Bent Out of Shape

[Miriam Bell]

"I don't know. It just... feels like she gets this whole shifting thing. You didn't have to try and teach her how to arm properly. I'm out of my depths here and she's... not. Hell she got mixed in with one of you and it was... an inconvenience at most."

[Will Stanton]

"Oh, she's out of her depths here, too. Differences between metamorphs and omnimorphs and all that. Her spark may be similar to our own, but ultimately, it's another branch off of the tree.

She is more flexible than you. But compared to Us, everyone is...brittle."

[Miriam Bell]

"I get it's not the same, but she's still... better with it. I felt like a bumbling idiot." she sighs, then raises her head out of her hands. "And what's this about your 'sparks' being on the same tree?"

[Will Stanton]

"Sam said that she thought she confused us because she's the Morrigan, and that's why some of us mistook her for a Paragon. That's not right at all. She's a shapeshifter, and that's what confused us, while we were in a state of high confusion. Her power, her mutant abilities, shares characteristics with our own."

[Miriam Bell]

"What, you think there's some kind of common ancestor gene?"

[Will Stanton]

"We don't really fully understand it ourselves," the secretary admitted. "But there's something that...it's hard to describe. Feels similar. But it's not quite the same."

[Miriam Bell]

"That is different than just the 'you can both change your bodies' everyone else sees?"

[Will Stanton]

"I suppose that is the end result, from a very wide angle," the secretary admitted. "But no, this is connected to Bouba and the source of mutant powers. These don't appear to be individual, one-off bespoke things. There's something that connects me to Sam. And to Tosh, and to Tereza, and to Katarina and Vic and all the way down. And I can sort of...feel it. When Sam was in here, that connection was...visceral? Probably because you were both made of clay, and the distinction between you was easier to read. It's kind of like Sam is a...broken version of us.

No, that's not right. 'Broken' is a value judgement. It's like there's a piece of something that was snapped off, and grafted on to something else."

[Miriam Bell]

"Like what, an evolved or differentiated version of you? No, just your shapeshifting? Like it's all coming from the same... spark-energy quantum shit Minamida was on about? But I'm separate because it's telepathy? Does that mean Sam and I have something similar? But then it would just be connected. Or is that why Sam's so... fractured? This is giving me a headache."

[Will Stanton]

"It's possible Samantha is what happens when you combine your spark with our spark. And then wash it in a river of blood.

Frankly, she likely has more in common with you than me. It's just in here, our power is stronger, and yours is weaker. Much like when one of me is dragged along on one of your mindscape jaunts, we're much weaker and you're much stronger."

[Miriam Bell]

"If we're going purely on feelings and vibes then I don't know if there's anything like that between me and Sam but what do I know, as far as I can tell there's no sorta-anthropomorphized Bouba of my power. Also you do know that's what us kids these days call tits, yeah?"

[Will Stanton]

"I've been kept abreast of recent slang development, yes," the secretary said in her prim-and-proper tone.

[Miriam Bell]

"Still sticking with it anyway, huh?" she manages a weak smirk. "Good for you."

[Will Stanton]

"I mean, that's it's name. Everything in it's proper place, everything with the proper labels.

...That may be more my function than the average one of us in here, but it's very important to all of us," the secretary nodded.

[Miriam Bell]

"Right, yeah... Name determines form determines function. Wait hold on, how do you even know that's it's name?"

[Will Stanton]

"Because I've spoken to it. I've seen it. And, though I thought it was destroyed when we went on that submarine adventure...it's apparently still alive and well.

I live a very strange life," said the manifestation of Will's secretarial instincts inside a massive, endless, transdimensional sea of themself.

[Miriam Bell]

"Of course." she rolls her eyes but with a hint of fondness.

"Hey, if it is 'your power' somehow." she says, waving her hands in the air to emphasize the vagueness of it. "And your form determines function. Have you tried turning into it?"

