[FILMING IN PROGRESS] ⚞🎥

"I get it," Kalpas snapped, not entirely realizing the edge of his voice simmering and cutting until the matron jerked her hand back, face blanched. "Sorry. I meant. I got it. To carry."

The matron nods but you can see that the bite has left its mark on her, and she's visibly cautious of you, in a way she wasn't before. Is she even going to let you into the house - she needs to. You can feel the shimmer of fever in the air, the way it fizzles and pops like carbonation, the crackle of so many tiny voices diffusing into nothingness.

She needs to let you in.

C̡̢̳͋̇̈o̱͍̹͊̀̐͘͟nv̼̲̒̀ĩ̝̲̽n͕̲̱̎̿̌c͉̞̼̗͂̈͗̕e͔̲͆͝ ̬͇̞̩́̓̂̅h̜͂e̡̦̝͖̐̄̔̚ŕ͈̻̕

Kalpas shivered with the sharp inhale, and on the exhale the breath came out in a ragged, rumbling growl. "You need to let me help. You got a lotta corpses in there waiting to see the grave if you don't."

Attaboy.

His head jerked, the motion of a dog with a bug in his ear, and he saw once more the smiling face of that strange man, that odd presence hovering just outside of the periphery, and his judgemental little frog. He stiffened under their gazes, before he lowered his head and the timbre of his voice, something that might have passed for soft, or at least softer.

THE MATRON trembles in the shadow of the imposing KALPAS, much too sleepless to fully comprehend his strange behavior. Recognition eventually dawns in her expression, and she lowers her arms meekly.

"Ah, y-yes! What am I saying...? Um, I'll just...let the nurses know you're here...!"

She awkwardly skitters down the hall, lifting her skirt off the floor. She disappears into a room labeled "SICK WARD", echoes of sad little voices following the click of her heels. She steps back out, motioning for KALPAS to follow. THE DIRECTOR stands aside, mimicking her gesture exaggeratedly with a bow, making way for the hero.

"That's your cue~!"

INT. - ORPHANAGE - SICK WARD - DAY

The rows upon rows of beds feel endless, the air thick with malaise.

No one appears to notice that the help is missing his eccentric companion, or that he even had one to begin with. THE MATRON introduces KALPAS to NURSE #1 and NURSE #2, each as haggard as she is. Like their superior, they hesitate at his appearance, but quickly get to business, instructing him on where to unload the crate.

Their conversations about the children and the medicine fade into the background, unimportant. THE DIRECTOR spectates invisibly at the surface of his curious protagonist's memory, the only evidence of his continued hand in the production being THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR vigilantly observing KALPAS from one of the shelves.

An altruistic actor he is to come out here like this, doing so much for no gain. Yet his mannerisms only serve to frighten; his mind full of chaotic, disjointed scenes...

The present is informed by the past--a character's actions, reactions, and choices represent a culmination of their experiences. New scenes will dredge up old ones subconsciously, until they, too, become the past, a marvelous saga. What has made KALPAS this way? THE DIRECTOR watches closely.

SCENE: Moment of Sol - Penacony Paperfold University College DIR.: Mr. Reca FEAT.: @stonepaz as TOPAZ

⠀"Dude, the author is totally a Riddler." ⠀⠀⠀"Sounds like you're just reading into it."

Trends come and go all the time in the fast-paced set of a college campus, providing a reflection of the zeitgeist. A considerable portion of fads carry little to no substance, lasting but an instant in time, but on occasion, something new will even catch THE DIRECTOR'S discerning eye.

The students gather their materials for the day. Many carry a particular book in their bags or under their arms, with some copies sporting various colorful sticky notes between the pages.

Diary of Reverie - a dense novel by ANGELINA DOUBT. The book features an unconventionally nonlinear narrative, challenging readers with the task of merely navigating its text. Thanks to this structure (or lack thereof), semiotics has been brought to the forefront.

