Not for the first time in his life, Will Stanton woke up groggily after a fight.
'Waking up' and 'getting up' are, of course, two different things, and Will had been through enough in his life to know that sitting up quickly in shock and confusion was a good way to get one's head caved in. Will's head was more resliant to cave-ins than most, but still, best practices, right?
First thing first -- he was in human form. That had long ago stopped being a default option, but it was more common than not, so we'll chalk that up in the 'OK' pile. The last thing he remembered -- the last thing he remembered wasn't humanoid. It was being crammed, fist by fist, into a bottle, losing cohesion. So the fact that he was back in one piece was...good, probably. We'll take the 'didn't shift into this form' fact, put that in a little box, put that box to the side, and address that later.
Next thing -- he was immobilized. Stretched, spread eagle, and suspended above something by his wrists and ankles. Metal cuffs of some description? Cold metal, at that, and snug. Not quite digging into the flesh, which is always a positive sign, but designed for functionality first and foremost. Old school, too. Nowadays -- whatever 'nowadays' meant to someone who had lived the length of the universe and then some -- villains tended to have fancy plasma cuffs or electromagnetic doohickies. These were real, and solid, and tingled a little at point of contact. No real slack, either. Someone had done some precise measurements in this setup, perhaps? Or he had subconsciously shifted to fit the measurements of whatever contraption this was? Either way, it was professionally done with a material that couldn't have been easy to work with.
Third thing -- he was stark naked, if the feeling of cool air meant anything. Well, he supposed he hadn't been wearing any clothes when he was grabbed, so that could just be a reflection of his...collected state? Until he had some idea of what Ryn had wanted by grabbing him, this just raised more questions than answers. But this, too, wasn't too far out of the realm of normal experience for Will; far from his first rodeo, as it were.
Anyway, all he had to do was just shift his wrists and ankles to liquid for a moment, get free and...
...
I said, all he had to do was just shift his wrists and ankles for a moment, get himself free, and then...
...
Shift. Shift your wrists and ankles. Slip out of the cuffs. Slip through the cuffs. Melt through the cuffs. Absorb the cuffs. Something other than just sit here and...
...
Nothing. No movement, the cells in his body refusing to obey his command. Drugs? His mind was clear; no trouble processing or feeling out the situation. Magic? Always a possibility -- especially coupled with the metal cuffs and the vague tingling sensation -- but that usually left a funny aftertaste in his mouth; something he'd learned from far too many early morning practice sessions with Nailah Weaver, and there was none of that. Mind control? Will knew what mind control felt like; the sensation of fingers winding their way through his thoughts and feelings. If this was mind control, it was subtle and precise -- and it was doubtful that there was anyone out there capable of being more subtle than Melpomene when she wanted to. And if there was, well, then he was in real trouble.
- Xaviers! - Summer of... something?
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[Activity] A Force of Will
12 posts
• Page 1 of 1
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Will Stanton - Student
- High Concept: Pillsbury Clayboy
- Aspect: Needs to be Useful/Used
- Aspect: Out of Place, Out of Time
- Aspect: Unique Worldview
- Aspect: Big Ball of Trauma
- Aspect: Open-Hearted
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Fri Feb 02, 2024 6:40 pm
Wyll Wildclay watched as this...this thing, this glorious, mysterious, tantalizing thing lay in front of them.
He had woken up, but hadn't shown it. Maybe someone less accustomed to that face, the lines of the jaw, the pattern of breathing might not have caught it. But fooling a former member of the Seelie Court was a tough task at the best of times, with all the fortune in the world at your back. And the Wildclay had long made sure to never let fortune line up against him; not in that way, never again.
Plus -- I mean, look at him! If anyone knew that form better than Wylliam Wyldclay, they'd best cut their tongue from their mouths and feed it to starlings before attempting to claim the same to him. No, this was definitely a version of them, from another world; another time. An impossible man, with impossible features, and impossible skills.
Collecting, categorizing, and consuming the impossible was, of course, the Wyldclay's second-biggest passion in life. It's what drew them to the Agency; what brought them into the fold of this House, with all it's rules and regulations and order. Wyll was not a fan of order, as a general rule, but when it allowed them access to all the baubles and trinkets the world had to offer, it was a small sacrifice indeed. And, as much as they'd like to deny it, the fae were a folk of rules. Spin this straw into gold and get that child. Fill out this form and get that piece of equipment. It is all, in the end, different shades and forms of the same pattern, repeated endlessly in spirals and twists that one could trace, if they so chose.
They were called an agent of Chaos by those who didn't understand. A 'trickster'. A charlatan, a con man. That's nonsense. The Wyldclay was anything but a cheat. They were, by their very nature, bound by rules and tradition. Any command, issued with enough intent, had to be followed. Any deal obeyed to the strictest letter and meaning of the word. Could the Wyldclay be blamed for being good at using the tools the world had given them? Of course not. Loopholes and workarounds were what gave Wyll any degree of freedom to begin with. Every victory, big or small, was hard-fought and earned. Every bit of fun something that defied the odds and the pressures of their very existence. Can you blame them for being a hedonist, a gourmand, a libertine, when the pleasures of life were so fleeting? When a word uttered at the wrong time could send everything crashing down?
No. Of course not. It is the children of the modern world who were wrong, and the Wyldclay who knew the truth of the way the world worked; the strings and fibers binding and stretching society. If they were a more pure and refined expression of it, so be it. All life was, at the end of the day, was pleasure and suffering. More of the former, less of the latter, and one was living their life to the best of their abilities.
Which brings Wyll back to the form lying in front of them, does it not? From the words of the Siren and the testimony of the Deva, this funhouse version of them lacks the ties that bind the Wyldclay so tightly. Oh, yes, the descriptions had been short and clinical, and blind. The Wyldclay knew a kindred spirit when he heard of one, and watching this one begin to flex and twitch, trying to slip free of the manacles the Wyldclay had so carefully arranged confirmed it, deep in his soul. This was a Wild Clay, even if it didn't know it. But one unbound and unbindable. Trapped in a mirror construct? They had to construct something to give this one form. Which means that that it wasn't inherent to them.
