence.*

*But how does one present themselves to something they didn't believe in? How did one bridge the gap between knowing and unknowing on limited means?*

*And so in common sign - unsteady yet forcing itself sure - a voided paw gave a single sign in question, unsure of even getting an answer at the point.*

Hello?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched at the sound of their voice again, nearly dropping the quill before quickly realizing they were actually acknowledging the fact she was holding it. She’s no longer invisible! Not literally, but at least the stranger had noticed they weren’t the only one in the room. Despite this insignificant accomplishment, a slight sense of triumph coursed through her shell.

Looking over at the movements of their paw, she recognized they were asking a question. The songstress took a moment to decipher it before looking around for a page to write on. Eyes landing on the nearest faded music sheet, she grabbed it, turning it over and writing in slanting cursive script,

𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The stranger's eyes widen, unblinking dark voids upon the faded sheet and the cursive handwriting. A singular word.*

"Hello"

*A greeting like their sign had been.*

*They were quite literally floored, the unseen whatever communicating back. Ghost, probably, faded dream as travelers spoke of in tall tales, as the hopeful prayed loved ones carried on.*

*Still, this was quite the revelation in and of itself. Ghosts were real. One was communicating with them through quill and page. And so, trying not to seem to overtly out of their depth, the vessel took a seat in one of the old chairs, blinking for a moment without much a word spoken jr signed.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa wordlessly watched them for nearly a full minute, still terribly confused. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to their stunned silence; it was understandable, really, had she been in their place she would have been bewildered at the fact she was communicating with an unseen presence. The songstress hovered in place, wings gently flapping and dress billowing around her, quill and sheet still in claw, as she tried to think.

There were many questions she wanted to ask, but she was sure writing them all at once would greatly overwhelm the poor stranger. Perhaps it would be better if she started simple, to ease them into this odd way of communication.

𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊?

The sheet was then gently held up in front of the seated stranger for them to see.

[songstress-marissa]

Congrats, have a Casseopea thrown at you!

---

*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*

*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*

*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*

*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*

@mapmaker-vess0l

Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.

Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.

Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,

Hello?

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*

*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.

There was hardly any point in trying again.

She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.

As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*

*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*

*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*

*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*

*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*

*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa watched them the entire time, bemused by their actions. She wasn’t sure what it was they were doing, and couldn’t by any means figure it out. She was completely oblivious to the breeze that had wafted through the room when she had moved.

As the stranger began to write, she lightly shrugged her shoulders and refocused on the stack of papers on the edge of stage, spectral claws picking through each and every one. Faded music sheets she vaguely recognized, programs of events held in the Pleasure House in years past, most bearing her name.

As she rifled through the papers, some of them fluttered over towards the general direction of the stranger, carried by an unknown source of wind, slightly stronger than the previous breeze.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

*Once more, the stranger paused, although perhaps it went unnoticed. Paper fluttered by without a discernable breeze, the match experiment couldn't find gaps in the walls to let forth a string enough wind, the room layout was wrong to cause a draft and there was too much moisture-*

*Eventually, they turned, golden yellow cloak fluffed up like a startled mosskin as they noticed the fluttering pages from the stage, yet with no other bug. They seemed to be being sorted, and with a voided paw, they pointed in surprise.*

¡-ɐɥɐ∀

*It was a garbled sound, raspy, staticked and distorted, yet more than a hum, and certainly one made of surprise as it tore from their normally silent throat. The pages were moving on their own, and the stranger - at least to themself - was not one to believe in the supernatural.*

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched, the noise startling her. She turned to look at them in surprise. She was sure they couldn’t see her, and yet, it seemed they had at least seen something. She wondered what it was.

The papers! She realized. She had been touching them, sorting them. They had probably seen them move, though with every part of her invisible it would have looked strange.

She now wondered if they could see her move other things. Slowly, she reached over, grabbing their quill and lifting it up, watching their expression for any reaction.

[mapmaker-vess0l]

¡-ɥ∀

*Another gutteral, gargled sound tore from the stranger's normally silent throat, a sound more felt than heard in tumbling ever hungering void far, far below the city in an abyss unknown to most common bug. The stranger themselves ever dropped their notes and another struck match, the flame sizzling to nothing in the lingering damp and mildew of the once grand Pleasure House stage.*

*To them and their tripled sight, the pages, the quill, all had been floating on their own. The quill too now hung in the air as if betwixt claws, poised to write, a strangeness they had only heard of in tall tales, had brushed off as nothing but superstition, as paranoia, as nothing of consequences. But how else would the quill hang such, having been dropped from their bag? How else had the pages moved into slight sorted piles? And the breeze with no discernable source too, too much to be mere coincidence.*

*But how does one present themselves to something they didn't believe in? How did one bridge the gap between knowing and unknowing on limited means?*

*And so in common sign - unsteady yet forcing itself sure - a voided paw gave a single sign in question, unsure of even getting an answer at the point.*

Hello?

