* soulsuckcr !

dependent on @boneyardfm.

[soulsuckcr]

# 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐂𝐑 ; a dependant , multimuse roleplay blog for @boneyardfm , as told by misty ( 26, she/they ) . please do not interact if you are not associated with the group !

𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑 : the unreliable narrator. thirty , he/they , paranormal investigator & narrator for the boo crew. intro!

𝐁𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍. : the tender bloom. twenty-nine , he/they , owner of petal pals. intro!

[soulsuckcr]

@heartshcpedkisses ; the doll house burlesque, 7pm.

bracelets clinked softly as his arm slipped from where it had been draped around his girlfriend’s waist, grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in to press a quick kiss against her temple before jogging over to the poor stranger they’d recruited to take their picture—or, pictures, rather. “thanks, man!” bright, easy, and so very damiar; the green-haired punk quick to turn on his heel and return right back to where he belonged: at soleil’s side. was it cheesy? absolutely. was the pda bordering on insufferable? maybe. but people didn’t stumble into love every day, did they? the past few weeks had been nothing short of wonderful ( he’d go as far to say perfect, himself ), filled with a kind of warmth that he was not only experiencing for the first time in his life, but already wished he could bottle up and keep forever. since the weiss wedding, the two had barely left each other’s sides; late nights spent talking about anything—and everything—that came to mind, stories traded back and forth until the morning sun climbed above the horizon, learning about one another, little by little. from the moment they’d met, the sparks had been there, impossible to miss. “awww, look at this one,” their shoulders shook with light laughter as they tilted the camera toward the fae. “betcha didn’t even realize i was givin’ ya bunny ears, huh?” beaming, he let her take hold of the device, continuing, “which one’s your favourite? couple’a these gotta go in the scrapbook,” because of course they had one. reaching for one of the two slushies that were sat atop the nearest table—his being bright red in hue, almost the exact shade his hair had been when they first met. funny, that. they took a sip, expression melting into something softer when his gaze returned to soleil; a quiet kind of fondness beneath that grin of his, almost enough to make his chest ache. a ring-clad finger poked one of the flowers in her hair. “y’know, i’ve been havin’ the time of my life, spendin’ my days with you.”

[gxldenwxlf]

for: @boneyardstarters where: the cupid's arrow when: may 30th, 1997

The rodeo always brought in a huge crowd to the Cupid's Arrow. Wolfgang was celebrating his third year of working at the bar, and regulars, friends, and co-workers had all turned out to celebrate. While usually a server, floating around the bar, the owners had him stationed behind bar tonight, dishing out the signature drink - the rodeo clown - as a guest tender. Wolf had dressed the part, more or less; he was wearing his brown boots, a pair of dark blue jeans, a matching cowboy hat, and - of course - a brown leather harness across his otherwise bare chest.

The bar was packed, the music was high and energetic, and a large, muscle-bound bartender named Spike was waving from his seat in the dunk tank. Wolf looked up as another patron approached him at the bar. "Why, hello there!" he said with a bright smile. "Happy rodeo days. Can I get you anything? If you get a 'rodeo clown,' you get to ring the bell. But I won't tell you what's in the drink or what happens when you ring the bell."

[soulsuckcr]

was there a place on earth where he could feel any more misplaced than this? as a chronic homebody—and, more importantly, someone who would sooner shove handfuls of glass down his throat than listen to country music for longer than ten minutes—the answer was likely no. but, alas, his friends had insisted, swearing up and down that it would be fun, that he’d loosen up eventually, that it would be good for him… which sounded suspiciously like the sort of thing people said moments before everything went sideways. in all truth, his reluctance was entirely justified—given the last time he’d agreed to something like this had ended with a permanent scar carved into his arm, and a newfound fear of power tools ( and, admittedly, ghosts ), but that was neither here, nor there; more of a story reserved for a late-night oversharing session. unfortunately for the florist, their friends had scattered into the crowd, and they were left to fend for themself amongst the noisy scene, fingers twisting together absently as they contemplated, well, everything. in his defense, he had attempted to dress for the occasion—the little cow ears perched atop his head counted for something, right? rather than continuing to stand there looking like a frightened woodland creature about to bolt, jonghyeon opted for a drink. the familiar face behind the counter came as a relief. “a… rodeo clown?” the echo was hesitant, but amused, a smile on their face, which would falter when their gaze fell upon the unsettling mime a distance away. “as long as that stays far away from me, i’ll take one. please,” it gave him the creeps. no thank you! big eyes returned to the bartender, fighting against a shiver. “how have your rodeo days been so far, wolfgang?”

