[Who: Nebula]

 

Miss Cherry is so kind! With her guidance, she and I saved that funky green girl. Her book seemed very important to her, so we let her hold onto it while she recovers from surgery.

I left a lot of my mass inside her for some reason. I wasn’t told the reason why, just that it needed to be done.

The whole thing was very exhausting, but Miss Cherry tells me that as time goes on, I should be able to get better and last longer at moving around and dissolving things before needing to replenish my energy again.

She says she has some ideas for that. That it’s a good thing that this not-an-intruder is so compatible. Miss Cherry says that the green girl isn’t an intruder anymore, that she’s under Miss Cherry’s protection now.

No more angry hate in my system, no more urges to dissolve the planty person.

Speaking of which, I have to wonder what’s up with that. She practically consisted almost entirely of vegetation! Leaves, bark, roots, the whole gamut. Tasted bland and boring, like chewing on a pencil.

I realize I’m talking about a person here, a walking and thinking person, but I’m complaining about how she tasted when I ate… no, dissolved her.

Well, she’s not walking or thinking right now, she’s just laid out there, unconscious with her book on top of her. Green tendrils, speckled with white crystals, slowly wrapping around her in some weird cocoon looking thing, while somehow avoiding the book.

Some of the glowing white moss has even found its way to her, crawling up with a determined purpose in inch-worm fashion.

If this really is Earth, I wonder what must have happened to make plants move around like they’ve got someplace to be.

I should ask Miss Cherry if I can name her. Wait. No, look at those clothes, torn as they are. She’s got a culture able to mass-produce clothing. So she’s probably got a name already, too.

Shaking my upper goop to clear my mind, I turn my attention to my current task. 

Miss Cherry asked me for my input on some designs that she’s making. She says that with the newbie, she’ll have much more to work with for her [Recipes].

Right now, we’re working with what we’ve got. She’s using sugar to [Bake] gummy golems for the [Lobby] in the entrance, to go with the slimes in there.

Hours pass like this, testing and implementing new designs.

Little of it is similar to how I remember science and engineering being. The implementation of Unreality changes things, in bizarre but semi-predictable ways. As Miss Cherry clarifies, Unreality isn’t magic, but it’s not quite science either. It’s more of an art, of intent and environment.

It’s not magic, either. That’s got its own methods of use and implementation, drawing on Unreality to perform supernatural feats in logical patterns. Chant a word here, crush and boil an herb there, brew this, consume that, wave a wand or draw a glyph.

Magic has laws. Unreality, apparently, doesn’t. Magic is science, simple facts about the world that have been affected by the twisting, ironic, power of Unreality.

I only know a little about this Unreality business, because the last that I remember, it was still a fringe theory. Too bad that I recall less about it than I do about my own former body.

We’re in the middle of [Baking] a guardian. Unreality pours through the crack in existence that is Miss Cherry, sloshing to fill an invisible mold. Intent solidifies, laws of physics and magic defied with her intent of creation.

 It’s big, it’s made of cocoa, and it’s kinda lumpy. It coalesces into existence as Miss Cherry mixes together her [Ingredients], forges them into matter and magic. It grows, awe-inspiring in its own right. Even as it is forming, it is moving. Wider than it is tall, its gorilla-like body ripples as hardened chunks of chocolate gather together, disparate pieces floating at invisible joints. All of it held in place by imaginary tendons. 

It looks around, blinks its beady little eyes, and promptly sits right down. Floating arms and hands wrapped around an equally floating head as it— no… he curled up into a crouch and started rocking back and forth.

Aww. Poor thing is overwhelmed. Just like how I was at first. Maybe Miss Cherry will let me name this one? I’ll ask later.

I know what he needs. I ooze over and plop myself next to him. I tap him on the knee, and get his attention. As I squash and stretch myself into various humorous shapes, his mood visibly lightens up.

As he cheers me on, he claps his hands with each new shape I make. Encouraged, I shift into another one, more wonky than the last. By the end of it, we’re both rolling around in shared silent laughter.

[[Ugh. Look at this mess! Watch the splash zone, you two!]] A stern voice, fuzzily cracking.

I freeze. Behind me is a trail of light purple residue and discarded slime, scattered all over the previously cleaned hexagonal core room. 

[[Sorry Miss Cherry!]] I call out. [[I don’t mean to be such a slob! I really don’t!]]

A courteous static replies back, bubbling with amusement. [[Nebbie, Nebbie, darling, ii-i-it’s fine! Watch!]]

A flicker of white in the shadows, and my attention snapped to where it was. Growing from the ground was a column of brick, metal, and sugar clear as glass, all organically fusing with each other to create a large hollow cylinder.

Dozens of clear tubes ran from the back of a glass-fronted, metal-backed tube as it sat at a slight backwards angle, bubbles running through the whole construction.

Flat licorice ropes with stars on the end shot out of notches at the base of the machine. They swept the room, staying close to the ground. As their broad stars touch my dropped slime, it gets swept up into the main tube, filling it up slightly. At the same time, one of the tubes at the back turns the exact same hue of lavender as myself.

I simply watch it in wonder.

