peckenpaugh | THE UPPER LEVELS

up into the balconies

you climb The breathing boughs of that nightmare tree crowd into the upper balconies of the ruined auditorium. You have to duck and bend to get by them in places, sometimes through spaces that seem to grow smaller as you press through. These branches are warm to the touch, some of them uncomfortably so, pulsing with something that isn't quite life.

You've climbed these stairs more than once in your time here; to take your place after your sorting, to watch new students find their House, or perhaps just for an assembly. This building always seemed so sturdy, so safe. It was a place to go for shows, for celebrations, and hell, to just get out of class. Now, the floorboards creek precariously, split and splintering where vines have crept through. Benches are broken, overturned and tossed aside to make room for the auditorium's new king: the malignant maple. Up here, the glowing blue seeds hanging from branches are close enough to pluck. Those that have ripened litter the floor and railings, filling the balconies with an eerie blue twinkle.

The air is muggy, clogged by falling ash. It stinks of coal and sulfer. But you keep moving, anyway. Keep opening portals and pushing on. Just a little bit higher, and then maybe you'll be able to plunge into the depths.

and you fight By now there's a plan, and with it, a slowly growing brigade of people, of beings, of bugs, who are gathering to push back against inevitability.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I am the mortal enemy of bugs," Presley says, still high off his last encounter, but the confidence dims and dismay grows as he surveys their Muscheron-scale surroundings. This is ridiculous. He still has people unaccounted for, and he doesn't even like these kleptomaniac little pipsqueaks.

Presley sighs dramatically, and readies his wand at his side. Whatever. They've got this down to routine now. Find the glowing thing, go through the door, move on to the next memory. Except... "Please tell me we're not supposed to carry off those downright Brobdingnagian sunglasses."

"Well, I'm not getting into the bag," she says, taking a few steps towards the frozen Muscheron and its sunglasses sword. Any cuteness conveyed by their tiny size is done away with when Ramona is also six inches tall, and she pauses to give the Muscheron a quick once-over.

"They're pretty ugly, aren't they?" she asks.

"Do you suppose some of them are considered handsomer than others?" Presley wonders, standing next to Ramona. "Exactly what defines beauty standards for a Muscheron? More or less weird knobby parts on the cap?"

He's touched a lot of things during this entire nightmare adventure, but something about being Muscheron-sized makes it stark how unsanitary everything is. Are there still germs in a memory? "Ugh." Presley fishes a tissue out of his suit jacket, and vigorously rubs down a section of the discarded sunglasses before, reluctantly, touching it.

Unfortunately, the glasses glow under Presley's touch. Maybe it's the germs, but it also probably means they have to figure out how to drag this thing out of here.

Ramona heaves a sigh. Nothing's ever easy.

"Alright. Let's see how heavy they are, I guess." She circles around to the other side of the Muscheron, trying to get a good grip on the tail end of the sunglasses. If one little mushroom can lift them, surely she and Presley can carry them a dozen yards. Or two feet. Whatever.

Presley echoes Ramona's sigh, but also gets into position. He tugs on the sunglasses until they pull free of the muscheron's grasp—or rather, a glowing duplicate does, just as unwieldy as the real thing.

But Presley has strong muscles from dance. He can handle carrying pink plastic, and only whines a little as he hefts the end piece. "Do you suppose it'll stay the same size when we get to the auditorium, or shrink down? Shrink down, right?" He pauses. "I'm going to wear them."

As Presley pulls the sunglasses free, the memory stutters to a start again, the muscheron spinning to a halt with his own pair of sunglasses.

The muscheron looks down. The bag's zipper pull is there, the zipper itself just barely undone.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah," he yells, the fight reflex draining out of him in favor of flight. He drops his weapon and scurries over to yank at the zipper pull, straining with all his little might as the cat readies itself to pounce. Tooth by tooth, click by click, until the bag is just open enough to admit one (1) mushroom head.

"GIBBYE Z'KAL!" The muscheron hops in, butt first, wriggling and squeezing until he finally disappears under the flap. The little hole in the flap stays open, big enough for a muscheron-sized human (or muscheron) to slip through should they need to leave before that cat gets any closer.

[MEMORY COMPLETE! Now squeeze that linchpin through that portal back to Peckenpaugh, or stay here and get eaten by a cat. Two equally valid options.]

Ramona and Presley completed the memory "Move-In Day"!

Upon emerging from the memory out into the auditorium, the portal snapped shut behind them, while the sunglasses remained enormous. Hm.

Out in the Central Green, a muscheron thief and crabgrass, a magimagicicada were freed.

Presley and Ramona each earned 5 Tokens for completing the memory!

They earned an additional 2 Tokens for locating the linchpin before hitting the reply minimum!

You can check your token totals in Pouch's shop here, and maybe see if there's anything worth grabbing while you're there!

Edited 2020-06-07 17:47 (UTC)

Presley looks honestly miffed about this. He really wanted to wear glowing sunglasses.

Muscheron are the worst.

THE UPPER LEVELS

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day

MEMORY: Move-In Day - COMPLETE!

MEMORY: Move-In Day - TOKENS!

MEMORY: Move-In Day - TOKENS!