[Will Stanton]

"I don't really even know how it works. I could turn myself into a friendly blob, but I suppose that's our normal default shape. I'd need to at least have some idea how it functions to serve as it.

Not the specific mechanics, but...I can look at a microwave and tell that it heats up the food inside. I don't necessarily need to know all the details about how it does that to ape that. But we wouldn't know where to start with being a...a gene? A force? That's...that's beyond us."

[Miriam Bell]

"Fair enough. But you do make some very nice bouba." she snickers.

[Will Stanton]

"I strive to please in all matters," Will deadpanned.

"You know, you can do that too, while you're in here. If you're unhappy, that is."

[Miriam Bell]

"I am perfectly confident in what I do have and having two shapeshifter girlfriends is definitely not giving me impossible standards to chase." she huffs, mostly in jest. "Why, do you want to play the sculptor for once?" she smirks.

[Will Stanton]

"Me? No," the secretary shook her head. "One: You're still pretty soaked with alcohol, and any decision you make now has to be judged under that criteria," she said, sticking out a finger. "Two, my entire raison d'etre is to keep things on the straight and narrow -- a task which you will appreciate is near impossible considering the people involved," she continued, with finger number two. "Three, the last attempt to demonstrate the process to you resulted in hurt feelings. Four, I am no artist myself; I don't use the creativity part of our toolset on a regular basis. Five, I am at work now, and such behavior would be inappropriate for the workplace. And six, the patience required to have a baby shifter learn their shapes is herculean in scope," she said, holding out her sixth finger on her right hand.

Was she fucking with Miriam? Probably a little bit, right? Then again...

[Miriam Bell]

"Fine, miss prim and proper. Can you at least help me get cleaned up? This is all just clay an--hey wait a second, how did I throw up if this is all just clay?"

[Will Stanton]

"Function follows form. You entered as a drunken Miriam Bell, you behave like a drunken Miriam Bell. The vomit itself is just clay as well; clay that you shaped and created and willed into its current form because that's how a drunken Miriam Bell should function, even if you're just aping that shape.

The vomit itself will be more realistic because you created it through a process, rather than just waving your hands and going 'behold! Vomit!' But it is still, at the end of the day, clay."

[Miriam Bell]

"Great, then how do I get rid of it? Assuming that not acting like a vaguely sobered up disaster probably isn't going to happen, even if that wasn't a way too specific improv prompt."

[Will Stanton]

"Well, you're asking two things here, and I shall address them in turn," the secretary said, very businesslike.

"The easiest way to get rid of vomit would be in the washroom down the hall. Vigorous application of soap and water, when done properly, can create a cleansing affect on most garments. Alternatively, you could reabsorb it into yourself but, well...it's vomit. We were not under the impression you enjoyed that sort of thing. It would be rather...visceral."

"But sobering up is more realistic. When you entered, your system was full of alcohol. That's remained in you, even as you've entered here, even as your body is no longer your body. There are multiple ways to deal with that. The complicated way would be to distribute it out, as all of this is your body now," she said, waving generally in the air. "Though that may take a fine level of control you do not have; isolating the alcohol inside of you and pushing it outwards; letting it diffuse away. That's a rather advanced skill, though it can come in handy in promptly sobering up. Mechanical assistance could help here, though you seemed rather displeased with that sort of concept earlier. And, as attached as you are to your form, the sudden application of a pressing, squeezing, or pumping force may not immediately align with your interests as well. That feels more like an intermediate tactic. If you want to not have a body full of alcohol fast, the beginner's route is the direct one, which I can provide for you."

[Miriam Bell]

"I really just want to not be covered in sick. You're really telling me you have no more convenient way but washing up? In a world made entirely of you? There's gotta be at least a luxury shower somewhere. Hell I'd take a laundry machine if I wasn't worried about the spinning being counter-productive."

[Will Stanton]

"Well, you're not clothes, so a washing machine wouldn't be fit for you," the secretary pointed out. "Nor the carwash, autoclave nor grooming salon, nor any of our more exotic options. But if you're fine with a walk, there is a bathhouse not too far away where you could take your time."

