progression

time: 0 blue: 0 orange: 0 brown: 0 config.footer.left: " " config.body.transition.duration: "400ms" config.style.page.link.color: "black" config.style.page.link.lineColor: "red" -- {embed passage: 'BUS DETAILS'}

[align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->blue line]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->brown line]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->orange line]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details>

blue: 1 time: 1 config.style.backdrop: "blue-0" config.style.page.color: "black" -- {embed passage: 'TIMEONE'} Still, most cemetaries look the same. It's probably past the usual visting hours, but if there's a guard around to keep you out, they certainly aren't here now. No one else is around either, because no one else is stupid enough to go to a cemetary when it's pouring outside. You make your way through the rows of graves, boots sinking slightly into the mud and leaving a trail of faint footprints behind you. The entire place smells of petrichor and dirt - cleaner than you'd expected, even though you probably shouldn't be surprised about a cemetary being well-kept. You've heard stories about this place. There's the usual, of course; teenagers and adults alike claiming to see dead people, guards who'd quit and sworn they'd heard noises coming from the graves, the list goes on. Your personal favourite is probably the one that a few years back, so many people had died that they'd had to be buried on top of each other, stacked on top of one another and dirt piled higher in an effort to preserve space. Really, it's just a polite way of calling it a mass grave. Whether it's true or not, you'd never bothered to ask and check. You stop in front of an empty grave. The ones surrounding it have some tokens, the usual flowers and glass bottles with colored layers of sand. You'd looped past this one at least twice by now, feet bringing you to it as though out of some half-formed muscle memory. The letters on the grave are glistening with water, too faint to read in the dim lighting. You crouch down in front of it anyway. [[> Leave a token->tokengrave]] [[> Step away->leavegrave]]

config.style.backdrop: "orange-1" config.style.page.color: "black" -- {embed passage: 'TIMEONE'} The furthest you can go out here is the residental area; something about another worm blockage further out, all the buses being re-routed away from it. It's colder out here. Because of the rain, yes, but also the breeze coming in from the ocean, still far enough that you can't see it from here. You shove your hands into your pockets in an attempt keep warm, even though you're already soaked through and the only reason why anyone is letting you on public transport is the fact that everyone else is _also_ drenched. If anything, the outlier here would be someone who's dry. There's nothing much to do out here. The streets are thinning out already except for the night crowd, and the only thing of interest within walking distance is the stadium. ..You're not really feeling up to creeping past security at this hour. Better to just keep moving. [[> Take the next bus->nextbusorange]]

config.style.backdrop: "#e8d5c8" config.style.page.color: "black" -- {embed passage: 'TIMEONE'} You do know the theater though. It's one of many — this is the one with the superior popcorn and tendency to run the same movies even long after the hype for it has died down. You exchange a tired glance with the only employee at the ticket counter. It's late enough that even the uni students would've left for home by now, but not late enough for the streets to be empty. You're not even here to watch a movie, you just needed to step out from the rain and _noise_ for a second. At least the guy behind the counter doesn't seem to mind much that you're dripping water all over the - kinda grimy, if you're being honest - floor. He's completely engrossed with texting on his phone, looking at the screen with such a sappy expression that you feel like some kind of voyuer from just looking at him. You focus on the vending machine adjacent to you instead. Someone has very meticulously arranged the magnetic letters on the side of it to read: ~~REK WAS HERE.~~ It's endearing, in a way, and a reminder that there exists a world outside of your four walls. From somewhere, a clock chimes, and the employee glances up, looking faintly surprised to see you still here. [[> Take the next bus->nextbusbrown]]

You're gonna be the first to admit that you had no real plan when you boarded the bus. It's quieter at this hour of the day; less people now that the rush hour is over, everything else muffled under the downpour and turning into a tv-static ambience. The window is cool against your forehead, rattling in time with the movement of the bus. You'd managed to snag a seat this time. In front of you, the bright led lights displays: 20:03 *** You're not _entirely_ familiar with this area, considering you haven't left your own neighbourhood for... a good while, now. The unfamiliarity is made worse by the water stinging your eyes and how dark it is, even with the street lamps on.

