behindcloseddoors | red pill blue pill ♔ milk of amnesia

[Des is staring at the pill and the glass of water like they might hold the secrets to the universe, but are being little bitches about it. This may or may not be entirely inaccurate. He drums his fingers on the table in his crappy motel room and bites the inside of his cheek.

Right. Might as well get this over with. He picks the pearl up and frowns at it.] Over the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes. [The little poem is said with no amount of humor. If this goes sour, there are a lot more annoying things than death. And there's no hope for extraction in this situation.

But whatever. He's faced riskier situations and he's enjoyed every second of it. Apprehension cleared by the thought of a new challenge, he shoves the pill in his mouth and downs half the glass of water. There's an awkward moment of him just sitting, waiting for something to happen, before he finally sheds his jacket and shoes and flings himself onto the bed.

In moments, he's asleep, awaiting the beginning of the dream...]

Edited (DW IS NOT LETTING ME PICK ICONS. DAMMIT.) 2012-02-17 19:35 (UTC)

♬ Come Here Boy - Imogen Heap

[Dreams are strange things, but this one feels stranger than any other in his long memory. While there are images - a pulsing crowd beneath lights that change from fey-like greens to electric blues to blood reds, stars and the sweeping light of the moon, the dark inviting eyes of a woman that seem to hold all the mystery of the night in their depths - what's most unique about the dream is that it stirs something else within him. A pull, almost, a tingle in the back of his mind that's almost like a compass, beating against his brain about where due north must be. The specific details of the dream wash away like a tide in the moment he wakes, but the feeling lingers, stronger than ever, seeming to whisper that it holds the secret to remembering all his forgotten dreams. If he'll only follow its lead.]

[Des wakes up tangled in the over-starched sheets and nearly rolls off the bed in his attempt to get untangled and to his feet. A complimentary coffee and bagel off the card table that passes for a continental breakfast in this place and he's out on the street, not wasting any time. It's as if he's worried that if he sits on this, it'll fade from his memory completely- he has forgotten so many things, after all.

Many, many things.

He swears and smashes his empty coffee cup in his fist before tossing it. Stay on task, he chides himself. This isn't about him. Except it is. That fucking mark always shows up on things that are way too relevant to him.

He rolls his eyes and pauses to get his bearings, tapping a beat on his temples for clarity. The directions are easy to follow- that's the part that bothers him. Going immediately without even thinking? Well, that would be his urge with or without influence.

No, what bugs him and gives him pause is show little he remembers of the dream itself. Like there should be something important there that might help him and keep him from going in blind.

He shrugs it off and keeps walking. He's got the supplies he needs, he's aware enough not to take anything at face value... What more does he need?]

Edited 2012-02-19 05:25 (UTC)

[Des might be able to figure out that he's being pulled towards the commercial district of downtown, surrounded by mile high skyscrapers that glitter in the bits of light that sometimes find their way through the clouds gathering over the city, blowing their infamous winds down among the people. Large crowds push down the thick sidewalks, past people hunched against the buildings, out of reach of the winds, or vendors and grifters who compete for passerby’s attention, their manners alternately loud and subtle - either turning their heads with shouts and bangs or with a few seductive words or visuals.

It's through this crowd that Des finds himself drawn, though the point of focus that feels like the end of the rainbow in his subconscious is hella surprising.

It's a line for a canopied fruit stand.

Except that the line stretches quite a ways along the sidewalk, and includes a lot of people wearing clothing that seems out of place among other pedestrian Those in line wear leather, or mini skirts, heels, shined black patents, goth wear, heavy makeup. A man stands right inside the canopy fold, with a clipboard, speaking to everyone who enters.

No one seems to be purchasing any fruit, but instead they brush right past the guy and disappear inside the canopy to the left, as if the entire line is being sucked into the skyscraper which the vendor stand leans against.

No one appears to be exiting the stand, either.]

[Compared to the other people in line, Des looks miserably out of place, which gives him a moment's pause. And the fact that that's the only thing that bugs him about this says a lot to Des's life. A fruit stand though? Really?

