That doesn't work very well... not that Topclipse does either, I suppose. HUMPH.

Make new friends and keep the old

One is blue and the other gold

An object in motion will stay in motion unless an outside force acts upon it. This is called Newton’s First Law, and is an important rule used in many prestigious scientific discoveries. Hex knew this, in a rather detached sort of way—it was the sort of lesson one never really internalizes until they see it in reality. Luckily, Newton’s first law has a practical application as well. In this case, Hex, desperately clutching a pigeon’s feathers until she drops said feathers and plummets, screaming, from the blue sky, will stay in motion unless an outside force—another girl dropping desperately from the celestial heavens—happens to hit her full-on. This unfortunate coincidence is broken by a third falling girl with quite the avian entourage—including five little ducks—who hits them in midair.

However, unlike with many things, in this case a double negative—better known as a double set of girls—does not restore this state to a previous reality in which the three girls would have gone careening unhappily to the ground separately. Now they find themselves careening unhappily to the ground together, which is heartwarming if nothing else. 

Please note that it is heartwarming in the way that if one is falling fast toward the ground screaming at the top of their lungs it usually can be reasoned that their heart is beating very fast, possibly faster than normal. Because it is moving faster than normal, one can also realize that it has more energy than usual, which often results in a higher temperature (than normal) that is hereby dubbed “heartwarming.”

Regardless, the three girls land in a heap. They set about entangling themselves and ignoring each other’s yelps. Finally, they all stand, with unfortunate timing, as a fourth girl lands on top of them and sends them back to the dirt. A cauldron tumbles lazily after her, clocking one of the other girls on the head with a thud.

They all struggle to a standing position, staring at each other. Except there’s more of them than those that fell out of the sky, the girls feel certain. In fact, there’s… one, two, three, four, five… oh my, this requires more than one hand to count on, Hex realizes in dismay… six. Six? Six people! That’s a lot of people.

Well, there’s nothing to do about it, she realizes. Reluctantly, she opens her mouth and introduces herself. “I’m Hex. She/her. Who are you?” If it sounds a bit ruder than usual, well, that can be blamed on her recent experiences.

The others introduce themselves. Periwinkle, Amethyst, and Darkvine were the ones who hit Hex, she notices with displeasure. Artemis and Sterling were the two observers, having arrived—or, landed, as the case may be—earlier.

They’re all staring at each other when something else arrives.

It’s a large gray pod, which, having fallen from the sky, is now bouncing down the hill towards the group. Hastily, they scatter, then peer at each other as the pod comes to a halt.

“Is it… safe?” Artemis asks Sterling in a low voice.

Sterling shrugs. “It doesn’t seem alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” they reply.

But even as Sterling says that, the pod starts vibrating. Its flexible exterior bulges in unexpected places, as though someone was trying to escape. Faint calls of “let me out! let me out!” are heard from inside it.

“Is now a bad time?” asks another traveler, emerging from a large arch. Six heads swivel to look at her, and the one inside the pod stops yelling and kicking for a moment. She seems embarrassed at the scrutiny, introducing herself as Poinsettia.

They turn back to the pod. Peri bravely gets a long stick and pokes it, jumping back in alarm as it yells “ow!”

Amethyst turns to the others. “ Do you think it’s… alive? Or is someone in there?”

‘In there’ was the general consensus, and they start trying to free the poor creature, barely looking up as two more girls arrive, one with a pop and the other parachuting down, named Reuby Moonnight and Jynx, respectively.

It took a while of pushing, shoving, and yelping in pain, but eventually a person and a pigeon tumble out of the gray tube, which folds in on itself and disappears.

The person stands up and introduces xemself as Writing_in_the_Dark.

“Why in the dark?” Jynx asks curiously. “Isn’t it easier to write when it’s light and you can see?”

Writing looks miffed. “It’s… poetic license,” xe admits.

“So you don’t have supersonic night vision or something cool like that?” Jynx asks in disappointment.

“There’s nothing supersonic about night vision,” Writing argues.

Artemis disagrees. “Actually, supersonic means something that involves being greater than that of the speed of sound, and infrared vision—which is probably what you’re thinking of when you say darkness vision—includes vision, which operates at the speed of light, much faster than the speed of sound. So it is technically supersonic.”

Jynx nods her head emphatically, pretending to understand what Artemis just said, which sounded (to Jynx) as if it was regurgitated from a science textbook—which it very well might have been. “Yep! What she said! That’s what I meant!”

However, regardless of any supersonic discrepancies about darkness vision there is definitely something supersonic about the an anti-gravity scooter and it’s occupant, the kind that abruptly appeared and flew towards the stunned group. Hex’s first impression of the duo is screaming—the scooter is a screaming pink: the kind of pink one might describe as flamingo fuchsia, about equal to a backlit flamingo in tropical sunset that has been coated with layers of neon magenta paint (both the flamingo and the tropical sunset, thank you very much). The occupant is screaming more verbally, uttering high-pitched yelps of terror and nausea. Either way, Jynx reflects, it’s a bit loud.