[heartshcpedkisses]

Like a ray of light shining down from above, there was a Nascar red head of hair offering her a hand, and Soleil thought her teeth could burst out of her jaw from how hard she was grinning. Orange locks flounced about her shoulders when she dug her heels in and dragged herself up to her feet, gushing, "Wow, thank ya so much, um... is the room s'posed to be spinnin' right now? How are they doin' that?" Okay, she may have had a few glasses too many, and either the lighting looked really good on his hair, or she was seeing literal stars in her eyes — for all the wrong reasons, now. Her stomach turned disagreeably with the off-kilter axis that she had convinced herself in a minute flat that the ballroom was sitting on. "Noooo, no, no more up and at 'em... I think..." The aerialist was turning a shade of green, mumbling, "Can ya find me, like, an actual seat? I think my head is about to explode, or I'm about to like, have a Xenomorph rip out of me or somethin'."

[soulsuckcr]

the grin unfurled easily across their face, bright enough to mirror soleil’s own, all warmth and wonder as they helped the fae get back onto their unsteady feet. their word of thanks was met with a nod, and perhaps it was fortunate that they hadn’t let go of the other’s hands just yet, seeing as the tumble seemed to have knocked their balance clean out of orbit. “woah,” the narrator let out a light laugh, steadying them gently, “y’take a flight to mars?” a blithe jest with an undertone of concern landed between them, gaze drifting from one table to the next in search of salvation. “bingo. thank ya, sir,” a sharply-dressed man at a nearby table would then watch his vacant chair be stolen and deposited directly in front of damiar’s new friend without shame. “as cool as seein’ a xenomorph would be…” he spoke, nudging the chair closer with the toe of his painted converse. “i’d rather not have that happen!” then, almost immediately, “y’need water? hold on, lemme grab some water,” turning on his heel, he made it perhaps three steps before abruptly spinning back around, index finger raised with theatrical seriousness. “no turnin’ into extraterrestrials while i’m gone,” the gesture widened to include the few onlookers, “i have serious fomo,” predictably, the wandering eyes snapped elsewhere, and he was off once again, only to return moments later, having successfully obtained a glass of iced water. “here ya go,” they held it out, smile still tugging at their lips. “you okay?”

[soulsuckcr]

HEY, i think i just saw BOO JONGHYEON walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD is working as an OWNER OF PETAL PALS and lives in A COZY COTTAGE IN BOULDER CITY. given they are WARM-HEARTED but CREDULOUS, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to SPACE SONG BY BEACH HOUSE and you’ll know why they’re called THE TENDER BLOOM. ( demiboy + he/they. demisexual + scorpio )

PINTEREST.

BASICS

full name: boo jonghyeon

age: 29 years old

date of birth: october 31, 1967

hometown: daejeon, south korea

gender: demiboy

pronouns: he/they

sexuality: demisexual

spoken languages: korean, english, mandarin

parents: xiang ru shi (stepmom)

siblings: boo sil-op, one younger brother, two stepsisters

BACKGROUND

TW: abuse, amputation, car accident, implied ableism, neglect, severe injury

born into wealth, boo jonghyeon was fed with a silver spoon. both parents renowned in the world of the arts, it was only natural for the same path to be carved for himself, just as it had been for his older sibling, boo sol-ip. while they pursued acting, music was more jonghyeon's speed, later discovering that he had a natural aptitude for singing and playing the piano.

with the parents being the way they were, they did make him take on more than he could handle, while neglecting to pay any attention to the symptoms of autism he'd been exhibiting for a prolonged period. despite being spoken to by the nanny and teachers alike, they didn't give it much thought. parents of the year.