He scratches his head as if he's trying to claw whatever led him here out of his head now that it's served its purpose, as if it was tracking chip or a literal itch as opposed to something metaphysical. He peers above the crowd, trying to get a good idea of what to expect, but no dice. It's like a line for slutty government cheese and no one seems to notice or care that everyone's just vanishing into thin air as the line heads up.

He grimaces, ducks down the nearest alley, and then kneels down, pulling out a pocket knife, and carefully working holes into his jeans to make him seem a little less like some James Dean wannabe bum trying to weasel his way in. That fails to really do the trick so with a silent stare towards the sky, he takes the knife and puts it a slit in the shirt, ripping it in half so that it exposes his midriff. Then he removes his jacket and cuts the sleeves off the shirt. Great. Now he looks like a gay James Dean wannabe. To add a little extra flare, he takes the remains of his shirt and ties it around his head in a makeshift bandanna. Terrible, yet effective. Better to look like a poser than a narc.

His costume complete, he slides into line, and keeps his eyes on the canopy and the skyscraper, looking for anything suspicious as he waits.]

[It's probably pretty noticeable that some people in line who are trying to text or make calls are looking frustrated, or complaining about their technology not working. Some of them look ready to freak out without their texting fix. But no one leaves the line of their own accord.

It moves quickly enough though, and only a few people are turned away from entering the stand in the first place.

Most bizarre, surely, is how regular pedestrians don't seem to notice anything wrong with this whole picture. They walk by as if the crowd blends into the wall, never sparing them so much as a glance. The line continues to vanish ahead, until Des finds himself standing at the shadowy entrance in front of the guy with the list.]

Name? [He sounds bored as shit, and his expression is just as blank.]

[Sucks to be them. Des's phone is so old that text messaging didn't exist when it was made. Compulsively, he checks it anyway and... Yeah, it looks about as likely to work as the Titanic is unsinkable.

He shifts, keeps an eye out for anything weird, trying to see if he can catch why people are being turned away- no dreamvites, likely. Leave it to people to just sneak into a line and see if they can get in just by their looks.

When it's his turn, Des slouches a little, giving the impression of someone bored and skeptical of this whole dog and pony show.] Desmond Descant. You need the middle initial too, pal? [He turns to whoever's behind him and laughs like his joke was the funniest thing ever.

Gay James Dean is apparently a master of lame jokes.]

[The doorman looks down at his clipboard for all of two seconds, chewing disgustedly on the toothpick shoved between his gums, before announcing:]

You ain't on the list.

[...Liam is going to fucking pay for this.

He stands up a little straighter and raises an eyebrow.] Wait. What? How the hell am I not on the list? I nearly got choked, trying to swallow that you-know-what. [The last bit he says in a conspiratorial whisper, like someone who has done something illicit and wants to brag about it, but can't bring himself to say the words.]

[The guy seems unmoved by Des' burst of outrage, probably used to hearing that from people who are just trying to sneak the fuck in. But he does quirk a brow the tiniest bit at the mention of the pill.]

Did you now.

[His tone makes it clear that he's really not sure someone who dresses like gay James Dean could... even afford one. But he doesn't look entirely dismissive anymore.]

[annnnd make a CHARISMA ROLL to try to sway him (d20 + cha mod)]

[Des pulls the bandanna off his head like someone very near defeat and starts twisting it awkwardly.] Look, I didn't wanna say anything, but I had it out with my SO- nice guy, very British, zero sense of humor. And I figured I'd get back at him by sneaking the you-know-what out of his bag. [He shrugs] It was wrong, but he was a royal dick, and now I'm here and my head's buzzing and I just wanna bust a move and forget my heartbreak. Is that so wrong?

[Welp, that sounds way too ridiculous for anyone to make up, apparently. The guy just looks him up and down judgmentally, and then gestures over his shoulder, indicating for Des to proceed around the corner. Two bouncers flank a very plain industrial looking door affixed to the building that the stand's connected to. They're big and scarred and seem to make vague growling sounds when they breathe, but they don't make a move to stop him from entering.

