Huh? You wanted to reach the Piper? You're in Fallen London; there's bound to be a rat somewhere within twenty feet of you. Pass one of them a note and hum a few annoying bars, and they'll know who it's for. It'll probably to its intended recipient. As long as your parchment doesn't smell too much like cheese.

OOC: Leave your calling card here! This post will be updated periodically with roleplay threads for archiving and ease of access.

Correspondence Class:
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Carnival Trip with Tene
Death Reveal, Face Reveal
After (Class) Party
There is Nothing, Again
Fruits of the Zee
Parabola Excursion (ft. Maven and Tailor)
Maven's Crash-Out
Tailor's New Shop

"You - remember?"

The Maundering Rat's eyes, normally dropping, were wide with shock. And then they were full of familiar tears, as Piper rushed to hold him.

"I... still not a lot, I'm sorry..." they admitted, voice cracking. "You remember the friend I brought a few weeks ago? The Chimeric Professor? They're helping me with an Apocyan treatment. I just saw bits and flashes... but it looked like you were important to me."

He dabbed his eyes with a rat-sized handkerchief, then blew his nose. He let Piper hold him in their hands, but he was shaking his head.

"Of course. Of course, you wouldn't... couldn't... and they didn't..." Another honk of his nose being blown. "They weren't supposed to tell you."

"Huh?"

"My heart is too old for this, Liar. You - you're only going to hurt yourself again..."

"What do you mean?" Piper's brow furrowed.

It... it had been too much to hope that someone did want to see them again, hadn't it? He could have reached out at any time, if Piper was important to him. They saw him every weekend. He'd never said a thing.

(He'd been kind, though. All the rats were, but him most of all. Even if he was upset right now... could it just be because it had taken them so long to remember him...?)

He shook his head.

"You have a good thing going for you, child. You've got your human and mostly-human friends. You don't need an old rat and his dangerous pasttimes. Don't throw yourself away again for my sake."

"I... I'm not..." their voice cracked. "Is it so bad that I want to remember us being friends...?"

Unsteadily, he climbed out of their palms.

"I just want you to live," he murmured. "Don't want you to end up like me."

"I think you're really cool, though."

He chuckled at that.

"You're too sweet, Liar. You always were. Please. Don't... don't get my hopes up again." He turned his back on them, adjusting the sheet over half his wares. The half he'd always (in their recent memory) refused to let them look at. They had a better guess why, now. "If you want something, come back with shillings. Otherwise I'll... see you next week."

Their eyes watered, but they nodded. If that was what he wanted. Maybe... maybe when they remembered him better, things could be different.

Or at least they'd be able to understand why they had to be the same.

---

Maybe if things had gone better with the Maundering Rat, Piper wouldn't have gotten themself into this mess. But maybe it was inevitable. It happened too quickly to not have been planned.

As soon as Piper stepped through the mirror, hoping to return to their secret base and find comfort with Tene, their feet fell through open air.

Parabola could be tricky. Every Silverer knew that. You looked where you were placing your feet, or you deliberately Didn't look, urging the ground to shift in between blinks, shortening distances, taking you where you needed to go.

Piper had looked, but in between blinks, the ground had simply become liquid. A thin veneer, a splash of cold water, and then they were tumbling through the air, spinning -

Like the time they'd dived into their memories, but worse. That had been intentional. Gravity had righted after just a moment. This time, gravity didn't seem to notice what was going on, either, and only remembered to pull them back down after they were several feet in the air on the other side.

They landed bodily on a hardwood floor. Inside.

Inside the parlor from their memories. Where they'd learned to play the piano. Was this some kind of side effect of the Apoycyan...?

A laugh bounced off the walls. Familiar. Chilling.

"What? WHAT? I thought you wanted to see me!"

They quickly got to their feet, head swiveling. They couldn't see the woman behind the voice. There was no tracking her by sound, either; it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Metaphorically. You don't get the privilege of beholding me yet." She sniffed.

"I did want to see you! Did you bring me here?" Piper asked. "Who are you?"

Another bitter laugh.

"If you have to ask that, then you're not qualified to know."

While she was talking, Piper's eyes scanned the room. They didn't want to miss the chance to get valuable information, even if it was just from their twisted memories.

The piano looked old, but in good condition. While it was clearly the most interesting object in the room, Piper turned their attention away from it. Better pick up clues from the parts they'd missed earlier, first.