the meltdowns just meant bad behaviour to them, and it wouldn't reach the climax until he was in the first grade when the parents had taken their second child prodigy out to a gathering with other sensations and their own gifted children. the whole thing was extreme sensory overload for the six year old, and his ignored pleas led to boiling over under the scrutinizing eyes of moneybags; a scene of hysterics and lashing out.

shortly after his diagnosis, his mother left the picture. time moved forward, and so did his musical prowess. the piano came to be the thing that he loved the most, proceeding in lessons for many consecutive years, going on to win various awards and medals in regional competitions.

his father, who changed his methods and behaviour after the long overdue realization hit him, eventually remarried; the family grew larger. now he had two sisters (one of them being our beloved willow), and three cousins from hong kong that came to visit often. at fourteen, nikolai moved into the household.

years later, just days after his twenty-second birthday, he was involved in a severe car accident that he was lucky to have survived. their left leg had to be amputated at the scene, and they had to have multiple surgeries for other major injuries. sustaining a brain injury that gave him post-traumatic amnesia, the following months were extremely arduous as the healing process began.

the prosthesis took time to get used to, and there were periods where his other leg locked up or grew weak, resulting in collapses, along with episodes of syncope and phantom pain; navigating everything became more difficult, but he manages it the best he can, with the support of his loved ones.

it was thanks to his loved ones that he was finally able to get out of the abusive relationship he had been in for a good part of his early-twenties; they assisted with getting him a restraining order and relocated to jeju island from seoul, eventually giving vegas a try, as it was where some family members moved to.

HEADCANONS

he has a few little critters for emotional support. just has a farm of the randomest creatures. DO NOT STEP ON BUGS AROUND THEM. BUGS ARE FRIENDS.

he doesn't really do well in social situations; he's the type of person to just be there and let everyone else do the talking; he straight up doesn't talk unless he's with someone he knows. very softspoken. if you ask him to speak up, he will not <3

despite not talking much when they aren't in the comfort of friends, their personality shines when he does; (fnaf phone guy vc: the animatronics do get a bit quirky at night) he's just a silly little guy. a creacher if u will. they will go on about the weirdest shit and act like nothing happened. epitome of "he quiet unless he know u fr" tiktok sound.

outside of music, jonghyeon is very interested in botany. his living space is always full of various plants, and he tends to them lovingly, even giving pups to their friends.

extremely sensitive and very crying in the chili's core.

pls come luv him he is. softest bean

[andreaxweber]

Where: Skratch Records Time: Evening Who: @boneyardstarters

Andrea had never been so busy in her whole life, however she didn't mind that, she found that while at work she had to keep herself busy otherwise she would be bored out of her mind. Cy and Stella wouldn't have left her to run the place once the baby was born if they didn't know she could handle it. The busiest hours were usually around lunch and the afternoon, now that it was the evening time, there was a nice lull. A few people were walking around the store, looking or talking to somebody about some of the lp's while she was behind the counter on the floor.

There were times where she would sit there when it was quiet, out of peoples way in order to sort out some of the lp's, espeically ones that were given in by people, sorting them by genres. Humming softly to herself, she picked up one of the piles, letting the others rest on boxes near the wall. Standing up, she noticed somebody standing at the counter, not saying anything to her. "Can I help you with something?" She finally spoke up, placing the lps on the counter. "I take it you never seen somebody sit on the ground sorting things before."

[soulsuckcr]

around his wrist, a sage green rope looped loosely—the leash to his four-legged companion—while the tote in his other hand grew slightly heavier with every stop. it hadn't been much, only a little bit of running around the city before it could be called a day; the natural consequence of being the one out of the four at home without more urgent schedules to abide by... such luck had chosen him with remarkable consistency. the last place to visit wasn't on the list, but one he'd chosen for himself. music, after all, quieted the noise beneath the noise. headphones on, the pianist moved through the shop with gentle ease, all at their own pace. the world beyond was far too loud, too fast, too bright, too much; they’d take whatever small mercies they could to soften it. after a few minutes of absent browsing, two eps found their way into his hands—the familiar works of jeff buckley and radiohead. there didn't seem to be anyone at the counter when he approached, and so he waited patiently, attention wandering instead, tracing shelves and corners and posters that were slightly curled at the edges, until it caught on andrea's. "ah—" headphones slid down, a smile blossoming. "no, i do most of it on the floor, too. it's easier on the body, i think," a nod. "i’d just like to get these two, please,” he spoke, attention briefly shifting elsewhere as brown orbs danced over the room, though the warm smile never left their face. “how is andrea doing?”

