#fw open

It wasn't everyday that she would hear of an art museum. Actually, Vanille has never really been to one before. Museums never really existed in the Gran Pulse that she knew, and they weren't in her range of interest when she was wandering in Cocoon alone... and this was way before she was on the run with the others. But curiosity got the better of the Pulse l'Cie when she had heard of this... Weiss Guertena and his gallery.

It was quite a gathering, she had found. Naturally, Vanille was careful to not reveal herself as a l'Cie, even though her brand was well-hidden. Fang would surely worry about her more than she needed... and the others would be a bit concerned, so Vanille promised herself a quick run through of the gallery before going on her way. They wouldn't even notice that she was gone!

But, for a moment, her identity didn't matter, for Vanille was taken in awe of the paintings in display.

"Wow... all of this is amazing! I've never seen something like this... and these are all paintings?" she wondered aloud to herself, hands laced behind her back as she skimmed the paintings as her walking became more relaxed and playful. They weren't the grand sights of her wild homeland of Gran Pulse, but Vanille was pretty intrigued. She skimmed through the first floor and made her way to the second floor.

Strange that not many people are on this floor. They were other good paintings here too! Vanille continued to browse the paintings in the second floor until she reached a room in which no one was in. "Looks like no one's in here... uh-oh, looks like I'm at the end of the rope." she said to herself, her hand covering her mouth as  if she just made a mistake. But a painting had caught her eye. Vanille moved closer to it to get a closer look. "Let's see... 'Fabricated World'. That's quite a name for  something like that!" Vanille commented as she observed. Though... she had to admit, something didn't feel quite right about this painting.

The light were flickering on and off. Maybe that's why no one was here, the lights were acting funny. "Maybe that's my cue to go." Vanille said, her tone becoming a little nervous as she glanced at the painting before exiting the room. And... wait... where was everybody? She knew people were on this floor last time she checked. Confused, Vanille started to look for people and went down to the first floor. Suddenly the lights went out. One window became black and another started spewing red liquid. Okay... now she was getting freaked out. Let's move back

Before she could move forward, Vanille thought that she had saw someone there outside from the window near her. "Huh? Who was that? Was that Fang or Sazh finally catching up to me?" she started before glancing at the window. She was hoping that it was, but... no one in sight. "That's weird... I could've sworn that I saw someone there..." 

BANG.

"Whoa!" Vanille cried, jumping at the sound of the sudden bang on the window. "What's going on here? Everything's all crazy! It wasn't like this before, not before I..."

Before she saw 'Fabricated World'.

Vanille's instinct told her to go back to that room and find out what was going on, and it was exactly what she did. She went back into that room, that painting was still there and... dripping blue ink. "Ahaha... yeah, time to go!" she said nervously, and then she saw something being written in red.

COME VANILLE.

Wait a minute. How do walls know her name? "What do you want from me?" Vanille questioned. She turned around, back to the painting, where blue liquid was now being written.

come down below vanille i’ll show you someplace secret

"What if I don't want to know?" she questioned the painting. That's it, she's overstayed her welcome. If this was some kind of trap that PSICOM's pulled on her then it sure as hell worked. Vanille started to run, run as if she was being chased. She ran down the stairs to the first floor, darting towards the exit. But one of the painting caught her attention again. It was one of the first she's seen, except she was sure that those footprints weren't here before. "Is this some kind of trick that someone's trying to pull?" Vanille wondered aloud, green eyes eyeing the painting cautiously. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she was pushed inside the painting before she could react.

——

Vanille screamed as she fell, and she didn't know how long she was falling over, abstract surroundings quickly turned into all that she saw. She was happy when she finally felt the ground under her feet again. "Ow..." she mumbled, brushing off her knees as she recovered. "Well... at least I'm alive. It'll be okay, right?" Vanille briefly looked up from where she fell, trying to find where exactly she fell from and who pushed her.

She noticed a bunch of the word "COME" on the walls, traveling as if guiding her somewhere. Having no other basis to go on, Vanille followed the words cautiously. After walking for a while, she noticed a yellow rose almost completely wilted. "Aww... poor thing, some water will do you some good!" she said, some of her cheerfulness returning to her as she put the flower in a vase and took it with her. Noticing a table blocking a door, Vanille promptly moved it out of the way. "This place just gets curiouser and curiouser... this is a strange place." she muttered, opening the door.