There was a fireplace, unlit. A mantle above it, lined with jars. All of them empty, right now. The tuning fork-like object the bandaged woman had held in the memory rested next to them. A couch, also old, rose patterns woven pink on the emerald green upholstery. Matching pink curtains obscured the windows, and when Piper moved to peek through one, the voice snapped at them.

"Don't ignore me!" The voice was somehow both commanding and petulant. It was almost... cute? "Ahem. You call yourself a Silverer? What are you doing letting some scientist poke around in your memory? If you're worth your lenses, you can find me on your own."

"I was... I was going to..." They'd started, hadn't they? They'd chased the Irrigo out of their memories of summer. They just needed a push to go deeper.

Could they have done it on their own? Maybe. But they wouldn't have had the guts to.

"Whatever. Make me wait another five years. Who cares," she grumbled. "You think you can handle the truth this time? It's going to be worse. The more times you've failed, the harder it's going to hurt."

"You think I can't handle it?" they snapped back, tired of being talked around and down to.

They recognized the voice, now. Beyond just the woman from their memory. When they'd cleared some of the Irrigo before that, they'd heard a voice telling them - telling them how far they'd come. It had sounded proud of them.

They wanted that again. They wanted to make this woman proud. They wanted her to be impressed with them. The drive felt natural and instinctive. Who cared if Professor had told them to take things slow? Hadn't they waited long enough?

"Ha! I missed that look! Too bad you've got that stupid mask in the way. Ah, well. You won't be able to hold onto that fire long, anyway."

The floor opened up again - tearing right through Piper's attempts to hold it together - and they were tumbling through Irrigo dreams.

The Piper reclined in the branches of a tree in the Viric Jungle, basking in the glow of a job well done. The Cosmogone sun dried the saltwater (zaltwater?) that remained in their clothes. A zailor's memory recovered from the bottom of the remembered zee. Piper'd had to fight off quite a few nightmare fish to retrieve the sparkling recollection. Luckily, Parabolan rules still applied; they'd been able to convince the water to let them breathe, lucid dreaming their way to the zeefloor.

The zailor had been grateful as he woke. Shook their hand, looked into the eyes of their mask with genuine respect. The memory had been of his first voyage, stolen in Scrimshader. But even taken, it hadn't been completely gone. Not beyond Piper's reach.

They were getting good at this. They had a hard time recognizing their own talents sometimes, assuming that anyone else could do the same things, and better.

But it felt good. To be good at something. To be useful. Maybe it was about time...

The tree bark was trying to grow around them. Whoops. They'd been resting too long. Wouldn't do to fall asleep here. The jungle could get weird.

They swung down from the branch, landing on the spongy ground. A few golden-glowing mushrooms sprouted up around the site of the impact. Piper gave one a soft pat before moving on.

It was a whim. Maybe it was easier that way. Harder to psych themself out, if they didn't give themself too much time to think about it.

They closed their eyes, and stepped into a puddle that wasn't there before. Their foot passed through, gravity flipping as they fell, leaving their boots firmly planted on the other side. Not through a mirror, but deeper.

Some spoke of seeing their own reflections in Parabola. Piper never had. Somethings, they had the dreadful feeling that something terrible had happened to it. But either way, for now, it was just them.

Them, and the deeper reaches of their memory.

They didn't open their eyes, not yet. Not until they'd shaped their surroundings to what they needed to be. They were used to guiding others through this, by now, the right paths to send their thoughts down, anchors to place to keep the dream grounded. It was different when it was themself. Keeping their thoughts on track had always been difficult. But they did have an anchor in mind: the Correspondence Classroom.

They opened their eyes, and found themself in a misty recollection of their summer class. Wavering domed walls. The wavering, of course, being due to the remembered nature of the place. Unless that was also a side effect of it having been modified with Red Science...

Anyway. Desks. Atomizers. Storage closet. The room was otherwise empty. Piper hadn't tried to summon any particular moment, any particular people. They'd just wanted to see if they could retrieve a simple memory of their own. Peeling out specifics would take a little more effort.

Especially since, they found, the corners of the room were soaked in Irrigo.

Their hands tightened into fists. They didn't recoil from the color. Irrigo could be brought into Parabola, they knew; this was where Irrigo suits and frocks were woven. They'd learned some of the method when studying dyes, not that they planned to get that deep. That was for Tailor to mess with. And ideally with any other color.