This...this Will was his own thing. Free from the rules that governed the Wyldclay. That, in and of itself, was enticing enough. They had to know more. They had to know all. And if he required to be bound, less he overflowed, then perhaps this creature required some of the Wyldclay's own structure. Fair exchange. Puck, heal thyself, even if thine self is from a strange dimension devoid of hairspray and shoulderpads.
And so Wyll Wyldclay watched, as Will Stanton's breathing increased, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and torso in concentration and exertion, as he tried to slip free from his salvation.
He had woken up, but hadn't shown it. Maybe someone less accustomed to that face, the lines of the jaw, the pattern of breathing might not have caught it. But fooling a former member of the Seelie Court was a tough task at the best of times, with all the fortune in the world at your back. And the Wildclay had long made sure to never let fortune line up against him; not in that way, never again.
Plus -- I mean, look at him! If anyone knew that form better than Wylliam Wyldclay, they'd best cut their tongue from their mouths and feed it to starlings before attempting to claim the same to him. No, this was definitely a version of them, from another world; another time. An impossible man, with impossible features, and impossible skills.
Collecting, categorizing, and consuming the impossible was, of course, the Wyldclay's second-biggest passion in life. It's what drew them to the Agency; what brought them into the fold of this House, with all it's rules and regulations and order. Wyll was not a fan of order, as a general rule, but when it allowed them access to all the baubles and trinkets the world had to offer, it was a small sacrifice indeed. And, as much as they'd like to deny it, the fae were a folk of rules. Spin this straw into gold and get that child. Fill out this form and get that piece of equipment. It is all, in the end, different shades and forms of the same pattern, repeated endlessly in spirals and twists that one could trace, if they so chose.
They were called an agent of Chaos by those who didn't understand. A 'trickster'. A charlatan, a con man. That's nonsense. The Wyldclay was anything but a cheat. They were, by their very nature, bound by rules and tradition. Any command, issued with enough intent, had to be followed. Any deal obeyed to the strictest letter and meaning of the word. Could the Wyldclay be blamed for being good at using the tools the world had given them? Of course not. Loopholes and workarounds were what gave Wyll any degree of freedom to begin with. Every victory, big or small, was hard-fought and earned. Every bit of fun something that defied the odds and the pressures of their very existence. Can you blame them for being a hedonist, a gourmand, a libertine, when the pleasures of life were so fleeting? When a word uttered at the wrong time could send everything crashing down?
No. Of course not. It is the children of the modern world who were wrong, and the Wyldclay who knew the truth of the way the world worked; the strings and fibers binding and stretching society. If they were a more pure and refined expression of it, so be it. All life was, at the end of the day, was pleasure and suffering. More of the former, less of the latter, and one was living their life to the best of their abilities.
Which brings Wyll back to the form lying in front of them, does it not? From the words of the Siren and the testimony of the Deva, this funhouse version of them lacks the ties that bind the Wyldclay so tightly. Oh, yes, the descriptions had been short and clinical, and blind. The Wyldclay knew a kindred spirit when he heard of one, and watching this one begin to flex and twitch, trying to slip free of the manacles the Wyldclay had so carefully arranged confirmed it, deep in his soul. This was a Wild Clay, even if it didn't know it. But one unbound and unbindable. Trapped in a mirror construct? They had to construct something to give this one form. Which means that that it wasn't inherent to them.
This...this Will was his own thing. Free from the rules that governed the Wyldclay. That, in and of itself, was enticing enough. They had to know more. They had to know all. And if he required to be bound, less he overflowed, then perhaps this creature required some of the Wyldclay's own structure. Fair exchange. Puck, heal thyself, even if thine self is from a strange dimension devoid of hairspray and shoulderpads.
And so Wyll Wyldclay watched, as Will Stanton's breathing increased, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and torso in concentration and exertion, as he tried to slip free from his salvation.
Re: A Force of Will
by Will Stanton » Tue Feb 06, 2024 6:06 pm
Eventually, Will had to stop playing possum -- no sense of insulting the intelligence of whoever had brought him here. And, whoever it was was...humming? Something high and familiar...
"No product, even simulated. You do come from a strange and wonderous land, don't you?"
The Wyldclay was running their hands through Will's hair, digging in and letting the green locks fall through their fingers. Every now and again, they would take a firmer grip and tug, moving Will's head left to right as they observed him.
"Wh...Legion?" Will asked, trying to hold in a sudden gasp of air as his head was yanked back and to one side, staring up at the long-haired...creature who shared his jawline. "...Null?"
"Oh, good, you're familiar. That will save us some time," Wyll said, grinning as they rested their hand on Will's cheekbone. "I am the Wyldclay. Willyam Wyldclay. And it's my understanding that we have much to talk about. You can just relax, and take some deep breaths. I have no intent to harm you. After all, you are me. Or I am you. Or something close to those lines, yes?" Wyll grinned, their mouth full of far too many teeth.
"Wyldclay? Cute," Will responded, deadpan. He swallowed, trying to retain his composure, and watched as Wyldclay's eyes followed his bobbing adam's apple. "I suppose you're the one who sent Ryn after me?"
"Mmm," Wyldclay hummed, agreeably, as they moved their hand across Will's face, propping his eye open to look inside.. "I thought it was high past time to introduce myself to a sibling.
Or, at least, part of one..." they grinned, looking at their own reflection in Will's pupil.
"That jar...it did something to me. That's your doing?" Will said, trying to squint against the Wyldclay's examination.
"In a manner of speaking, but do not worry. The Deva was not interested enough to understand the power of what she wielded," Wyldclay grinned, reaching over to run one finger down Will's nose. "The rim was coated in a fine powder, mostly moly and amaranth," they explained. "'Moly and spite a woman make, may every man his true form take.' Your clay is interesting, did you know?
I'm not sure anyone but you or I could really tell, but yours is...sweeter. Not in taste, of course, but in...essence. It really is peculiar. And, of course, the label is another matter entirely. With control over your true form missing, you would have shifted to match the properly labeled contents. Always so willing to please, the Wild Clay, is it not? It is a good thing the Deva has the curiosity and fascination of a particularly dull dishrag, or you may have been in real danger," Wyldclay said, giggling as Will once more tested the resiliency of his chains.
"Some magical nonsense. Understood," Will sighed, steeling himself against the Wyldclay's touch. "I suppose that's why I can't shift, yes? The herbs locking me in a 'true form'?"