♬ I Dream In Colour - Conjure One

The room beyond the door is far from a club scene. It actually looks like a remarkably classy foyer, with a vaulted ceiling, white and marbled. Large staircases spiraling from the left and right of the rooms up to the balcony above, where two large mahogany doors stand closed. Straight ahead on the ground floor stands another set of doors, and there's a red carpet that leads directly from where Des stands to that entrance.

At the foot of either set of stairs stand a pair of guards wearing visored helmets that obscure their features, and armor that makes them look like Halo cosplayers. And both are holding rather large guns, just to complete the illusion. Yep. Doesn't look like going off the crimson track is a very good idea here.]

[Des bounces a little on his heels, drapes the makeshift bandanna around the guy's neck as he passes and then gives a little two finger salute to the bouncers.

When he enters, he freezes in the entrance, mouth open- okay, so now he's feeling a little underdressed for this occasion. Maybe he should have kept the bandanna and made it into a tie or something. Eeesh.

Well, so much for exploring the creepy place. He nods at the Halo cosplayers.] Evening, boys. Looking sharp. Could use a spit-shine though- I can't even see myself in that armor. What gives? Classy establishment, my ass. [He holds up his hands and then points to the carpet in the universal gesture of 'yes, I don't plan on making trouble, just let me rib you jackasses for a second.'

He exhales and mutters under his breath.] Just follow the yellow brick road. Got it...

[The guards offer no reaction to Des' banter, but manage to radiate a sense of hostility from behind their visored helmets anyways. Tough crowd.

The doors at the end of the carpet open into a narrow corridor that's startlingly dark compared to the bright lobby, particularly when the doors seal behind him, shutting out any remnants of natural light. Runner lights along the floor outline where he's meant to go, however, and the walk gives his eyes some time to adjust. The further up the hall he goes, the more a muffled sound of pulsing techno beats and shuffling feet fills the air, creating a bizarre feeling of disconnecting from reality.

Or perhaps it's more than just that, as a Wisdom check of 15 or above might tell him. Something seems to shift, and the sensation washing over him is remarkably close to the moment when one realizes they're inside a dream, but finds themselves unable to wake from it. There's a certain sense that reality is more transmutable, that things could flow readily from one scene into another with no preamble or context. And a very clear feeling of no longer having to adhere to the constraints of reality.

~~crank dis shit~~ --> ♬ A Neverending Dream - Cascada

When he finally opens the door at the end of the dark hall, the scene beyond unfolds piece by piece, far too much to process all at once. The music hits like a tsunami of sound the moment the door is drawn open, and the sudden swell of neon lights is almost blinding after the darkness.

The club is, to put it in a word, massive, stretching back and back and back further than Des can see. And as far as he can see there are people: people packed densely together, arms up, moving in one giant flowing mass, dancing and cheering, and laughing beyond a red cordoned line which is guarded by another bouncer. Hundreds of people. Thousands of people. An impossible number.

To the left of that is a sea of tables, and on the far left wall, an electrically lit bar, with blue and purple neons dancing across it. The two sides of the room seem divided between chaos and relaxation, as patrons sit idly smoking at the tables or booths that are offered on this side of the red, and revel in sensual pleasure on the other. Joining the two is a very large thrust stage, that splits right along the line of the cordon, and then feathers out left and right. There is no back to the stage: it's simply an immense platform in the middle of an ocean of people. There are smaller platforms scattered throughout the room, occupied by dancers in outrageous costumes, both human and Shadow.

The whole crowd seems full of a motley crew of species, and people in all manner of clothing - businessmen, goths, slutty club girls. Some sit in booths that are crowded tightly against the stage, all of them drinking and laughing, and straining their necks to look up at the platform expectantly, as if they're waiting on something. In fact, this seems to be a pattern he can somehow sense - that everyone here is waiting, that there's something preparatory about all the movements of the crowd. But it seems to do nothing to take away from the sense of total freedom, and everyone sure as hell looks like they're having a good time.

