[Social] Doing Things the Old Fashioned Way

[Will Stanton]

"Hrm?" Will said, looking at himself for the first time.

"Well, I'll be damned. That's not normal. Like goosebumps, but not."

[Miriam Bell]

"How'd you not notice that? You're like one of those cornstarch-on-a-speaker things right now."

[Will Stanton]

"Non-Newtonian fluids," Will corrected, absentmindedly. "I must have just been distracted by all...this. Not every day you get to see inside your own head."

When the two were stopped, Will's quivering also stopped. It had only really accelerated when the two were in motion, moving through the space.

[Miriam Bell]

"This usually happens when you're distracted? Because I have my doubts." she says, pushing open the door to the factory and stepping inside, eyes still unfocused and not really looking at anything in particular.

[Will Stanton]

The door creaked open, the place eerie without the hustle and bustle of workers all over the place. With it empty, the main working floor was absolutely massive -- it was designed for a mass of humanity, and all of that was still, presumably, in Will's head.

Or maybe the eerie sensation was just from it's proximity to Miriam's spooky gothic manor. Who could say?

"No, you're right there," Will said, as he turned around to look at the room. Every few steps he quivered -- something to do with motion? Or where he was in the room?

[Miriam Bell]

"It's... no, it's not distraction, you're wobbling every time you walk. Are you trying to fill this space? With all the people who run around here in your head? Because if so you might literally tear yourself to pieces..."

[Will Stanton]

Miriam's theory was probably more right than not -- if she looked carefully, she might be able to see bits and pieces of shapes she halfway remembered from her previous trips into Will's mindscape trying to assert themselves.


Will took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating, which did seem to at least calm down the quivering and shaking. Nodding his head, he took Miriam's arm again -- this time, just as much to try not to get lost himself as it was to try to help her.

[Miriam Bell]

"Seriously, the last time I split you in two did not go well so you need to tell me when we need to stop." she says as they walk deeper into the 'abandoned' factory that's tkaing shape around them.

[Will Stanton]

Will just nodded, keeping his eyes shut and his breath held.

The factory, though abandoned, was still working, machinery chunking and sliding around, cranes cavorting overhead, ovens heating and mixers, well, mixing.

The lack of safety restrictions didn't mean much in Will's head, though it was probably a bit more dangerous 'out here', even if Miriam was fairly certain she could cut-off the mindscape if need be. Will would probably be fine if he tumbled somewhere, but Miriam probably should at the very least watch her step.


Above their heads, they could see some amber-colored fluids flowing through pipes. That, most likely, was involved with the brewery, though finding anywhere in this nightmare was easier said than done.

[Miriam Bell]

"There. The pipes." she says perhaps a bit redundantly. But fortunately for her safety and stamina, she doesn't have to traverse the entirety of the factory. Instead she lets her mind trace the pipes until she finds their source and begins pulling that area out right next to them.

[Narrator]

There probably should have been a massive grinding of gears and shattering of machinery as the two sort of warped through the factory to a place Miriam had never been to before -- vat upon vat upon vat upon vat of alcohol, brewing, aging, mixing, cooking, boiling, bottling -- an alcoholic's dreamworld, or at least it should have been.

The pipes originated from a massive control panel, filled with those large wheel-valves, controlling the flow from the brewery to the bar and beyond. Only one of them, however, seemed to be turned on -- one with a small picture of a man on the label. If anything, it was nearly rusted open, with everything else being closed off.

[Miriam Bell]

"Well, there's your problem right there. I assume." she says as she leans in until her nose almost touches the rusted valve to get a good look at the picture.

[Narrator]

Leaning in did not make the picture all that much clearer -- it was a simple pictogram of a person, drawn with what appeared to be black marker on some masking tape, stuck on the machine to label the valve. Very simple; without much in the way of detail -- it wasn't, like, a picture of Will or something. More like the concept of Man (tm).

The other, older and unused valves, had a variety of other objects and whatnot drawn on top of them -- all very simple, emoticon-style pictures of various things and objects, as well.

[Miriam Bell]

"This isn't your shifting controls... but it's connected somehow, isn't it? What is this? Emotional connections? Subconscious piping?" she says, knocking on the pipes as if the sound travelling through them could somehow tell her something about their purpose.

[Will Stanton]

They sounded all pipey and metallic! Good knocking action.

"I mean, I don't know," Will said, his eyes still shut. "I don't suppose the brewmaster left instructions or anything around?"

[Miriam Bell]

"It's your head. Can't you be the brewmaster?" she says as she wanders around the room more as a side-effect of casting her attention around from her kind of detached vantage point as she looks for any kind of documentation or instructions.

[Will Stanton]

"I...

I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i..." he said, starting to stutter and sputter.

[Miriam Bell]

"Just act it out, don't blow yourself up..." she says quietly, trying not to think she just broke Will. Again.

[Will Stanton]

"I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i," he grimaced, and then Miriam heard a snapping sound, as he squeezed his thumb until it fractured. And with that, he didn't physically shift, but his posture, his expression, his bearing -- everything else about him changed.


"I'd be more'n happy to help you, MIss...?" he said, trailing off. "'M sorry it took me so long to get here -- plenty to do, plenty to see, y'hear?"



If Miriam was worried about Will's mental state, a cursory glance might put her somewhat at ease. Clearly, something was up with what was in the 'driver's seat', but there didn't seem to be the same sort of trauma that resulted when she ripped Null and the Dweeb apart.

The thumb probably would hurt like the dickens, though.

[Miriam Bell]

Even with the kind of detached floating she has to her immediate surroundings she still winces at the snapping thumb, stomach flipping a little.