⠀"I'm telling you, man, every copy is personalized!" ⠀⠀⠀"You sure there aren't a bunch of different versions and people are just looking way into it? C'mon." ⠀"But I haven't seen anyone mention the ending with the theme park!"

THE DIRECTOR nods to himself, overhearing his students' conversations as they leave the lecture hall. It's not the strangest thing in the cosmos--there have been films with different endings per screening, encouraging a rewatch. Realistically, it would indeed appear that this mysterious author is merely having fun with her audience, but in Penacony, bizarre machinations are just as likely. Even a bogus cause of panic can alter the landscape of a dream if enough of the cast begin to believe it.

⠀⠀⠀"I think you just read it weird." ⠀"I dunno, I just can't shake it. It's like it's a warning..."

THE DIRECTOR closes the door behind him, stepping outside. Walking between rows of lockers, he eyes the mechanical frog upon his shoulder. Normally, he'd be elated that today's youth are so eager to engage with a challenging piece of art, but tension remains in the air of Paperfold University.

"What do you think, Assistant Director? Perhaps we should scrutinize these dreadful rumors ourselves?"

Dainsleif stares at the ground, at the splatters of blood left from his rampage against his former teacher, no other traces left behind except the lingering of regret in the Twilight Sword’s heart and an ever burning anger fueled by hatred for the Abyss in his chest. No matter how much time passes, Dainsleif will always look back on that moment with that pain and anger. How could he just let himself be used like that? Let his crumbling memories be used to fuel that which he strived to prevent with every breath he took?

That is not the reason he has come back to this place, to this remnant of a past civilization, though. He turns his back on where his own past had lay, used by a man who had never been anything but cruel to him, and returns to the street of Ochkanatlan.

Scrolls denoting the past… a physical preservation of history… it was a nice thought, keeping the past intact so the people of the future could learn from past mistakes and achievements. Someone still existing, whether in physicality or in the form of their words and thoughts, meant that a place could never truly be erased. Of course, memories also made up who a person was. Dainsleif was all too aware of that. Many of his past countrymen were shades of their former selves, no longer shaped by the memories and experiences that had made them before Khaenri’ah had fallen.

Even Dainsleif himself is not immune to the tide of time, he remembered far more than many others, about their golden age and about his own life, but much of it was also clouded by the effects of time, as anyone’s memory would be after so long. He can keep his mind clear and body as sound as it is now because of that ring of his brothers’ that he had once coveted when he was young, a ring that now only felt like an unbearably heavy burden, but recalling it all… it takes a terribly long amount of time, and the strain on his mind…

There were some things he would rather not recall anyway.

But he was also the only one who could bear a near perfect memory of those past days before they had all met their ruin. As long as he was still here, Khaenri’ah could never truly fall. Much like the scrolls of history that had led to this place, his existence meant exactly that: Khaenri’ah could not be erased so easily.

Dainsleif can’t help but laugh at his own inattentiveness, offering his left hand towards the man to help him up, “My apologies, I was simply ruminating on the idea of history and the memories of the past it holds. Do you happen to be here for the history itself or for…” Ah, what was it again? Oh right, “That Saurian ritual. Though, I doubt it is the latter, perhaps you may surprise me.”

A foray into a cursed land within a nation of conquest is a tantalizing prospect for any filmmaker seeking fresh material. THE DIRECTOR invited himself into the expedition, clad in Fontanian garb. Natlan is a fascinating place in the already-curious world of Teyvat, Ochkanatlan especially, with its impressively ancient setpieces. The Tonatiuh above serves as a shadow of a long-lost civilization looming over it all.

He is also here for the cast of characters tagging along for such a journey, and one in particular stands out with his curious costuming. THE DIRECTOR takes DAINSLEIF'S hand with a polite chuckle, dusting himself off.

"No offense taken, actor; I get what you mean. The history of this set is mesmerizing, isn't it? To have the Flower-Feather Clan cordially invite us here is truly an honor."

His red eyes are gleaming with an intense enthusiasm. When he introduces himself, it's with a small bow.