[Des lucks out and is the King of Insanely Good Rolls, so his 21-wisdom check means he can tell there's something rotten in Denmark. Unfortunately his -40 common sense check means he's not even a little bit concerned about it.

Uncomfortable with it? Definitely. Worried? Nah.

He blinks a few times, unsteady at the sudden shift, but presses forward, all the more determined to get to the end. Instinctively, he closes his eyes and cringes at the onslaught of new stimulus- the untz untz of the music, the bright colors, the sheer vastness of the place. Not his scene at all, but if he wants to blend in, he has to at least fake it. It'd be easier to do if his head wasn't pounding.

He weaves through the crowd towards the bar and takes a seat, snapping to get the attention of the bartender.] Big turn-out. Must be keeping you on your toes. [He glances over at the stage, putting on the same sort of anticipating look he can see on everyone else and adding an impatient little pout to the end before he turns back. The key to any good deception is pretending you know just as much as everyone else- that way no one feels they have to hide shit from you.

And, for the record, his charisma check for this tag is 23. He's on a roll tonight.]

[The bartender gives him a shark-like smile. No, really, all hyperbole aside, they're... actual shark teeth.] You said the same thing last time. [He lets that hang for a second as he pours another drink, before laughing as if he just told the best joke in the world, and then adding loudly] It's always like this.

[...No amount of charisma points can help the look of utter helpless DURR that crosses Des's face.] I what now?

[The bartender just GRINS at his reaction] What can I get ya?

[Des pinches the bridge of his nose.] Strongest thing you got. I feel like this is gonna be a show I don't wanna be sober for.

[Except he has to be. Because he's not doing this just for his own curiosity. Dammit. Something about this whole situation sets him on edge- moreso than before. Being clearheaded would probably be the best thing, but ordering a tonic water and a toothpick would probably set him apart. And, anyway, it's not like he's going to chug it.]

[The grin intensifies and he lets loose a spray of electric blue stuff out of a nozzle. And then stirs in something clear, and sticks a little umbrella in it, just to be a dick. He slides it across to Des.] Bottom's up.

[Des makes a point to pluck the umbrella as soon as he gets it- you know, that thing five-year-olds do when they can't handle the sight of something pretty and must destroy it because they're minature Tyler Durdens? That's Des right now. And now the umbrella is a toothpick. He shoots the bartender a smug look, sticks the toothpick in his mouth and takes a sip of his drink.

Yeah, you can't out-troll him, Mr. Bartender. Now all that's left is for this damn party to really get started. Shifting the toothpick back and forth between his teeth, he scans the crowd...]

[Well, he won't have much time to see anything in his sudden drunken haze, because the lights dash out across the building suddenly, replaced by only the streaming red lasers flashing over the faces which turned anxiously as one towards the stage, full of a zealous anticipation and a sudden sequence of screams that echo through the entire building.

Out of the stage begins to rise a white curtain, that encircles the entire circumference of the platform, as an otherworldly delicate musical beat chimes through the air, a low pulsing beat below it that the lights flash along with, as if reflecting the suddenly in sync heartbeat of the crowd.

The curtain rises all the way to the roof, and smoke starts pouring out from under its sides, while the crowd goes insane, screaming and pawing at the thrust stage, as if they can no longer even take another moment.

The screaming climaxes as a silhouetted figure appears in the center of the stage, flanked by several others. Evident curves indicate it's definitely a female back there, but everyone else seemed to be in on some bigger secret about her identity - their screams amplified with even this tease of a glance.]

[WHY DID THEY PUT ALCOHOL IN THAT DRINK.

HE STRICTLY SAID 'NO ALCOHOL.'

REALLY. HE DID. ...Oh hey, lasers.

Des stays put- or rather, he stays at the bear, but wobbles a little to get up on the stool a bit to see over the crowd and get a decent view, because this is clearly the best thing to do when you're headrushing from ONE SIP like a lightweight sorority girl.]

Oh, don't tell me. [It's hard to hear him over the crowd, so his words get swallowed up and lost.] Jessica Rabbit works at this club?