Inside, she saw another painting of a smiling young woman, which Vanille found kind of eerie in a way. With what she's been seeing so far, who could blame her? "What's this? A key?" she questioned as she saw a blue key on the ground. As she bent down to grab it, Vanille saw the description under the painting.

When the rose wilts, so too will you wilt away.

"So this rose... is like a brand." Vanille said solemnly, eyes wandering to her thigh  where her brand was hidden. So she was running on borrowed time again, that wasn't what she wanted at all. How was she going to explain all this to the others?  "Anyway, I guess I have to find a way out of here. Somewhere..." she said, nodding to herself as she picked up the key. And... wait, did the lady in the painting just smile at her?

THIEF.

"Hey! I'm not a thief! Rude!" Vanille snapped at the painting, hands on her hips as she stomped her foot in a huff. But she's been seeing that the "COME" has turned into  "THIEF". And the figures in the paintings that she passed had came out, and they were coming right at her. Her fear coming back, Vanille took tight hold of the rose and key and ran as fast as she could. There were too many out there for her to fight by herself.

She kept running, which was not all different from what she's been doing before, except she was alone. Alone in a topsy-turvy world. "I don't think this is PSICOM's doing!" she cried as she ran. This looked way too elaborate and wild to be a mere trap to capture l'Cie. And she hasn't seen any person around this place.

Vanille ran a long distance, until exhaustion had gotten the better of her. She slowed down, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. Her rose looked more wilted than before, and the redhead was worn out. Her eyes became heavy as she clutched the vase. Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming near her. Crap, and she couldn't run anymore either. A look of worry had spread across Vanille's face as she heard them come closer.

"Who's there?" she asked.

He'd never been to an art gallery before. There were no such things in the Northern Water Tribe, of that he was certain. And even if there were, he wouldn't have been able to go out and enjoy it for himself; not with his father hounding him and his brother constantly. Not with his father constantly taking him and his brother out on long-lasting "hunting trips" -- that was what they were to their mother, anyway.

So if one were to ask the young bloodbender just how he'd gotten to this art gallery, how he'd found it, he would look at the person and shrug. It was almost as though it had appeared out of thin air. No, not almost -- it had appeared out of thin air. For he was standing in this same spot the night before, but then, he'd been standing in a snow field. Now, he was standing before some kind of painting of a sea-creature that he'd never seen before, and therefore could not name. The people in this museum didn't appear to be from the Water Tribe, either -- not from the Northern Tribe or the Southern Tribe. They dressed strangely, in clothes that Noatak hadn't seen before. Half of him wondered how they had managed to come to this gallery without freezing at least one of their limbs off, but the other half didn't seem to care. An indifferent sigh escaping his lips, the boy departed from the sea-creature painting and decided to move upstairs. The waterbender hadn't been paying much attention to the paintings that he walked by on the second floor, only sparing them a quick glance and then moving on. However, when he came to one painting in particular, he found himself stopping to take it in. The plaque beneath the painting read two words: "Fabricated World". Was that the name of the painting he was looking at? It certainly was an interesting choice, considering this looked nothing like any "world" that he'd seen or heard of --

BANG! The sound came from his left; he turned his head to look down the hall, but there was nothing there. Though, when he turned back to the painting, he found that one thing had indeed changed. There was what appeared to be blue paint dripping down the wall, beneath the painting. The Northern Tribe member leaned forward, inspecting the liquid carefully. When he reached out a hand to try and touch it, a series of short "thumps" sounded out from behind him, and he turned, prepared to confront whatever was causing it. However, he was faced with nothing but a message on the floor, written in either more paint .. or in blood.