orange: 2 config.style.backdrop: "orange-1" config.style.page.color: "black" -- You're getting kind of sick of the rain. Maybe it's from being at the cemetery earlier, and becoming startlingly aware of how much mud there was on the ground but — you're just so _damp_ all the time, clothes sticking to your skin and cold air funnelling in where it doesn't. The occassional rain shower, going absolutely nuts in the rain is nice, you can admit that. But this? Being wet and looking like a drowned rat for who knows how many loops? It's a special kind of torture. There isn't anything to do out here, this far. People are already starting to turn in for the night. You watch with bleary eyes as lights turn off within homes, the neon lights from convenience stores still lit up and burning an after-image behind your eyelids. The rain drips off the bus stop shelter, you tap your fingers _one-two-three_ on the bench and settle a bit more back into your — his skin. Ash breathes unsteadily. He wants to go back to Red's apartment, even though he's still angry at a conversation one of them can't even remember. There's nothing for him out here except memories and it's not memories he wants back either. The rain keeps falling. [[It's about time he went back.->It's time to go back.]]

It feels weirdly wrong, leaving the grave empty. You look through your pockets for something you could leave behind and manage to scrounge up an old, cracked totem. It's a tiny thing, fits snugly within your enclosed palm. The color has long since faded from a once brilliant gold to dull yellow. This was a gift, you think. Red had given it to you when you graduated highschool. You don't have much use for it anymore outside of sentimentality. [if blue != 2] Carefully, you place the totem in front of the headstone. It wobbles, then falls over. You don't bother setting it upright a second time, instead standing up and wincing when your knee refuses to cooperate with you for a second. [if blue != 2] The next bus would be here soon, provided there weren't any incidents. You better get moving. [if blue != 2] [[> Take the next bus]] [if blue == 2] Carefully, you place the totem in front of the headstone. It wobbles, then falls over. From behind you, [[someone laughs.]]

...There's little point in leaving behind something. It's not like the dead would be able to appreciate it — all the flowers and little bottles are for the benefit of those who were left behind to live the aftermath. You stay there for another minute, watching the raindrops race down the headstone and feeling very pleasantly detached from everything. Maybe you should come here more often. The next bus would be here soon, provided there weren't any incidents. You have to get up from here eventually. [if blue != 2] [[> Take the next bus]] [if blue == 2] [[>Take the next bus->cutshort]]

brown: 2 config.style.backdrop: "#e8d5c8" config.style.page.color: "black" -- {embed passage: 'brown2'} [[> Take the next bus->lastbusorange]]

time: 2 config.style.backdrop: "white" -- In front of you, the screen displays in bright red: 21:13 *** [align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote><del>~~> board the bus~~</del></blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->browntwo]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->orangetwo]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details>

time: 3 config.style.backdrop: "white" -- In front of you, the screen displays in bright red: 22:08 *** [align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote><del>~~> board the bus~~</del></blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~<del>> board the bus</del>~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->orangethree]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details>

Outside of the park and the 24/7 convenience stores, the only place open this late is the theater. It's one of many — this is the one with the superior popcorn though. You exchange a tired glance with the only employee at the ticket counter. Even the uni students would've left for home by now, considering the libraries closed at 8, so there's really no reason why anyone would bother coming all the way out _here_ at this hour, good popcorn or not, unless they were planning on making out at the back of theater, or just worked _really_ odd hours. Or, like you, was briefly possessed with the urge to get the fuck away from everything you've known. You're not even here to watch a movie, you just needed to step out from the rain for a second. At least the guy behind the counter doesn't seem to mind much that you're dripping water all over the - kinda grimy, if you're being honest - floor. He's fiddling with a poster on the wall with gloved hands: ~~ROBOTICS COMPT~~ is all you can read out from this angle, the rest of it blocked by his hair (which is entirely white even though he looks middle-aged at worst.) He turns around briefly to grab another piece of tape and it's enough to let you read the nametag pinned to his chest — ~~BRANZY~~ written in bold purple, a bunch of tiny hearts doodled around it in dark red. The name is familiar. You might've seen him around the chemistry department before, but only in passing because none of your modules include chemistry, thank every god out there. From somewhere, a clock chimes. "Excuse me," the employee— Branzy, right— says faux-cheerfully, pulling you out of your thoughts. His customer service face is actually kind of brilliant. If you didn't know better you'd say he's actually upset to be shooing you out the door — which is exactly what he's doing, politely but also slightly desperately in the _when will these customers finally leave_ way that you're all too familiar with. From behind the door, Branzy gives you one more bright smile before flipping the sign over to ~~closed~~ and you're half-tempted to like, shield your eyes or something in the face of that. It's blinding. The street lights have got nothing on Branzy-from-the-movie-theater-and-possibly-the-chem-department. ...The way your thoughts are going is probably an indication that you should be heading back home to sleep, but you've got one more stop to make.