Amazing. Simply amazing! I want it. I need that power, the ability to bend Reality itself to my very whims! It has to do with that rift, the miniscule tear in Reality that the Core of Miss Cherry’s has grown around. It leaks pure potential, the unknown, the eldritch and illogical.

Without a mind, like mine or Miss Cherry’s, to filter through, it just sits there, doing its thing. Building up, slowly changing local Reality in unexpected ways. There’s more rifts out there, according to Miss Cherry. She says she can sense them, leaking in uncontrolled, and sometimes ironic (or worse, pun-ishing) ways.

Unreality, when channeled by the mind. Weaved into shape with the stories that everyone tells in their mind. Imagination, one’s own mind convincing the truth itself to be something other!

Each person’s ability to channel Unreality is different. Some are stronger, some are weaker. Some are strange, others fairly common. At least one is unique to each person.

Before, Miss Cherry wasn’t strong enough to do much on her own. But with mine as an extra boost… Well, Nebula will let the results speak for themselves!

And it’s not just personal power, it shapes the land too! Stories, the folklore that people tell themselves, gossip and rumors, these too are latched onto by Unreality as they float around from mind to mind. 

Practically psychic power. At least that’s how Miss Cherry puts it.

There is only one way to know for sure, and that is to try to develop channeling it for myself! The true spirit of a scientist! Studying, watching, learning, hypothesizing, the endless testing. Rebuilding and testing again…

I’m lost in these thoughts as I watch the chocolate golem 

[[Nebby. I-I-I know you don’t like to-to-to leave me alone,]] says Miss Cherry. 

I nod. She knows me well.

[[Well… I-I-I’ve got Ceetee now! The guy I just baked and you… gave input on.]]

I’ve got to agree. Dude looks strong enough to smash a man’s skull in with his bare hands. 

[[Are you sure, Miss Cherry? I don’t know, he looks a little… distracted?]]

The chocolate troll, er… Ceetee, is just smiling happily at the ground, doodling in the dirt with his fingers.

[[No doubt about it!]]

I let off a gurgle. [[Well, if you say so.]]

[[A-aa-and I do! Now, Neb, d-deary, I’ve got a job for you!]] Her stuttering glitch picks up in intensity.

[[A job?]] I ask, suddenly wary. 

[[Nebula, dear, I need you to go outside a-a-and EXPLORE for me. I-I need resources, things to study and build with. You need to work hard, grow and improve! You can’t do that if you’re stuck in here. As delicious as I’m sure my candies are, you’re a growing monster!]]

I shrug my slime.

Might as well. It’d be a good opportunity to develop a power of my own.

A happy chill runs through my core. [[It’s decided then! Have funnnn!]]

A few minutes later, I’m at the entryway. It’s… intimidating looking. On the one hand, it’s scary leaving my patron to fend for herself like this. On the other hand, I can finally indulge in my curious side!

I was getting all antsy in there, only drawing up floor plans. I’m a scientist (I think), not an engineer!

Study, observe, experiment! Field work! Come on, Nebula! This is the one part of your humanity that you've still got!

That’s it! I just need to see this as field work!

With glee, I start absorbing little bits of everything, letting it into my magnificent purple body. It breaks it down, analyzes every molecule of it.To start with, I eat those pinecones I left in a pile.

To my surprise, there’s tiny insects in there, making the ingestment worth the investment.

Ingestment? If that’s not a word, it should be.

A particular scent catches my attention. I unfocus my sight, allowing the scent to wash over me. Cotton candy, popcorn… stale circus peanuts? Latex?

All together, they’re oddly familiar. And then I see it.

The Circus. Booths and tents, boasting of attractions of mirth and ‘musement.

I don’t see a single soul around, just dozens of what look to be clowns amidst the ever-present calliope music.

They smell… so delicious. A veritable buffet of unknowns! And then… voices. Not from the clowns, but off to the side, obscured by trees. 

I rush into the heights of the nearest tree, hiding as much of my mass as I can.

The voices draw nearer, and to my surprise, I see what appear to be two fairly ordinary humans. Albeit, humans in the most ridiculous looking full-body multi-colored suits, with capes, gloves, and even funky little domino masks! The two of them looked to have walked straight out of a superhero comic book!

With the long and pointed ears on both of them, the large spikes covering the rounder one, and the bizarre helmet with a tubular projection on the front of it on the other, they looked humanish in the same way the planty one does.

At this point I’m beginning to question whether this is really Earth or not. According to Miss Cherry, it is Earth, but she doesn’t know exactly when on Earth we are.

Or what it's like outside of her walls.

Then again, I don't know any of that either.

Which is exactly why I’m out here. And what luck! People! I can’t imagine they’ll give something as wonderful as I am as warm of a welcome as Cherry and I gave to the plant girl.

I’d probably end up in some research lab or worse: killed out of fear. From what I’ve seen so far, powers are so common that even animals have them! 

And since I don’t want to die, not just yet, I’m here, hiding in a tree.

“I’m telling you, Swellfish, this is where we’ll get the big score! There’s untapped treasures around here!” The helmeted one speaks, confident in himself.

