exsilium | voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

( there's a slight sound of rustling after the feed clicks on, as oz makes himself more comfortable on a seat in the observatory. why he's there late at night — night by circadian rhythms, anyway, simulated nights on the moon — is anyone's guess, or maybe it's obvious enough. in any case, when he speaks up a moment later, he sounds to be in a good enough mood. )

What's your favorite story? Scary ones are probably best for late at night, but what I really want to hear about are everyone's favorites. For instance, something about a princess and a dragon, or maybe a mystery with a twist ending, or something out of history....ah, if you make it up or adapt it from a book, that's fine too! Or even if it's a real one that's happened to someone you know, ( and a light laugh ) — don't worry, I don't tell anyone!

But it's rude to ask without giving my own preference, right? I can start with mine, if anyone wants.

( he'll tell people about holy knight. all about it!!!! don't ask him about it. )

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[he goes off-camera for a moment, apparently retrieving something- and he does come back, with a purple budgie on his shoulder, sitting back down with a sigh.]

Sorry, she doesn't like me being in the room without paying attention to her, she's so spoiled... Anyway! Anyway, so the rabbit was a very nice plush rabbit; fat and bunchy where he should be, with real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. The boy got him on his birthday, it was a very fine birthday indeed!

[jack is an animated storyteller, eyes brightening up; it's obvious that he hasn't done this in a while. bedtime stories. he pauses,]

Er- should I just sum it up? It's- ahh, I'm sorry, I'm telling it to you like you're seven years old.

Oh, hello Iris.

( budgieeee *^* he's getting so fond of her. oz listens closely to the story as jack starts to tell it, shakes his head at the question. )

No, it's okay! I don't mind at all.

( summaries don't kill time like long stories!!! besides, jack's a good storyteller. ~~HA HA HA~~ )

[at the sound of oz's voice, iris chirps, fluttering down and waddling over to the screen to peck at it. jack has to catch her again and settle her in his hands.]

Iris. Fiddly bird. Where was I. All right.

So the rabbit spent most of its time in the toy cupboard, or the nursery floor— the other toys looked down on him, snubbed him most rudely. The mechanical toys pretended they were real, and the model boats joined in with them. The rabbit didn't claim to be a model of anything, because he didn't know that real rabbits existed. He just thought all rabbits were plush little things.

All the toys were like that, eh? Except for one, who was very kind; he was called the Skin Horse.

[jack takes another pause and stares at the screen, and for a moment, he stares right through it.] Did you know? Alice had a rocking-horse that she never used.

( he laughs again at iris's reaction, all bright eyes and pleased grin. )

A Skin Horse?

( seems like an odd name for a children's toy, but this is a story. jack's question gives him pause though he knows the answer. )

Really? I didn't.

( he was too distracted that one time he saw the memory of her room of course, by the sight of her death and her blood soaking into everything, and besides he couldn't possibly know, could he, when even alice doesn't remember much of her own past. if there's even an almost imperceptibly faint spark of familiarity it's from an instinct to try to remember, of course, nothing else to it. )

She did have a lot of toys...dolls, mostly.

[jack sounds nostalgic for a moment (did oz know that wet gurgling sound of someone trying to breathe ragged through a torn throat? the bubbling of blood and the wheeze of air desperate to pump through lungs? because it's one of a kind, the sound never really leaves you, those dying desperate breaths.) before continuing.]

Well, he was called the Skin Horse probably because he was so old most of his fur had been pulled or fallen out. His tail had merely strands left, the children had used most of them for bead necklaces, and he had been there longest in the nursery. He was actually the only one kind to the rabbit, you see.

With all the fuss about being real, the rabbit decided to ask the Skin Horse about it.

"What is real?" the rabbit asked, [jack pitching his voice high,] "Is it like being those mechanical toys that have wind-up sticks and can move?"

"No, no," said the Skin Horse, [low this time,] "It's when a child loves you so much not just for the sake of playing, but just because they love you, for a long, long, time. They might even name you after people they love!"

"Does it hurt?"

"Well, it might. Generally becoming Real happens when you're all old and patchy and misshapen, so beloved that you might even crumble into pieces because of it."

Well, thought the rabbit, the Skin Horse had to be right. He knew all about nursery magic, because he had been there a long, long time.

[jack is a little shit about 99.9% of the time, but at least this would be his private little joke right? not like anyone is watching this conversation... a conversation that jack pauses, smiling a little as he catches his breath.]

Is that right?

( dolls, mostly maybe not terribly unlike that strange dream he saw the first time he ever held that pocket-watch of jack's. hopefully less — well, creepy, though.

(of course he knows of course he knows for how determined he is not to remember because who would want to remember a history like that?)

it's clearly a silly nursery story, this, the sort of thing he might've read ada once, but the more jack goes on the more oz starts to wish he wouldn't. telling the story is clearly a favor jack is doing him, but — )

You said this is a sad story?

[jack's brows furrow a little.]

Kind of? Not too sad, it's a children's fable, after all.

Aah, I see. ( a push for levity — ) I was starting to get worried!

voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

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