Metaworld

[Estelore]

This is a collaboration between Dino and us. It's not exactly open to other 'players' at this time. If it ever is, we'll say so, but for the moment, think of it as an independent work of fiction which simply has more than one author. Cheers! -Estelore

[spoiler]Melisande Turner heaved an exhausted sigh as she rifled through the badly dog-eared pages of a Spanish-English dictionary.  She scribbled some notes into her notebook and then thumbed through a similarly dog-eared Italian-English dictionary. Her assignment on Latinate languages was due in three days, and she was badly behind schedule to get it finished… but the university library was open only at inconvenient hours, ever since the uni had started construction on a new suite for its rare books collection. Finding a specific book in the reference section has become nearly impossible, because the entire rare books archive was temporarily relocated into the same room as the reference section. Mel didn’t know what genius had contrived that setup, but at the moment she was very cross with him. It had already taken her nearly half an hour just to find the specific books she needed for her research, and the line at the checkout desk was so long she considered abandoning the attempt. It was all the more frustrating to learn, upon reaching the desk, that it was forbidden to take reference books out of the library’s reference room.

Mel would be stuck here tonight, at least until she finished this project. The prospect of that was depressing, to say the least, but she had resigned herself to it and settled down with a foot-high stack of books on the desk beside her. Now, three hours later, she was ready to call it a night. Mel packed up her notebook and pencils.

Mel walked to the back of the reference area, beginning to feel it would be futile to attempt to return the language dictionaries to their proper shelves, but unwilling to just leave them on the cart for the librarians to put away later.  They already had enough problems with the clustered mess of the archives, and the last thing they needed was another inconsiderate patron.
After passing it probably four times without noticing it, Mel spotted the shelf of linguistic reference books. She quickly found the correct spot on the shelf and stood on tip-toes, leaning up on the shelf for balance, to place the dictionaries, when another book fell from a much higher shelf, nearly striking Mel on the head before landing open on the ground.

Mel immediately reached down to retrieve it and read aloud to herself the title on its spine,
“The Curious Adventure on Insfrea, or How Melisande Turner Found Herself Spontaneously Elsewhere”-

fffwooooOOWOOOOOwoo oom –

The soft sounds of the library were suddenly replaced with a massive din. Men were shouting single words and short phrases, “INCENDIARY REVERSAL!” –a wall of fire suddenly erupted between Mel and the people running toward her, and they were blown backward.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]“BOMBARDOVATI!” –some sort of artillery rained from the sky and riddled the wall behind Mel, barely missing her as a hand on her shoulder shoved her down into the dirt.
“SPROGIMAS!” –a massive explosion a few dozen meters away.
“ABATER!” –a man standing next to where Mel crouched suddenly erupted in gouts of blood from hundreds of small lacerations all over his body.

Mel screamed. A dirty hand clapped over her mouth. Don’t waste your words, you ninny! Either help us fight or stay dow- “AUGHHH” the hand fell away from her mouth, no longer attached to its arm.

Another hand grabbed Mel by the wrist and dragged her to her feet. Get up. We need to run now. There aren’t enough of us left to hold them off.
Mel ran, half-blind with soot and the other man’s blood in her eyes. She stumbled after- “Who are you?” A distant sound echoed, mechanical grinding that seemed somehow familiar.

Don’t SAY the words, dammit; think them at me! I’m Alain, and if I know anything, you must be Melisande Turner, right? Alain paused a second at the sound, then started running with greater fervor.

That’s right, Mel thought, but just Mel, please. How do you know my name? Where are we? How can I hear you in my head? Can you hear ME?!

Of course, I can hear you. Keep up; I’ll explain when we’re out of the front line. Just make sure you don’t say anything aloud. We’ll be safe soon; I think. That sounded like help on the way.
They ran for another full minute, and Mel was amazed that her lungs hadn’t started complaining yet. The wonders of adrenaline, no doubt.

Off to one side, Mel noticed a piece of paper laying on the ground and turned her head to look at it. Time seemed to slow for an instant-
-Alain shoving Mel away-
-Alain leaping toward the paper, covering it with his body-
-sunlight shining through a small hole in his upper chest-
Mel picked herself up and ran back to him. She saw the wound, which had appeared in an instant, no bullet, just a hole for no reason at all. Alain, are  you-

Not dead yet. He coughed, and blood appeared at the edges of his mouth. Will be soon. You need to keep running. Don’t stop until you prove you’re different. We believe in you. He gasped and shuddered violently, eyes wide.

