purerationality

[purerationality]

“Of course.” She gazes into the nothingness, into the absence of shadows before her, the barren hallway of memory. It was just like this when Dr. MEI died, her memory retrieval supplies instantly. “Her” eyesight had failed as a result of the Honkai sickness, and even though his voice had drifted away like something unreachable, it was the last thing “she” heard from the external world.

Had “she” faded before he could say goodbye? Yes, most certainly.

But this is not the work of memoria, she acknowledges with a lingering tinge of disappointment. This cannot be the work of Penacony's sweet dream materializing her unfulfilled wishes and unspoken regrets, because she knows well enough—what they really are.

Not people. Would never, could never be people.

She doesn't yet say his name, the name of the disembodied voice, but it appears in her mind, that single syllable—distilled, contained within something like the lacuna of feeling. Su, she thinks, her inner voice softened by something less painful than nostalgia—stripped bare by something more merciful than acceptance. She squints out of habit, a habit that is no longer useful or necessary. And the dream protects the illusion that she is still human, even as her machine eyes adjust, searching around her for the source of the voice. For “her” former colleague, “her” once-upon-a-time friend.

Somehow, she knows she'll be unable to find him, not even with the inhuman mechanisms this body affords her—thermal vision, scanning, more precise means of detection...

Still, she tries out of some half-extinguished sense of obligation—despite the futility.

...And as expected, nothing—

“Su…” When she says it aloud, his name sounds like a burden to her. Like something that would be better forgotten, “What happened to you?”

‧₊ ✧ reality and the universe ;

SU & DR. MEI.

[purerationality]

plotting call / july.

some prompts under the cut, and as always, please give this a like or ping me here/via discord if you're interested!

commission board / destruction.

sea of quanta / empyrea, post-script. dr. mei is very much interested in investigating what caused the rapid deterioration of the planet, as well as the mechanisms through which the visitors were suspended in the shared simulation space. as usual, she will be exhibiting varying levels of alarming disregard for her own safety. (open to anyone, but would love to toss her at someone who participated in the lore event so she can poke them for more information!)

sea of quanta / paperfold university. i don't have immediate thoughts on this but the prompt sounds very fun and dr. mei is a fan of penacony. would be interesting to lean into the dream logic of things, even, and blur the lines between narrative & meta-narrative here!

teyvat / tsurumi island. teyvat muse required. i also have less immediate thoughts here, but expeditions into strange, time-effected areas would fit right up dr. mei's alley! (even if she usually isn't on the field)...

[purerationality]

The look of recognition in his eyes is as plain as day. The shock, too, however brief and ephemeral. Amused by how quickly he recovers upon realizing her indifference towards him, as if settling into an indifference of his own, “Dr. MEI” listens to him speak, and wonders if they’ve ever met. Despite his questions, she remains silent, her initial goodwill (if one can call it that) now a fading whim. Her gaze lingers on his unfamiliar face, but the card twirling between his fingers is a clearly-intended distraction. She spares it a glance, then pauses.

A key-card. Was it provided by—or, more likely, taken from—one of the researchers? A bold gesture, bolder still to flaunt it in front of a stranger—though, perhaps, from his perspective, she isn’t one. Whatever his motivations are—unearned trust, misplaced kinship, or excess self-confidence—she is uninterested in deciphering them. What she is interested in, though, is the fact that he currently has the quickest means of accessing the Seclusion Zone below—assuming the card he most likely stole has the required clearances.

“My knowledge of the Swarm is actually pretty cursory. I’ve only read about them in passing.” “Dr. MEI” finally speaks again, her voice the same as it was before—pleasant, measured. For now, she doesn’t acknowledge the key-card that her current companion is so keen on showing off. “So, I wouldn’t say that I have any special interest in them. But the rumors are riveting, aren’t they?” Only bits and pieces of them. The gossiping researchers had spent too much time on gruesome fates for the missing janitor, on whether the latest industrial pesticides would be able to do anything to an infestation—and too little time on the exact nature of the self-replicating insects, on the strange, hallucinogenic properties of the particles their bodies emit.