COME NOATAK

Was there someone else passing behind him while he was inspecting the "Fabricated World"? No, that was impossible; he would have known, he was sure of it. With a shake of his head, he found himself turning back to the painting and found another message scrawled on the wall for him. This one was written into the blue paint that dripped from beneath the frame.

come down below noatak ill show you someplace secret

Whoever it was that was writing these things was already trying his patience. Noatak exhaled and thought a moment. Down below probably meant there was something to be found on the lower level .. and, given the loud bang he'd heard earlier, that might have made sense. Something could have been placed, or changed, or .. or something akin to that, downstairs. Perhaps if he found it, he would find the source of all of these messages. Without a moment's hesitation or fear, the Water Tribe member headed down the hall towards the steps that would take him downstairs. It wasn't long before he found what he thought was the cause of the earlier banging noise. The painting he was looking at earlier, the "Abyss of the Deep", had some kind of a gate around it. It was closed earlier, but now, a piece of it was gone, leaving the gate open. Noatak walked to the opening of the gate and knelt down, now noticing the fresh-looking blue footsteps leading .. into the painting itself. He narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out how that could be, but he didn't have very long to think on it. Because, before long, he felt himself being sucked into the painting, into whatever lay below.

-- -- --

The next thing he knew, he was lying face-first on the floor. A soft, almost inaudible groan escaped the fourteen year old's lips before he collected himself, standing up quickly and brushing himself off. There was a dull pain throbbing in the back of his head; what had happened? He remembered being in the gallery, looking at that painting with the sea-creature, and then .. he'd ended up here, wherever this was. A quick survey of his surroundings told him he wasn't in the gallery anymore; the walls and floor here were now blue, as opposed to the white walls and floor that he'd become so accustomed to. In a moment of weakness, he found himself calling out.

 "Father? .. Brother?" He waited a moment, but there was no response. So he wasn't in the gallery, and he wasn't home, either. Where had that painting brought him, then? He looked to his left and to his right; on both sides of him were long stretches of hallway that, from where he was standing, looked endless. Taking a moment to deliberate, he decided that he would start by looking down the right side of the hallway, then come back and take the left; there had to be something around here that could help him .. ..

The right side of the hallway proved to be just as unnerving as the room with the "Fabricated World" had been after those messages had appeared. All down the length of this side of the hallway, the word "COME" had been written on the wall crudely, and in a red liquid identical to the one that was used in the message telling him to "come down below". Noatak did not like where this was headed, but he continued onward -- after all, he thought to himself, he was in no real danger. If anyone came out to attack him, he could defeat them with ease; there may not have been water around for him to bend, but that didn't mean he couldn't bloodbend the person.

However, the only thing waiting for him was a small, wooden desk with vase resting on top of it. The inside of the vase was bone dry, but there still appeared to be a withering rose in it, its petals white as snow. He couldn't quite explain why, but he felt compelled to take the thing along with him -- as though it could prove to be important later on. With that in mind, he took the dying rose out of the vase with care, and put it into one of his large jackets' pockets.

It wasn't very often that Light wanted to go out into the world — in fact, it was even rarer that he should suggest it himself — so when he asked her if she would like to go to an art gallery with him, she jumped at the first word.

She didn't, however, jump at the chance to be the tour guide to her blind big brother. But she is first and foremost his little sister. As much as the historical and cultural significance of this or that piece bored her, she had a responsibility. She promised to care for him, through thick and thin. She would be his eyes. She would be there for him. It was her fault, after all, that he was handicapped. 'My fault', she reminded herself. 'It's my fault.'

Was there anything worse than knowing you put the person you love the most into such an awful state of being? Not that she could think of. Regardless, it was time to put pessimism aside. This was supposed to be a day to put all those things behind them, to start fresh! There was no need to be gloomy! With a quick turn of the shoulder and neck, and a bright smile, "Hey, Light, Let's go t —! ... Huh?"

She saw nothing, no one. Weird, but it wasn't too unusual for him to go wandering off deep in thought. Still, she swore he was standing right next to her a moment ago. She knew he wasn't lost, except maybe lost in thought, but .. an unsettling, familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach grew with each passing second. Anxiety grew, and grew, and grew as Clover searched for him to no avail. "Light! Where are you?! If .. If this is some kind'a sick joke, it's not funny! Light!"

Her feet lead her astray, passing the strangers that congregated around all different kinds of paintings and sculptures, into a room that featured the largest painting she has ever laid eyes on: "Fabricated World," it read on the plaque. It didn't look like a worthy monument — to her, all she could see were miscellaneous scribbles and colors that seemed endless. Not only that, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to have worsened with just one glance at the painting. Something didn't feel right, not at all. 