“Help us, please! We need a doctor!”

The creaking mechanical noise grew suddenly much louder, and a blue police box materialized suddenly several meters in front of Mel. The doors swung inward, and a tall man emerged wearing a tweed jacket, a bowtie, and some bizarre rotating glass and metal contraption on his head. He looked around and mumbled absently to himself.

What’s all this? I wasn’t expecting any calls today, why- the man ducked as a distant explosion rocked the terrain under their feet. I say, this is not at all what I had in mind when I had the Modus plant the Prompt. I really ought to have a talk with that fellow, before he gets somebody’s head knocked off with awkward semantics.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]
No, Alain, you saved me. Don’t you die on me when I just met you! Mel slapped his face lightly, anything to keep him awake and talking to her.

Mel called to the bowtie man, Please, over here, we need help!

Alain grabbed the cuff of Mel’s sleeve and tugged sharply to get her attention. Mel, go on without me. He’s the Deus; he’ll keep you safe. His face was starting to take on a greyish tint underneath the soot that already covered it, but his expression was beatific.

The man with the bowtie looked quizzically down at Mel, through a magnifying glass suspended in front of his face by the contraption on his head.
’Mel,’ is it? I knew a ‘Mel’ once, a ginger Mel. You’re not ginger; why aren’t you ginger? You really ought to be ginger. I know I would, given half a chance. Right, well, our fellow Alain here knows how this works, and it never involves actually going on without him, so help me get him into the TARDIS. The man hooked his arms under Alain’s and hoisted him up by the chest. Alain groaned piteously at the movement.

Sorry, there, chap. Get his feet, would you? Oh, and I’m the Doctor, by the way.
Mel grabbed Alain’s feet and lifted, hurrying to catch up with the Doctor, who was already on the move.
Doctor Who? Mel's eyes widened.

That’s right, just like that, come on and keep up! Just ‘Doctor,’ if you please. Now, why doesn’t somebody tell me exactly how our Alain came to be in such a state, and how a human came to be in the middle of a word war on Insfrea?[/spoiler]

[DinosaurNothlit]

[spoiler]Gabriel Jones stared down at his notepad.  Upon the lined sheet, he had scribbled down a message that, to anybody else, would have seemed an utterly random garbage dump of letters.  Nonsense clumps of symbols, with arrows and other odd marks smeared across the page.

He knew that it meant something.  It had to, after all.  Lives depended on that message meaning something.  Hundreds of lives hung in the balance.  And it was up to him to figure it out.

"No pressure, no pressure," he reassured himself, running a hand through his ruffled dark hair.  The same false assurance he gave himself nearly every day in this place.  He leaned back in his rickety and uncomfortable folding chair, examining the notes that he'd already made.  His paper looked like a physics equation.

This was no simple cipher, certainly not one of those where if you knew that 'x' equaled 'a' you'd just be able to fill in the blanks.  No, that would have been easy to solve, for a mind as sharp as Gabriel's.  But the German 'Enigma' machines ensured that each letter entered in the message would alter the code.  Over and over and over it would change, until it was a complex winding maze of letters that only the most brilliant of minds could decrypt.

There was a pattern, though, and Gabriel could use that fact to his own advantage.  If he could just figure out the key.

He got up, walking past rows of men just like him, hunched over shoddy desks, sitting in shoddy chairs.  Comfort was, naturally, a low priority, the military budget already strained as it was in the midst of a World War.  Even as vital as their work was, these scientists subsisted on whatever could be spared for them.

Gabriel strode towards the building's library, which was a meager collection of books, mostly just various reference materials.  Dictionaries, a few well-known classics, a number of various religious texts.  Most of it in German.  Anything the Nazis might have been tempted to used as keys to encrypt messages.  Perhaps something there would strike Gabriel's imagination, and give him the breakthrough he needed.