[indie-navarrete]

LANA LANG — SMALLVILLE // S01 E02: Metamorphosis

[inkpressedpetals]

[b4rredteeth]

OPEN STARTER

When horrible things happened that were supposed to be newsworthy, Daveed's job was at its most stressfull. Not just because as Press release manager, he managed what made it front page, what was even worthy to appear in the Las Vegas Sun. But also because he had enough people asking to not put their names in the paper. People who had been present places they did not wish to be present, people who would rather not to be known at all. He didn't do it for money... not exactly. He didn't know what he did it for. But it was a nice puzzle regardless.

He had been reading segments for the morning's paper, the weekend issue, and the possible follow-ups all night, the sun long gone when he returned to the streets on his way home. He was nursing a headache already, yet he still carried a cup of steaming coffee. Caffeine long stopped working on him.

When he saw the stranger standing at the street light, seemingly lost to thoughts, never a good sign. He walked a bit closer and held up a hand to get the stranger's attention. "Are you lost?" he asked.

[soulsuckcr]

tension sat sharp behind his temples, insistent and needling, as a hand ran down his face, palms pressing into his eyes only briefly before a long groan escaped him. it had been a long day—not terrible, but not necessarily great, either—and to say that the paranormal investigator was looking forward to collapsing onto their bed would be the understatement of the year. all that was left on the agenda was the walk back to the loft, that was it! the light at the end of the tunnel; it wouldn’t take much longer, now ( what a relief—their legs had begun to ache ten minutes ago )… under his breath came a string of curses, meant mostly for himself: the unpaid tickets, the suspended license as a result of that, and the fact that this was, entirely, his own fault. “this shit isn’t even working,” he grumbled, tossing the half-empty coffee into a trash can as he passed, not breaking his stride, not even giving a second glance over his shoulder. all bitterness, no payoff. go figure. “fuuuuck. should’a called cy,” damiar could—and would—fill silences whenever he could. just as he reached the crosswalk, the light turned, shoulders slumping as a sigh left his lips. it wasn’t known to him just how far he’d slipped into his own thoughts while standing in wait until there was finally some movement in his peripheral. “woah—hey, nope!” he all but blurted. “well, okay, i was lost in my head, or whatever, but… not lost. not, like, geographically,” a beat. then, a smile. “i know where i am,” it was said more for his own pride than anything else. “…hey, uh, d’ya know where the nearest payphone is, though?”

[nepcnthes]

with: @boneyardstarters where: the weiss wedding when: march 20th, 1997

"Well, that was interesting." Sévérine was the first to break the silence at his table when Romi Weiss was all but escorted off the stage. "Which one of you here bet Romi was going to be the sister to blow everything to shit?" As soon as he'd walked onto the courtyard before the ceremony, the translator had already begun a betting pool among family members — which sister was going to fuck everything up for their father's big day? See, he wouldn't be caught dead getting in the way of his father's own wedding, and he had been almost the perfect son when he'd remarried and brought Siah into the family. It helped that his stepmother was a longtime family friend, and Siah and Sévérine had ever been the troublesome two, as if they were siblings by blood and not the ties of a ring on someone's finger. A glint in his green eyes, a hand crept onto the table, palm facing skyward. "No need to announce your shame if you thought Cassandra, cough up your money and we'll be square." His other hand grabbed the wine glass that he had been nursing, only to realize it was empty. "...Are you going to finish that champagne, by the way? I'm fresh out."