“Remnants of the Swarm do exist in this universe. Though, usually, if an infestation were to occur, there would be no need for rumors.” She pulls out her phone to type in a search or two. Then, she extends it towards him, expectant. The screen is rather small, but there’s a picture on it—an artistic rendition of a swarm descending upon a planet. “See?”

After a moment, “Dr. MEI” withdraws her hand. “Were you thinking of investigating the abandoned laboratory?” Casually, she nods toward the key-card in his hand, thinking about whether some frantic researcher will rush into the room again to look for it. “It might just be rumors and nothing more.” Maybe, she should prod at the stranger some more. She knows nothing of him, after all, not even a potential case of mistaken identity. Standing finally, she knows that she can't resist the draw of her own, insatiable curiosity. “Do you know the way down?”

‧₊ ✧ the infinite self ;

OTTO & DR. MEI. — COMMISSION : ABUNDANCE.

[purerationality]

[WINDOW SHOPPING]　/　really odd——they didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before. the closest thing was maybe an antikytheran, but just about all of them had been wiped out a long time ago, even before she was born. hard to be sure. under the bright, dazzling streets of this alien city, she's dressed in something apart from her usual. dark colors and a thief's cloak are traded for denim pants and a ruffled blouse, the ends of her hair brushed out all nice. it always feels strange when she doesn't have her hood, but that's what she gets for blending in. the only thing about her ensemble that's remained are her usual golden boots ; those haven't changed, at least.

between the two of them, the one who really stands out is this dr. mei character. and by the way, who the heck introduces themselves as doctor? talk about stuck-up. oh well ~ there's probably still some way to redeem this outing, even if she wasn't in her usual getup.

"you're sure that all you want to do is go window shopping? there's loads of other things we could do——scale buildings, find the highest spot in the city, play tag in the alleyways. there isn't anything else you're interested in?"

she suppresses a thin yawn, feeling a midday drowsiness start to come over her. maybe she'd eaten too much for lunch. . . that sweet-and-sour charbroiled steak had been really decadent. what she really needed was to work that off with a good heist or something ; too bad she had a feeling this lady, statue, something, was probably too much of a stickler for something like that.

worth a shot, though ~ !

"tell you what." she drops her arms and leans in closer to the other with a shimmering grin, one sharp canine poking out of the lopsided smile. "why don't we see how many of these fancy purses and clothes we can nab off the store shelves without anyone noticing? thirty minutes. whoever gets the highest priced item wins and gets to take home the whole haul. what do you think?"

revelation 2025, soaring heights.

How strange. The present is a superimposition, layered over the implacable past—and for a brief, everlasting moment, “Dr. MEI” almost mistakes the curious stranger for Reverie. Pardofelis? Then, she blinks, and the mis-recognition corrects itself, the past returning to the distant and implacable realm of memory—even as the resemblance remains. It piques her interest, enough for her to exchange introductions with the other woman. Cipher sounds more like an alias, a call sign, than a name, but “Dr. MEI” chooses to dwell on other things, instead. Like Cipher's obvious boredom. Like the familiarity of Cipher's carefree, mischievous attitude. Like Cipher's lack of recognition toward her.

What a treat it is—to encounter a fragment from another samsara cycle.

She exhales a laugh—light, uncalculated, fleeting—and shakes her head. “I think it sounds very exciting.” There's a trace of tenderness in her voice, the trace of a smile, misplaced and unearned. Then, a pause, as she feigns a moment of consideration. “Maybe, a little too exciting for me. I have a feeling that you're far more experienced at this than I am, so... It probably wouldn't be much of a competition.”

“Dr. MEI” almost sounds apologetic. But with a tilt of her head, she makes a lighthearted jest. “If you're willing to share a few tips, I'm not opposed to a trial run in there.” She points at one of the gleaming windows. The store's signage looks promising—glittering and vibrant, just like the window displays themselves.