As he was thumbing through the shelves, he spotted one that didn't seem to belong.  "The Curious Adventure on Insfrea," he said out loud, translating automatically from German.  "Or how Gabriel Jones Found Himself Spontaneously Elsewhere?"

fffwooooOOWOOOOOwoooom -

Gabriel suddenly dove to the ground, a motion that was pure instinct, before his thoughts could even catch up to what was happening to him.  It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realized that he was surrounded by fiery explosions, as people around him yelled words like, "CONFLAGRATION!" and "DETONATE!"

Impossible.  He was hundreds of miles from the front lines.  Yet, here he was, in the middle of what was obviously an active war zone.

"What-?" he asked, his voice a terrified whisper, but he was cut off by a strange thought that had suddenly and inexplicably entered his mind as soon as he'd spoken.

'Word wars,' he heard in his mind, like the information was just suddenly there.  Ideas brought into reality by language and thought.  Battles to prove free will and creativity.

"Where?" he asked the ethereal voice, his own rush of adrenaline helping him to quickly follow the new information.  The nonsensicality of the entire situation took a back seat in his mind for the time being.

Insfrea, the voice said.  Sector seven.

". . . Why?" Gabriel asked, tentatively, almost as though he feared the answer.

Because you are to be tested.  Because if you do not prove yourself, you must cease to exist.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]Gabriel realized that he was still lying on his stomach in the dirt, from his frantic dive to the ground earlier.  He cautiously got up, staying in a crouching position, and headed towards a nearby pile of rocks which seemed like it would make decent cover from the ongoing battle.

In relative safety, he considered what was happening to him.  He seemed to be in a place where the natural laws worked differently, somehow.  But, no, that was impossible.  Could people really change reality through the utterance of a simple word?

Barely even pausing to think about the implications of what he was doing, he held his hand in the shape of a gun, pointed it into the fray, and uttered the single word, "Bullet."

He only did it because, as a rational person, he had expected nothing at all to happen.  But something did happen.  In the space of a blink, the bullet that had fired forth from his fingertip had already found its target.  On the battlefield, a young woman clutched her chest, blood spurting through her fingers.

Gabriel gasped in horror at the sight.  Mortified by what he had done.

"Wait, NO!" he screamed.  A reflexive cry.

For just a split second, time itself seemed to slow down.  Then, it appeared to reverse itself, the woman's injury vanishing as suddenly as it had occurred.

The woman looked around, perplexed, and locked eyes with Gabriel.  Her look was one of shock.

You used up your 'no' on me? she seemed to say, but Gabriel realized he could only hear her voice in his head.  Her look then hardened into one of derision.  You're not too bright, are you?  Wasting such a useful word on a complete stranger!  You'd have to be a fool.  As she made her way towards him, her mental voice made a sound like a sigh.  But, nonetheless, I do appreciate that you saved me.  So I suppose I'm in your debt.  Call me Britt.

Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but with a start he remembered what happened the last few times he'd done so, and closed it again.  Can you hear me? he tried thinking, directing his thoughts at the woman.  My name's Gabriel.

He almost wanted to tell her that he had been the one to put a bullet in her chest in the first place, but he quickly stopped that thought, afraid that she would hear it.  No, he didn't want her knowing about that.  Not when she was willing to help him, and he so desperately needed the help.  He wasn't a soldier.  He knew he couldn't survive in this place on his own.

Of course I can hear you, the woman said, her head tilted curiously.  You're a fish, aren't you?

A what?

A newbie.  Fresh to battle, she clarified.  'Fresh fish,' get it?  That, and, well, they tend to flop about.  Fish, you better get used to using language creatively.  It's a skill you gotta pick up quick in this place.[/spoiler]

[Estelore]

[spoiler]The Doctor shouldered open the doors of the TARDIS, and Mel followed him in, still hauling Alain.

Right here’s good. Not to worry, just a TARDIS, perfectly safe, per-fect-ly … say, aren’t you going to freak out a bit and remark about the whole- The Doctor gestured vaguely at the TARDIS’ interior, bigger-on-the-inside thing?

No need. Where I come from, you’re on the television. Actually, wait a minute, if you’re here, where is Matt Smith?

