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Mickey Mouse couldn’t tell you how he had gotten here.
The wall had drawn him in. It rose mightily before him, murals of varying quality painted along it. The one his beady little mouse eyes were currently fixated on seemed to tell a sort of story, though he couldn’t place the tale.
A little boy, pale-skinned and brown-haired, sat amongst a brightly colored mound of books. He cradled a periwinkle one in his hand. His eyes shined bright with wonder as golden light erupted out of the book’s pages, the magic of the little novel blowing his hair out of his face and making his cheeks almost seem to sparkle.
The magic of Nos’talgia was truly astounding, because it seemed like the painted figures almost seemed to move. The paint ebbed and flowed ever so slightly, pulsing with the type of life Mickey hadn’t ever seen given to a piece of artwork before. He’d always been partial to the opinion that art took on a life of its own, but never quite this literally. Yet, as he stood watching the different strands of the mysterious boy’s hair flicker past his forehead, the little hero found himself rethinking everything he’d ever thought.
Squee chirped on his shoulder, nuzzling his fuzzy orange fur up against the mouse’s own cheeks. For a brief second, Mickey’s gaze was torn from the beautiful picture before him; the little ‘Imaginary Friend’ perched on his shoulder whirred and buzzed with some sort of urgency, though that wasn’t much different from his normal behavior.
The dang thing hadn’t left his side since he’d dropped those fellas off at the Golden Saucer. According to the receipt -- which, conveniently, no one else on the ship could see either -- this little guy was made to bond with whoever he laid eyes on first, and either unluckily or luckily, that had been Mickey. The mouse would admit that the little guy was cute, but his incessant twittering as Mickey’d set PLUTA to guide the Spaceboat Willie back to Nos’talgia was starting to tap dance on Mickey’s nerves.
His new pals had offered to allow him to hang on the Saucer with them for a little while, but something had been nagging him. First and foremost, the bad news had to be delivered to Viz -- and, well, whoever Viz’s employer was -- that the package had not been successfully delivered to wherever this Inverksie place was. Mickey didn’t like the idea of letting someone down, but Squee wasn’t going to have any other friends, it seemed, and if he were being honest, the whole job had seemed a little sketchy from the start so he didn’t plan on losing too much sleep over it.
He hadn’t even really… made it to the office address Viz had given him, though, because the second the Willie touched down in this neat little place -- ‘the Imagen Nation,’ someone called it -- he’d started feeling real weird. Almost like his heart was literally being tugged on, though he knew deep down that wasn’t possible. Still, he couldn’t deny the pull, and so, with a protesting Proto Man nipping at his heels, he followed where it led.
“Can we go now?” Blues asked, arms crossed a few feet behind the mouse king. “This place is creepin’ me out, Mick.”
Mickey didn’t answer at first, though he acknowledged that yeah, this was a creepy spot. The wall rose up about six or seven Mickeys tall, but on the other side, the overt cheer of the Imagen Nation was replaced with something… much more sinister. Mickey and Blues could barely see the darkness creeping behind the wall, but slivers of it snaked over the top and occasionally emerged from the cracks at the bottom. Whatever was on the other side, it wasn’t something any sane Nos’talgian wanted anything to do with, which is why this barrier had been put up.
Mickey had always found himself called to the darkness. Even back in his first home, the Disney Realms, the whole reason he’d left in the first place was to find the source of the shadows slowly overtaking his kingdom and stamp them out. Now, he could feel something uncannily similar lurking just beyond this wall, and no matter how many times Blues protested or little Squee chirped, the presence invaded every one of his senses.
Sorta without even thinking, he stretched out a gloved hand and pressed it to the wall, grazing his little fingers over the painted books. He half-expected them to feel three dimensional and real, but they didn’t; despite the heartbeat flowing through the picture, it was still just that: a picture.
“Mickey,” Blues’ voice called out behind him, though it had started to sound tinny and out of this world, almost like an echo of itself. “Mickey!”
It was too late when the mouse king realized the paint had started to seep out of the wall and wrap around his fingers. The beige of book pages, the golden yellow and red and blue of the various covers nearest his hands -- they emerged from the wall, ensnaring him like a tentacle and tugging, this time quite literally, on his diminutive body. Squee leapt back off his shoulders, skidding to the ground with a trademark “squee.”
The little imaginary creature’s chirping, the frantic cries of his bestie... these were the last sounds Mickey heard before his entire self was consumed by the wall.