Nine eyes follow the scooter (the tenth eye, belonging to Poinsettia, is fixed firmly on Darkvine, just to be safe—after all, one never knows what someone so clearly a witch might do) as it zips in circles.

Nine eyes watch as the person riding—or, more likely, hanging on desperately for their life—falls off, making them no longer a person riding, instead a person not-riding, for that is the lovely reality of English conjugation (if one can even call that mess conjugation).

“All these entrances seem rather painful,” Artemis remarks to a nearby pigeon. It coos back, looking rather offended, and takes a little flutter-hop to land it as far away from this annoying personage as possible.

The person, who is no longer riding their scooter (which seems to have zoomed off into the distance after the person fell off), jumps up and introduces themself as “Darkling. Just call me Darkling.”

“What else would we have called you?” asks a befuddled Amethyst.

Darkling pretends not to hear, instead pointing over her shoulder and saying, “oh look, a butterfly!”

For a distractionary tactic that only occasionally works—about equal to pointing to the ceiling and, in a mock innocent voice, proclaiming that the word ‘gullible’ hangs there, a thing Darkvine has done numerous times without success (the one time she actually wrote the word ‘gullible’ on the ceiling, the test subject looked up)—it behaved remarkably. 

Then, a voice which may or may not  have been Darkling, but due to the fact that no one saw their mouth move, could have quite possibly been another being or perhaps not a being at all speaks, or rather, shouts. 

 “Let’s get exploring, shall we?”

Hex here (school). Hex is not Over There. Unfortunately. 

@Artemis: thank you so much! High praise indeed. I love Terry Pratchett. I’ve read some of his first Discworld ones—The Color of Magic and so on—and I’m currently reading Tiffany Aching #1. And Ellingham academy—how Truly Devious of you. You have good choice in books, my friend.

@Jynx: Ah, but here is a Complete List of Things That are Blue Other Than the Sky (Which Was Mentioned Twice): Peri’s baggy pants, one of Writing’s eyes, Writing’s cornflower hair, Writing’s large ish-white angel wings, Jynx’s jay palisman, Jynx’s tunics, Jynx’s sleeves, Jynx’s hair, Jynx’s ice almond shaped eyes, Jynx’s dark fingernails—hmm. I see your point. You are rather blue. I hope you feel better soon. I’m never happy when I’m sad, but that might just be me.

@Reuby: thank you! I’m glad you’re engaged and will continue to read our masterpiece—I’m sorry, did I say masterpiece? I meant mess! Our mess! Our cake? Much better.

@Everyone, feel free to post diary entries, writing bits, drawings, literally anything. Please don’t make it interfere with the plot too much if possible, and no ghosts!

And without either Further or even Much Ado About Nothing, here is the Next Part!

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

All the king's horses and all the king's men

Couldn’t put Humpty together again

The garden looks like a cake. One of those square, white, wedding cakes with the weird-tasting frosting which always seem to be toppled or smashed by a psychotic ex. But, of course, the garden doesn’t topple (though it is occasionally smashed). And the garden doesn’t have frosting, but it does have weird hanging vines which are almost as weird-tasting (eating large amounts may cause mild symptoms of dry mouth, warm flushing of skin, heavy feeling in limbs, mild nausea, itching, clouded mental abilities, restlessness, muscle and bone pain, cold flashes, leg twitches, and cravings for cake). Anyway, our young (or infinitesimally and infinitely old) travelers were on the bottom layer—the really crumbly and dense one that tastes dry. Again, a good metaphor: the garden was itself crumbly and dense—the stone arches were old and corroded, and the plants grew everywhere.

It was rather hard to get around, Jynx reflected. All that long grass. Wading through it had been fun for a while, but after a bit even exploring super-awesome hopefully-magical gardens gets boring. And then there were the ticks—or rather, the mysterious lack of ticks that had Jynx worried. For weren’t ticks supposed to live on long pieces of grass and when something walked by they’d wave their stubby little legs in ecstasy before crawling onto said thing and sucking the thing’s blood until the tick wells up to the size of a grape and the thing finally notices? Or something like that. Jynx had asked Artemis about this, and she had informed Jynx that yes, in fact, ticks do do everything creepy that Jynx had thought they did. But they also fed primarily on certain small squirmy creatures including lizards. So if there weren’t any lizards, then it followed, with beautiful illogic, that there would be no ticks.

So Jynx had searched for lizards for a bit until she realized that she couldn’t find any and besides, if there were ticks, then it was best not to go crawling around in the long grass trying to prove they didn’t exist in the first place.

So the garden had lost it’s romanticism for Jynx, and it seemed like it had for some of the others as well. Even Darkling, who had possibly suggested exploring in the first place, looked a bit bored.

They called in a group meeting.

“I’m bored,” they said without preamble.