“But I have to ask,” she lowers her hand and glances back toward her companion, not-quite-teasing, “how good of a teacher are you?”

[purerationality]

[FERRIS WHEEL] -- There’s no better view of sunset on the sea than one from up above, and this bad boy’s got two seats and the perfect carnival music ambiance to really sell the romance! We hope you’re not afraid of heights~

Yelan was not a woman who deserved to be seen at the top of the world. It was a moment that brought out every vulnerable essence in her body due to its fleeting nature. The moments of vulnerability were temporary but the discomfort they brought had been endless. Yet there was a hunt for the thrill of it all, the thrill of being so on top of everything even if that thrill only came for but a few minutes. She reveled in the thrill of being at the top of the world, and mayhaps would revel in it further if she were instead at the end of the world.

She wasn't alone, either. Yelan found herself at the top of the world with another soul who too had been so deranged as to come this far. Maybe she too wished to be on top of the world for a fleeting moment, regardless of any discomforting vulnerability that such a state brought her. 

She stood, facing outside the window with her fellow soul. " What made you take this trip? What made you wish to be on top of everything at the end of everything? " 

The question was philosophical, maybe one that had been unfitting for Yelan. But to willingly join a stranger at the top end of everything was a bold decision to make. Yelan didn't understand it yet she wanted to understand.

Maybe that understanding would be a distraction for her fleeting vulnerability, though. 

revelation 2025, chora beach.

Today, there are no clouds in the stainless sky. The brilliant, blue ocean sparkles unabashedly with resplendent sunlight. Rhythmically, the waves, rolling into the beach, splash sunburnt and floundering tourists and carry them toward the sand. Without Kevin beside her, the view from up here is just as stunning—perhaps, even more so. Without him, there is nothing to hold her back. Nothing to remind her of the past except the past itself, except the distant memories—somehow as fresh as a new wound.

That someone else, a stranger, is with her—is meaningless. While she would’ve preferred to be alone, far removed from the world of the living, the line for the attraction had stretched so long that it would’ve been too selfish to demand her own. On the way up, she had kept to herself, facing the window with an almost religious devotion. Watching the world below shrink ever so reliably as the pod rose into the air.

Now, at the peak, her companion’s voice cut through the silence and into her inner world. She doesn’t turn to face them—but she does deign to answer.

“I enjoy the view.” She says, simply, without thinking of milder, sweeter days—those long-unreachable moments of joy and respite. Her gaze sweeps across the horizon, taking it in greedily.

And then, unceremonious silence. She doesn't feel a need for understanding.

[purerationality]

[FERRIS WHEEL] - There’s no better view of sunset on the sea than one from up above, and this bad boy’s got two seats and the perfect carnival music ambiance to really sell the romance! We hope you’re not afraid of heights~

It was almost...natural, or might have been if they were any other man, any other woman. The view from up here was filtered through a haze of surf and sun, the colors filtering through the windows of the compartment in dull golds and fond pinks, and if Kevin just allowed himself to be for that moment, it might have passed for nostalgic.

Romantic.

How many times had they been in one of these, back home, a lifetime and a half ago - not even merely one life, but thousands, millions, each second a new life that had passed without her as painfully as he could endure until they had buried him in the passing grains of sand in the neverending hourglass of eternity - and how many times had they taken advantage of those quiet moments where they could be themselves, without need for pretense.

When he breathed in, those moments almost felt like they belonged to him again, and he sighed out gently, turned to look at her and allowed himself to smile.

"It's good that we have the time for this now. It's seemed like...there hasn't been the opportunity for a while."

revelation 2025, chora beach.

She stares out into the horizon, her face softened by the pink hues of sunlight that have entered through the window. The view is breathtaking, as the simplicity of nature always is, and for once, she allows herself to enjoy it —without the accompaniments of cold calculus and risk assessments. Perfect clouds drift aimlessly across the sky. Picturesque waves roll towards the pristine beach below them. The golden sun shines mercifully, gilding the world with warm light.