[Miriam Bell]

"That works." she nods, standing up. "And thanks. For not kicking me out immediately."

[Will Stanton]

"I would still advise being careful about staying in here too long," the secretary warned. "We don't know the side-effects of staying in here for an extended period of time if you're not of The Clay. But you're a grown woman and can make your own decisions."

[Miriam Bell]

After getting some directions from SecretaryWill Miriam sets out to find said bathhouse, actually taking some time to look around at the weird half-populated buildings now that she's not being chased or trying to de-ogerfy Sam.

[Narrator]

The place was certainly massively underpopulated -- it looked like it should be a fairly bustling city, or at least the bougie, upscale version of one, but "half-populated" was an overstatement. Good real estate was available, presumably for reasonable prices (did they use money in here? How did they figure out who goes where? Was it first-come, first-served?)

Apart from the occupied apartments, most of what seemed to be open seemed to be service industries of some kind. A number of restaurants, from the fancy to the fast-food, from casual dining to a maid cafe, with a pub being the one that seemed the most bustling at the moment. The aforementioned laundromat and car wash and grooming salon. Clothing boutiques, electronics shops, bookstores, even a convivence store -- things of that nature. All that screamed "Will Stanton"; they were the kind to open up a freaking bakery/cafe in the middle of town, so no wonder there would be a lot of that sort of thing in here. Every version of Will, somewhere deep inside, wanted to help people, and the Will Miriam knew did so in a very servile way.

That being said, as Miriam continued to walk, a different genre of shop started popping up. A fancy teahouse, silver trays and mirrored walls. A music maker's studio where the instruments themselves seemed to hum with anticipation. A building filled with scrolls, with a shriveled green...goblin? Was that right? Was that racist? -- squatting on a desk, quill in hand. A shop that apparently sold bells, books and candles. A perfumery. A...mirror shop? A cobbler? A masque shop? Some sort of gambling tent? A playhouse? An apothecary? These had to be the influence of the Wyldclay. Yes, there was the same 'these are there to help you' sort of vibe that her Will gave off, but the vibe was different. She didn't need her telepathic powers to be fully functioning to pick up the difference in tone.

And in between the buildings, deep in the dark alleyways, an occasional light could be scene flickering on and off, with a Will occasionally ducking down there. Something, perhaps, that neither Will wanted on the main strip?

This wasn't a melting pot, at least not yet. The Will who had popped out of the cauldron after the Wyldclay had been mixed in had seemed to be a mixture of both Stanton and Wyldclay, but these were more individual chunks from both. Would they merge and meld too, over time? Or would they stay unique and distinct? Miriam wasn't sure even the Wills knew the answer to that.

These thoughts, and others, would be going through Miriam's head as she reached the bathhouse.

[Miriam Bell]

Something about the idea of all the Will's merging (back?) together doesn't sit right with her. Not in the sense that she doesn't like it, just that there's something about the concept that doesn't quite click. She keeps mulling it over as she checks into the bathhouse, gets out of her messed up clothes and slides into a nice, relaxing bath. Closing her eyes for a moment and clearing her head from some of the alcohol still muddling her thoughts she manages to put her finger on it. No matter how deep down you go, as long as Will is capable of being all these different facets (and it seems much too intrinsic for that to ever not be the case), there will always be some distinction. What would a fully united Will even look like? Maybe this is it already and all the ones walking around are just projections from the larger cauldron making up this entire... world? But then the buildings would be, well, buildings and not the entirety of Will either.

Perhaps that's why he feels so connected to this Bouba thing. If it's some kind of representation of his power then it might well be the closest thing to being everything and everyone at once he's ever encountered. Maybe he idolizes it and is seeing a facet of it in Sam as well? None of that really helps her be a better girlfriend to either of them though. She sighs a little and lets her head slip under water, expecting to come back up gasping for air within the minutes but realizing she doesn't have to. And staying with her head underwater is kind of freeing. Everything is muffled yet oddly amplified in a white noise kind of way, it's warm and a kind of soft darkness behind closed eyes. Peaceful.