Peri, Sterling, Jynx, Darkvine, Hex, and Writing all agreed.

The others didn’t, but they’re opinions didn’t matter because it’s much simpler that way, and besides, they couldn’t be found.

“We should do something,” Darkvine posits.

There was general agreeing all around. Nodding of heads, that sort of thing.

…

Silence.

…

“Well, what should we do?” Darkvine asks.

Shrugs.

“It was your idea,” Peri eventually says.

Darkvine looks indignant. “Exactly! I had an idea, so it’s your turn. You can’t expect me to do all the work, can you?”

“No, you can’t do all the work,” said Hex. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

…

Silence.

…

“So… aren’t you going to start thinking?” remarks Darkvine in annoyance.

“Oh, we are!” says Jynx.

…

Silence.

…

“I give up!” says a very exasperated Darkvine. “I guess I’ll have to think too. Why don’t we play tag?”

Everyone looked dissatisfied.

“Duck duck goose?”

More unsure looks.

“Weeding? Sneaky statues? Hide-and-seek?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea!” says Writing enthusiastically. “Nose goes!” They smack their nose.

Peri, Jynx, Darkling, and Sterling all put their fingers on their nose. Hex puts a finger on Darkvine’s nose. “Oh no! It looks like I’m it,” she says with a wicked smile. “60… 59… 58…”

“Tell anyone else you see that we’re playing!” Peri reminds everyone. Then they scatter.

Darkvine hides in a semi-moldy fallen log, worming her way to the middle where she lies prone. On the way (but not in the log), she tells Amethyst and Poinsettia, who go hide behind a tree, talking and giggling softly. Peri crawls into a bush and tells Reuby, who hides behind an arch. Writing crouches down behind a rock. Artemis is found by Sterling and Darkling, and all three go hide close to each other in the same colony of bushes. Jynx, however, attempts something more ambitious. The walls.

They’re reaching up over the plants, looming up and up through the layers of the cake-garden until they brush the sky with their stony arms. To be frank, they look like a Jenga tower, where one misplaced block could send it all tumbling down. But Jynx isn’t about to let that deter her—and besides, her name isn’t Frank.

She hurries up to the top level, and chooses a wall. They’re structured loosely in a square shape, and she goes for the one closest to her. It’s very high, she reflects once she’s halfway up.

Don’t look down, her head tells her. But it’s of no use—the very reminder makes her look and her head starts spinning. She clutches the wall and takes a few shallow breaths, before climbing higher. Her head next tells her, don’t look up—because it is rather far to go and she’s already tired. But she ignores her head (not an easy thing to do, as it’s rather in the way) and makes it to the top with only a few screaming muscles and a pounding heart. She sits there for a while, relishing in her accomplishment, when she hears a voice.

Another CBer. They come into view and look around, finally spotting her. They look impressed. “Can I come up?” they ask.

Jynx affirms, and they start climbing, swarming up the rocky walls much faster than she did. Jynx can’t help feeling slightly jealous of their speed. But she isn’t a person of solitude, and it’d be nice to share her newfound space with one of them.

They reach the top, and gaze in awe around. The view is breathtaking—the whole garden is visible, and much beyond as well.

“The view…” they don’t finish their sentence.

“I know. It’s stunning,” Jynx says.

“I’m glad you’ve seen it.”

Jynx looks startled. “Huh? What do you mean?” she asks in surprise.

“Really, it was quite beautiful,” they reply, putting their hand on Jynx’s back. She tries to twist away, but it’s too late. The pressure increases, and she loses her balance, toppling head over heels onto the ground below. A few stones fall after her, dislodged.

And thus went the first wall. 

._.

Dead: Jynx

Alive: Poinsettia, Darkling, Sterling, Reuby Moonnight, Writing_in_the_dark, Periwinkle, Artemis, Amethyst, Darkvine, Hex

I am in NO WAY trying to underwhelm Hex's magnificent writing, but I should like to write what my final moments are like in my diary. Please excuse my rudeness. 

*Jynx* 

As Hex begins counting, I search for a place to hide.

There! I think, spotting a tall wall with vines all around it.

As I climb, I glance at the ground, nervously continuing onward--heights have never been my favorite.

Soon, another CBer, with my consent, climbs up and joins me.

"The view..." I hear them say.

"It's beautiful," I finish for them.

"I'm glad you've seen it," they say, with an odd look on their face as they advance toward me.

What? I think, my hands drifting to my twin daggers strapped to my legs. No, this is a mistake.

A--mistake. That's all it is.

I pause as I reach the edge of the wall, and, glancing down nervously, I realize that I'll die if I fall from here.

They--they can't mean to kill me, I think anxiously.

"I'm sorry," they say.

And 

with

one

swift

movement...

They push me--

and I fall,

down

down

down.

*with finality, the pen swooshes across the page of Jynx's journal, marking it with a diagonal line, as if to say "farewell, my author."*

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