To that, the Wyldclay giggled more, swinging one leg over Will to sit down on his bare chest, ignoring Will's grunt as he was now supporting an extra 150-odd pounds on his manacled ankles and wrists. "Your true form? Oh, tamed clay, you ARE so silly," they grinned, placing one hand on both of Will's cheeks. "This may be the form you were born with, but this isn't your true self, and you know it. At least, I assume you know it. You are the looking glass, after all; the One who is Many, the Bouba itself. Your true self is wonderful, and malleable, and comforting," Wyll continued, slipping their thumbs into Will's mouth and running them over his teeth. "And what you are to anyone else is just their version of you, not your version of you. Perhaps I can find your version of you; I'm the closest thing you have to a reflection of your own, am I not?" they grinned, leaning in closer, so Will could feel the Wyldclay's breath on their face. "And as for why you can't shift..."
The Wyldclay slid their index fingers into Will's mouth, pinching his tongue. And then they pulled, tugging and leaning back as Will's tongue slid out, longer and longer, stretching two, three, four feet in length as the Wildclay wrapped it around their arm like collecting a loose hose. Will's eyes widened, feeling his body stretching and pulling beyond his control, the taste of the Wyldclay's earthy fingers still filling his senses. He tried to protest, tried to exclaim, but it turns out it's very hard to form coherent sentences when...
"Fae's got your tongue?" Wyldclay grinned, lifting one foot up to grab Will's tongue between their toes and free up a hand. "Well, let me see if I can't explain a little more. See, I said your clay was different, but it's still ours, is it not? Yours and mine, just a little different. And you can control our clay. And I can control our clay. So we should be on equal footing here. Two Wild Clays, two bodies, two minds and two souls. Except that's not the case, is it? I am the Wyldclay. All of me is him, and I am all of it. But you? You're not all of the Stanton. That's back in your room, back in your mirror, snug as a bug in a rug.
You're not even half of you. You're not even a part of you. In the grand and total scheme of things, you're a lemma; an epsilon. You are unique and wonderful and special and about as significant as the dirt under one of my toenails," the Wyldclay grinned. "So what we actually have here, then, is not two Wild Clays, both alike in lack of dignity. We have one and a little itty bitty tiny bit. And so, in a battle of Wyllpower, I'm afraid you might find yourself coming up a wee bit lacking," Wyldclay grinned, releasing Will's tongue and letting it rapidly retract back into his mouth, the recoil causing it to slap into his own face before fully retracting.
Will sputtered, in a strange mixture of shock and surprise and anger and...well, let's just stick with those three, he thought, trying to keep his own mind straight and in place. This was worse than his shifting being taken away. This was...this was...
"This is an opportunity...Wyldclay? Wyll," Will said, using the creature's first name. "Nothing's been done so far that can't be undone; nothing that can't be forgiven as a misunderstanding and a price for interdimensional meetups. You can let me go; you can undo these restraints, and it will be like this never happened. No one is going to blame you for being...overexcited," he continued, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. "And we can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about like two adult, civilized beings. No one will hold anything that's happened so far against you...
"And you can LIE!" Wyll said, boucing up and down on Will's bare chest with glee. "You can hang there, look me straight in the eye, and tell me things you know to be untrue! That's amazing.
Do it again!" Wyll grinned, resting their head in their hands and beaming down at Will. "Lie to me. I want to know what it's like."
"W...what?" Will blinked, startled by this sudden change in tact from Wyll. "What do you mean l...
"I mean LIE," Wyll grinned, running their hands up and down Will's forearms, and pressing into his chest. "I can't do it. I can twist, and I can hedge, and I can omit and mislead, but my oath means I can not, and will not, ever tell an outright falsehood. For I am an honest Puck, afterall. Your court doesn't seem to mind, however. So lie to me, Will Stanton," they grinned, sliding their hands down Will's side and scooting themselves further back on Will's bare torso.
"You have a very firm grip on your sanity," Will deadpanned. "I definitely feel like you know what your are doing, and that things are going well for both of us."
The Wyldclay squealed with glee, and lay their head to rest on Will's chest, listening to his pounding heart. "You have powers I do not, Will Stanton," the Wyldclay grinned. "You can lie, and you can disobey commands, and you can be your own creature, and not just what everyone commands of you," they said, pressing their hands on Will's chest and propping themselves back up. "You are freer than the poor Wyldclay. You have much to teach me, and I have much to learn. And yet, you are bleeding all over the place. Without structure, you threaten to explode. That's why you had the witches bind you in the looking glass, is it not?"
"How do you kn...
"I know much which you have tried to keep hidden, and much that you have kept hidden from yourself. I am you, after all, and you are me, and we are all together," Wyll grinned. "And I believe that I may be able to fix your problems as well, once I know more about them. And the closer we become, the less there's I and I and the more there's we, the more I'll know," they added, running their hands further down Will's side and grabbing him by his hips.
"No product, even simulated. You do come from a strange and wonderous land, don't you?"
The Wyldclay was running their hands through Will's hair, digging in and letting the green locks fall through their fingers. Every now and again, they would take a firmer grip and tug, moving Will's head left to right as they observed him.
"Wh...Legion?" Will asked, trying to hold in a sudden gasp of air as his head was yanked back and to one side, staring up at the long-haired...creature who shared his jawline. "...Null?"
"Oh, good, you're familiar. That will save us some time," Wyll said, grinning as they rested their hand on Will's cheekbone. "I am the Wyldclay. Willyam Wyldclay. And it's my understanding that we have much to talk about. You can just relax, and take some deep breaths. I have no intent to harm you. After all, you are me. Or I am you. Or something close to those lines, yes?" Wyll grinned, their mouth full of far too many teeth.
"Wyldclay? Cute," Will responded, deadpan. He swallowed, trying to retain his composure, and watched as Wyldclay's eyes followed his bobbing adam's apple. "I suppose you're the one who sent Ryn after me?"
"Mmm," Wyldclay hummed, agreeably, as they moved their hand across Will's face, propping his eye open to look inside.. "I thought it was high past time to introduce myself to a sibling.
Or, at least, part of one..." they grinned, looking at their own reflection in Will's pupil.