"Ah, I'm here to document the proceedings. 'Mr. Reca,' film director~ Pleasure to make your acquaintance! I have no Saurian companion myself, but my assistant director is on Kamera duty just up ahead."

THE DIRECTOR motions to the loose crowd of adventurers inspecting the buildings down the street, their murmurs excited yet cautious all the same. The Kamera is placed in the intersection, though there appears to be no one operating it.

"...Though, if one of the cast members and their Saurian actor wish to partake in the ritual, I certainly wish to record it, haha! Shall we catch up with them?"

Judging solely on appearances, DAINSLEIF has a story to tell, but what? THE DIRECTOR will simply have to investigate this one-of-a-kind talent and this ancient mystery in the same scene. He smiles smugly to himself as he walks.

SCENE: Outer Space - Orbiting Amphoreus DIR.: Mr. Reca FEAT.: @vierfacheweisheiten as ANAXA

So this was Amphoreus as it looked from the outside… a never ending loop of infinity that folded in on itself over and over again. 

Does its shape too prove his grandest theories of all? Or is that simple happenstance when compared to the nature of that logic box?

It doesn’t matter the answer too much, for Anaxagoras the Foolish will revel in this moment for the rest of eternity. Being right all along… ah, it truly was the best feeling in this universe! The researchers stare at him as he feels laughter begin to slip from his lips, but he does not care.

The scholar will never dare to let their whispers stir his heart into being unsure. In this vast and unending universe, he and he alone was the sole enlightened one. The only one who could see the truth of everything as it was. It is not his fault that no one else understands it, for they are not seeing as clearly as he is. An eye he had lost long ago, but far much more had been gained in but a mere moment. A last reunion with a lost sister and the ability to see the world more clearly than he ever had before.

If only his teacher were able to see this as well. Anaxagoras had long ago stirred doubt in the old man’s heart, keeping his teacher awake at night with his musings and theories about the truth and the nature of their farcical world. If Empedocles were able to see their world from the outside as Anaxagoras did in this moment, those seeds of doubt would finally blossom as he always wished they had been able to.

Alas, his teacher was long dead, and Anaxagoras was now bereft of form as well. It is all he can do to silently take notes to himself within his head, filtering out the useless nonsense that the fools around him mutter idly.

What does catch his attention, finally, is a chatter as a strange man saunters across the room, finding himself right before Anaxagoras with a grand flourish. Odd fellow, is the scholar’s first note to himself about this man as a scoff escapes his lips at his words.

“Leading character? Like in those epic plays of ours? Me? Surely you must be mistaken,” Anaxagoras was not called the ‘Great Performer’ for nothing. A talented actor he had been for many years, but that was the farce of what the world called ‘living’. Living as if he didn’t wish to walk towards the Hand of Shadow into death with open arms. 

He certainly wasn’t the leading character of Amphoreus’ grandest epic of all. That honor would go to his nearest and dearest student, the one who would one day bear the very weight of the world upon his shoulders. A day that was perhaps coming far sooner than anyone would expect.

"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, actor Anaxagoras! In this film, there is no one more suitable for such a pivotal role other than you. Though, I would love to hear about those 'epic plays' sometime, that will have to wait~"

THE DIRECTOR smiles slyly, a twinkle in his red eyes, as if finding something amusing that no one else could perceive. He motions to the window, Amphoreus radiant in the distance.

"It seems an explanation of the premise is in order: to the rest of the cosmos, this planet remains a mystery. 'Why has this world gone undiscovered for so long?' 'What lies behind its curious shape, akin to infinity?' 'What could possibly lie on the surface, just waiting to be discovered?' These questions are what brought the cast you see before you here today; to have a native talent now in their company is a significant twist in the trajectory of the plot."

All the while, THE DIRECTOR would fulfill his own agenda--there was a gargantuan treasure trove of film material right outside, just waiting to be unveiled, but only if he played his cards right with this curious character. He whirls back to the plotting table on one heel, barely containing his excitement, his smile now a knowing grin. He gestures broadly to the whole room with both arms.