orange: 3 config.style.backdrop: "orange-1" config.style.page.color: "black" -- The furthest you can go out here is the residental area. Something about another worm blockage further out, all the buses being re-routed away from it. Sometimes you marvel at what humans can get used to if given enough time. There had been the people who'd out-right refused to believe it was happening of course. (_Worms, what worms?_) People who went slightly overbroad, prepping for doomsday. The people who just had to keep going on with their daily lives because fuck it, someone has to bring home the bread. Sometimes you wonder which group you would've fallen into if you hadn't been right at the center of that clusterfuck. You didn't have the option of pretending it wasn't happening. You didn't get many options at all, and that pisses you off more than the fact that you had to spend ages getting used to the lack of depth perception, afterwards. It's colder out here. Because of the rain, yes, but also the breeze coming in from the ocean, still far enough that you can't see it from here. Lights slowly blinking off, one by one as people trickle into their homes and close their doors. Rain drips off the side of the bus drop shelter endlessly. You shiver, wrapping your jacket closer around you and making sure to avoid the gum that someone had stuck right on the center of the bench. [[It's time to go back.]]

config.style.backdrop: "white" config.style.page.color: "black" -- [align center] ~~[[take another route->begin]]~~ [align center] ~~[[return->https://archiveofourown.org/works/48701626/chapters/127103761/]]~~

config.style.backdrop: "white" config.style.page.color: "black" -- In front of you, the screen displays in bright red: 21:00 *** [align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->bluetwo]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->browntwoish]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote>~~<del>> board the bus</del>~~</blockquote></blockquote></details>

blue: 2 config.style.backdrop: "blue-0" config.style.page.color: "black" -- It's probably past the usual visting hours for cemeteries, but if there's a guard around to keep you out they certainly aren't here now. No one else is around either, because no one else is stupid enough to go to a cemetary when it's pouring outside. You make your way through the rows of graves, boots sinking slightly into the mud and leaving a trail of faint footprints behind you. The entire place smells of petrichor and dirt - cleaner than you'd expected, even though you probably shouldn't be surprised about a cemetary being well-kept. ..Maybe you should make an amendment to your earlier statement; someone else _is_ around. You can see the impressions left behind their shoes (smaller than your own shoes, lighter on their feet) but no sight of the person themself. It's probably not socially acceptable to go looking around for a stranger in a graveyard, no matter how curious you are as to who else would be visiting graves in _this_ weather. You stop in front of an empty grave. The ones surrounding it have some tokens, the usual flowers and glass bottles with colored layers of sand. You'd looped past this one at least twice by now, feet bringing you to it as though out of some half-formed muscle memory. The letters on the grave are glistening with water, too faint to read in the dim lighting. You crouch down in front of it anyway. [[> Leave a token->tokengrave]] [[> Step away->leavegrave]]

config.style.backdrop: "#e8d5c8" config.style.page.color: "black" -- {embed passage: 'brown2'} [[> Take the next bus->lastbusblue]]