"That jar...it did something to me. That's your doing?" Will said, trying to squint against the Wyldclay's examination.
"In a manner of speaking, but do not worry. The Deva was not interested enough to understand the power of what she wielded," Wyldclay grinned, reaching over to run one finger down Will's nose. "The rim was coated in a fine powder, mostly moly and amaranth," they explained. "'Moly and spite a woman make, may every man his true form take.' Your clay is interesting, did you know?
I'm not sure anyone but you or I could really tell, but yours is...sweeter. Not in taste, of course, but in...essence. It really is peculiar. And, of course, the label is another matter entirely. With control over your true form missing, you would have shifted to match the properly labeled contents. Always so willing to please, the Wild Clay, is it not? It is a good thing the Deva has the curiosity and fascination of a particularly dull dishrag, or you may have been in real danger," Wyldclay said, giggling as Will once more tested the resiliency of his chains.
"Some magical nonsense. Understood," Will sighed, steeling himself against the Wyldclay's touch. "I suppose that's why I can't shift, yes? The herbs locking me in a 'true form'?"
To that, the Wyldclay giggled more, swinging one leg over Will to sit down on his bare chest, ignoring Will's grunt as he was now supporting an extra 150-odd pounds on his manacled ankles and wrists. "Your true form? Oh, tamed clay, you ARE so silly," they grinned, placing one hand on both of Will's cheeks. "This may be the form you were born with, but this isn't your true self, and you know it. At least, I assume you know it. You are the looking glass, after all; the One who is Many, the Bouba itself. Your true self is wonderful, and malleable, and comforting," Wyll continued, slipping their thumbs into Will's mouth and running them over his teeth. "And what you are to anyone else is just their version of you, not your version of you. Perhaps I can find your version of you; I'm the closest thing you have to a reflection of your own, am I not?" they grinned, leaning in closer, so Will could feel the Wyldclay's breath on their face. "And as for why you can't shift..."
The Wyldclay slid their index fingers into Will's mouth, pinching his tongue. And then they pulled, tugging and leaning back as Will's tongue slid out, longer and longer, stretching two, three, four feet in length as the Wildclay wrapped it around their arm like collecting a loose hose. Will's eyes widened, feeling his body stretching and pulling beyond his control, the taste of the Wyldclay's earthy fingers still filling his senses. He tried to protest, tried to exclaim, but it turns out it's very hard to form coherent sentences when...
"Fae's got your tongue?" Wyldclay grinned, lifting one foot up to grab Will's tongue between their toes and free up a hand. "Well, let me see if I can't explain a little more. See, I said your clay was different, but it's still ours, is it not? Yours and mine, just a little different. And you can control our clay. And I can control our clay. So we should be on equal footing here. Two Wild Clays, two bodies, two minds and two souls. Except that's not the case, is it? I am the Wyldclay. All of me is him, and I am all of it. But you? You're not all of the Stanton. That's back in your room, back in your mirror, snug as a bug in a rug.
You're not even half of you. You're not even a part of you. In the grand and total scheme of things, you're a lemma; an epsilon. You are unique and wonderful and special and about as significant as the dirt under one of my toenails," the Wyldclay grinned. "So what we actually have here, then, is not two Wild Clays, both alike in lack of dignity. We have one and a little itty bitty tiny bit. And so, in a battle of Wyllpower, I'm afraid you might find yourself coming up a wee bit lacking," Wyldclay grinned, releasing Will's tongue and letting it rapidly retract back into his mouth, the recoil causing it to slap into his own face before fully retracting.
Will sputtered, in a strange mixture of shock and surprise and anger and...well, let's just stick with those three, he thought, trying to keep his own mind straight and in place. This was worse than his shifting being taken away. This was...this was...
"This is an opportunity...Wyldclay? Wyll," Will said, using the creature's first name. "Nothing's been done so far that can't be undone; nothing that can't be forgiven as a misunderstanding and a price for interdimensional meetups. You can let me go; you can undo these restraints, and it will be like this never happened. No one is going to blame you for being...overexcited," he continued, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. "And we can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about like two adult, civilized beings. No one will hold anything that's happened so far against you...
"And you can LIE!" Wyll said, boucing up and down on Will's bare chest with glee. "You can hang there, look me straight in the eye, and tell me things you know to be untrue! That's amazing.
Do it again!" Wyll grinned, resting their head in their hands and beaming down at Will. "Lie to me. I want to know what it's like."
"W...what?" Will blinked, startled by this sudden change in tact from Wyll. "What do you mean l...
"I mean LIE," Wyll grinned, running their hands up and down Will's forearms, and pressing into his chest. "I can't do it. I can twist, and I can hedge, and I can omit and mislead, but my oath means I can not, and will not, ever tell an outright falsehood. For I am an honest Puck, afterall. Your court doesn't seem to mind, however. So lie to me, Will Stanton," they grinned, sliding their hands down Will's side and scooting themselves further back on Will's bare torso.
"You have a very firm grip on your sanity," Will deadpanned. "I definitely feel like you know what your are doing, and that things are going well for both of us."
The Wyldclay squealed with glee, and lay their head to rest on Will's chest, listening to his pounding heart. "You have powers I do not, Will Stanton," the Wyldclay grinned. "You can lie, and you can disobey commands, and you can be your own creature, and not just what everyone commands of you," they said, pressing their hands on Will's chest and propping themselves back up. "You are freer than the poor Wyldclay. You have much to teach me, and I have much to learn. And yet, you are bleeding all over the place. Without structure, you threaten to explode. That's why you had the witches bind you in the looking glass, is it not?"
"How do you kn...
"I know much which you have tried to keep hidden, and much that you have kept hidden from yourself. I am you, after all, and you are me, and we are all together," Wyll grinned. "And I believe that I may be able to fix your problems as well, once I know more about them. And the closer we become, the less there's I and I and the more there's we, the more I'll know," they added, running their hands further down Will's side and grabbing him by his hips.