"The cast members from the Armed Archaeologists need your guidance, Anaxagoras! What will you say to these strrrangers about to embark on a journey into the unknown?"

ARMED ARCHAEOLOGIST #3 speaks up first, arms crossed.

"Hey, what the fuck?"

"Mister!" she hollered. "Careful, that's—" Loose. The stake the young man had used to anchor himself popped out of the ground. Kachina lunged for the rope, using all of her strength to plant her feet and grip the rope. She looked around frantically— she won't be able to hold the rope alone. "Help!"

Please don't die, mister!

Indeed, in a vast landscape such as this, beautiful as it is untamed, who would be around to help?

THE YOUNG TEPETLISAURUS takes charge, breaking from his pack in response to KACHINA'S cries. He pops out of the ground behind her, grabbing onto the sleeves of the coat around her waist. His diminutive size hides the great strength of his species, and with their combined power, the fate of THE CLIMBER begins to change.

...

THE DIRECTOR remains hidden to their perception. He had stopped by Natlan to investigate the curious Saurians--while they appear as simple creatures, they're far from ordinary, even possessing a language. Why not feature their natural cooperation with humanity as part of a daring rescue scene?

Draw the juvenile's attention to that young actor, and the plot begins to unfold...

THE CLIMBER is brought back to even ground, trembling and clumsily scrambling to his feet. He sputters as he speaks.

"Th-thank you, miss! And you too, little guy! Thank you so much...!"

"Rawr!"

SCENE: The Xianzhou Luofu - Fyxestroll Garden DIR.: Mr. Reca FEAT.: @sedena as SEDENE

As long as he cleans up after everything is all done, then there’s nothing wrong with placing props all about the venue. Even if she thinks it looks like trash, not props. Usually, movie props had a sort of shine to them, and these cans didn’t.

“...Excuse me?” Another pause, as she squints at him. And odd not-human, yes, and one that seems a little blurry, if she was to be honest. Which should be odd in itself, she supposes, but she’s finding herself a little out of her depth here.

Placing her hands on her hips, she continues, “Again, I’m not an actor. I’m not even a legal officer here, no, so if you want an investigation done, I’m pretty sure you should search for the right department.”

“And,” She looks around at the set again, and then points to the can that he had picked up and placed back down. “If you want me to investigate, it’s better if you don’t mess with the evidence, yes.”

Blinking up at him, she wonders if he knows that she can see behind his dusted fingerprints, and that the existence of other fingerprints tell her that it isn’t ghosts that sprayed the paint on the walls.

Tough audience, hm? He side-eyes THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR for her input; it appeared this adorable critter didn't know the first thing about art! THE DIRECTOR would just have to teach her. His smile beams from ear to ear.

"Of course you're an actor--this is my set! There's no need to be shy; it's a professional director's job to guide new talents, should they encounter any difficulty."

He steps aside, as if inviting her to take the stage. He does not mention anything about a permit.

"You may not have your usual role in this film, but your investigative experience will nonetheless come in handy when playing a similar character. A film crew should be hiring specialists if they're hoping for any shred of realism in the script in the first place..."

He puts a hand to his chin, scrutinizing his actor as much as his creative process. It was hard to read the images at the forefront of her memory; her perception wasn't anything he was familiar with from most sentient life in the cosmos. What better way to learn than by seeing her in action?

THE DIRECTOR gestures once again to the vandalized monument, giving SEDENE a wide berth.

"Please, don't let my presence stop you. I'd love to see how you perform, Miss...?"

It’s a short confirmation, and more to give himself room to process the information than any actual question- from the sounds of it, the others didn’t have clear answers either. The thought displeases him, but granting information was more important than his opinion.

“Well, to begin, after Kallen,” He nods at the other former camper, as if to accentuate the point, “disappeared, we decided to leave the campsite and return to Empyrea in search of her.”

