legionmissions | THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

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THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS - Modplot

Like many cursed objects, the cursed floppy disk containing Tsarista was unearthed by archaeologists, trying to excavate artifacts related to Earth's heroic history. Mystified as to why it was preserved in a strange container that seemed meant to protect it from corruption, they'd created a makeshift system to try to view the data on the ancient device.

Opening the .txt file of "Troubleshooting Windows '95" on it, opened up the world to a whole lot of trouble.

After breaking free -- and through the roof of the archaeology building of the university -- the evil queen cackles in delight at the new world she's found herself in. Nearby television "personalities" recording a puff piece in the park, quickly turn their camera drones on the escaped Queen, broadcasting her to the entire UP.

"At last! I'm free! And oh me, oh my, has the world changed. What a narrative mess it is now, so complicated. And fraught with conflict that isn't easily resolved. And there are so many new settings, in all these UP worlds! No matter. I'll fix it all. I'll make it so everything makes sense."

With a snap of her fingers, magic light pours through the nearby New Metropolis media archives, and everything from datachips, to rare paper books, to flexi tablets came pouring out, swirling around her in a storm of paper that quickly turns into a storm of words.

"My name is Tsarista. Queen Tsarista. And I'm going to turn this galaxy of blank pages into a carefully curated masterpiece -- ruled by me, of course!"

After the display, there's only one way to stop the bubble of unreality that's settled over New Metropolis: by going in and tearing it down from the inside.

Threaded | Flat

Well. A glass chamber. A toilet. A sci-fi bed. And a radio playing cheery music. This probably isn't quite what was expected when they entered, but there they were.

The music plays for a moment before there's the soft noise of a PA system activating. "Hello," says Babbage's familiar voice. Nothing too bad about- "and, again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center."

Oh.

"Your specimen has been processed and we are now ready to begin the test proper. Before we start, however, keep in mind that although fun and learning are the primary goals of all enrichment center activities, serious injuries may occur. For your own safety and the safety of others, please refrain from--" There's a sudden electronic noise, and his voice picks up in pitch and speed, barely understandable. "-Por favor bordón de fallar Muchos gracias de fallar gracias--and back. The portal will open in three, two, one."

There's a soft noise and a hole appears in the wall. They can see themselves, crowded into the tiny room through the portal. It leads to a small room where the cell they were in seems to have taken up most of the room. If they walk around, they can see a regular doorway leading to a room with a big red button.

Good luck.

When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world. His hand rose and fell softly with each precious breath. He pushed away the plastic tarpaulin and raised himself in the stinking robes and blankets and looked toward the east for any light but there was none.

With the first gray light he rose and left the boy sleeping and walked out to the road and squatted and studied the country to the south. Barren, silent, godless.

Rich looks down at himself, at his dust-covered filthy clothes and at the revolver in his belt, and gives a flat look to the sky.

"Why are you so committed to having me be Viggo Mortensen today?"

Twice now. Twice.

Rich sighs, coughs slightly because of the odd hitch in his lung, and goes back to the tarp, kneeling next to Sam and gently shaking his shoulder with a grungy hand.

"Hey, Sam," he says gently. "Wake up, kiddo."

When Sam wakes, the first thing he'll see a bearded, gaunt, grubby hobo hovering over him.

Edited 2017-03-25 04:05 (UTC)

As soon as Seras stepped into the bubble she felt like she was home. Things were familiar to her, yet different. She recognized the streets of London, but things seemed a bit different. Like she wasn't in the right era. The streets weren't lit with modern lights, rather they were lit with gas flames and the buildings seemed older than she remembered.

The biggest change wasn't with the city, but rather with her own clothing. Gone was the uniform that she was just getting used to and in its place was a dark dress of some sort of fabric and her boots with heels. Seras wasn't used to wearing high heels at all and she had to walk carefully or she would end up twisting an ankle or something like that.