-
Will Stanton - Student
- High Concept: Pillsbury Clayboy
- Aspect: Needs to be Useful/Used
- Aspect: Out of Place, Out of Time
- Aspect: Unique Worldview
- Aspect: Big Ball of Trauma
- Aspect: Open-Hearted
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Wed Feb 07, 2024 7:08 pm
Will swallowed, looking up at the Wyldclay's near-feral grin. His brain spun at a mile a minute, trying to figure out a way out of this mess. Not being able to shift was constricting and causing his heart to hammer in his chest, something he was sure the Wyldclay could hear. But, keeping calm was important in situations like this. Remember your training. Wyldclay had said something. What had he said? Focus on the words, not the message... something about commands?
"Alright, then..." Will said, steeling himself. "Wyldclay, I order you to stop what you're doing."
Wyldclay stopped in midmotion, their hands still on Will's hips, looking their counterpart in the eye. If they were upset with Will's order, they didn't show it; that same, apparently irreplaceable grin plastered onto their face, their eyes challenging Will as to what to do next.
"Alright. I need you to take a step back," Will said, pausing when he saw Wyldclay not move. "Wyldclay, take a step back," Will ordered.
The Wyldclay grinned, and took a step back...keepings their arms elongated to remain on Will's hips, the little shit.
Will frowned. "I want you to release me, now, Wyldclay. I don't want to take part in this...game of yours."
The Wyldclay giggled back. "There you go again, lying," they said. "Because although I've got your shifting on lockdown, I'm not responsible for that,", they grinned. Two sets of eyes tracked their way to Will's nethers. Will, being very much of flesh and blood at the moment, had reacted quite positively to the Wyldclay's ministrations, twitching as the fae's hands slid under his rear.. "Or, well, I suppose I am in my own way. Really, it's quite flattering."
Will opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden gesture from Wyldclay stopped him in his tracks -- his lips melding together and welding shut, skin stitching itself over his lower jaw until there was no sign a mouth had ever been there to begin with.
"Now, we've had enough chat." Wyll smiled. "Let's get to know each other just a little bit better shall we?" they grinned, lowering themselves to their knees.
((FTB))
"Alright, then..." Will said, steeling himself. "Wyldclay, I order you to stop what you're doing."
Wyldclay stopped in midmotion, their hands still on Will's hips, looking their counterpart in the eye. If they were upset with Will's order, they didn't show it; that same, apparently irreplaceable grin plastered onto their face, their eyes challenging Will as to what to do next.
"Alright. I need you to take a step back," Will said, pausing when he saw Wyldclay not move. "Wyldclay, take a step back," Will ordered.
The Wyldclay grinned, and took a step back...keepings their arms elongated to remain on Will's hips, the little shit.
Will frowned. "I want you to release me, now, Wyldclay. I don't want to take part in this...game of yours."
The Wyldclay giggled back. "There you go again, lying," they said. "Because although I've got your shifting on lockdown, I'm not responsible for that,", they grinned. Two sets of eyes tracked their way to Will's nethers. Will, being very much of flesh and blood at the moment, had reacted quite positively to the Wyldclay's ministrations, twitching as the fae's hands slid under his rear.. "Or, well, I suppose I am in my own way. Really, it's quite flattering."
Will opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden gesture from Wyldclay stopped him in his tracks -- his lips melding together and welding shut, skin stitching itself over his lower jaw until there was no sign a mouth had ever been there to begin with.
"Now, we've had enough chat." Wyll smiled. "Let's get to know each other just a little bit better shall we?" they grinned, lowering themselves to their knees.
((FTB))
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Wed Feb 07, 2024 11:59 pm
*Several days later*
*POP* *nnnnnn*
Wyldclay whistled to theirself as they reorganized several boxes on the shelves deep within their equipment room, moving chests of plates from civilizations that never existed from one room to another as they browsed, looking for inspiration and creativity.
Their jaws smacked up and down as they worked, nosily chewing in a way that would surely annoy anyone around them, if there was anyone around them to annoy. With only one person in the room, though, that wasn't a major concern.
One person being the active word, of course. Wyll began to blow, a forest-green gum bubble slowly forming. As the sphere stretched, growing more taut by the second, Will's strained expression could be seen plastered across the surface. He expanded and inflated to the edge of his resistance, before Wyll reached up and popped him with one sharp fingernail, a gasp and moan echoing through the small room as the gum splattered across Wyll's face.
Wyll slurped the gum renants back up, once more pulping Will between their teeth, and using their tongue as a fulcrum to stretch, crush and grind their dimensional counterpart. Will become more malleable and chewey, mixing with the fae's hot saliva as he continued his role as a shapeless, gummy mass. The Wyldclay savored the sweet taste as they went about their workday, whistling to themselves as they continued their work; challenging themself to see just how big of a bubble they could blow.
Every so often, they would tap the side of their cheek and give a command -- "Strawberry. Orange. Cinnamon roll. Liver and onions. Wet grass. A first kiss." -- ensuring a continued novelty in the flavors they were enjoying. This was, of course, performative -- the Wyldclay maintained control over Will's shifting. But training is as training does, and the Wyldclay was nothing if not thorough.
*POP* *nnnnnnn*
*POP* *nnnnnn*
Wyldclay whistled to theirself as they reorganized several boxes on the shelves deep within their equipment room, moving chests of plates from civilizations that never existed from one room to another as they browsed, looking for inspiration and creativity.
Their jaws smacked up and down as they worked, nosily chewing in a way that would surely annoy anyone around them, if there was anyone around them to annoy. With only one person in the room, though, that wasn't a major concern.
One person being the active word, of course. Wyll began to blow, a forest-green gum bubble slowly forming. As the sphere stretched, growing more taut by the second, Will's strained expression could be seen plastered across the surface. He expanded and inflated to the edge of his resistance, before Wyll reached up and popped him with one sharp fingernail, a gasp and moan echoing through the small room as the gum splattered across Wyll's face.
Wyll slurped the gum renants back up, once more pulping Will between their teeth, and using their tongue as a fulcrum to stretch, crush and grind their dimensional counterpart. Will become more malleable and chewey, mixing with the fae's hot saliva as he continued his role as a shapeless, gummy mass. The Wyldclay savored the sweet taste as they went about their workday, whistling to themselves as they continued their work; challenging themself to see just how big of a bubble they could blow.
Every so often, they would tap the side of their cheek and give a command -- "Strawberry. Orange. Cinnamon roll. Liver and onions. Wet grass. A first kiss." -- ensuring a continued novelty in the flavors they were enjoying. This was, of course, performative -- the Wyldclay maintained control over Will's shifting. But training is as training does, and the Wyldclay was nothing if not thorough.