“We didn’t find her, naturally, but instead of Empyrea, we arrived… somewhere else.” He pauses, considering. “Leann, our guide, seemed to recognize it, despite claiming she grew up on Empyrea. The entire area had been destroyed by a plague, and two of our group fell sick, and in my attempt to heal them, I did too.”

And, in his attempt to give more than he had, he had died. But that wasn't important.

were more people waking up? and if they were, did that mean that others had started to figure out the way out of the dream like he had, or something else? just misfortune catching them at the right time?

"ugh. . . " he should try to get up and see——unlikely that sitting here rubbing his head was going to get him feeling better faster.

bracing himself against the thin cotton mattress, he swings one leg, then the other, over the side of the elevated gurney, eyeing the distant, gleaming floor with a frown. polished to a shine, promising an unwieldy descent, and on top of that, these things were probably on wheels. no doubt they weren't planning on people trying to get down by themselves. . .

with things elsewhere on him fortunately subsided, he can feel more comfortable positioning himself to make the jump. a hard blink, a sigh ; he centers his weight on his hands as best as he can and gives a push.

expecting something to slip out precariously underneath him, he's surprised when everything stays impressively stable when he lands, and equally surprised——with some relief——that his legs don't just immediately give out. unsteadily, a couple light sways test his balance, and with another firm, circular knead of a hand at the side of his head, the world starts to feel a little bit more normal. still taking some time for everything to come back one hundred percent, but he'd get there.

in the meantime, the conversation some ways away only makes itself known through pantomime ; he can see the motions, but any voices aren't close enough to make out. so, giving his clothes a few smoothing pats more out of habit than efficacy, he gingerly makes his way over, only thinly disguising the twin drums of discomfort still smarting behind chest and cranium. once he's close enough for them to acknowledge his approach, he gives a tepid wave and a half-ironic smile. "heavens, this place wouldn't happen to provide painkillers, would it? the wake-up call really doesn't come easy."

So KALLEN KASLANA knows them both? All the more reason to get in touch with her later. (THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR schedules it in his calendar somewhere.) To AVENTURINE, he smiles in sheepish confession.

"Ha, I never anticipated to reveal it this way, but~ yes~ that was me. It's a pity we couldn't enjoy the festivities in full, but it's nice to meet you, Mr. Aventurine, and you too, Mr. Su."

THE DIRECTOR puts a gloved hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought. He begins to pace.

"A performance, a dream, a simulation; whatever the truth of Empyrea may be, the producers are clearly in over their heads. That actor, Jude, had mentioned our roles to play, but I'm left wondering how mandated death factors into 'Paradise'... He also claimed to not believe in the concept of 'Paradise' himself, perhaps inviting cynicism to take root at the heart of the 'world building.' The 'voice' is another persistent mystery--is it simply enacting the producers' will, or is it instead tied to the cause of the setting's descent into chaos?"

THE DIRECTOR sighs. He sits back on his bed in resignation, looking up at the white lights upon white ceiling.

"...I see no reason to doubt the promise of our eventual release, but I cannot help but wonder why they're allowing their film to continue when their set is clearly collapsing... Unless that's part of the show, of course~"

Su sits up slowly, searching his surroundings with an air of confusion- his form once again untouched, and feeling as though nothing had quite happened. That was normal. What was unexpected was the sheet that drifted down from some point in space, suspended by something unknown. He slides off where he had awoken- or at least, makes a mimicry of the action, moving to stand on a sterile floor. Eyes open, blinking away light- the afterlife, his afterlife, had not been so bright.

And he had been alone. 

That is distinctly not the case here; surrounded by rows upon rows of bodies, carefully covered by the same white sheet that now holds nothing beneath. An eerie sight, at the very least, one that bids him a breathless,

“What in the world…?”