How strange it feels, now, to stand beside him, without the world needing him. Without needing to let the world take him. Like the selfishness she never allowed herself to feel, or perhaps—never needed to feel, it does not belong to her. It does not belong to either of them, this leisure, this moment of respite, this simulacrum of those halcyon days—so far away, now, as to be nothing more than a dream’s dream…

Doesn’t it?

When he speaks, she doesn’t turn to face him right away. She doesn’t feel the need to, hearing the smile in his voice, the tenderness that she knows he will always feel for her. That he knows she could not, could never reciprocate, not fully, not to the extent he is owed—

It’s difficult to remember that it wasn’t always this way. That, in the beginning, instead of inconsolable ache and inescapable separation, there was—for the briefest of times—just the two of them. Just his promise to follow her wherever she went, like a reliable shadow, a constant.

Now, the shadow is the same, but perhaps, its caster has changed.

Silently, she admires the sparkling ocean below for just a little longer, the clouds’ reflections somehow more perfect than the real ones. Then, glancing toward him, she supposes she can smile, too.

“I missed this, too,” she says. The opportunity to be alone with you, to simply enjoy the present with you. The sight of a world, still alive, still teeming with life, still full of mystery and beauty. “Isn’t it beautiful, Kevin? Let’s come back here, tonight—the stars will be different, and I want to find out what they look like. Don’t you?”

[purerationality]

[SPARKLING WATER]

For all the lessons the Flame-Chasers taught to Hua, it still felt unnatural to float through crowded areas. For all the social outings and events the girls of St. Freya dragged her to, conversations of this kind always ended up disjointed in some capacity. For one that could say so much, the artificial nature of each greeting only served to alienate the woman more. Nobody here cared for her any more than to drag fingers through the tension, breaching but the surface of water. It wasn't impossible to navigate, just something to never be sought out.

Eventually, the sweet hymns of the band became quieter, drowned out as mind began to race. Steady, the conversation she was having dropped, wandering past denizens far more expensive than she could ever be. Even as shoulders bumped or backs were nudged, the crowded sea would part, torn open by the shock of yet another finding redemption in the vastness of the universe.

How familiar they felt, those features, from mauve eyes to locks of mulberry, the only distinguishing feature that set her apart was those rounded glasses. Wordlessly, she would come beside Dr. Mei, arms folding, the small of her back resting against the edge of the drink table. Not a glance is given, instead searching for the right thing to say.

"I want to be shocked that you're alive, Doctor. But all I seem to find at this point are ghosts of the Previous Era." Gaze falling to simple, grey boots, nice for her but not the occasion. "How are you here," too jaded to even feign shock at this point. For each step taken forward, another hand reached to drag her back. All there is to feel is conflicted.

revelation 2025, the empyrea.

In the beginning, MEI resented the world. Not the natural world, the world of plants and stars and living things, which was so beautiful and boundless and generous with its mysteries, which was ever so elusive, ever so difficult to grasp—but the social world, the world into which she was born, the world of men and women and boys and girls, the world of money and propriety. People recited scripts they couldn't deviate from, wore masks they couldn't take off—and expected the same from her.

As a child, she swore she would never let that happen to herself.

In the end, this was a promise Dr. MEI couldn't keep. An oath she let slip through her fingers. She had to compromise; she had to learn to compromise. She rehearsed and rewrote the scripts. She adjusted and remade the masks. The natural world became increasingly hostile, the social world increasingly desperate—the fractures between and within them growing large and irreparable despite her best efforts, despite all of their best efforts—

Surrounded, now, by champagne glasses of sparkling water and the sounds of a self-indulgent crowd, the shape of Dr. MEI stands quietly at the edge of the bustle, formerly alone—as a sliver of the past emerges to join her. Above the two of them, the dazzling chandelier casts a gentle, sterile light, and it bounces off the glasses and the sparkling water itself. The bubbles inside fizz freely.

“Hua,” she says in acknowledgment, her voice neither warm nor cold. Then, curiously, her gaze settles to meet Vicissitude's. “How many of us have you found?” Are you a ghost, too?