For a moment, you wonder whether you're seeing a ghost. (You can hardly be blamed for that one. You're in a graveyard, for fuck's sake. A ghost is probably only a moderately exciting thing to witness here.) "Sorry," the not-ghost grins at you, sounding not sorry in the slightest. Their umbrella tilts forward with them. "It just- looked silly, toppling over like that. You're Ash, right? Funny seeing you out here." It takes you a long second to pull the pieces together; the tiny stature, the pink-purple shine to their hair, and a loop of ribbon in the same color, fixed in place with a small pin shaped like a carrot. Really, you should've put it togther sooner. There's only one other person you know who's got the same number of eyes as you. "Bubble?" you sound out the name carefully, because the last time you'd spoken to her was back during her first semester of classes and your second, so you're not very sure what her actual name is and it's probably too awkward to ask _now._ She crouches down next to you, moving the umbrella to cover you both. It's a thoughtless, stupidly kind gesture because there's rain falling over part of her shorts now and you're already drenched anyway. You can't help but feel grateful for it, as inefficient as it is. "What's up?" she says, close enough now that her voice isn't muffled by the rain. Water hits the umbrella above you like a senseless pattern on a drum. You can feel yourself settling back into your own skin as you watch the rain trace lines down the translucent surface, like an earth wire, grounding him [[back to himself.]]

Ash reaches forward to pick the totem back up, making sure to balance it this time. It doesn't fall over again. "Not good things," which sure is a way of describing being stuck in a time loop. Bubble gives him a look anyway, commiserating. "What are you even doing here?" Bubble sighs, staring off into the horizon as though it had personally killed her entire family or something. Shit, they're in a graveyard. That's not that far off. "I seem to have lost a duck." "..A duck." "It's a very important duck, Ash." "Uh-huh. I totally believe you." She bumps his shoulder, struggling to keep a smile off her face. "It is! I've been looking around but, no sign of the duck yet. Soon though. That duck isn't going to be escape from me yet." "Seem like it already has," Ash says, laughing slightly at the exaggerated look of betrayal he gets for that. It's good, being able to talk to someone else. Reminds him that the entire world isn't just constricted to a small apartment and the same route he takes back and forth from classes and work. When Bubble stands up and [[reaches a hand out]] to him, he takes it.

config.style.backdrop: "white" -- It's late enough that taking another bus trip would be a futile effort: the theater would be closed by now, and there's nothing else of interest in the area. Bubble insists on accompanying him back — "Only one of us has an umbrella here, and it's most certainly not _you_," — and nothing he says is enough to deter her, so here he is. Standing in front of the elevator again, except this time, there's another person next to him. The difference is so jarring that Ash keeps startling every time Bubble re-appears in his peripheral vision, and that's just embarrassing. He needs to get it together. Ash swings the door open, waving a hand out to gesture to the dim room. Bubble bounces in after him —it's just kind of how she moves, he's noticed. Energetic, and in quick motions—, taking in everything with a wide eye. She giggles slightly, though at what, he has no idea. "It's nice," Bubble smiles, and Ash figures she's just saying that to be polite. The apartment is mostly just boring. The lightbulb flickers, and Ash moves toward Red's room on auto-pilot, barely aware of Bubble following after him. He at least has the prescence of mind to explain, "Just need to check on Red," before knocking on the door, ignoring the note peeling off the door. It's absurd to hope. But the change in routine and a new voice must've unsettled something in Red too, because— [[The door opens.]]

config.style.backdrop: "grape-1" config.style.page.color: "black" -- Your NAME is BUBBLEBROOKE (your friends call you Bubble!) and your NEW FRIEND is weird, if you're being honest. (Wait, no, let's roll back a bit. This isn't that kind of story.) Ash, from a general science class you'd shared with him during your first semester, is somehow both simultaneously the last and _not_ the last person you'd expected to see at the cemetery when you'd gone duck-hunting there. (Why were _you_ at the cemetery in the first place? Because you're on a mission, and that means leaving no stone unturned. Yes, even the graveyard.) (Not quite in the literal sense. You're sure you'd be receiving some complaints if you did turn over the headstones.) You remember Ash rather distinctly because he'd managed to talk you into letting him start your group presentation with _'Attention, this is your god speaking,'_ and that had been your prompt to play an audio track that sounded like three billion drills being turned on all at once. It was horrible. You'd never had more fun on a class presentation before. You'd personally rate that experience a 9/10, even though the grade you'd gotten hadn't been as high as you'd wanted it to be. So, yes. You know Ash, and although it takes a moment for recognition to light up on his face he knows you too, so there's really no reason why you wouldn't offer to walk him home. You're not friends, exactly — acquaintances at best — but you'd like to be. (Your number one goal this semester is to make more friends. You have it on a little whiteboard and everything. It's proving to be tricky so far; most people pair off or split into groups during their first semester and you, unfortunately, hadn't been informed of that little tidbit.) [[> Follow Ash]]