"Thumbs to break. Are you the brewmaster then?"

[Will Stanton]

"Certainly am," Will nodded, flashing a smile. "Built this all up from a tiny home still into the best craft brewery you'll find in any mind this side of crazytown.

Say, don't I...know you from somewhere?"

[Miriam Bell]

"Probably. I've been around the neighborhood and I... bear a passing resemblance to a monster that laid claim to all of this once."

[Will Stanton]

"No, no, that's not it. I mean, I think I see what you're saying, but you don't look anything like her. Not really. Just superficially, y'know?," Will said, squinting at her.


"Oh! Wait! You're that dead lady who ordered the blood wine, ain't ya? Boy howdy, it's good to meet you in the flesh so to speak. We're workin' hard on it, but blood's a tricky thing ta brew, y'know? And you don't want to have some just slapdashedly poured in; no siree. Our blends are some of our finest products."

[Miriam Bell]

"You're... how does that... you know what, I do not want to know why that thought process got lumped in with a vaguely adjacent metaphor. I appreciate the work you're apparently putting into it already. But what do you usually do here? What's the stuff you're brewing for?"

[Will Stanton]

"Oh, no good meal is complete without something to drink, wouldn't you say? The boys up in the patisserie may think they're so clever with their ee-claires and their craw-sonts, but a good drink is what makes a meal a meal.

We carefully blend and match our various styles in order to deliver just the right combination for our customers. Usually, we try to pair what we do here with what they're making up in the bake shop, but sometimes, a twist can be plenty refreshin' and surprisin'."

[Miriam Bell]

"Then how come the only thing you seem to be sending out is 'person' brand lager?"

[Will Stanton]

"Well, it's all that seems to be in demand these days," Will said, moving his hand to his head and...was he taking off a hat? He wasn't wearing a hat. He held the invisible hat in one hand and scratched his head with the other.

"Folks 'round these parts like their people to be people, even when they're birds or planes or auto-mo-beels. Taxes the brain too much to think about 'em otherwise."

[Miriam Bell]

"You send out what's in demand by others. That's why the blood wine idea ended up with you."

[Will Stanton]

"Mmm, somethin' like that, little missy. Maybe it's better to say we give 'em what they expect.

The trick is findin' the right balance. Like I said, 'round these parts, people like to think of us a person all the time. That's taken' some gettin' used to; we haven't managed to fortify the pipes to handle that being on all the time. 'Twas different down in the cold, by crikey -- if anything, they didn't want the 'person' brand nearly enough. It ran completely dry; took years to get it working again. You can thank the Redhead for that one; opening up that ol' cask kickstarted it quite nicely. And now it's all people want! Keeping atop of trends is hard, I tell you.

Now, back in the ol days, people started to get a taste for blends. More than one thing at a time, y'hear? Honestly, we got so used to that, that dealing with people around here has become harder. Gotta redouble our efforts, but we'll get it patched up, don't you worry."

[Miriam Bell]

"It's rusted shut and I don't think the... town as a whole is happy with the limited selection."

[Will Stanton]

Will just gave a big belly laugh at that one. "Oh, they're always a pain in the ol' keyster, aren't they? Get one status quo that everyone likes, three days later, they're all ranting about something new. You weren't here for crazy hat week, were you? I swear, we're a handful and a half."

[Miriam Bell]

"Crazy... hat week. No, no I was not. And I think I get your function, but who's in charge of...self-interest. Selfishness? Hedonism?"

[Will Stanton]

"Oh, no, no. We don't do that here. Hedonism? More like here's-the-door-ism, ain't it?" Will laughed.

[Miriam Bell]

"You threw it out but that doesn't mean it's gone..." she says, sounding distracted as she lets her mind's eye wander. "The Sewers..."

[Will Stanton]

"Oh, you don't want to go down there, miss. That's some foul territory, before it gets processed."

[Miriam Bell]

"Want to? Maybe not, but it's... what makes sense to me the most." she says and slowly raises her arms, palms facing up and a small spot on the ground pushes a circular metal spot to the surface that soon begins twisting itself wider and wider until it expands out into a large manhole cover. It mostly follows Will's mental design philosophy but along the outside is a relief of entangled thorny roses encircling it that almost certainly originate from Miriam's mind.

[Will Stanton]

"Gol-ly, ma'am. Be careful down there, alright? That stuff clings to you too much, you ain't getting it off in a whole heap of showers."

[Miriam Bell]

"The shower that makes me feel entirely clean does not exist." she says as she lifts up the cover and slips into the dark shaft underneath that is still in the process of carving itself out of reality beneath her.

[Narrator]

The combined efforts of Sam, Robin and Tosh last time they were here meant that the sewers weren't waist deep or anything, but still. The dank! The dank!

Rather than standing still, the sludge was slowly flowing towards the factory, where it was processed and recontextualized. That still meant that mushrooms, spores and things were growing down here, and there was plenty of sludge and whatnot to go around, but things were better than what the rumors had said they would be. Progress! Dank, smelly progress.

[Miriam Bell]

In a purely mental metaphor, this probably wouldn't bother Miriam nearly as much, being abstract thoughts and concepts at it's core and at the very least familiar. This on the other hand, has an actual physical smell and that is very different indeed. And it only gets worse when she steps into the muck and disturbs it's surface.

"Good god Will..." she retches a little. At least she doesn't have to actually breathe, being dead and all, but it still sneaks into her nostrils plenty. Careful not to touch the walls and staying a little crouched to avoid ceiling-goop she starts making her way against the flow to look for a source.