I can see you are distraught, but talking nonsense at a time like this won’t get us anywhere, will it? That’s good, though; a little nonsense might just keep you safe around here. The Doctor produced a glowing wand-like device, his Sonic Screwdriver, from his jacket pocket. He pushed a button on it, and it produced a whirring noise as he pointed it at Alain, whom they had placed on the TARDIS’ glossy floor. Now, what have you been up to, Alain ol’ chap? I do believe- the Doctor flipped up his Sonic and looked at the readout- that we are right on schedule, and all this requires is a mild infusion of Unobtanium, and you’ll be good as new. The Doctor dug around in his jacket’s other pocket before frowning deeply. Seems I left it all in my other jacket. So much for that; I suppose just this once I can use a word on you.
The Doctor held his open hand toward Alain’s body and spoke softly, “Recovery.”

For a breathless moment, it seemed nothing was happening, but then all at once the hole in Alain’s torso clapped shut with a sound like a bubble popping, and he gasped and coughed hard as his punctured lung reinflated and started working properly again. The high colour returned to his face, despite the soot. As soon as he had his wits about him, Alain sat up and turned himself so he was kneeling while facing the Doctor.

Thank you, Deus. Alain’s head was bowed in a show of deferential respect.

Please, Alain, it’s just ‘Doctor’ in this episode. And think nothing of it. No, really, think nothing of it. If any of the other Subs find out I used a common word on you, they’ll start to expect special favours, and we really can’t have that. We are on schedule, but the events so far have been, at best, a bit of a fluke.

Isn’t that a good thing, De- …Doctor? I mean, isn’t that why we’re here?

It’s why I am here, Alain. You are here to perform your office, and you’ve done so splendidly, I dare say. Now, I imagine we have a few things to explain to Mel-not-a-ginger, the Doctor said, turning toward Mel, who had been antsy and itching with questions throughout this whole exchange, but who didn’t even know where to begin, after seeing Alain’s healing.
[/spoiler][spoiler]

H-how did you do that?

Words, Mel. In this world, Insfrea, where you are as we speak, words are power, in a very literal form. What you say actually happens.

Alain spoke up, Yeah, but you can only use each word one time, so when you say something, it’s all used up. Go ahead and try saying ‘Doctor’ again.

Mel opened her mouth to say it, but all that came out was a high creaky noise not unlike a cricket’s chirping.

See?, said Alain, You can’t do it. It’s one of the natural laws of this place, just like gravity and magnetism are laws where you come from.

Wait, isn’t gravity a law here?

The Doctor shook his head. Not at all. What you perceive as gravity is just the ongoing effect of several hundred… well, I suppose you’d think of them as monks… all taking turns one at a time saying ‘Gravity’, ‘Inertia’, ‘Mass’, ‘Weight’, things like that, four or five of them every day. It’s just an ongoing sort of spell. Now, some spells are more effective and powerful than others. The general rule of the thing is that the more common a word is in your ordinary thoughts and speech back home, the more ‘options’ you have for using it here, because of its fairly general meaning… and the rarer words are more specific but also more focused in their effect, and less likely to have secondary effects that you don’t want them to have. If you want to make something huge happen, at least until you’ve got some practice in, I advise selecting the rarest words you can think to use, so you don’t accidentally knock somebody’s kneecaps off with what you thought was an harmless word.

There are no harmless words.

Alain has a point. There are a few words that I must insist you never ever use, because they aren’t very controllable, and they tend to wreck things. Please avoid ever saying ‘The’, and no matter what, never say ‘Nothing’. We have enough problems as it is. The Doctor’s face had a faintly haunted look pass over it as he spoke the last few sentences, but if went back to its cheerfully neutral expression when Mel asked, So why am I here, anyway? I was in the library, and this book had my name on it, and then suddenly I was out there getting shot at!

Ah, yes, well. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. Alain, you want to take this one? It is your job, after all.

Right, yes, umn… Alain winced, started to speak, stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. These… things…. do happen sometimes. To people. Ending up here, that is. What it means is basically, you’re going to be partially responsible for proving that free will exists, and if you can’t, then your universe will… not in so many words, but… will stop existing, per se. Alain gave a gallic shrug and let his voice taper off limply.