When she surfaces again after a good five to ten minutes she takes a large breath even though her body isn't in need of oxygen. Performative? Or just 'what you do' in that kind of moment?

[Will Stanton]

The deep breath still felt good, even if it wasn't necessary -- what was Will always saying? Function follows form? And if she thought she had lungs, then it would make sense that it would feel good to use them, even if it was unnecessary. Spend too long in here, and you might find yourself thinking like a Will.

Thinking like a Will. Was that why the place seemingly grated against her and Sam so much? Because here, inside of Will, everything followed his sense of logic and decorum, of what made sense and what was good and right? Will was a weird one -- that had been clear from the getgo -- but that weirdness had always been at least a little tempered by something on the outside. Sure, he acted strange and had weird ideas, but there was always a sense of being held just at arms length, sometimes moreso than others -- see the night in the bar, where Will had gone out of his way to avoid shifting to avoid 'upsetting' Miriam and Sam after there first trip into the clayverse.

Perhaps that's why the Wyldclay had tried to scare her away, or why the secretary had warned her against staying too long. Were they concerned that Miriam couldn't - or wouldn't - handle the bits of them they didn't broadcast? Were they scared that getting lungfulls of unadulterated Willosity would frighten them off? Were they worried that, if somehow the place became more populated and the streets became more crowded, that Miriam and Sam would find them simply too much to handle? The bits that seemed to originate with her and the bits that originated from Wyldclay's Wyll were still distinct, even if Miriam could see the underlying similarities. Was that the concern? That Miriam or Sam would stumble across a bit of Will they didn't like, and one bad apple would spoil the bunch? Theoretically, if Will could become or do anything -- and if Will wanted to become and do anything -- there'd be something there that the duo would find distasteful, or confusing, or otherwise nonpalatable. And here Miriam was, washing off some of the evidence that yes, just that existed. Hrm. Her kingdom for her blasted telepathy to work in here; reading people's body language was tricky and something she'd be out of practice in.

Meanwhile, despite the mostly empty large bathhouse, a 10-foot Cyclopean Will had entered the same pool she was in, sliding his frame down across from her and letting out a loud, rumbling sigh as he soaked, letting his unwieldy mass of green hair float out around him.

[Miriam Bell]

Miriam sputters when the giant displaces enough water to produce a small flood of water, tearing her out of her train of thought.

"Let me guess, you're one of the Wyldclays?"

[Will Stanton]

The cyclops trained his eye on Miriam and smiled. "I guess I am, at that. And you're a special guest taking advantage of the facilities."

[Miriam Bell]

"What gave me away? Was it the literal label on my forehead?" she smirks. "Hey, so, maybe you can answer a question for me. Earlier we stumbled into one of the buildings and out into some medieval barn... thing. Do you know what's up with that?"

[Will Stanton]

"Oh, you slipped through a hole? You don't want to do that; that takes you out somewhere," the Cyclops sighed. "I think that's one of the Paragon priorities, figuring out how to patch those all up. They're not safe, you know. Not stable -- even if we mark them off, they have a tendency to move. Unlike the cauldron entrance," he said, pointing up at...well, the roof, because they were indoors. "You guys stabilized that one. The others are still wild."

[Miriam Bell]

"You're telling me there are doors that just... go elsewhere? Wait... all those voices or impulses or whatever that we sorted out with the mirror and the cauldron of what you could be... Are those like the Wyldclay? Stray parts of you? That still connect here somehow?"

[Will Stanton]

"That's the working theory," the cyclops nodded, "though you'll understand that that's hard to test. But if we were scattered across the cosmos, they could well be the last bits holding us together. Just...unmoored and unconnected to the greater whole.

Or this greater whole, at any rate; we're still figuring this out ourselves. You saw our confusion the last time you came in; it's a lot to take in."