But he is not lost for long, as a voice cuts through any further thoughts, a little ways a way. A few figures, standing amongst the field of white (and a glass pane, one that calls to mind labs that he did not necessarily approve of.) Two unfamiliar, and…

“Performers? Actors? Do you hear yourselves?” She has no idea what Mr. Reca's allegiances are, surface disagreements with the researcher aside, but she can't ignore the seeming similarities in their rhetoric anymore. She's sick of it. Scenes, cast members—enough! “I'm a real person. That's a real person.” she gestures toward the blond individual sitting up in their examination bed, “All of us are r—”

Abruptly, she stops speaking, cut off from the source of her righteous anger. Bewilderment flashes through her eyes as she stares at them, belatedly registering what Mr. Reca had actually meant. Someone else has woken up—and she recognizes them. She's certain she does. Before she can pinpoint why, in the corner of her eye—

“Su?” Kallen turns toward him, startled, as he approaches, and the bewilderment etched clearly into her face shifts toward guilt, regret, fear. “Why are you...” Did he die, too? Had the rotting creatures overtaken the camp, despite her efforts? Her head swivels toward Jude again with renewed rage—with a sudden, sharp, unearned sense of betrayal. “Wait, what finale are you talking about? What's happening to the people still inside Empyrea?!”

The woman is asking questions again, which just serves to sink him deeper into the cushions of his chair. As if things could possibly get any worse for him, a ringtone begins blaring from his earpiece.

Promptly, he rips it off. It skips across the floor uselessly.

"I just told you that you'll be free to go. You refers to all of you," again he speaks as though such is obvious. Though he explains nothing of to where or in what shape. "That's all for questions. Do me a favor and fill in your new friends on our little chat, I've got a crisis to handle."

Where it lays, the earpiece is still blaring. The crow on his shoulder moves to scoop it up in its beak and find somewhere better to dispose of it.

THE DIRECTOR smiles cordially at SU as he rejoins KALLEN KASLANA, but he has nothing but a frown for JUDE as the man slinks off once more. He crosses his arms, and THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR mimics him in turn.

"Well, I would have never green-lit such a sloppy production under ordinary circumstances. A film won't even get past principal photography if the actors are so flagrantly disrespected."

He shakes his head with a huff.

"But there you have it--seems the 'Lotus-Eater Machine' of Empyrea is encountering more than a few glitches, and now the crew members tasked with managing the experiment are coming under fire... Judging by the context clues, at least."

How THE DIRECTOR would love to know who was on the other end of that earpiece... Alas. He looks back to SU and AVENTURINE.

"Why, exactly, 'Paradise' is falling apart is still an unknown to us. If the newest additions to our cast would please share their stories, perhaps they'll shed new light upon this mystery?"

THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR appears to whisper something to him, and he chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"When you're ready, of course! I understand this is...disorienting, haha...~"

"To me? Ha," the sound of laughter that drags from his throat is hardly one, more of a bitter sigh, "I don't believe in Paradise."

And then he smiles. "That's what makes me perfect for developing a place like this, isn't it? I've no illusions of what it should be, only what it is."

Though he does not elaborate on this, because his attention turns instead to Kallen. The mentions of Penacony seem to make his eye twitch, and he sniffs at her evident anger. Another adjustment of his glasses and the return of his companion to his shoulder.

"I prefer the term performers," he clicks his tongue, "the human concern for such an unreachable concept is the most interesting thing about them. You don't agree?" The bird squawks a looping laugh track, as though it has been programmed to do so. To the woman's proper question, however, he huffs an irritated sigh. It would seem his need to hear his own voice outweighs his interest in ensuring only a single question is answered.

"Because your story is over, but you are not the only people on this planet. You'll be free to go when this all ends, which it will." Of this he sounds certain. "You merely have to see it through to its finale, or else I'd have done all this work for nothing."