[soulsuckcr]

in all honesty, he had no idea why he was even there. it wasn't as though he had any ties to the weiss family—at least, not ones that held any weight in the grand scheme of things; save for the tenuous thread of his closest friend being a cousin to the sisters, as well as a curious, almost begrudging leniency extended to him by the lémieux boy, damiar had always kept a safe distance from both the weiss and vitelli affairs… but he also had never been inclined to refuse an invitation to something where spectacle seemed all but guaranteed ( where was the popcorn?! ). sat next to the translator, their posture unbothered to the point of impropriety, they kicked their legs back up onto the unoccupied seat to his left, lollipop slipping from their lips. “y’know,” they began, “this place could use a camera crew,” it wasn’t spoken to any one person, words simply spilling out as the thought unfolded—they didn’t call him a narrator for naught! “people would devour it! all’a the drama that happens here, all the fuckin’ time... it’d be a crazy ass reality show. has no one thought of that? no, seriously, has no one considered this?” their gaze wandered, a light sigh escaping him after a click of the tongue. “ahh, shit. they should just make a television show about a mob boss. think willy would say what’s up if i went over?” a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned his attention back. “these pockets are empty, baby. best i can do is…” a hand dipped into their pocket, body shifting. “half a cig. filter’s fucked,” it was generously placed into the other’s palm, and they settled back once more. “nah, all yours, dude,” came in reference to the glass of champagne before him. “hey, d’ya think there’s any more cake?”

[heartshcpedkisses]

with: @boneyardstarters where: the weiss wedding when: march 20th, 1997

Soleil didn't expect the mad dash for the bouquet toss by the bride to devolve into human carnage — elbows flying, people yelling at each other, nails digging into pliant flesh; actually, she had the sheer luck to make it to the front-and-center and nearly had the twining of flowers in her hands when someone came out of nowhere and knocked her to the ground. A couple others tripped over her and fell on top, leading the aerialist to let out a shrill squeal at the top of her lungs as she was dogpiled. "Ohmygod," she groaned when the warm bodies crushing her into the polished floors scrambled away and pushed herself up onto her elbows. Bright crimson dribbled onto the ground, and she held a hand up, realizing that she was now a geyser of blood directly from her nose. "Aw, hell. Y'all played a little too rough with this one!" Suppose everyone was hounding for the good luck from the wedding of the year. "Can I get a little hand gettin' up off the floor, or ya gonna make me work for that one, too?" the sore loser grumbled to the person directly hovering above her, lifting an arm to shield the sunlight pouring in through the massive windows from piercing directly into her corneas.

[soulsuckcr]

it was a shockingly rare thing for the busybody to be absent from the action, especially when it unravelled into something so thoroughly undignified. from just beyond the fray, it resembled more of a skirmish than tradition, bodies colliding in a desperate bid for something wrapped in ribbon and sentiment. he would have thrown himself into the scene with enthusiasm, had he not been caught up in a meaningless conversation with a socialite who had too many opinions and not nearly enough tact, their judgement laid bare ( let them think him strange. it suited him just fine! ). still, curiosity often took the reins — which was what led him to the center of it all, drawn less by the promise of a victor and more by the spectacle. it was there that they caught sight of the blonde on the floor. “and no one’s gonna help her?” his voice carried over the chatter, incredulous in tone. “god, rich people are the worst,” an eye roll, followed by the offering of a hand. “c’mon, blondie,” a light smile. “up ‘n at ‘em!”

[b4rredteeth]

OPEN STARTER

@ the weiss wedding @boneyardstarters

Benny looked at the note with a sour face. Not what he had expected, that was for certain. He had read it four times so far, and knew that he couldn’t say with a hundred percent certainty who the name belonged to that was mentioned there. But he did know what secret the note mentioned of his own. He wasn’t so much confident that he could get away with his secret being out in the open, as he was simply Benny: he wanted to have whomever had written this to try. His belly felt hot with anticipation, and he grinned at the idea of a fall out. Even if he knew… it wouldn’t be pretty. But his life never was.

He pushed the note into his tuxedo’s inside pocket and stood, walking to the edge of the dance floor to mingle, lips to his glass. “A beautiful ceremony like this… you simply expect something to go awry, right?”

