lights are fading, the feeling is back, this is the closest thing to disaster

So does this kind of stuff accompany every major holiday?

[Light has seen this happening to other people. But he has been lucky, and managed to avoid it for himself.

Until now, of course.

Certainly, when he opened his mouth, he wasn't intending to start singing. But then the drums start to pound. He just has time to roll his eyes and send up a kind of "oh god why me" thought to the heavens to begin an adapted version of the song. There are no dunce caps, or skating, or funny faces, or wild dancing. But he does stride around a bit and gesture with his hands.]

( OOC cut for lyrics! If you watch the video, well... it's Kate Bush, not suited for live performances, so just assume that Light's version is altered to be better singable. )

[Luckily for Light, he's actually a pretty good singer - having found piano and violin frustratingly tricky, it was his obligatory musical field of choice - so it's slightly less embarrassing than it could be.

Of course, that means very, very little.

When he's done, he just stands there for a few moments, looking highly disgruntled, like a cat which has just been sprayed down with a hose.]

Honestly. It wasn't even in my language.

There are many things about this place which I still fail to understand.

Most pressing at the moment is, of course, why have we been so grouped into two -- some of us still able to talk and interact normally with each other, but invisible to the second group (whom we can see, but who can't see us)? What is the determiner, and by what mechanism is this effected? Is somebody deciding who is a "ghost" and who is not? Is it entirely random chance? What sparked it, then? Nothing happens which can't be explained. Ryuuzaki suggested that the line is drawn between those who are native to Template -- or, at least, the universe of the Template which we are residing in -- and those who were brought here from different worlds. It seems a likely possibility.

But that leads to the question, of course, why were we brought here in the first place? I can't find any patterns, nothing which would suggest deliberate intent. The "refugees" are from all walks of life, all kinds of universes... There are no commonalities, so it doesn't seem that there's someone selecting people with a purpose in mind, unless it's a very broad, nebulous sort of purpose. And yet, if it's random occurrence, why can't we leave? That gives the sense that something is keeping us here. Then there's the obligatory matter of "how"; assuming the reality of magic (which it seems I have to), that makes the whole situation... less impossible, at least. Somehow.

(As a curious aside, surely some people are able to leave the city, because there is a manufacturing sector here, isn't there? And it stands to reason that those things would be exported beyond Template. Unless this place only imports... but even then, the people who do the importing -- driving the goods in or what have you -- would have to leave again, wouldn't they? Has anybody looked into this?)

Given most of the conversations I've had, I understand that I'm likely to get the answer "nobody knows" to all of these. I figured they were worth putting out there anyway, though, just in case; it seems better to talk about than not. Which is interesting -- I haven't seen these questions being discussed very much, which I can only take to mean that those who have been here for any extended period of time have come to realize that pursuing answers to them is quite fruitless.

That's disturbing.

[It's late, and Light is tired as hell, and accordingly distracted/scatter-brained, so he slips onto the second level without realizing it - even though, since his arrival, he has become quite good at controlling it. He's sitting at a desk, with his elbows propped on the flat surface of it, forehead resting on the heels of his hands, and he's dictating into a tape recorder - because this is what he does, instead of writing, to organize his thoughts. Essentially, it's his diary, just spoken, not written.]

... name "Kira" doesn't evoke reactions from most people, and he has... disappeared entirely in the city's general media. Like he doesn't exist here.

Some people claim to have been dead before being brought here, others were right in the middle of completely unrelated things. As evidenced by all of these things, there seem to be no patterns, nor reason, to any of this. I have spoken to some people who are entirely oblivious and maintain there is nothing strange going on - cashiers, passersby.

My work is going well, but I worry about getting the photographs out of the here... I'll have to look into finding employers solely within the city.

No word from Ryuuzaki.

I need to go to bed.

[There is a young, impeccably-attired man making his way slowly down Wind Cliff street. He has a map in one hand, at which he is peering with a faint frown, and in his other he grasps the handle of his suitcase, which rolls along behind him, click-clack-clacking over the occasionally-bumpy sidewalk. He draws to a halt, with a sigh, and looks around him, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes as he seeks out signs and labels.]

Crux Decusatta House, Upper Cove... [This is murmured under his breath as he looks down at the map again.]

First, some quick OOC info -- I can be contacted via e-mail (norrowa[at]gmail[dot]com) or AIM (norrowa). I'm quite friendly and always open to chatting, plotting, what have you :3 My timezone's PST.

Now, since all of this was too long to stick in the profile...

-

( [personality.] )

( [history.] )

( [samples.] )

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