Around them, life continues—unaware of their reunion, of their fates, of things like death and sorrow. And the social world, rejuvenated here in its sparkling farce, cares not at all, either.

[purerationality]

He takes a step closer, but he seems so far away. She, the mirage of her, stands there—without blame or forgiveness. She stands there cold and obscure and desolate with the heartache that they both had long accepted as inevitable, inexorable, owing to the towering obligations they had toward the world. Had they both accepted it? Had he? Did she ever ask?

She remembers how it should feel to be this close to him. The chill nipping at her skin, making little goosebumps rise on her arms and neck, gradually becoming unbearable, unendurable despite the warmth only he could nurture in her—

But she doesn't feel the chill. She cannot. The machine of her body, incompatible with human sensation, can only interpret it as an abrupt change in an important metric—an anomaly that warrants a warning. Silent and unmoving, she overrides the string of alerts from her sensors. He takes another step. Her sensors initiate another string of alerts. She overrides them again, stubborn, sentimental. The childish fantasy that maybe—just maybe—if she lingers long enough, some miracle of love or foolishness will transpose the bittersweet feeling from memory into reality floats to the surface of her mind and dissipates in the same instant.

He speaks in a voice she almost recognizes as his, a voice that cuts through the part of her insisting to leave and exhumes the part of her buried by guilt. With that voice, he refuses her apology like she knew he would, still shouldering the burden of the world like she knew he would, still clinging to her shadow like she knew he would—

Her face is inscrutable as she studies his. If she touches him, will she feel how cold he is? Will he feel how lifeless she is? To restrain herself, she folds one arm across her chest, her thumb smoothing over the pristine, stiff fabric of her coat.

Overhead, the sunless sky absolves nothing. Is it really you?

“...” She allows herself to shake her head, just barely, as if to say—No, this is the wrong question. As if to say—No, I don't know. As if to say—No, it isn't, I'm sorry. She allows herself to not ask about the past. To not ask what happened, or how long it has been, or if he remembers— “You're still the same.”

there’s something buried in the words

[purerationality]

"dr. mei" ✧ revelation [2025]

lore participation? nope! open to asks? yes!

postcards:

sparkling water

ferris wheel 1

waterfall

ferris wheel 2

window shopping

dr. mei will not be participating in the lore event, but she will be present on empyrea and open to ask memes for the duration of the month! a mysterious intellitron who avoids providing her name, she may or may not even exist in the records of the sleek, blue ship that brought everyone here. no matter! she's here in part out of curiosity, and in part out of escapism. she will be spending most of her time in the bigshell eco park and occasionally, the empyrean, but she will also be wandering around!

[purerationality]

Sitting by herself at a table in one of the haphazardly-located resting areas within the Herta Space Station, "Dr. MEI" is lost in thought—or so she appears. In reality, she is half-eavesdropping on the table nearby—a gossiping cohort of researchers spiraling around the same rumor like a group of flies—and half-watching the other lone figure lingering nearby, likely doing the same as her. Ever since she learned that the Simulated Universe is hosted on this station, built—at least in part—by the Space Station's namesake, she hasn't been able to resist her curiosity for the place.

The rumor in question is intriguing—a little tragic, but far more than that, exciting, peculiar, fascinating. Remnants of the Swarm, the researchers whisper loudly to each other, chattering, shuddering—some in fear, some in disgust, some in mockery of their affected colleagues. The Swarm? Where has she heard the term before? Her mind whirs, the numerical memories surfacing one by one—

Right. In the simulation, before she became "Dr. MEI."

She wonders if she should intrude on their conversation, if she should ask them to share the details of this story. A missing janitor. Glitchy technology. The buzzing of enormous, self-replicating insects. But before she can, something causes the group to disperse hurriedly—

Ah. Their supervisor has come, who stares at her briefly—then at the other person remaining aside from her. The supervisor barks something about getting back to work, somehow not realizing she isn't an employee, before vanishing again. She doubts @imaginarynoumenon is, either. Though, she did hide her visitor badge on purpose...