Something was drawing her to one of the houses, and she let it guide her. Maybe if she followed what was leading her, she would be able to get out of here. She stood at the door of a house and looked up. She didn't recognize it at all, but for some reason it felt familiar to her. Before she realized what she was doing, she was inside the house and in a bedroom.

"It's been years since I've slept in a bed," Seras said quietly as she found herself climbing into it, suddenly very tired.

Edited 2017-03-28 04:28 (UTC)

They're in high school and it's like they're supposed to be there. Like they've always been there. They just suddenly find themselves sitting at a table in a high school cafeteria, like that's just perfectly normal place to be after going into a magic bubble.

And they're both randomly older, because why not.

"If people start singing, I'm throwing myself out a window."

Please, God, let it not be that kind of high school story.

[cw: horror canon, so gore, monsters, war, probably dead kids, evil clowns, the works]

It's dusk and it's raining in Derry.

Rich sits on a porch that isn't quite his and watches it all come down. It isn't quite his because the house is his house and isn't his house. The story took a little bit of inspiration from his mind, just enough that the siding of the house is a certain familiar shade, and the mailbox looks the same as it always did, but despite his brain trying to tell him it's his childhood porch, in front of his childhood home, he knows it's not.

Just like the street in front of him isn't the street he grew up on in Long Island, no matter how much his brain is trying to tell him it is.

His hands aren't his own, either -- or at least tiny hands like that haven't been his for a very long time. When he looks down at himself, what he sees is familiar, but only vaguely. It's a once-familiar sight long forgotten; he only barely recognizes it as himself.

"Blue blazes, what is all this?"

People's forms have been changed by the stories, though. His was changed more than once. Is that what this is?

He turns to see who's with him and is more confused than he should be to see another kid, and more confused than he should be about that kid's identity. His brain flickers through his mental "look out for the bitty ones" Rolodex -- not Sam, not Dave, not Dipper, not that quiet kid with the dog, not that new kid Danny, not Kubo, not --

Too blonde. There's no blonde kids on the team -- not normal blonde anyway, Dave's hair is almost white -- and then his brain kicks itself with a big ol' "If you're a kid, one of the other adults got turned into a kid, too, duh."

Then it gets easier. He met Robbie closer to childhood than Robbie'd met him, still toothpick skinny and small. Eyes squinting, he finds Robbie in that face and in that shade of blonde hair. The only other blondes are Wash and Grif, anyway, and he figures young Grif would look more...ferrety, and the boy's eyes are a familiar, specific sharp shade of blue.

"Robbie?"

Edited 2017-03-30 18:09 (UTC)

It's a story everyone's heard before. It transcends time, genre, and even other universes. A hero faces off against a cruel villain to rescue a fair maiden.

Anyone could break free from a simple trap like this--and that's why Tsarista has engineered a little twist. Instead of overpowering Legionnaires with villains of her creation, she will set them against the villains among themselves.

Three Legionnaires found themselves within the crumbling walls of what was once a great stone castle. Most of the wooden roof had rotted away long ago, leaving nothing to protect them from the rumbling gray clouds threatening rain overhead. Grass grew between the large flat stones that made up the floor and thick green moss crawled up and down the walls. A fire crackled in a tremendous hearth that was protected from the elements by the last remaining portion of the roof.

There by the fireside, a figure in a regal white and gold dress was tied tightly to a chair. Behind the chair stood Videl, dressed in a luxurious red gown with intricate embroidery and a plunging neckline that left very little to the imagination. Two crooked black horns grew out of either side of her head, draped in silver and jewels. In her left hand, she held a black scepter topped with a flaming orb.

"Oh, you foolish hero," she chided, gaze directed not her captive, but across the empty stone expanse of the old castle where stood a gallant figure bearing sword and shield. "Trying to rescue my dear princess, are you?"

Threaded | Flat

no subject

The Road - closed to Sam and Rich

Dracula

Dipper and Pidge - Twilight

IT - closed to Robbie and Rich

Rescue the Princess - Fareeha, Vance, and Videl