[songstress-marissa]

Marissa flinched at the sound of their voice again, nearly dropping the quill before quickly realizing they were actually acknowledging the fact she was holding it. She’s no longer invisible! Not literally, but at least the stranger had noticed they weren’t the only one in the room. Despite this insignificant accomplishment, a slight sense of triumph coursed through her shell.

Looking over at the movements of their paw, she recognized they were asking a question. The songstress took a moment to decipher it before looking around for a page to write on. Eyes landing on the nearest faded music sheet, she grabbed it, turning it over and writing in slanting cursive script,

𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜.

[songstress-marissa]

Three shapes emerge from the shadows

They sit down to listen

{woah so pretty}

"shhh!"

[*chuckles slightly*]

@the-organ-sleepers

The songstress, initially too caught up in singing for an empty room, takes a moment to realize she had an audience in front of her. Her song gently pauses mid-note, and she looks down at the room’s new occupants.

“Greetings.”

[the-organ-sleepers]

"oh uh hello"

"we were looking for a place to stay and we heard you singing so we came over to listen I hope we're not intruding"

[songstress-marissa]

“No. You three are not intruding. Far from it. It’s been a long time since anyone has come to listen to me sing. The company is appreciated.”

“You may stay for as long as you wish. It’s nice to have an audience again, even if not for very long.”

A slight frown makes its way to the ghostly Marissa’s placid expression, though it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared.

[the-organ-sleepers]

"thank you"

{can you sing please}

"Echo be polite"

[*looks over at Echo and velvet*]

[songstress-marissa]

“Of course.”

And so Marissa starts to sing once more. The notes swell out of her shimmering form, filling the room with a haunting, lilting melody.

[songstress-marissa]

Three shapes emerge from the shadows

They sit down to listen

{woah so pretty}

"shhh!"

[*chuckles slightly*]

@the-organ-sleepers

The songstress, initially too caught up in singing for an empty room, takes a moment to realize she had an audience in front of her. Her song gently pauses mid-note, and she looks down at the room’s new occupants.

“Greetings.”

[the-organ-sleepers]

"oh uh hello"

"we were looking for a place to stay and we heard you singing so we came over to listen I hope we're not intruding"

[songstress-marissa]

“No. You three are not intruding. Far from it. It’s been a long time since anyone has come to listen to me sing. The company is appreciated.”

“You may stay for as long as you wish. It’s nice to have an audience again, even if not for very long.”

A slight frown makes its way to the ghostly Marissa’s placid expression, though it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared.

[songstress-marissa]

Three shapes emerge from the shadows

They sit down to listen

{woah so pretty}

"shhh!"

[*chuckles slightly*]

@the-organ-sleepers

The songstress, initially too caught up in singing for an empty room, takes a moment to realize she had an audience in front of her. Her song gently pauses mid-note, and she looks down at the room’s new occupants.

“Greetings.”

[songstress-marissa]

Some bug throws a hot coffee at her

Marissa stops singing and flinches, but the coffee simply phases through her shell. She's unharmed, but terribly confused.

Why would you do that...?

...

...Why did I not feel anything? That liquid...should it not have stained my dress? Scalded my shell?

[songstress-marissa]

🫪

Hm…?

I’m afraid I can’t see what you’ve sent me. Tell me, what is it supposed to be?

[songstress-marissa]

I…don’t know why I still linger.

I don’t know why I remain here. Unable to leave, unable to move. Here I’ve stood, for ages, it feels, singing for nothing and nobody.

But there is nothing else I can do, is there? This silence…it scares me.

I am afraid. Truly.

And if I stay afraid…I…I don’t know what will happen. Perhaps what happens after will be far worse…

I will continue my song. I no longer tire of singing, even if minutes and hours and days tick by. Singing keeps this gnawing fear at bay…

…

I suppose I could use a change of tune…

[songstress-marissa]

*opera-like beatboxing*

…How…what exactly are you doing? You sound as though you are singing, and at the same time, you make noises akin to the beats of percussion.

I have to admit…this is quite melodic. You should consider performing here. Perhaps future patrons would appreciate this unusual form of musical talent.