That's when it started: this nightmare. The lights flickered rapidly, sending her body into fight or flight. Panicked, she threw her head around, checking her surrounding with a distrusting glare. "BANG!" — a loud noise came from what seemed to be the lower level of the art gallery, and she found herself involuntarily throwing her head in that direction. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she gulped loudly. It felt too .. planned. Clover looked around once again, more calmly, to see if any of her surroundings changed. Nothing. Sighing in (somewhat of a) relief, she continued her search. She walked lightly, her tiny heels making a click, click, clicking sound against the empty tiles and a thump, thump, thump in her chest. Both sounds echoed throughout the place, but she wasn't about to give up. She had to find him. She just had to.

She made her way downstairs, but was stopped completely by a second flickering of the lights, then .. blackout. She could barely see in front of her. With deep breaths, she continued down the stairs, to the left. 'Maybe he went outside?'  The doors were locked, but there was always the window. .. Trying to keep calm, she walked towards it. Slowly. Walking. Towards. The. — ! Oh god. That was blood. No. Get out. Getoutgetoutgetout. Her mind flew into a frenzy of fear as she made a dash for the stairs. Nothing good came from blood. She knew that much. It was safe upstairs, she checked. At least, safer than here. ..

She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, past the mannequins, past the wired couch, and back to the painting that started it all: "Fabricated World". She caught her breath, bending over as her petite chest rose and fell rapidly. It was just too much. Where was he? She couldn't have lost him. .. She has to find him. .. Where is he?

A blue splotch of paint dripped from the piece, catching her eye. Curiously, she found herself drawn to it, and touched it ever-so-lightly with the tips of her fingers, when —

A thump, and letters in red soon scribbled onto the floor, almost angrily.

COME CLOVER

Come where? Skeptically, though shaken, she stared at the sprawled words on the ground, refusing to believe it might be blood. She turned her head back towards the mysterious painting, to find writings where the blue splotch used to be.

come down below clover ill show you someplace secret

A huff, though a frail one, "That's just creepy and gross." She couldn't afford to lose it now. She had to keep going. She had to find her brother. Plus, it really did take on a new meaning if you added .. well, scandalous conotations. Regardless, she marched on to her own beat, figuring that there was only one 'down' at this point in location — downstairs. She really didn't want to go back down there, but it was the only lead she had. She wandered a few steps until she found herself at the center piece of the first floor gallery, the work Light had pondered a great deal over — "Abyss of the Deep". She had described it to her brother not all that long ago as a "dark fangly-toothed sea monster thing that was in serious need of a flashlight". The mere memory of 20 minutes ago brought paleness back to her face, as she bit her bottom lip. She didn't notice herself being subconsciously pulled into the painting, little by little, step by step.

Dazed and confused at this point, she found herself in a long hallway of blue unlike the white walls she had just gotten accustomed to. The pit in her stomach came back, as she took her first look around. Nothing worth noting, except an unprecedented feeling of dread and fear. Wanting to keep moving, she began her march to the right, walking with churchmouse steps and darting eyes.

Not a second later, another message scribbled its way onto the wall. Clover began to suspect the suspect was broken in some way, as it only spelt one word over and over again: "COME." She gave it as little mind as she humanely could, thinking it best to ignore it for now. It was then that Clover noticed it: a black rose, wilting, sitting longingly in a vase. Drawn by its lonely beauty, she took it without thinking, and stared at it for a few good minutes. Paying next to no mind to the end-table, she made her way to the door, staring at the rose, only to have her smack into it like a blundering fool. "Ugh, stupid table — !" With a hard kick, she knocked the end-table over, muttering under her breath as she opened the door carelessly.

Inside was a painting of a woman, with hair so long that it .. came out of the frame? Clover cocked an eyebrow, more skeptical than ever, until a glint caught her eye. She made her way over, to find a key in the center of the room, which she soon stored in her oversized jacket pocket. Before leaving, she turned to see the paper underneath the portrait, and to read whatever it had to say.

When the rose withers, so too will you wither away.

This was becoming more and more ridiculous, and nerve-wracking at the same time. The dark rose still in her left hand, she left the room, pretending she didn't hear a thud come from behind the door she just left through. That's right, everything would be okay. She would find Light, and this whole nightmare would be over. Everything would be okay.