Anyway, this wasn't true Irrigo, so much as... its memory? Could something forgotten have its own memory? Regardless, while Piper felt dizzy looking at it, they could look at it. It was more... a symbol. Yes, that seemed more right. Like how a monster chasing a child in their nightmares could represent a teacher, or a bad parent. This was just an obstacle for Piper to overcome, if they wanted to reach their memories. But how to tackle it...?

They wouldn't be careless. Not here. Even if it wasn't real, that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. They'd promised not to do anything as stupid as Devil had. They weren't going to forget themself.

Their vision skirted the false-Irrigo. They pursed their lips, wracking their mind for a suitable solution - of course!

Grinning, they grabbed one of the atomizers, and gave the Irrigo a spray. Just at the edge of it, in case there was any strange reaction.

Well, it was a little strange - the Irrigo fizzled like steam before dissolving. For some reason, Piper had assumed it would be cold. They finished washing the patch away -

"A number of people missed your presence. Nothing prevented that."

Tailor, standing in front of them. Offering them back a journal they'd feared lost forever.

"Oh." Piper swallowed, their throat tight. "Th-thank you. I mean. No - that means more than you could possibly know."

The vision dissolved, wispier than the Irrigo had been. But more real. Because they - they'd lived that. Here, in this classroom... when... when had it been, exactly...?

Sometime after they'd become a Midnighter. They - they must have - somewhere along the way - but - could they really have forgotten...? Something so important...?

(Of course they could have. Of course Irrigo didn't work for them quite like it did for other Midnighters. They lost too much. Too randomly.)

They tried their best to write the best things down. But did they do their best to reread them? If they weren't written in Correspondence or Violant, they were prone to slip from their mind.

They knew their past was a blur. A blank slate. But their present? Their so recent past? How much was gone? How much had they failed to keep safe? They knew they'd lost their first 'meeting' with the Outlaw until Maven had sparked it again, but that was - they'd had a reason to forget that one. Not a good reason, but a reason. But their happy memories? Why did they have to lose those?

They sprayed the next patch of false-Irrigo with a snarl.

Maven and Devil checking on them each class. Before they were even friends.

The Mechanic, who Piper had nearly forgotten completely, fighting them for the bits of atomizer.

Professor warmly guiding them out of the closet, when all they knew of Piper was cavalier words and reckless fire and tear-snot.

Not all of these memories had been completely gone. But they'd been faded, at the very least. Nothing Piper would think to recall. And yet, they were full of so much joy and love and care.

The classroom warped around them. It wasn't just class that they'd failed to remember. Parabola flashed in fits and starts: Maven's house, Beatrice's tea shop, the Marshes. Flickers of time spent with friends. Time not fully appreciated, because - because? Why? Why was it so difficult to remember that their friends loved them? Easier now, easier than it had been, surely, since quitting their old job.

You've come so far, something whispered. Someone? It sounded like a woman's voice, not that that meant much, considering how flexible gender was in the Neath.

Don't forget again...

"I don't want to," Piper rasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to..."

The voice didn't respond. Had they imagined it? Probably.

The memories slowed. The classroom returned. Piper dropped to their knees, in a puddle left by the atomizer-water -

And they fell back into the Viric Jungle. Somewhere, a Seven-Throated Warbler laughed.

"Don't forget.""Don't forget.""Don't forget.""Don't forget.""Don't forget.""Don't forget."

Piper winced. They were working on it. The fact that they were here was proof of that much.

But could they really hold all of these memories? Was there space in their mind? They felt stuffed full of cotton. So much. So much... so much kindness they hadn't deserved...

But they felt better for it. Guilty, for having taken such kindness for granted, but better. If they could just hold onto these memories - surely that yawning hole in their heart could stay filled. They could stop - stop worrying about what everyone else had that that they didn't -

Because they had enough.

The small mushrooms from before their descent grew in size, their golden glow condensing to webbed threads across the cap, which sharpened to an umbrella-like point. Drops of Cosmogone like honey dripped from the edges, like a heavy dew or a light rain.

ONE DAY YOU WILL BE HAPPY.

Ha... so they'd needed to hear that, after all.