Still seated, she turns her attention towards the blond man. "Were you listening in on the gossip, too?" Her tone is friendly enough. She wonders what he thinks of the story. If he cares about the janitor at all, if he finds the Swarm revolting—

‧₊ ✧ the infinite self ;

OTTO & DR. MEI. — COMMISSION : ABUNDANCE.

[purerationality]

Barely managing to stifle a laugh, “Dr. MEI” is relieved to find that she isn’t the only one transformed into a miniature version of herself. For the briefest of moments, she almost feels attuned to the person Mobius recognizes her as—suspended between a mild apprehension and a subtle amusement at her former colleague’s sinister expression. “Ding-dong!” Clocky shouts, interrupting their reunion. “Heroes! We need your help! Save Brother Hanu!”

With a sigh, “Dr. MEI” pushes herself back onto her feet and dusts off her lab coat. She spares Mobius a quick, commiserating glance, before she turns toward Clocky again. “Give us a minute.” Without waiting for the mascot’s response, she moves away from him and approaches Mobius. “You just crashed my way out.” A statement of fact without any trace of malice. Then, straight to business—without any grand gestures of reunion or reminiscence, she lays out the facts of their situation. “Based on the game’s mechanics, I suspect we’re both stuck here with Clocky until we complete the game. Or until we break it.”

Clocky watches them both expectantly, grinning as widely as a clock can, oblivious to the details of their conversation.

“Dr. MEI” smiles ever so slightly, “So, which will it be, Mobius?”

‧₊ ✧ presentiment ;

MOBIUS & DR. MEI. — COMMISSION : ABUNDANCE.

[purerationality]

Across a field in the outskirts of Mondstadt, junior alchemists hurry back and forth between the supply cache and the haphazardly arranged, empty workstations. Standing in some shade a modest distance away, “Dr. MEI” watches the assistants work. She almost feels—perhaps undeservedly—at peace.

Some of the alchemists carry heavy crates of glassware, struggling to handle the fragile equipment. Others precariously balance bags of flour on their arms. And a few brave souls attempt to wrangle the small, blue slimes seething angrily in their cages. A crowd has begun to form, encircling the stations in a loose ring of curiosity. It seems like the mind-boggling posters scattered throughout the city had captivated more minds than just hers with its simple, yet preposterous question. If you put flour and yeast into a Hydro Slime, will it become dough?

In a whirlwind of efficiency, the assistants manage to properly set up all the workstations. Then, they begin waving their arms in the air, trying to catch the attention of someone bold enough—or just unassertive enough—to be the first to step up. The crowd murmurs. A few boisterous youngsters step forward, and “Dr. MEI” pays them no mind. Her attention drifts, meandering through the unfamiliar faces of the crowd, until—

The first thing she sees is their hat, the enormous brim of it impossible to miss. It obscures most of their face, but cuts them a stark silhouette against the horizon. A correction: the hat-wearing stranger isn’t really in the crowd, but outside of it—just like “Dr. MEI” herself. Something about them seems inexplicably familiar, and as he tilts his head backwards—perhaps in mocking laughter, perhaps for some other reason—in response to a volunteer (now, a former volunteer) knocking over several jars of slime condensate, “Dr. MEI” realizes why.

From a certain perspective, they look almost identical. Samsara, she thinks, though she never imagined she would see evidence of it herself. Many worlds, and the many Dr. MEIs—with and without that name—that exist within them.

Seizing the opportunity, “Dr. MEI” pushes past the crowd to volunteer, even before the assistants are able to convince the youngsters to give up. “I volunteer,” she announces sharply, uninterested in whatever whispers travel through the crowd. Then, extending an hand to point directly at @everlastingeccentric, she adds, “and so does the gentleman in the hat.”

‧₊ ✧ simulacra ;

THE WANDERER & DR. MEI. — COMMISSION : ABUNDANCE.