“All I see is a damn clown circus. That looks like work. Work to clear out. I hate work. Why did you drag me out here, HC? Anything remotely good in this forest must've been looted centuries ago.” The rotund one, covered in short conical spikes.

“Well, you see, I found a map!”

“Oh, you’ve got a map, do ya now? When have they ever lead to anything, Headcannon?”

Headcannon. That must be the helmeted one’s name. Makes sense. He really does look like he’s got a cannon growing out of his skull.

Weird names, but I can see the logic behind them.

So that would make the other one with spines Swellfish.

“Well, there was that one time with the snake rodeo–”

“That ended with a particularly nasty case of noodle virus. We lost every penny we had to that infernal hell pit! And before you bring up the goldenrods, those ended up being regular flowers, and not the stash of lost gold treasure that you thought it was.”

“I was right about the unicorn farm!” Headcannon bragged. I stretched over to the next tree as I followed them.

“You had us mucking out the stalls of genetically modified donkeys, you donkey,” complained Swellfish.

“The vampire den?”

“My doctor says I’m still allergic to garlic.”

“What about the XChem job?”

“Which one, the one that ended in flames, or the one that ended in floods?”

“... It’s a good map.” Headcannon pouted.

“You lead us into a damn circus filled with feral clowns! Just what is so special about that thing? Let me see!!” Swellfish lunged for the ancient paper in Headcannon’s hands, with Headcannon skillfully playing keep-away with it.

I hopped from tree to tree, watching the two bicker. This is a goldmine of info!

“Why do I even follow you in these schemes of yours, HC?”

“Aaw, it’s ‘cuz ya like me, Swellie!” Headcannon gave ‘Swellie’ a playful punch, only to be rewarded with a much more painful one in return.

“Ugh. I can NOT get my mind off that damn circus music! Argh! This is why I hate clowns! They get you where you least expect it!” Swellfish sighed. “Since we’re here, why don’t you and I do something about that?”

“Why? What’s in it for me?” Eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“One: you DON’T get your ass kicked by me tonight. And two: don’t lie, you’re creeped out by them too.”

Headcannon turns around, studying the glaring colors of the circus. Loose balloons floated up from time to time, inviting one to come closer. I was totally tempted, too, but I stuck to the two wanna-be treasure hunters like glue.

There was something off with how the circus didn’t have a single scream, a single peal of childish laughter ringing through the greasy stalls and rides. Just a single repeating squeaking tune.

The stalls were put up at angles that were just a touch bit akimbo. Lines and angles put together in ways only seen in an architect’s nightmares. Patterns clashed, patchwork pieces that didn't quite mesh together properly. Looking at them too long was starting to give me a headache.

Like the geometry wasn’t quite all there, too uncanny. Not like Miss Cherry’s clean designs that melded life with not-life. Different, twisted somehow. As though it were forced together. Harsh, angry.

With what I was picking up, I was starting to get the impression that wherever I am, it’s definitely not the old familiar Terra Firma I’m used to. Genetically modified unicorns? Vampires? Noodle virus???

And then there’s the clowns. Much like with the circus, they didn’t slot very neatly into the world. Grins too wide for their heads. Stretched out limbs of pale white skin, false smiles behind patterned faces and bulbous red noses. 

With my bubble-o-vision focus, I can see that it’s not paint or fabric covering their bodies. That’s their actual skin.

In their solid black eyes, there’s a look of hunger. They watch the two costumed crazies, silently cajoling them to approach. They wave misshapen caricatures of animals, rendered in lumpy sausage-shaped balloons. They whistle, they chortle, and they even chuckle.

It’s obvious that these aren’t humans. They’re imitations of a time-honored human tradition, but they aren’t human in the slightest. Animalistic, crude, unintelligent things merely pretending at personhood.

I’d dissolve them without a single twinge of guilt. An abomination to my sight.

Maybe at some point these things were cuter, less distorted. But over time, they’ve changed, gone feral. From what Swellfish and Headcannon are saying, the clowns used to be tame, domesticated things, popular as pets during a very brief fad some generations ago. 

Forced to adapt after abandonment, these mockeries are no longer the kind child-adoring creatures they once were. Yeesh. With their high reproductive rates and proclivity for shiny interesting objects, these things are basically like fantasy goblins, only more… colorful. More prone to child eating.

Scary.

Swellfish and Headcannon, for their part, slowly walk a giant circle around the circus, examining it from every angle. All while I examine them.

“Let me see the map!”

“No!”

“Where did you even get that thing?”

“Some weirdo in some traveling shop or other. You know, the usual.”

“What have I told you about talking to extra-dimensional shopkeeps?”

Headcannon scratched at his helmet as he looked at his feet and mumbled. “To do… not that?”

Swellfish… swelled in frustration. “Give me that!”

”No!”

”Then I guess I’ll have to take it myself!” The two struggled, and a shot rang out in the forest.

Everything freezes.

The map, Headcannon and Swellfish each holding a torn and charred half.

Smoke, gently curling out of the metal tube on Headcannon’s helmet.

A greasy rainbow of splattered clown guts and a crushed tent.

The slow turning of eyes to the source of the noise.

A purple slime, stretched between two pine trees.

And then, everything began to move again.