[Because it's a party, Des. Because it's a party. :|

The strident voices fall to a dull roar when her throaty voice breaks out across the club.

♬ Dark Side ; Kelly Clarkson

O-oh. Oh-o-oh.
There's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away
Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Behind the curtain, the silhouettes break away from the singer, striking dramatic shadowed poses as more and more smoke billows out from under. Des' remarks are lost, as everyone, the bartender included, seems now to be utterly transfixed on the stage.

It's hard not to be. Maybe it's the booze, but Des would feel a strange compulsion† to stare as well, as the girl emerges when the curtain rolls up.

Thigh-high emerald green boots gave way to a flash of skin and then an equally dark green mini-dress that's so tight that it looks like it was oozed out of a bottle and molded to her body. Black gloves run up her arms, and her hair is dread locked and streaked alternately black and white. She has an exotic coppery skin tone, and features that are finely balanced, and, Des might note, if he can manage a Spot check (Wis) of 15 or more, maybe hinting at an inhuman quality.

The most noticeable thing about her, however, is about a lot more than her strikingly unique looks. Instead, it's the way she moves, fluidly, entrancingly, the strange aura that gathers about her, a sort of black hole of fascination that seems to suck in the whole place with ease.

Or maybe it's just her voice. It's the most inhuman thing about her - and the strange heartbreaking sense of sorrow and longing and mystery that it conveys feels like much more than just a stage act.]

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

[† A Will save of 15 or more will allow Des to keep his head. Otherwise, he'll get caught up in it just as much as everyone else: it's a strange, obsessive feeling, an unhealthy rush of desire to be the object of the woman's attention, and a complete loss of focus on... whatever it was he was here for again...]

[Mmm. Very pretty girl. SPOT CHECK? WHAT SPOT CHECK? DES DOESN'T NEED NO STINKIN' SPOT CHECK. There's just so many lights and the alcohol's making him fuzzy, so he's just listening to her sing, watching her movements... Forgetting why the hell he came her-

Wait a minute.

Through some FUCKING MIRACLE, he rolled a perfect 22, so he manages to bring logic into this. This is him- Captain Wouldn't Look At a Girl Twice If She Even Looked Sneaky. It would take a lot for a dame to pull the wool over his eyes.

...And it had. For a second. Oh, this chick's good, whoever she is. Really good. Des bits down on the inside of his cheek and glowers at the stage. His head's murky, but at least objective thinking prevailed.]

Like a diamond
From black dust
It's hard to know
It can become
A few give up
So don't give up on me
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

[As the beat rises, she dances her way out across the divide and the people begin clambering in an attempt to get at her, some going so far as to try to physically climb on the stage. However, the crowd contains more of those guys in the robo-suits with the big guns... who do a nice job of keeping people from going all Swimfan over there.

Something glints in her eyes that seems to indicate that she's enjoying every single moment of the attention, but it doesn't do anything to lessen that strange note of melancholy in her voice.]

Don't run away
Don't run away
Just tell me that you will stay
Promise me you will stay
Don't run away
Don't run away
Just promise me you will stay
Promise me you will stay

[With his cooler head prevailing, he might glimpse that there's at least one or two other guys sitting at a table not too far away that seem to be able to rip their eyes away easily. In fact, one of the guys seems to be watching with calculated interest rather than mindless fixation, as he twirls the umbrella in his drink. The other leans closer to whisper something to him and a smile that seems nothing short of sinister curves up his face as he nods, eyes riveting back onto the girl.]

[Des squints at the men and then moves through the crowd, shoving and pushing his way through the sea, trying to look, for all the world, like another desperate Swimfan trying to get to the stage, except he veers in the direction of the two men's table and stops a good twelve feet from it, swaying to the music in an awkward way that can't possibly be construed as anything more than some guy really caught up in the performance. And, really, when half of everyone is too busy with the woman on stage, who could possibly notice someone's a little... Off.]

[Well, even closer it's still loud as fuck in here so what Des gets is going to just be bits and pieces of words. Luckily he seems to get the important ones. Even more luckily, neither of the men turn around to really pay attention to his less-than-stellar zombie impression.