Everything was not okay. One step, and even more words sprawled out onto the floor and walls, spelling only one word over and over again: "THIEF".

What? How could they have known she took the key and rose — The rose! She looked at her left hand, but it was gone. Did she drop it? She turned around, and lo' and behold, there it was, lying motionless on the ground. With a sigh of relief, she picked it back up, and decided to store it safely this time in her other pocket.

"That could have ended badly. .." Mentally kicking herself for being so careless, she then realized, what was she doing? Why did she panic over a stupid rose? Still unsure about her own motives, but deciding that it was pointless to think too hard over that, she looked around. Time's ticking, and she was tired of wandering around in silence.

Of course Ryzor himself wasn't used to going out of the factory, even if just for awhile to go to some human-world exhibit. . . museum. . . . thing. In this case it just happened to catch his eye, and when he got to the place he wasn't too surprised to find that it was pretty unique compared to the things in Cloudsdale, which were appropriately made of clouds. After awhile he grew bored of them and that's probably how he ended up here to begin with. All of this started with him wandering around, examining the exhibits. There were quite a few strange ones, and just as many decent looking ones. After awhile of examining however, he managed to find a large painting on one of the walls that perked his interest. It almost looked like a whole different world.

"Huh. . . . What is this?" He wondered as he examined the painting, then looking down to the name to figure out what exactly he was looking at. . . "Fabricated World"  Or that's what the painting's name read. At that very moment, however, the lights started to flicker and crackle. Frowning a bit, Ryzor looked up and sighed. "They must have forgot to pay the electricity bill or something." And then out of nowhere--- "C O M E . . . R Y Z O R" Enough joking around, how did this thing even know his name. Frowning, he looked around for the source of the voice that played in his mind, whatever it was, only to her it again- "Come down below Ryzor I'll show you someplace secret"  Ah well, that was abit awkward, but lets just deal with it for now, deciding it'd be best to leave, Ryzor hurried down the stairs just to go to the door and realize that it was locked! There was no way back out. "G-God damn this, why can't i just break down this door?" He mumbled to himself, trying to break it down. Of course, you idiot, that isn't going to work. Idiot. You don't drink powerthirst so you don't have energy legs or any stuff like that. Either way, the other choice was to go to the room with the big weird painting of a freaking fish or whatever the hell it was. . . "Abyss of the Deep" or some stupid thing like that. Either way, Ryzor went in there again just to see that one of the fences were open and there were blue footsteps leading into it.

"You're kidding me right? I have to go in THAT?" He mumbled to himself. "How the heck do i go in a painting!? That's crazy. . . I mean, I've seen crazy. I MEAN- I am crazy-- NO. WAIT." EITHER WAY, he just bolted right into the painting, tripping over stairs and falling on his face. "FUCK THIS-- i mean. . . shit. . . that hurt." Getting up, Ryzor decided to go left! * U * as he walked, he also tended to realize the text on the walls. Oh shit the walls were talking to him again. "COME COME COME COME COME COME COME COME COME" "OKAY I GET IT I'M COMING." He shouted at the walls, and continued onwards to see a random blue rose in a vase. Fuck this, we're grabbing this rose and kicking over the goddamn table, then kicking open this door since you couldn't kick open the other one. . . THAT DIDN'T GO AS PLANNED. . . Okay, so now his legs hurt. Either way, he opened the door normally and walked in just to see a strange painting of a woman with closed eyes. "What the fuck is this. . . oh look. . . a key." Ryzor's attention shifted to the key and then he just PICKS IT UP. And that was when that stupid painting started to grin and stare at him out of nowhere which really freaked him out and he left. Walking in the direction he came he stopped for a moment and looked at the walls.

Now, when the lavender-haired man had come once again to the artist Weiss Guertena's gallery - feeling that if he wanted to re-meet up with his close compainon Ib anywhere, this would be the best and most logical spot to do so: after all, they'd made a promise to meet again so he could give her handkerchief back to her - he found himself gazing on the paintings with a solemn sort of recalling. The 'Lady in Red' which had chased them both so many times, and been the cause of he and the girl meeting to begin with.