The Doctor picked up where Alain left off. Essentially, you have to be different from the woman who was here last month, whose likeness, name, personality, and mannerisms were and are in all possible ways identical to your own, and you have to do so in a way so definitive that you prove you are not behaving as a result of determinism. You have to be unique. Our position in this, as your allies, is complicated by the fact that we can’t simply tell you a way to act which is different from that of your Alternate Self… because telling you that would qualify as a form of determinism. Your own actions have to be solely derived from your own free will and agency, or your universe is forfeit.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]
Mel silently let that process for a few minutes, not really understanding the why of any of it, but comprehending that something was happening, and it was much larger than herself, and she was somewhere at the center of it.

Okay, so what do we do next? I mean, I’m guessing just sitting here probably isn’t one of our options?

The Doctor grinned. That’s what I like to hear! As for what we do next, we drop off you and Alain in a sector where you can commence adventuring and questing and proving your free will, and I go back where I came from. He threw a few levers on the TARDIS console, and it whirred into motion. The Doctor grabbed Mel into a quick little hug. Even if you’re not ginger, I really do like you, and I want to see you come out of this winning.

Will I ever see you again, Doctor? Since I was little I’ve wanted to meet you, and now this is all just so strange, and-

Hush, now, and save those thoughts for figuring out some useful words for later. If you do win, you’ll see me again before too long, I’ll promise you that much. Also, I think you might be able to get some use from these. The Doctor reached under the TARDIS console and produced two very familiar dog-eared dictionaries. He handed them to Mel, who tucked them safely into her backpack.
Any and all languages work here, and a universe’s Champion is allowed to bring with them the last things they touched before they were subpoenaed to come here. Right, we’re properly in Sector Five now, so here’s where you two get off.

Where am I supposed to go? What should I do?

Stay alive. Beyond that, there is no ‘should,’ only ‘can’ and ‘will.’ The TARDIS doors swung open, and the Doctor gave Alain and Mel both a firm shove out the doors. It only took a spare instant for Mel to realize that they were falling, and that the ground was quite a horrible long way down.

A sudden powerful image filled Mel’s mind, and she shouted for all she was worth, “GERONIMO!”

After a terrifying delay of three full seconds, Mel heard a billowing noise above her head. She looked up and felt the powerful yank of a massive TARDIS-blue parachute, inexplicably pouring up from a pocket which had spontaneously appeared on Mel’s backpack. Her fall slowed from a stomach-twisting plummet to a leisurely downward drift. Behind and above her, Alain was rigged with what appeared to be some manner of jetpack. Together they coasted toward the massive evergreen forest below them.
[/spoiler]

[Estelore]

[spoiler]Mel had underestimated just how high up they were when they began their heart-stopping plummet from the TARDIS. It took them three full minutes to get close enough to the ground to be able to tell apart individual trees in the landscape. The wind howled through the mountains on the horizon, and it was bitterly cold as it whipped around them, grabbing Mel’s chute and jerking her sharply forward every so often.

Finally, in a terrific rush, the ground surged up beneath them, and Mel’s chute got hung up in the top of a massive larch. Alain had already made a running landing into a snow bank that was twice his height. He made muffled noises from beneath the snow before calling out, I’m okay!

She struggled and kicked before deciding there had to be a better option than wiggling helplessly.
I’m not hurt, but I’m stuck up here. What do you suggest?

Use a word, but pick it really carefully. Make it something so specific you probably won’t have a use for it later. I’ll do the same.

[Okay, got it.[/i] Mel thought about it for a minute until she had her word. “EXTRICATE! AaaaaughOOF!”
Mel had fallen into the huge older brother of Alain’s snow bank. She started trying to crawl out, during which time Alain yelled, “SUBLIME!”
The entire snow banks around both of them spontaneously erupted into steam, and the resulting rush of hot air was stifling but also something of a relief in the frigid forest. Hey, Alain, come help me with this.

Mel gathered the blue parachute and started folding it back on itself, and Alain helped her fold it until it could be stuffed back into her backpack. Somehow her backpack now had enough room for the parachute along with everything it had already been containing. Alain saw her examining her bag.
It’s bigger on the inside, just like the TARDIS. Why is that?

Alain chuckled softly. The De- the Doctor works in mysterious ways, but His Machine is even more mysterious, if you ask me. I think that’s Her way of telling you She’s rooting for you. She does that every so often, making pretty standard words have secondary effects they normally wouldn’t have, like dimensional distortion. I’ve seen Her do it a few times before; the last time was for this primary school teacher, an eccentric ginger woman named Frazzle, Fizzle, something like that. The time before that it was an extra-dimensional carpet bag and sapient umbrella for a London woman, a nanny if I recall it right. Anyway, if the Machine does you a favour like that, it’s a good sign, so I recommend you take good care of that rucksack of yours, Mel.