The wall had drawn him in. It rose mightily before him, murals of varying quality painted along it. The one his beady little mouse eyes were currently fixated on seemed to tell a sort of story, though he couldn’t place the tale.
A little boy, pale-skinned and brown-haired, sat amongst a brightly colored mound of books. He cradled a periwinkle one in his hand. His eyes shined bright with wonder as golden light erupted out of the book’s pages, the magic of the little novel blowing his hair out of his face and making his cheeks almost seem to sparkle.
The magic of Nos’talgia was truly astounding, because it seemed like the painted figures almost seemed to move. The paint ebbed and flowed ever so slightly, pulsing with the type of life Mickey hadn’t ever seen given to a piece of artwork before. He’d always been partial to the opinion that art took on a life of its own, but never quite this literally. Yet, as he stood watching the different strands of the mysterious boy’s hair flicker past his forehead, the little hero found himself rethinking everything he’d ever thought.
Squee chirped on his shoulder, nuzzling his fuzzy orange fur up against the mouse’s own cheeks. For a brief second, Mickey’s gaze was torn from the beautiful picture before him; the little ‘Imaginary Friend’ perched on his shoulder whirred and buzzed with some sort of urgency, though that wasn’t much different from his normal behavior.
The dang thing hadn’t left his side since he’d dropped those fellas off at the Golden Saucer. According to the receipt -- which, conveniently, no one else on the ship could see either -- this little guy was made to bond with whoever he laid eyes on first, and either unluckily or luckily, that had been Mickey. The mouse would admit that the little guy was cute, but his incessant twittering as Mickey’d set PLUTA to guide the Spaceboat Willie back to Nos’talgia was starting to tap dance on Mickey’s nerves.
His new pals had offered to allow him to hang on the Saucer with them for a little while, but something had been nagging him. First and foremost, the bad news had to be delivered to Viz -- and, well, whoever Viz’s employer was -- that the package had not been successfully delivered to wherever this Inverksie place was. Mickey didn’t like the idea of letting someone down, but Squee wasn’t going to have any other friends, it seemed, and if he were being honest, the whole job had seemed a little sketchy from the start so he didn’t plan on losing too much sleep over it.
He hadn’t even really… made it to the office address Viz had given him, though, because the second the Willie touched down in this neat little place -- ‘the Imagen Nation,’ someone called it -- he’d started feeling real weird. Almost like his heart was literally being tugged on, though he knew deep down that wasn’t possible. Still, he couldn’t deny the pull, and so, with a protesting Proto Man nipping at his heels, he followed where it led.
“Can we go now?” Blues asked, arms crossed a few feet behind the mouse king. “This place is creepin’ me out, Mick.”
Mickey didn’t answer at first, though he acknowledged that yeah, this was a creepy spot. The wall rose up about six or seven Mickeys tall, but on the other side, the overt cheer of the Imagen Nation was replaced with something… much more sinister. Mickey and Blues could barely see the darkness creeping behind the wall, but slivers of it snaked over the top and occasionally emerged from the cracks at the bottom. Whatever was on the other side, it wasn’t something any sane Nos’talgian wanted anything to do with, which is why this barrier had been put up.
Mickey had always found himself called to the darkness. Even back in his first home, the Disney Realms, the whole reason he’d left in the first place was to find the source of the shadows slowly overtaking his kingdom and stamp them out. Now, he could feel something uncannily similar lurking just beyond this wall, and no matter how many times Blues protested or little Squee chirped, the presence invaded every one of his senses.
Sorta without even thinking, he stretched out a gloved hand and pressed it to the wall, grazing his little fingers over the painted books. He half-expected them to feel three dimensional and real, but they didn’t; despite the heartbeat flowing through the picture, it was still just that: a picture.
“Mickey,” Blues’ voice called out behind him, though it had started to sound tinny and out of this world, almost like an echo of itself. “Mickey!”
It was too late when the mouse king realized the paint had started to seep out of the wall and wrap around his fingers. The beige of book pages, the golden yellow and red and blue of the various covers nearest his hands -- they emerged from the wall, ensnaring him like a tentacle and tugging, this time quite literally, on his diminutive body. Squee leapt back off his shoulders, skidding to the ground with a trademark “squee.”
The little imaginary creature’s chirping, the frantic cries of his bestie... these were the last sounds Mickey heard before his entire self was consumed by the wall.
Quest: An Arbiter’s Plea
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 903
Quest WC: 903/2500