"agh. . . !" he wakes up to pain, a dull and throbbing war drum centered in the left side of his chest, beating rhythmically down upon the ribcage like it's threatening to burst. it's the first indication that he couldn't be dead, or that if there was still any chance he was, anyone professing death to be an afterlife of painless peace would have to be reconsidering their tenets soon.

his bed is one near the middle, on the second row closest to the large observation window. as his knee bends and he fights to sit up, convinced that doing so would lessen the phantom second pulse threatening to burrow straight down through sinew and bone, two things happen. first, the pain does, thankfully, subside, receding to a sullen smarting like the kind a large bruise might leave after the sudden impact of something roughly baseball-shaped against his heart. second, he becomes vaguely aware of a different uncomfortable sensation elsewhere, and with an inconvenienced sigh, shifts the blankets draping his legs with his other hand to borrow their subtlety for the time being.

a party, a gun, a bullet to the heart. he takes in the new surroundings, white again to white, and thinks that he'd almost be led to believe he didn't accomplish anything except knocking himself out for a while if not for the comparatively much larger size of this room and the rows upon rows of identical, medical gurneys. at least a hundred people could fit in here. . .

. . . at least hundred people had been fit in here, he realizes as brain finally processes what the eyes take in ; squinting, he peers closer at the lumps, each of them sheathed like morgue statues under drawn pristine white sheets, undoubtedly in the shape of people. he looks down at his own set, identical to the rest. and then, finally distantly registering a soft exchange of voices not far away, looks to the only upright, moving things in the stadium-sized chamber. "heavens." it's like each of his senses are returning one at a time, taking their time plugging connections into the brain and getting everything gradually back online. whatever they'd been hit with to put them all into that——dream? simulation?——it wasn't just the usual stuff.

The story certainly seems to be taking shape; while Penacony was molded with the Family's supervision, Empyrea appears to be more strongly affected by the wills of its guest stars, perhaps resulting in these present disasters in "Paradise." THE DIRECTOR opens his mouth to comment, but his attention is seized by a development behind them in the white room. The disjointed, confused haze of one suddenly thrust into new surroundings reaches him first, with the man's groans acting as confirmation.

THE DIRECTOR turns around. Someone new is awake. Someone who had even been at that fateful party that night, though they hadn't formally crossed paths--until now.

"Ah...~"

Out of consideration for AVENTURINE'S condition, he miraculously dials back the enthusiasm he's otherwise feeling. Still, he can't resist gesturing to the bed with a sweep of his arm.

"Actors? I do hate to interrupt our lovely exposition scene, but it appears a new cast member has arrived on the set..."

"I told you-" he's speaking to nobody, muttering intensely as he pivots on his heel to begin pacing. The bird squawks and beats its wings to keep up. "I said it was a big deal, but nooooooooooooo. It's always 'Jude you never have time for us anymore.' Well us never has time for the st-"

His shoes squeak on the floor when he halts, abruptly enough to send his crow friend careening past him. One hand catches the tablet, though the bird is not so fortunate. He adjusts his glasses with the other, stares through the glass. That's right.

As though he had not forgotten entirely about his company, he clears his throat. "My most respectful of guests," he sneers, "do you make habits of destroying the property of your host?"

The bird yet again returns, this time flapping its wings to coax a desk chair towards its owner. The man, Jude, sinks into it with a sigh.

"You have questions. I will answer one from each of you. If-" He looks to blade, eyes narrowed. "-you stop it with throwing that damned frog."

She has half the mind to say something else, to interject with a retort about the man’s—Jude’s—own lack of hospitality as a host. Sneering at his guests, keeping them in a strange, windowless room, disappearing for an hour to do who knows what. But she thinks better of it, letting him finish, her attention following his remark back to the assistant director on Mr. Reca’s shoulder, then to Blade, then back to Jude. “…Okay, we won’t throw the assistant director again.”

She answers for Blade without thinking, then tosses a meaningful glance in his direction, as if asking for temporary acquiescence. Please?

They have three questions among them. What should they ask? What should they say, to encourage a slip of the tongue? Kallen's never been good at this sort of thing. Playing the social game, interpreting subtleties, dissecting another person's psyche.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “I can go last.”

Only one question, eh... Tricky characters in positions of power have a nasty habit of revealing as little as possible when they give such offers. THE DIRECTOR would have to phrase his inquiry carefully. He glances to BIRD MAN--JUDE--then glances back at the beds and their sleeping occupants, turning the situation over in his mind. Now would be the time to put his recent discovery to use.