The first thing Red does is throw his plushie at Ash's face, as is customary. It's at point-blank range this time, which means his nose takes the brunt of it. "Dude," he says, both of them watching the plushie tumble onto the ground, "I didn't even break in this time." "_This_ time," Red echoes, "You can consider it advance payment for when you do break in again." He peers over Ash's shoulder to look at Bubble. "Hullo." When Ash looks back, Bubble is staring blankly into Red's room, looking confused. She plasters on a smile when she catches Ash looking at her. Ah, right. It is pretty dark, after all. "Red, this is Bubble. Bubble, Red." He introduces, jabbing a thumb in Red's direction. He doesn't need to look back at Red to know that he's assessing her, trying to figure out why the fuck Ash had decided to bring a whole, real person in here. Honestly, he's having trouble figuring it out too, so if Red could work it out on his behalf that'd be great. "Hi!" Bubble waves in Red's direction, some of the confusion sliding off her face. "He's your...roommate, right?" "Something like that." And then, because he can see Red visibly starting to shut himself off again, [["We'll be in the living room,"]] an invitation and reminder rolled into one.

Red doesn't do more than tell him that he knows, with a weird look on his face that Ash doesn't even know how to begin to decipher, and then shut the door in their faces. Ash sighs, tugging on a loose strand of hair. "He's usually like that. Do you want something to eat? I think we have eggs." It probably makes him an asshole to be offering eggs that are almost-expired, but it's not like this loop will be around long enough for Bubble to face any repercussion from it. "Nope, I'm alright," Bubble sinks into the couch, and Ash can feel her gaze tracking him as he heads to the kitchen to get glasses of water. He's kind of fucking sick of water at this point. If it wasn't necessary for bodily functions he'd consider swearing off water forever. Bubble drains half the glass in one go and then slumps back, something despondent crossing her face even as she fidgets, looking around the room. "The duck must've gone too far by now." Wow, he is _so_ out of his depth here. Still, this is the person who tried to share an umbrella with him for no reason other than the fact that it was something kind to do. The least he can do is make a cursory effort at sympathising. Ash awkwardly pats her knee in the world's worst attempt at comfort. He should be getting a Guinness Record for this. "There's always tomorrow?" he says, and immediately cringes internally because 1. no there isn't. He'd know. And, 2. out of all the lines he could've picked, of course it was that one. "Are you offering to help?" Bubble raises an eyebrow at him over the glass. "Only if you pay me. A thousand dollars per an hour of my service- I'm kidding. I want food though." "Deal." Bubble wiggles a hand in his direction, and they shake on it. Red comes out at some point for water, and ends up on the couch with them. He's quiet, and Bubble doesn't seem to know what to do with him, looking to Ash first before speaking to Red, but — it's comfortable. It's the best loop he's had in a while. Eventually, it gets late enough that Bubble actually needs to leave to make it in time for the last bus. After [[one last lingering look->> Be Bubble]] around the place like she's trying to commit it to memory, she leaves, the elevator rattling and groaning all the way. It's strange. He hadn't been expecting it, but he's actually disappointed to see her go. [[> Go to sleep->It's time to go back.]]