*POP* *nnnnnnn*
Re: A Force of Will
by Will Stanton » Thu Feb 08, 2024 7:56 pm
It turns out, being used as gum is quite the overwhelming sensory experience -- perhaps that, after all, was the point, if the Wyldclay even had a point. Most of the time, as an object, Will was mostly sitting there, passively experiencing the world. As a mirror, sure, he was constantly reflecting the interior of the dorm room, and experiencing whatever Sam or Miriam was doing when they were in range of his surface, but that was, for the most part, 'sitting there', or occasionally 'walking towards a door' -- not exactly an action-packed, thrilling lifestyle. And even things that saw more constant use, it was usually repetitive use, or use over a short period of time.
This, however, was different. While there was certainly an element of repetition and patterns, the repeated action of being grinded and crushed between the Wyldclay's teeth was different enough to require near-constant attention; the fae's tongue constantly finding new ways to twist and slide the X-Man around the interior of their mouth, bending and twisting him in novel ways -- now sliding him across the surface of an incisor, now pressing him flat against the roof of their mouth, now threatening to dangle him down their throat entirely, now rapidly crushing him between a pair of molars. Couple that with the orders to constantly be changing flavors, and there was no chance for Will to fall into a rut and enter a sort of accepting, passive state -- this was something that was actively, repeatedly happening to him, focusing his attention at all times. This, in turn, heightened his sensations to almost overwhelming degrees.
This happened, too, as the Wyldclay filled Will with his breath, the warm air expanding the X-Man with each exhale. Will felt himself gradually being stretched to his limits, his essence almost intertwining with the familiar-yet-different sensation of his dimensional duplicate. The rhythm of repeated expansion and contraction played across Will's mind and senses, the pressure induced by being put to use as the fae's snack. As the bubble reached it's apex, Will could feel the tension building within him, a sense of anticipation building as his form thinned and stretched -- sensations that were brought to the forefront as the sharp prick of Wyll's fingernail pierced his fragile surface, setting off a wave of euphoria like fireworks in his mind's eye.
And then the process repeated. Again. And again. And again...
This, however, was different. While there was certainly an element of repetition and patterns, the repeated action of being grinded and crushed between the Wyldclay's teeth was different enough to require near-constant attention; the fae's tongue constantly finding new ways to twist and slide the X-Man around the interior of their mouth, bending and twisting him in novel ways -- now sliding him across the surface of an incisor, now pressing him flat against the roof of their mouth, now threatening to dangle him down their throat entirely, now rapidly crushing him between a pair of molars. Couple that with the orders to constantly be changing flavors, and there was no chance for Will to fall into a rut and enter a sort of accepting, passive state -- this was something that was actively, repeatedly happening to him, focusing his attention at all times. This, in turn, heightened his sensations to almost overwhelming degrees.
This happened, too, as the Wyldclay filled Will with his breath, the warm air expanding the X-Man with each exhale. Will felt himself gradually being stretched to his limits, his essence almost intertwining with the familiar-yet-different sensation of his dimensional duplicate. The rhythm of repeated expansion and contraction played across Will's mind and senses, the pressure induced by being put to use as the fae's snack. As the bubble reached it's apex, Will could feel the tension building within him, a sense of anticipation building as his form thinned and stretched -- sensations that were brought to the forefront as the sharp prick of Wyll's fingernail pierced his fragile surface, setting off a wave of euphoria like fireworks in his mind's eye.
And then the process repeated. Again. And again. And again...
-
Will Stanton - Student
- High Concept: Pillsbury Clayboy
- Aspect: Needs to be Useful/Used
- Aspect: Out of Place, Out of Time
- Aspect: Unique Worldview
- Aspect: Big Ball of Trauma
- Aspect: Open-Hearted
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Fri Feb 09, 2024 6:22 pm
*Still later*
The Wyldclay leaned back in their chair, as they continued to look through dusty old books and scrolls, attempting to figure out their next steps.
Well. No. What they were actually doing was throwing pencils up at the ceiling, seeing just how many they could get stuck there. Quite a lot, too! It was forming a nice little picture up there, if they did say so themselves. And this was an important part of the creative process, of course -- not thinking about what you're thinking about helps the thinking become smoother and more defined, as the little wheels in the back of your head work on the problem at hand from a new and improved angle. The difficult bits were...
...hey. Hey you. Yeah, you reading this. You really think the Wyldclay is going to reveal their master plan to some loser on the internet? Listen, you can't just load a webpage and hope to understand the machinations of the fae. Where would the fun and effort be in that? No no no, shoo now. Shoo!
...Great, now the Wyldclay lost their train of thought. This was going to require more pencils. They stood up, ignoring the groaning sound from the chair, as the pressure was released from Will momentarily as the fae went to collect more office supplies.
The Wyldclay leaned back in their chair, as they continued to look through dusty old books and scrolls, attempting to figure out their next steps.
Well. No. What they were actually doing was throwing pencils up at the ceiling, seeing just how many they could get stuck there. Quite a lot, too! It was forming a nice little picture up there, if they did say so themselves. And this was an important part of the creative process, of course -- not thinking about what you're thinking about helps the thinking become smoother and more defined, as the little wheels in the back of your head work on the problem at hand from a new and improved angle. The difficult bits were...
...hey. Hey you. Yeah, you reading this. You really think the Wyldclay is going to reveal their master plan to some loser on the internet? Listen, you can't just load a webpage and hope to understand the machinations of the fae. Where would the fun and effort be in that? No no no, shoo now. Shoo!
...Great, now the Wyldclay lost their train of thought. This was going to require more pencils. They stood up, ignoring the groaning sound from the chair, as the pressure was released from Will momentarily as the fae went to collect more office supplies.
Re: A Force of Will
by Will Stanton » Tue Feb 13, 2024 5:32 pm
Once again, Will was left to reflect on the different philosophies of shifting in place between him and the Wyldclay -- two different takes on the same concept.
This was far from Will's first experience as a chair; it was one of his more comforting and common forms. Supportive, rested, a lot of touch and physical contact, what's not to love? But when Will chose to be a chair, his senses were sort of...evenly distributed. Chairs don't have eyes or ears or noses or anything; instead, he took all the tactile sensations from the world around him, and his mind sort of translated that into physical analogues.