Sign In:
A doodle of a kazoo

Before Class:
Talking tea and anatomy with the Socialite
Music with Professor and Wanderer
Music with Maven and Outlaw

Speak with the Academic:
Correspondence correction and musical recollection

After Class:
Tea and bad jokes with the Academic
Playing shawm while the Tailor works

Commit Your Final Exam:
The Chessboard
Dream Team

Sign In:
Trouble with the pen

Before Class:
Comparing laws with the Socialite
Getting checked on by Maven
Closet breakdown redux (ft. Tailor)
Meeting the Wanderer!

Activity:
Taking notes with the Wanderer

After Class:
The King of Fools?

Bonus:
Note from the Wanderer
Resignation Letter

Sign In:
Class isn't cancelled after all

Before Class:
Tired theorizing

Lecture:
Excited about Nothing

Activity:
Discussing dreams and nightmares with Maven
Getting their journal back from Tailor
Apologizing to Devil

After Class:
Getting nail polish from Professor

Bonus:
The Chessboard

Piper's lab was rather cramped on the best of days. Piper didn't mind, being small and enjoying small spaces, but they needed to make sure April and the Freeloading Artist were out before they could invite Maven and Tailor in. There was evidence they'd both been here recently - drawings of rats painted with strange chemicals, a half-eaten bowl of cat food, boards of Correspondence half-covered with fabric. Piper pulled those a little straighter; they didn't know what April was working on this time, but it was best not to leave it too visible.

Luckily, they wouldn't be sticking around the lab long. They opened a cabinet, retrieving a jar of Prisoner's Honey the Artist hadn't eaten too much of.

"Some people like to eat it to get into Parabola, but I find it easier to just paint the mirror-frame," Piper explained to Tailor, uncovering a full-length mirror and getting to work with a flat-edged brush. "Once you get enough practice, it takes less honey this way, and gets you to a more precise destination. And maybe it's just me, but I don't really like going in without a clear head."

Maybe that was unexpected, considering Piper's usual impulsivity. But there was plenty of time to go with the flow once actually in Parabola. Might as well make use of the natural laws on this side of the mirror, while they were still in effect.

"This is going to take us to my base camp. It's nothing too fancy, but it's plenty safe." Their normal base camp shines through the mirror, with flickers of Rubbery Men tending the thick flower bushes that serve as walls. It'll be a while before they're ready to bring anyone to their super-secret base, the one they're building all on their own.

"Anyway questions before we get going?" Piper asked, hands on their hips, head held high. Excited about going back into their element, getting to share the knowledge they've accumulated. Grateful that Maven let them take the lead this time. They were sure she'd have plenty to help out with explaining too, but it was nice to be able to help their friends in a less stressful situation than the Heist had been.

Though that reminded them, they'd have to be careful. This trip might remind Maven and Tailor to ask more questions than Piper wanted to answer. Just because they'd told Tene about their involvement with the Chessboard didn't make it any less scary. But Piper would deal with that if it came to it; Tailor probably had plenty of questions that didn't involve Piper at all. As far as they knew, this would be Tailor's second time going through the mirror intentionally, and there hadn't been much time for questions the first time.

The board is empty.

You'd think that would be a good thing. No games. No secret pursuers. Nothing but blank black-white-black-white-black as far as the eye can see.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You can still move, one square at a time, but you might as well be treading water for all the progress you make. The same four horizons extend into the infinite.

There's no one here. Why did you hope someone would be here? Why would you wish this on anyone else?

You try to call out, less expecting a response, more to hear your own voice. The silence is agony.

Even your voice is gone. No one can hear you. No one can save you. You can't even distract yourself with a silly little tune, or mourn with a sorrowful dirge, or rage with lyrics screamed at the top of your lungs.

You might as well be nothing. You almost were, once, weren't you? Could you still be again?

It's not what you want. Not really. You just want out of this place.

You're so tired of being alone.

You're lost.

There's no recollection of how you got here, to this empty, flat place. No recollection of where you were before. Just tiles, white, black, white, black, splitting off smaller and smaller as far as the eye can see.

You take a step forward. You wait. You take a step forward. You wait. Your patience is wearing thin. You take a step forward. You wait. You take a step forward. You can't take two steps forward. You wait.

Behind you, faster and more agile, a shadow moves. Five moves to your one.

You take a step forward. You cannot outspeed it. You wait.

You take a step forward. The shadow breathes down your neck. You wait.

You take a step forward. You're living on borrowed time. You wait.