The one with the umbrella drink and the up-to-no-good expression leans back casually in his chair. The other guy has the distinct flavor of lackey about him.

And guess what the very first word Des catches is? Yep.]

... eternal jade will have to be collected, then. [BACKGROUND NOISE BACKGROUND NOISE] arrange for assistance... [UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ] and make the exchange.

[Des has to avoid dancing towards the table to hear better, but he heard what he needed to. Just not what it has to do with the chick on stage... It's still enough to set his teeth on edge.

There's going to be an exchange. ...But where?

Damn this fucking club. He consoles himself with the fact that he has a lead and if he stays on top of these clowns somehow, then maybe he'll find something else out. He moves into the crowd and then comes out on the opposite side of the men. Because the noise of the club is just so much better on this side- it isn't. But if he's catching bits and pieces and waiting to see what the men or the woman on stage do next, he wants to avoid being in one place for too long. Best to look like his floating the club, flirting with everyone he sees, etc.]

Yes, it will take me a few weeks to secure some more... [LOUD DRUNK GUY YELLING IN DES' EAR. Meanwhile, guy in the suit is digging in his pocket to pull out a pen that he clicks to life. He reaches out for a napkin that's got a drink ring on it and flips it over.] Let's make it the 9th. [The other man seems to respond with something, but it's impossible to hear now that Des is... on the opposite side of him. But he gets to hear most of the response] Same time, yes.

I'll bring Zane. He loves a good show. [His face reads amused contempt as he smirks and stuffs the napkin into his own pocket and goes to down his drink.

And then there's a waiter in Des' face, with a tray, asking if he can get him anything.]

[Do not punch Drunk Guy. Do not start a fight in here. That would be bad. Des unclenches his fist and assures himself that one drunk idiot is not worth undoing all the BS he had to pull to get in here.

Great. He has a name. Liam's got people and there can't be that many friggin' Zanes in Chicago, let alone the damn US, so that was- Oh hi, waiter.]

I'm good. I have a drink- had a drink. It's somewhere right now, but that's okay. I'm good. Totally. [Yes, that is Des using some of the muddled-ness he hasn't been able to shake off to feign drunkenness.]

[The waiter eyes him warily, but seems thoroughly convinced and moves on to the table to touch up the guys' there. That serves as an interruption to their conversation however, and they clink glasses and focus back on the show with that predatory I've-got-a-secret look on their faces still, apparently done talking shop for now.

Meanwhile, the girl is finishing up her show up there, winding up back in the middle of the stage as she lowers her mic, eyes sweeping dramatically down as if the sadness of the world has proven too much for her after just one song and you're all shit out of luck. And sure enough, the curtain starts to fall again as everyone howls with a mixture of applause and disappointment and desperation for her to just come back and do a fucking encore already.]

[Well, that's all she wrote. Des hovers for a moment at the edges of the crowd and then decides to see if he can stumble his way to an exit- he doubts he's going to get anymore information and if he gets out before he gets knocked the fuck out and forgets everything... Well, good for him.

Now it's just a matter of sneaking along the way he came in to try to see if there's a way back out along the same lines.

Good luck with that, Des.]

[It's actually appallingly simple to get out of this place. No one stops Des as he heads for the exit, or makes his way out that door and back into that hallway with the little glow lights. However, he does get the strangest feeling that he's forgetting something...

Which really only grows as he moves away from the music, which becomes more and more muffled, and his head starts to feel the same way.*

*Will save of 15 or above, or memories start fading fast of ... everything that went on back there...]

[In which Des fails every wis check except one and it wasn't the important one and makes it outside. It takes him a few minutes to get over the hazy feeling, the sensation of...

The sensation of...

The... What was he doing?

He blinks, looks around, gets the impending sense of deja vu, but without all the fun of knowing why this is deja vu and then it occurs to him, BECAUSE THAT WAS THE WISDOM CHECK HE ACTUALLY PASSED. And he has to bite down on his fist to muffle a scream of fury.] Fuck.

red pill blue pill ♔ milk of amnesia

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