Okay, so… which way do we head next? Up the mountain, or down that way?[/spoiler]

[spoiler]Alain looked forward into the deep forest. Downhill would definitely be easier and faster, but there is not one force in all of Insfrea that would make me go willingly into Sector Eight. We’re woefully ill-equipped no matter which way we go, but- and I’m saying this very tentatively, mind you- I’m pretty sure we’ll be better off if we keep moving uphill as long as we can. He glanced down at his feet and Mel’s, a thoughtful look on his face.  “SNOWSHOES.”  They materialized on Mel’s and Alain’s feet, already laced tight and ready for use.
Hey, how do you make one word work for both of us like that? You did it earlier, too, in the snow bank.

Practice, my friend. Lots and lots of practice. You might pick it up eventually, but for now let’s not get too ambitious, eh? Alain grinned widely, but there was something in his eyes that worried Mel as they started their way uphill. The heat from the steam was quick to wear off, and Mel noticed tiny crystals of ice starting to form on the ends of her hair. The light was already starting to diminish in the sky, and distantly she could hear the chilling yips of a coyote. Not ten heartbeats later, a rabbit screamed. Mel shivered. No doubt there were things out here more dangerous than coyotes.

Alain, we need to work out a way to stay warm, or exposure will get us before the animals have a chance at us.

Right you are, my friend, but I am curious what you would propose, before I make any suggestions.

Well, um, obviously ‘fire’ is way too useful to waste on something so simple as a campfire we will only use once, right? Alain nodded encouragingly, so Mel kept going. Okay, so maybe instead of using a word to make the fire directly, we could use a word to make a tool that makes fire and can do it more than once? Alain grinned again and patted Mel on the back.

Just for that, clever lass, I’ll do us both a favour. “SNOWSUITS!” I don’t plan on coming to this sector ever again if I have any choice in the matter, so I might as well use that one up now, for a good cause, hey? Large poofy snowsuits, complete with waterproof coveralls and fur-lined hooded eiderdown parkas had ballooned around their bodies on top of their dayclothes, like colourful marshmallows. Zip-on mittens formed over their hands, and snow boots encased their feet without removing their snowshoes. Alain’s suit was black with neon green and yellow stripes, and Mel’s was deep brown with sky blue and orange stripes running up the legs and sleeves.

So wait, you could have done that this whole time?

Yep. I just have a policy of rewarding resourcefulness, when it suits me.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]Okay, that pun was horrible. Right, time for fire tools. “LIGHTERS!”  A pack of three ordinary Bic-style lighters appeared in Mel’s hand, and she tore into it and handed one of them to Alain, pocketed the next, and stowed the last in her backpack’s side pocket, along with the cardboard and plastic packing it had appeared in. Alain looked at her quizzically. She shrugged. Kindling, I figure. Alain nodded.

Alain looked up at the sky and then back up the hill, pointing to one of the lower peaks on the horizon. If we can make that nearest ridge before nightfall, we’ll be making good time. He started pushing the walking pace a bit more.

Okay, sounds good, but… wait, you know where we’re headed, like specifically? Mel realized she was panting a little bit. This really was quite the hike, but at least she wasn’t cold anymore, beyond the tip of her nose where it stuck out of the hood of her parka.

Ehhh… yes and no. I know routes we could take, landmarks, a general idea of what we’re looking for and what we need to avoid, but I don’t really have specifics enough to draw a map or anything. I couldn’t even give you a straightforward game plan, at this stage. All I’m really totally certain of right now is that we need to keep moving, and it’s uphill we need to be moving, and getting to that ridge will put us in position to see our first landmark, which will only be visible at dawn, and only if we’re standing in the right spot. Alain didn’t sound winded at all. To him, this was probably just a rather bracing stroll.

What is our landmark? I’m guessing it’s something shiny or high up or something?

Alain let out a wry laugh and shook his head. Something like that. Just keep moving; you’ll see when we get there.[/spoiler]