Ash brings you to what _looks_ like an abandoned building, which sends up all kinds of alarm bells ringing in your head. Like, this is suddenly really sketchy and are you about to be stabbed? It's more likely he would've stabbed you in the cemetery actually — but what if he's actually a murder or something and its just your luck, really, if the first person you actively try to befriend this semester turns out to be some guy who kicks puppies and kills babies in his spare time. Focus, Bubble. The elevator is starting to move. When it stops at the sixth floor, you follow him in despite your apprehension, because there's a select part of your brain void of all things like common sense or self-preservation. You are, as they say, well adjusted. The apartment you step into is dark and smells dusty. A bit like salt, actually? It has the same unsettling vibe as the rest of the building, only amplified up to a thousand — like time has stopped here, every noise and cog in the machine gone dull and whispery. You have the thought that it's trying to tell you some sort of secret, and can't help the giggle you let out. Ash turns to you at that, a questioning look on his face. His eye catches the light oddly, like there's something stuck inside of it, a butterfly caught in chrysalis. He's got an eyepatch over his right eye and you wonder whether he was born without it, like you, or if he lost it at some point. (You've noticed the tan line he has from that eyepatch. It's hilarious.) "It's nice," you grin at him, still taking in the lumpy nest of blankets on the couch and the curtains, drawn shut to the point where you can barely make out anything. You're almost scared to move here. Ash picks his way through the room like its no big deal, heading further inwards without looking twice. You drift after him, a lost boat in a storm, reluctant to go into the dark and equally reluctent to be left alone in it. He stops at a door that has a sticky note crumpled on the ground near it and knocks twice, sharp. [["Just need to check on Red,"]] he says back to you like an afterthought, almost like he's forgotten you're there already.

When the door swings open, a sudden blur of color falls over Ash and you jump back, startled. He doesnt even try to dodge it, and the thing bounces of his face and drops to the floor. It's a plushie. A faded shade of red and well-loved, if the worn stitches are anything to go by. You look up and see a sort of string-pulley system which Ash casually resets, barely even glancing at it. Like he's done it a thousand times before. ...Did he set up a Rube Goldberg machine just for the sole purpose of dropping a plushie when the door was opened?? For some reason, among all the stuff that's freaking you out about this place, this one takes the cake. Oh, he's talking. Not to you though, even though he's pausing every so often like he's listening to someone speak. You strain your ears and hear nothing at all. You stand on tip-toe and look over his shoulder, blinking slightly to adjust to the — somehow even darker — room. No one's in there. It registers to you like a record scratch, or a negative space — the absence when you were expecting the presence _of_ something. Someone. Ash says something that you don't quite catch around the static building in your ears, then turns to you. "Red, this is Bubble. Bubble, Red." he pauses, line of sight focused on the bed, then rolls his eye. He shuts the door and turns to you, a conflicted expression written into his face. "He's usually like that. Do you want something to eat?" "Nope, I'm alright." You drop down to the couch gingerly when he loops back to the living room, watching as he turns to the adjacent kitchen. There's an old, peeling paper stuck to the fridge. It looks like it's a thousand years old. Or, you know, more realistically, a couple of months. It hits you at once, what this apartment reminds you of. Something preserved, like the skeleton of a long-dead thing kept in wax or crystallised honey or carefully, painstakingly cradled in amber and amethysts and kept tucked out of sight to avoid any kind of scratches to the surface of it. A memorial. [[> Observe]]

The fabric on the couch feels stifling. Springs poke into your limbs. You deeply regret wearing shorts today. "Red, can you turn on the light?" and you watch as Ash walks over to flip the switch himself even as he speaks. The lightbulbs valiantly glow a little brighter. Ash makes a space for — Red, he called it — fluffing up the nest of blankets and grumbling at Red how it _shouldn't take forever just to settle in, you dick, stop moving those and just sit down normally like the rest of us—_ You get the distinct, creeping feeling that you're not supposed to be here. You're a puzzle piece lost in a different box. (Which kinda sucks actually because it's like platonic third wheeling but so much worse because no one else is even _here_. How is this your life. You miss your duck so much.) Are you being insensitive? Are you being ghost-insensitive?? You're not one to really bother with the supernatural but after that fiasco with the worms years ago, nearly to the date, everyone did have to very quickly re-evaulate how much of the old myths they believed in. ..Okay. You can totally be friends with Ash's strange imaginary friend. Who's to say he's really imaginary anyway - maybe you're the one who's just blinded by your ghost-speciesism. (Is your perception true? Are you sure? How would you even _know?_ That's not the kind of philosophical thing you thought you'd be planning on pondering about when you got up this morning. It's... a lot.) As you get up to leave, very aware of the fact that you're probably minutes away from missing the bus because god forbid the buses in this city runs on time, you take one last look at the apartment, trying to fit everything you've seen into your view of Ash. You're not sure what you've been expecting from him. It should've been creepy, or weird but mostly you just think — he looks lonely. You wonder why no one has tried to break Ash away from this place yet. Surely he has friends? Did they all see what you saw and in the same way, quietly decided to leave him be? You wonder whether that's a cruelty or a kindness, and how thin the line between that is. The elevator comes to a stop on the ground floor, with a noise that almost makes you jump out of your skin. It's a miracle this place hasn't crumbled down yet, you think. Your own home is several bus stops away, but it's warm and you have your rabbit and all of a sudden you're feeling homesick even though you were there just this morning. You open up your umbrella. [[It's time to go.->It's time to go back.]]