[purerationality]

plotting call / may.

slightly delayed, but here's a plotting call for dr. mei for may (hehe). some prompts under the cut, and as always, please give this a like or ping me here/via discord if you're interested!

commission board / abundance.

from the new prompts, the one i'm most interested in for dr. mei is the stolen reality data cache from the simulated universe, with the twist that dr. mei herself is potentially the culprit. since she is, literally, data from the simulated universe that regained sentience through the accumulation of her memories...

dr. mei isn't the culprit that the researchers are looking for, because they incorrectly assumed that all the missing data was stolen by one person, or because they don't notice the missing sliver that comprises dr. mei since the other culprit stole so much. potentially, the reason why the culprit was even able to enter is because of her escape from the simulated universe?

dr. mei is the culprit that the researchers are looking for, and she knows it.

as for reasons why dr. mei is involved in the investigation... perhaps she's interested in ensuring someone else takes the full blame so her existence isn't put in peril. or perhaps she wants to leverage the existing chaos to gather more data from the simulated universe?

i envision this thread mostly being dr. mei volunteering to "help" the other muse with the investigation, while directing their thought processes and searches in a specific direction. depending on how the data was stolen, dr. mei herself might already know the (other) culprit if she isn't the only one.

non-commissions.

i'm still open for the ones listed in my previous plotting call!

[purerationality]

kiss roulette

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

A bloody kiss

[purerationality]

Unconsciousness yields to a migraine.  Wincing, "Dr. MEI" struggles to sit up.  One hand reaches for the bridge of her nose in instinct, before a strange realization strikes her.  Rendered in miniature with an enormous head and small, stubby arms, she can just barely reach the tip of her nose.  The memory returns to her slowly: an old television featuring a perfectly-looped advertisement.  It was for some kind of game—a new installment in a well-loved series.  Brother Hanu, was it?

An alarm goes off, sharp and grating.  She winces again, watching with distant bafflement as a clock with arms and legs—and a bow-tie—runs towards her frantically.  "Ding-dong!"  It shouts, waving its arms in an attempt to catch her attention.  She tilts her comically enlarged head.  Is this Clockie?  The design looks slightly different, just enough to be legally distinct.  "Brother Hanu has been kidnapped!  Help us find him!"  She remains silent, much to the game construct's frustration.  "Please!  You have to help us!  The Sicilians have taken him!  Will you help find these villains and def—"

"How do I leave this game?"  She asks, interrupting the mascot's script.  It seems to stall for a moment, as if incapable of interpreting the question.  "Ding-dong!"  It shouts again, seemingly reset.  "Brother Hanu has been—"

She lets out a sigh.  Predatory marketing tactics shouldn't surprise her anymore, but Penacony's shamelessness in going about it has certainly been something to witness.  Nodding her head just to get it over with, she only half-listens to the mascot's exposition.  It takes a long time, but soon enough, she manages to skip the tutorial stage—and the legally-distinct Clockie replica prepares to disappear with a burst of the same, grating alarm.  Unfortunately for Brother Hanu—and the developers of this game—"Dr. MEI" has zero interest in playing by the script—or by the rules.  Briefly, she stares upwards at the poorly rendered ceiling.  A simulation within a dream.  Is its code also exempt from the logic of the waking world?  "Wait, Clockie—"

"Ding-dong!"  The mascot blinks at her.  "My name is Clocky!  What is it, hero?"

"I'm just a civilian.  I need to call for help."  She tries to find an entry-point into the code, feeling for vulnerabilities.  If the game is dream-driven, or even just story-driven, maybe this will enable another log-in point—and potentially, a log-out point.  Clocky, misspelled and legally-distinct, seems to stall again.  "—Don't worry!  Help is on the way!"

A log-in point opens.  Before "Dr. MEI" can seize the opportunity and twist it into a way out, a stream of data cascades through.  A blur of green hair crashes into her, knocking her backwards.  Is that—@selfconsumingserpent?

"…Mobius?"

‧₊ ✧ presentiment ;

MOBIUS & DR. MEI. — COMMISSION : ABUNDANCE.