You take a step forward. You -

///

The Lied Piper bolted awake, sweat pouring down their neck. Their rough blankets were tangled around them, caught on the nose of their mask, clinging to their ankles. They bit through the fabric, tearing a way out with their teeth -

They should have been able to breathe again, after that. They couldn't.

Charlie wasn't here. Their mandrake was silent. All they could hear was their own choking, and bugs buzzing outside. Or was that buzzing inside their own ears? In their head?

They tried to suck in a breath. Their sleep shirt felt too tight.

It wasn't - it shouldn't have been - that bad of a dream. It didn't make sense; it didn't mean anything.

So why were they already reaching for the shrine on their nightstand? Already tearing off the cover, drinking in the deep indigo Irrigo, pupils swallowing it down like thirsty lips on a cup of laudanum -

They could breathe again. They couldn't remember not breathing. Why was there such a violent gash in their blankets? They hadn't been attacked, had they?

They covered their shrine, tongue poking at a thread caught in their teeth. Ah. So that was it.

Really, what nightmare could've been so disturbing that they'd felt the need to erase it immediately? It had worked, certainly, but...

They rubbed the bridge over their eyes, feeling their mask's smooth surface. It didn't come off even when they slept, of course. They could feel the headache pounding behind their eyes. More or less painful than indulging in that laudanum? Either way, the Irrigo was more effective, and less painful (and more easily accessible) than the Somnolent Hyaena.

...Perhaps too accessible. They tucked the shrine to St. Joshua into their nightstand drawer.

An unsettling air still hovered around the too-quiet room, but it didn't stop the Piper from falling back asleep.

The Great Game didn't exactly accept resignation letters. The Cheesemonger had found that out the hard way.

To be honest, the Blighted Midnighter assumed they would, too. Luckily, they were never truly alive in the first place. But they didn't trust that they'd covered their tracks as well as they hoped. Alice hadn't, after all, and she'd been at this much longer than they had. Though, maybe that was their advantage. Was a brief flash in the pan pawn worth getting worked up over?

They would find out, they supposed. Whatever happened, it had to be better than the fate that had almost befallen the Piper. If the Piper died now, at least it would be as themself.

Well. If they died a little later than now. They were still the Midnighter, until this last contact was severed.

They closed their eyes and unwrapped the shrine to St. Joshua, placing it in front of the fireplace of their flophouse dorm. It would be the last time they saw these walls - the key would be tossed out, so the Piper couldn't forget and return here. Not that they were typically that clueless.

And they'd probably be at least marginally less forgetful, without the regular Irrigo exposure. The nightmares might be worse, but that's only what they deserve.

"I don't want to forget this," they murmured. They didn't dare write any of this in the Piper's Correspondence journals. If the Tailor had seen it, that time... or anyone else, for that matter...

But they needed to remember. They couldn't let the Piper make such foolish mistakes again. They couldn't keep stumbling through life, one reckless activity after another, just hoping that someone would come and bail them out. The Piper trusted and loved their friends, but that was all the more reason not to drag them down. They could get help - they wouldn't have survived without it - but they needed to help themself, too.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I'm sorry I couldn't fix this. I'm sorry it'll always be the same," they whispered. "But you... you wouldn't have wanted me to stay here, would you? I didn't know what else to do. I was just... angry, I think. At how pointless it all was. I think I was... angry at you, too."

They finally admitted it.

"You asked me to do your dirty work, and then you left." It didn't matter that she hadn't meant to die. "I thought you knew what you were doing. I - I trusted you, and you left."

So they'd done the opposite of what she'd wanted. They kept the game going. Pointless pettiness that only twisted the knife further into their heart, until - until embraced that knife, enjoying it - 

There had been a time when the Piper had hated death, hadn't they? When it had terrified them more than anything. Permanence. But then the Midnighter - no, they - there was no difference between them. The Piper. They'd become a plague all their own.

(If they hadn't, someone else would have. Every chessboard has the same number of pieces.)

(They should've felt bad anyway. They didn't. Not for the right reasons, anyway.)

"Alright." They sniffed, still not opening their eyes. They could've left the shrine wrapped, and not risked their eyelids being the only barrier between them and the Irrigo. But somehow, it still felt right to confess to the shrine like this, one more time. "That's enough honesty, probably."

The Piper let out a ragged breath, the air too hot on their bare face. For the last time, hopefully.

"Goodbye. And good riddance."

They pushed the shrine into the fire.