With Wyldclay in charge, however, the faint outline of Will's face could be seen on the seat of the chair; his lips, cheeks and nose flattened out from the pressure of Wyll's weight. The relocation of his features altered his experience, as well. He was mostly blinded while the Wyldclay remained seated; rather than taking in visuals from all around, they were focused fairly straight up and blocked by the fae's posterior. Hearing, too, was mostly a no-go; just the steady rhythm of the fae's breath. Touch, however, was a different story. Will would admit that he enjoyed the sensation of being wrapped around his friends; he was a very touch-hungry individual. This, however, was a very hyper-focused sensation, with every slight adjustment of the fae in the chair sending ripples and tingles through his form as he molded and conformed to the contours. 'Sitting still' was apparently a novel concept for the fae, too, and the hundreds of micro-adjustments were magnified by Will's latest predicament. As for smell and taste? The essence of the Wyldclay filled Will's senses; a heady mixture of earth and salt; a bittersweet tang that remind him of morning mists and dark rooms.
The very nature of the Wyldclay's transformation of him highlighted and intensified these sensations, rather than diffusing them mildly throughout his form. When Will shifted himself into a chair, he could, if he really focused, get a similar set of of senses, but the difference was that of being in a room with an orange-scented air freshener and having someone shoving fresh oranges into your gob until you passed out -- barely even on the same scale.
And when Melpomene shifted him, she had taken great joy in either removing Will's senses entirely, leaving him adrift in a blanket of nothingness, or highlighting and amplifying the sense she felt would be least pleasant; a way of breaking him. Focusing his sense of taste, magnified 1000 fold, on an ashtray, his tongue serving as the base to collect the foul-tasting ash and be burned. Or his sense of touch being hyper-localized to an eyeball, or a pinky toe, or a testicle, taking the full brunt of whatever weight Mel decided to place upon him. This wasn't that, either. There was no sense of maliciousness in this, other than the inherent nature of his control being subverted to the impish whims of the fae.
Either way, Will was left gasping for air and moaning as the Wyldclay finally stood up, as well as a cold sensation as he was exposed to the air of the office for the first time in...hours, at least.
This was far from Will's first experience as a chair; it was one of his more comforting and common forms. Supportive, rested, a lot of touch and physical contact, what's not to love? But when Will chose to be a chair, his senses were sort of...evenly distributed. Chairs don't have eyes or ears or noses or anything; instead, he took all the tactile sensations from the world around him, and his mind sort of translated that into physical analogues.
With Wyldclay in charge, however, the faint outline of Will's face could be seen on the seat of the chair; his lips, cheeks and nose flattened out from the pressure of Wyll's weight. The relocation of his features altered his experience, as well. He was mostly blinded while the Wyldclay remained seated; rather than taking in visuals from all around, they were focused fairly straight up and blocked by the fae's posterior. Hearing, too, was mostly a no-go; just the steady rhythm of the fae's breath. Touch, however, was a different story. Will would admit that he enjoyed the sensation of being wrapped around his friends; he was a very touch-hungry individual. This, however, was a very hyper-focused sensation, with every slight adjustment of the fae in the chair sending ripples and tingles through his form as he molded and conformed to the contours. 'Sitting still' was apparently a novel concept for the fae, too, and the hundreds of micro-adjustments were magnified by Will's latest predicament. As for smell and taste? The essence of the Wyldclay filled Will's senses; a heady mixture of earth and salt; a bittersweet tang that remind him of morning mists and dark rooms.
The very nature of the Wyldclay's transformation of him highlighted and intensified these sensations, rather than diffusing them mildly throughout his form. When Will shifted himself into a chair, he could, if he really focused, get a similar set of of senses, but the difference was that of being in a room with an orange-scented air freshener and having someone shoving fresh oranges into your gob until you passed out -- barely even on the same scale.
And when Melpomene shifted him, she had taken great joy in either removing Will's senses entirely, leaving him adrift in a blanket of nothingness, or highlighting and amplifying the sense she felt would be least pleasant; a way of breaking him. Focusing his sense of taste, magnified 1000 fold, on an ashtray, his tongue serving as the base to collect the foul-tasting ash and be burned. Or his sense of touch being hyper-localized to an eyeball, or a pinky toe, or a testicle, taking the full brunt of whatever weight Mel decided to place upon him. This wasn't that, either. There was no sense of maliciousness in this, other than the inherent nature of his control being subverted to the impish whims of the fae.
Either way, Will was left gasping for air and moaning as the Wyldclay finally stood up, as well as a cold sensation as he was exposed to the air of the office for the first time in...hours, at least.
-
Will Stanton - Student
- High Concept: Pillsbury Clayboy
- Aspect: Needs to be Useful/Used
- Aspect: Out of Place, Out of Time
- Aspect: Unique Worldview
- Aspect: Big Ball of Trauma
- Aspect: Open-Hearted
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Sat Feb 17, 2024 11:06 pm
*Still later*
It was important, in any work situation, to have proper illumination. If you can't see what you're doing, then then you're liable to make mistakes. And Wyll Wyldclay doesn't make mistakes. Just happy little accidents, and even then, rarely.
The Wyldclay grabbed Will by the hair, tugging him closer to the workbench so they could see better, getting a better angle for lighting their work, and giggling a little at the muffled protest.
Why was the protest muffled? Because Will’s mouth was full, of course. And why was Will’s mouth full? Because the Wyldclay had shoved a lightbulb into it, reshaping Will's mouth into a threaded socket. The shifter's lips contorted to accommodate the bulb, the threading locking it firmly into place as the fae manipulated Will's head around to better shine light on the workbench. His head had been cleanly removed from his body and roughly shoved onto a metal arm, allowing him to be positioned and moved around to provide light at different angles.
The fae grabbed onto one of Will's earlobes, tugging it. In response, the bulb grew brighter, and Will's muffled sounds increased in pitch and urgency. Taking benefit of the former and ignoring the latter, the Wyldclay continued to poke and prod at the hunk of clay on his desk, grinning as he made progress in his investigation.