[purerationality]

A cold, blue light caresses the spiraling hallway.  Casting a long shadow, "Dr. MEI" turns around slowly, one foot after the other—each step as precise as a ballet dancer's.  In front of her eyes, the unraveling architecture suddenly stabilizes.  Smooth walls coalesce, complete with unblemished wallpaper and decorative paintings.  Behind her, the rest of the hallway distorts, like a paper dollhouse crumpling in the hands of a frustrated child.  With it, her shadow distorts, too, looking less and less like her shadow.

On the surface, Penacony is a saccharine dream.  It is a lie—the kind that people tell themselves despite already knowing the truth.  It tried to ensnare her, to offer her everything—a body made out of flesh instead of metal, warm to the touch, and soft lavender eyes, ones that still hold the illusion of a soul.  On the surface, Penacony has nothing to offer her.  But here, in its obscure depths where dream logic is more malice than nonsense, where the volatility of raw memoria blooms untamed—it might have something she needs.  She just has to find the opportunity.

Known fact: prolonged exposure to memoria can induce sentience.  The Sweet Dreams Troupe is an obvious and widespread example.  Another known fact: prolonged exposure to memoria can induce memory loss.  The addled state of long-time dreamers is a lesser-known example.  So—what else can memoria do?  Pure memoria?

Hypothesis: with enough pure memoria, it is possible to splinter the self.

"Dr. MEI" takes a step forward.  Her shadow convulses and loses its human shape.  She takes a second step forward.  The hallway recedes into darkness, where a distant glow beckons like a lure.  The sound of the walls contorting ceases abruptly.

"Come out,"  she says weightlessly, turning toward the sudden quiet.

She sees only emptiness. Her eyes squint ever so slightly, but the veiled (@arboriter) remains veiled. "I know you're there."

‧₊ ✧ reality and the universe ;

SU & DR. MEI.

[purerationality]

Sunset. Like this, the sky is beautiful and unbearable. Soft gold scatters against the clouds and the world beneath them, bestowing upon the earth a fragile and fleeting warmth...

The machine with Dr. MEI's memories lingers by a bridge railing, feeling the wind against her face. Passively, she observes the water below. Its surface shimmers with sunlight. She is out of place here—an intruder, desecrating an idyll. The long-unreachable past, transposed from memory into the farcical present. She can just barely coexist with it. An acute sense of nostalgia unfurls inside her, its vibrant petals steeped in guilt.

Seeing him one last time will not release her from Dr. MEI's shadow. Letting him see "her" again will not provide him closure. These are obvious, objective truths—ones she chose to ignore, despite herself. Foolish of her. Selfish of her. But she has always been selfish with him, hasn't she? Always taking, taking, taking. His sense of normalcy, his ability to be held, his life, his fate, his will—

The water ripples. She keeps watching, like a mourner at a vigil.

...What a laughable attempt at selflessness. Is this letting him decide his fate? Letting him choose to come find "her"? The one in his memories no longer exists.

It was a mistake to come here.

・・・

The sun is almost entirely gone, now. The sky has deepened in color into a fuller red, the water a faithful mirror. How long has she stood here—waiting, deliberating? The short life of dusk is merely a fraction of the time, but for some strange reason, these few minutes have felt eternal.

Footsteps. She recognizes them as his, instantly. Despite herself, she turns toward him. The wind caresses her cold face and lifts her hair, and she meets his eyes. Those wonderful, sky-blue eyes. Once so full of warmth. Now, as words fail to describe them, as words feel to describe him, she feels—almost unmoored.

He sounds so small, calling out "her" name.

She doesn't say anything for a brief while, half-afflicted, half-seized. Behind her, the sun disappears over the horizon. His name catches in her throat, heavier than it has ever been.

"Kevin," she finally answers, reliving the moment of her death. There will be no solace here. Only emptiness and regret.

Her voice is soft. She smells like metal. Is it her perfume? "—I'm sorry."

For everything. For coming here. For—

there’s something buried in the words