It's late enough that taking another bus trip would be a futile effort: the theater would be closed by now, and there's nothing else of interest in the area. [[Time to go back, you think.->It's time to go back.]]

time: 3 config.style.backdrop: "white" -- In front of you, the screen displays in bright red: 22:29 *** [align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->bus3]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~<del>> board the bus</del>~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote><del>~~> board the bus~~</del></blockquote></blockquote></details>

config.style.backdrop: "blue-0" config.style.page.color: "black" -- You're _definitely_ not supposed to be out here at this hour. Is there such a thing as designated visiting hours for a graveyard? Probably not. You'd managed to sneak past the guard on duty so it's not really your problem anyway, it's on them for haxing such lax security. You make your way through the rows of graves, boots sinking slightly into the mud and leaving a trail of faint footprints behind you. You don't know whether it's a guard or just another visitor but someone else had been here, earlier; ahead of you are faint, smaller shoe prints which seem to go on for quite a while. The entire place smells of petrichor and dirt - cleaner than you'd expected, even though you probably shouldn't be surprised about a cemetary being well-kept. You stop in front of an empty grave. The ones surrounding it have some tokens, the usual flowers and glass bottles with colored layers of sand. The letters on the grave are glistening with water, too faint to read in the dim lighting. You crouch down in front of it and reach a hand out to trace the letters. You know what this spells out. To give it a name would be to make it real — and so you don't. [[It's time to go back,->It's time to go back.]] you think. <a href="https://strawpoll.com/embed/poy9WzG5wgJ">There's nothing left for you to do here.</a>

config.style.backdrop: "white" config.style.page.color: "black" -- In front of you, the screen displays in bright red: 21:01 *** [align center] ~~NOTICE: ORANGE LINE - TERMINAL THREE UNDER MAINTANENCE.~~ <details><summary>BLUE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Residential Area #12-20</li> <li>Residental Area #21-26</li> <li>[REDACTED] Cemetary</li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[> board the bus->bluetwo]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>BROWN LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>Theater</li> <li>[REDACTED] Faculty of Sciences, Engineering and Technology</li> <li>Central Park</li> </ul> <blockquote><del>~~board the bus~~</del></blockquote></blockquote></details> <details><summary>ORANGE LINE</summary> <blockquote><ul> <li>[REDACTED] Stadium</li> <li>Residential Area #27-31</li> <li><del>Coast</del></li> </ul> <blockquote>~~[[board the bus->orangeytwo]]~~</blockquote></blockquote></details>

config.style.backdrop: "orange-1" config.style.page.color: "black" -- You're getting kind of sick of the rain. You're just — so _damp_ all the time, clothes sticking to your skin and cold air funnelling in where it doesn't. The occassional rain shower, going absolutely nuts in the rain is nice, you can admit that. But this? Being wet and looking like a drowned rat for who knows how many loops? It's a special kind of torture. There isn't anything to do out here, this far. People are already starting to turn in for the night. You watch with bleary eyes as lights turn off within homes, the neon lights from convenience stores still lit up and burning an after-image behind your eyelids. The rain drips off the bus stop shelter, you tap your fingers _one-two-three_ on the bench and settle a bit more back into your — his skin. Ash breathes unsteadily. He wants to go back to Red's apartment, even though he's still angry at a conversation one of them can't even remember. There's nothing for him out here except memories and it's not memories he wants back either. The rain keeps falling. There's nothing to do except get up and [[keep moving.->It's time to go back.]]