[soulsuckcr]

it wouldn't be a proper homecoming without a little chaos, though, for once, none of it had his fingerprints on it. las vegas, in all its splendor, remained exactly as he'd left it: decadent, dazzling, a city with just enough glitter that it almost kept the rot beneath it out of sight, out of mind — it wasn't called the city of sins without reason. all of that being said, the curator was, against better judgement, glad to be back. through the green tint of his sunglasses, the room was awash in a haze that felt forgiving, conveniently doing him the favour of obscuring the evidence of his cannabis use. it wasn't too long before someone joined him at the edge of the dance floor... not that he minded. damiar adler had never been one to pass up an audience. "oh, dude, totally," an easy grin. "kinda surprised we're still chillin'," their gaze wandered, lingering only briefly on the godfather and the spectacle of it all, before slipping away again. "weddings. aren't they so fun?" he added. "congrats, you found love," a beat. "or whatever,” and with a quick shrug of the shoulders, their focus veered off to something else. “so what’s up, man? got any stories? anythin’ epic, or un-epic, goin’ on for ol’ benny?”

[obsidian-svn]

do you or do you not like that I am a silly goose. be honest

[soulsuckcr]

HEY, i think i just saw DAMIAR ADLER walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY YEAR OLD is working as a SECONDARY INVESTIGATOR AND NARRATOR FOR THE BOO CREW, CURATOR AT THE DEADLY POSSESSIONS HAUNTED MUSEUM and lives in THE UPSTAIRS LOFT OF THE DEADLY POSSESSIONS HAUNTED MUSEUM. given they are ECCENTRIC but SCHEMING, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that HIS BIOLOGICAL FATHER IS AN INFAMOUS SERIAL KILLER and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to SHUT ME UP BY MINDLESS SELF INDULGENCE and you’ll know why they’re called THE UNRELIABLE NARRATOR.  ( demiboy + he/they + queer + gemini )

PINTEREST. STATS.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: murder.

EVERYONE’S GOT THAT ONE FRIEND who’s just gremlin-coded. the one who laughs when the planchette moves by itself across the ouija board, who owns a cursed mirror and calls it michael, who’d bring a taxidermy squirrel to lunch just for the vibes, or a possessed marionette to thanksgiving because “he gets lonely” … that’s damiar. local jester; unhinged. possibly hexed, definitely vibing. legally dead in at least one dimension. let’s be honest, he probably came with a warning label but peeled it off for fun. he isn’t called the unreliable narrator for nothing. you’ll want to believe him, because, frankly, the way he speaks makes it so convincing. but, really — take it with a grain of salt. maybe a fistful. actually, just make a salt circle. and when he brings up the killer, just smile and nod. no one knows what the fuck he’s on about with that. WHY IS HE THE WAY THAT HE IS? god, i wish i knew. maybe it has something to do with his upbringing — everyone loves a classic tragic backstory, don’t they? i guess having a serial killer for a father would make you a little … different. holy shit, right? yeah, that’s what damiar said when he learned the truth. he didn’t have a good relationship with the guy, or much of one at all, really. his mother? disappeared before he could even form an opinion of her ( he hadn’t gained consciousness yet. those were the days ). naturally, his first friends were the ghosts in the attic, because he wasn’t allowed to go to the playground. something about liability, or whatever. how did he find out his father was playing butcher in the basement, you might ask? oh, you know. just your average day crawling through the vents ( don’t ask ), peeking through a grate and seeing just what it was good ol’ pops was up to. outlook not so good. SPOILER ALERT: HE LIVED. not without almost losing an arm from a crazed lunatic, but, hey, you take what you can get. at twelve, he’s knee-deep in the foster care system. a couple of years later, he’s adopted by the adlers. the ghosts of his past got buried and left behind; separate lives, separate traumas. we don’t have time to unpack all that! but hey, at least no one wants to kill him anymore. unless you count the occasional urge people tend to feel after spending more than fifteen minutes with him. is he annoying enough to make you consider it? absolutely. without question. but that’s personality, not premeditated murder. so… progress? wanna try getting to know him? bring up ghosts. it’s his version of small talk. wanna send him away? try saying his name three times, like beetlejuice. hell, it might work.

[thejackalhasarrived]

Just kidding. VERONICA MARS, 2.17

[tvandfilm]

Wednesday The Great Outwoes | 2.03

[soulsuckcr]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟑: 𝐌𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒.

the wreckage of my past keeps haunting me, it just won't leave me alone. i still find it all a mystery ... could it be a dream? the road to nowhere leads to me.