The headless mannequins. Some of the paints he found himself deliberately walking faster by, for they reminded him of things in the gallery he would rather not remember. (There had been so many nightmares about that creepy doll days after the incident it wasn't funny.) Yet despite the dark memories, it was this gallery that had brought himself and Ib to meet, so he was thankful for that at least. Then, he came across the most memorable piece. The painting that had started everything. 'Fabricated World'. Hm, seemed like Ib wasn't here right now. Perhaps she was at the rose statue instead? A sudden flickering of the lights disrupted his line of thought.

This was...almost like before. No, it couldn't be. Probably just a problem with the lights. Walking around, it became impossible to see where he was, his feelings of unease escalating to fear quite quickly. J-just a power outage! Nothing to be alarmed of! However, as he suddenly saw where he was going again, there was much reason to be alarmed. He was standing in front of that painting again, an all-too-familiar blue rose sitting in a vase of water in front of him.

Oh no. Oh no no no!

This couldn't be happening again - it couldn't! As nerve-wrecking as the impending fear was, he knew better than to leave the rose there, if this was happening again. Even if you didn't take the rose, you would still be 'connected' with it. The familiar bloodied text appeared - 'thief' 'Thief' 'THIEF', it said. Finding a half-choked squeal emitting from his countenance, he fled, the rose carefully held in hand.

However, he hadn't been as careful as he would have liked due to his panicked run - he ran into several 'hands' poking out of the walls in his frightened fleeing, and the rose lost petals. He...he couldn't run any more. This truly was like the nightmare from before...only this time, it seemed terrifyingly unlikely anyone would find him.

"Dearest Ib...I'm so sorry we couldn't meet again..."

With that whisper, he couldn't hang on any longer, collapsing with the half-wilted rose still in his hands. 

But thought he thought the unconciousness would last forver, he found himself waking up - an  shadow-hidden face near him, holding his rose -at full health. Someone...had saved him again?

"W-why - thank you ever so much for reviving my rose. I owe you a great deal in thanks. Would you mind...stepping closer so I can see who you are?"

When she had first heard of the new gallery - and of a less-known artist, no less! - she had, for the first time in a while, become genuinely excited. Oh, it had been quite a while since an exhibit of some sort caught her eye... The feeling was, well, refreshing, to say the least. It seemed as if it was just yesterday that she remained the secluded nineteen-year-old she formerly was - but compared to her demeanour now, she had made drastic improvement with her outlook towards the outside. Albeit small at first, she had made gradual progress, becoming a bit more comfortable with leaving her studio each day and going to places; the process had started with her visiting places nearby and then, eventually, further out. And now... Now, she was truly prepared to spend a day at this artist's gallery, not only to examine and admire his work but to also pick up a few tips from him. Oh, what a mistake that had been...! She had taken an interest in a quaint little mural by the name of "Fabricated World", an abstract work that gave her...discomfort - was that even a suitable word? Either way, she felt uneasy and just as she was about to go and view the other paintings, things got even weirder: the lights flickered, an unknown being was calling for her, inviting her to come down, and what really took the cake was that she jumped into a painting. And as if things couldn't get any weirder, she stumbled upon a rose, a violet rose.  Taking it was her second mistake. 'When the rose wilts, so will you too wilt away'...? A strange rule regarding the rose, in her opinion, but she paid it no mind for now and ventured onwards through the gallery. Exiting the room she was in prior, the next thing that unsettled her was the sudden text - 'THIEF'. Was she not to take the rose...? Would returning resolve the issue? She hadn't much time to mull over it for she soon entered a sticky situation. Did those mannequins move...? And the paintings...? No... There was no way-- Oh, but they were! More importantly, they were coming after her! Disregarding her poor stamina, she took off running, running further into the depths of the gallery - well, it was more of an oblivion now.

Somewhere along the line, she must've taken damaged for she had no recollection of what happened after her pursuit, and she felt incredibly weak. Weak as she did when she was in her coma. Feeling someone take the rose from her possession, her breath hitched as she knew what that meant - she was going to die here. Shutting her eyes, she waited for her body to draw its last breath. Father, I'll be joining you soon, was her last thought. But fortunately, it wasn't so.

The stranger returned, her rose in full health; she immediately felt her body recover. Vera blinked a few times as if to assure her that she wasn't dreaming, and then it spoke to her: 'Are you someone from the gallery?' Her hesitant nod and a weak smile was her reply to its question.