It was important, in any work situation, to have proper illumination. If you can't see what you're doing, then then you're liable to make mistakes. And Wyll Wyldclay doesn't make mistakes. Just happy little accidents, and even then, rarely.
The Wyldclay grabbed Will by the hair, tugging him closer to the workbench so they could see better, getting a better angle for lighting their work, and giggling a little at the muffled protest.
Why was the protest muffled? Because Will’s mouth was full, of course. And why was Will’s mouth full? Because the Wyldclay had shoved a lightbulb into it, reshaping Will's mouth into a threaded socket. The shifter's lips contorted to accommodate the bulb, the threading locking it firmly into place as the fae manipulated Will's head around to better shine light on the workbench. His head had been cleanly removed from his body and roughly shoved onto a metal arm, allowing him to be positioned and moved around to provide light at different angles.
The fae grabbed onto one of Will's earlobes, tugging it. In response, the bulb grew brighter, and Will's muffled sounds increased in pitch and urgency. Taking benefit of the former and ignoring the latter, the Wyldclay continued to poke and prod at the hunk of clay on his desk, grinning as he made progress in his investigation.
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Wed Feb 21, 2024 10:27 pm
"You can see here," the Wyldclay said, pointing Will's head closer to the lump of clay. "The differences in how the clay molds and forms, right? Different ridges, different densities and patterns," they explained. "Because it formed under different pressures, right? Two different subspecies, as it were," they added running their hands through the clay and ignoring WIll's muffled moans.
"So, in order for this to work, we need to find a common ground. As long as the clay behaves differently, it will be, fundamentally, different. And your clay behaves differently because it was formed differently.
The solution, obviously, is to go back to basics. Back to base principles, as it were. This is where I wish the Deva had gotten more than one of you, because it would give us so much more leeway to experiment. Ah well. Slow and steady wins the race, yes?" the Wyldclay grinned back at Will, slapping him aside and letting him spin freely on the arm.
"So, in order for this to work, we need to find a common ground. As long as the clay behaves differently, it will be, fundamentally, different. And your clay behaves differently because it was formed differently.
The solution, obviously, is to go back to basics. Back to base principles, as it were. This is where I wish the Deva had gotten more than one of you, because it would give us so much more leeway to experiment. Ah well. Slow and steady wins the race, yes?" the Wyldclay grinned back at Will, slapping him aside and letting him spin freely on the arm.
Re: A Force of Will
by Will Stanton » Fri Feb 23, 2024 10:02 pm
*Still later*
It was a tank. On the surface, a plain glass tank, like one you'd keep tropical fish in, if a bit larger. Tubes and wires, hung at odd angles, were attached to the edges of it, twisting in upon themselves and leading far back into the depths of the Wyldclay's supply room, connected to strange tanks and boxes.
It was a very jury-rigged arrangement, though perhaps a bit more advanced than you would expect from a mythological creature such as Wyll. That being said, what was technology but the changing of the status quo? And the Wyldclay's entire reason for existing was to ensure nothing stayed the same for too long, after all.
The bottom of the tank was filled with a layer of clay, as Will lay, immobile and inert, bracing himself for whatever the Wyldclay had in store. The Wyldclay, for their part, hummed and whistled as they moved around, checking and re-checking the technological nightmare they had set up.
It was a tank. On the surface, a plain glass tank, like one you'd keep tropical fish in, if a bit larger. Tubes and wires, hung at odd angles, were attached to the edges of it, twisting in upon themselves and leading far back into the depths of the Wyldclay's supply room, connected to strange tanks and boxes.
It was a very jury-rigged arrangement, though perhaps a bit more advanced than you would expect from a mythological creature such as Wyll. That being said, what was technology but the changing of the status quo? And the Wyldclay's entire reason for existing was to ensure nothing stayed the same for too long, after all.
The bottom of the tank was filled with a layer of clay, as Will lay, immobile and inert, bracing himself for whatever the Wyldclay had in store. The Wyldclay, for their part, hummed and whistled as they moved around, checking and re-checking the technological nightmare they had set up.
-
Will Stanton - Student
- High Concept: Pillsbury Clayboy
- Aspect: Needs to be Useful/Used
- Aspect: Out of Place, Out of Time
- Aspect: Unique Worldview
- Aspect: Big Ball of Trauma
- Aspect: Open-Hearted
Re: A Force of Will
by Wyll Wyldclay » Mon Mar 04, 2024 9:01 am
"You know, this just isn't working."
Wyll Wyldclay raised one foot out of the tub of Will, letting the clay drop back down from between their toes.
"I'm beginning to think either the deva overestimated your capabilities, or you somehow got harmed during transit. I'm certainly not feeling the sort of connection that her description implied, even if she didn't realize what she was implying."
They stood back up, letting the clay drip off of their body and back into the tank.
"I don't believe you could have been harmed in that way by her; if you were, than I have either severely misjudged her or severely overestimated you, and I don't believe either is the case."
They grabbed a towel, and started scraping off any excess clay, dropping in back into the tank, where it was reabsorbed by Will's body.
"No matter. Into each life some rain must fall. We'll make something of you yet," they said, flipping a switch. Pumps activated, sucking Will's clay up and once again forcing him through the tubes and pipes that the Wyldclay had set up.
"Pleasant dreams, pet. We'll see you in the morning," Wyldclay grinned, grabbing their paints, exiting the room, and turning off the lights.
Wyll Wyldclay raised one foot out of the tub of Will, letting the clay drop back down from between their toes.
"I'm beginning to think either the deva overestimated your capabilities, or you somehow got harmed during transit. I'm certainly not feeling the sort of connection that her description implied, even if she didn't realize what she was implying."
They stood back up, letting the clay drip off of their body and back into the tank.
"I don't believe you could have been harmed in that way by her; if you were, than I have either severely misjudged her or severely overestimated you, and I don't believe either is the case."
They grabbed a towel, and started scraping off any excess clay, dropping in back into the tank, where it was reabsorbed by Will's body.
"No matter. Into each life some rain must fall. We'll make something of you yet," they said, flipping a switch. Pumps activated, sucking Will's clay up and once again forcing him through the tubes and pipes that the Wyldclay had set up.
"Pleasant dreams, pet. We'll see you in the morning," Wyldclay grinned, grabbing their paints, exiting the room, and turning off the lights.
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