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[matermali]

( cw; cannabis )

[ There is no softness to the voice that murmurs onto the network in the midst of the night when people should be sleeping. Those sweet souls are not her concern if they don't wish to hear. She offers no comfort, but a reminder of what's been lost—what can still be taken.

In doing so, the woman's raspy words creep out from beneath the shadows with a voice that drags—no, it crawls—over ceaselessly hot coals. In its shudder to whisper out a poem borrowed from home, there is a smolder always bordering on a choked gasp. But no hurry, no hurry. Where do you have to be? ]

Old Yew which graspeth at the stones...that name the under-lying dead; Thy fibres net the dreamless head, thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

[ To that, a pause that looms with omen. ]

The seasons bring the flower again, and bring the firstling to the flock; And in the dusk of thee, the clock beats out the little lives of men.

[ Now, a strange yearning nearly begins to dissipate the smoke that seems to scorch her throat.

Hush, take a moment. Take a breath; hold it. Feel the shiver of a fingernail at the nape of your neck, feel it trace the curve of your ear to borrow your attention. Only just. No, don't turn. Don't touch. Just listen; the whisper can still singe. ]

O not for thee the glow, the bloom...who changest not in any gale, nor branding summer suns avail, to touch thy thousand years of gloom.

And gazing on thee, sullen tree, sick for thy stubborn hardihood; I seem to fail from out my blood...and grow incorporate into thee.

[ For a time, it seems that may be all. Then, in the same hush she speaks with a more particular address: ]

I hear that we have been denied the ephemeral — to exist endlessly within a perverse mirror of God’s image. Here, nature should protest. Instead it menaces with its silence.

[ There is a silence of her own while Vanessa takes a drag to sigh out a thin stream of smoke into the evening air. Her voice now drops so low it grates and pinches too close, like gravel against tender feet. Tickling whispers are gone; they flee the weighted melancholy that persists. ]

We carry on within a dollhouse between worlds. Do not be tempted by its pretty trinkets, lest you truly be cursed to wander the demimonde forevermore.

[ Denial still rules paramount over the rumor of immortality, but the lack of bodies is an...unsettling implication. ]

...The graves lie empty.

Comments

[nostalgiabomb]

a passing acquaintance

[ Which is a lie, but hey. ]

are you done being creepy, or do you still have some more left in your system?

[matermali]

Shall I invite requests for something of a different nature?

[nostalgiabomb]

oh cool yeah

i mean if you're gonna take requests

play Free Bird

[matermali]

[ First Elvira, Now Alexa— ]

I wish I knew it. Who penned it?

[nostalgiabomb]

a band by the name of lynyrd skynyrd

i'd show you but apparently there's no way to get music around here

[ And Peter didn't have the foresight to download anything onto his phone, spoiled as he was by streaming services. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone. ]

[matermali]

Perhaps you can perform it for me. I should love to hear a song named Free Bird.

[ And this comes from someone who claims not to like songs...but she dislikes the eerie silence even more. And for someone who enjoys dancing, she can't truly want to avoid music.

In the meantime, she can think further on his request. ]

Do you know Shelley? 'To a Skylark' may be to your liking, though it isn't brief.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Despite himself, despite the very, very rude awakening, he still snorts out a quick laugh at his device. ]

yeah, sure, happy to perform if you catch me in the right mood. or get a drink or two in me

[ Although he's cutting back. DO NOT scoff at him, Nebula. ]

not sure who Shelley is honestly. another poet? cuz now's probably the time to admit that i'm not a very literary guy

[matermali]

I will keep that in mind, Mr. [ Really? ] Star Lord.

[ Look for his favorite drink: check. ]

Have you ever been startled awake in the night? I don't mean by me.

[ Though she's sorry. Now she knows these can wake people who don't want to be listening up. ]

Have you ever borne witness to the night-time sky, the one that looms in the mind's eye when you close your eyes and everything is too silent? Has it ever frightened you more than the sound of monsters whimpering in the darkness?

[nostalgiabomb]

peter quill is fine

[ ... although he is very seriously considering taking back that introduction as he reads the next incoming texts.

Then, ]

... is this going somewhere or are you just going for a world record in being unsettling?

[matermali]

Do you truly sleep soundly here, Peter Quill? In this prison, you can still find your dreams to be a retreat?

[nostalgiabomb]

no?? not really??? and it's getting worse by the second

dude are you okay

crying over this i'm so sorry about her

[matermali]

No. And you are? How? How do you sleep? How does being here not torment you every waking hour?

[ You all are the weird ones here. ]

i'm also crying at this oml

[nostalgiabomb]

ma'am you're really starting to worry me

has he known a bigger regret before now

[matermali]

Tell me. Why do you think that you were brought here?

he'll be hard-pressed to think of one t b h

[nostalgiabomb]

i don't know. probably my winning personality

you got theories?

[matermali]

You wouldn't like them.

[ If he thought she was unsettling before? Don't ask, Peter Quill. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

i mean yeah probably not but let's hear it anyway

knowledge is half the battle

[matermali]

To hand you a new opportunity for mockery? You have shown no desire for the knowledge I carry.

[nostalgiabomb]

would it help if i promised not to make fun of anything you say from this point forward

scout's honor

[ not that he was ever a boy scout ]

[matermali]

Then I'll first ask this, and a simple yes or no will do. Have you ever done something that you felt was unforgivable?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He doesn't even really have to think about it: ]

yes

[ It helps that she didn't ask for an essay. True or False questions were always his preferred quiz format in school – you always had a 50/50 chance. ]

[matermali]

We may not be in the underworld, but no longer are we in the land if the living.

Do you believe in the unseen, Peter Quill? Do you believe that there is a world which thrives in the shadows, hidden from the common eye but felt deep within? The tickle at the nape of your neck when you were certain to be alone?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ In answering her question, Peter started to type, "i mean, considering the way you woke me up? yes," but he said he'd stop being shitty.

See? He's nice.

It takes a little longer for him to respond, this time, mostly because he's digesting this information, and mostly because there's a part of him that's calling bullshit. But he did ask for theories. And this is certainly a theory. And he does recall jokingly calling this place some kind of purgatory, even if it was only in the safety of his own head, so...

... yeah, all right. He's going down this rabbit hole. ]

do you mean like ghosts? or just the supernatural in general

[matermali]

The demimonde is a realm between fearing and knowing, where all manner of creatures and wonders may dwell. 'Ghosts', spirits, yes. Demons. Living shadows. Beings you don't know the name of, and worlds your dreams could not fathom.

It isn't a state that the common man pays attention to, if he were even able to notice. These things in the dark, they are there for a reason.

[nostalgiabomb]

so your working theory is that we're all dead, or if not DEAD-dead, then something close to it

that we're in some kind of soul world, maybe?

just trying to understand you, here