THE DIRECTOR locks eyes with JUDE, dropping his usual smile.

"Given current evidence, I have to cast doubt on this premise of 'Paradise.' Mr. Jude, what is the true nature of Empyrea's existence?"

Mr. Reca seems fine, though. And the assistant director—the frog?—doesn't look any different from before. Kallen stares at her for a little longer, holding back potentially thoughtless questions, then glances toward Blade, expectant, as if waiting for an explanation—

“You're bleeding.” She says urgently, taking a step toward him. “Your hand...” Concern, etched onto her face, replaces the traces of confusion and exasperation once lingering there. Tearing a strip of cloth from the nearest bed covering, she hesitates briefly before offering it.

“I don't know what history the two of you might have, but... Until we figure out what's happening and find a way out, can we please try to cooperate?” With a sigh, she surveys the room again. No doors, no ways out—except for the sturdy window. The incessant blinking of the camera light remains taunting as ever. What does a camera really do, anyway? “That man might come back any moment now.”

THE DIRECTOR rolls his eyes while his back is turned from BLADE and KALLEN. He wasn't the one being "difficult" here, but there was little point in arguing. He sighs, returning THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR to his shoulder.

"I agree, more information is necessary to make sense of these developments. Until then, all we can do is...speculate~"

He paces around the beds, pulling the covers down of one body and inspecting it--palm to the forehead, fingers to the neck, as if checking vitals. He closes his eyes, seeking memories instead. Poking around in a stranger's mind is a bit blatant, but THE DIRECTOR feels he has little choice, boxed up in this white room with no exit.

"Hmmm."

Past the veil of dreamless sleep is a scene one perhaps expects to see--the subject going to bed, as anyone does.

But does it make sense here?

He checks a few others wordlessly, finding variations of the same concept. A camper going to their tent, a beach-goer retiring for the night, all missing any evidence of them being brought here. THE DIRECTOR furrows his brow. Their minds are connected to their selves back on Empyrea--perhaps they've been spirited away to this room for longer than anyone realizes, any memory of it...erased.

These clues feel important, but the full picture hasn't yet come into view. THE DIRECTOR turns to his companions, but hears another character approaching.

Reca goes on and says much. So much, in fact, that Blade can't help but be preoccupied with his own thoughts of such things.

"It would seem this plane is still hazy." His arms still marred with marks from his incident showed far past skin into the horrid organisms of abundance. "Perhaps one more death is needed. Don't they say actors die twice?"

The voice very well could have been lying...but seeing as last he remembered, his companions had been prepared to brave what came next- "It's likely your actions incurred fate's wrath."

He wonders if the frog in hand can prove a better projectile than broken bed piece.

His arm reels back for a throw and once more it seems his curse wishes to fail him. Blood flows from his hand as the frog flies freely but completely misses the mark, landing amongst the myraid of bodies in beds.

"Hahaha! Actor Blade, that's just a figure of speech--"

BLADE does not appear to care. He prepares to throw.

"Blade! Blade! ACTOR BLADE!?!!"

He yelps as his beloved companion is unceremoniously launched, dragging his hands down his face in horror. THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR'S expression is inscrutable as ever, careening through the air, but THE DIRECTOR knows distress when he sees it. He scrambles to match her trajectory, diving to catch her on a wayward bed. The body underneath is jostled; the covers disturbed; the figure sleeping as they always have.

"Assistant Director--!!"

THE DIRECTOR weeps in joy, kissing his frog on the face. He notices where he's landed and quickly recomposes himself, slinking off of the bed in embarrassment and fixing the covers.

"Oh! Ahah, my apologies...ahem."

He shoots BLADE a pouty glare, holding THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR close to his chest, defensively.

"I'd say your actions have done nothing but detracted from this scene, cast member. You ought to ask the director before pulling stunts like that! Please, let's get back on script...and don't touch the assistant director."