MINGLE ∞ LOG — June 2025

[thediadem]

Mingle ∞ Log

No Lifeguard on Duty

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Summary

What's going on?

An unexpected heat wave in mid-June, coupled with the cycling shutdown of all air conditioning units in motels across the Blocks, has made the summer unbearable. Meanwhile, the ever-eager storm chaser, Felix Bjurstrom, has uncovered a fancy resort with a pool in a diffusion zone only 1 hour out from Panorama. Lucky, right? Well...kind of. It's got some quirks.

When is this happening?

June 10 - 30

What should I know?

• This area is one of many diffusion zones that appear throughout the planet.
• A storm chaser is someone dedicated to studying the cosmic phenomenon in the Diadem. Felix is a pioneer in his field.
• A winding highway filled with old empty barrels will take you to the zone.
• Characters can travel with a friend to save on gas! Parking's limited, so it might not be a bad idea.
• At any given time, there's max several dozen visitors. Most work long hours, some are traveling through the diffusion zones, and others prefer not to risk the drive or waste precious gas, so it won't draw a huge crowd (but there's still a crowd!).
• This is a mingle rather than an event. Plot-heavy elements will be minor. The game's first proper event will be posted in July!

What does my character know?

• Having lost his phone, Felix will spread the word using good old-fashioned printed posters that he's put up around Panorama. A young woman is seen helping him. They appear to be close. Some say that's his daughter.
• Though the timing is impossible to predict accurately, Felix believes that due to this zone's unusual proximity to an anchor point, it has a high chance of persisting for 2-3 weeks.
• Directions are printed on the posters, though characters are also free to stumble across the zone by accident.

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Travel — Map — Setting

Introduction

The resort looks like your typical upscale vacation spot: a beautiful pool, lovely cabins, and plenty of pool chairs. The sky is perpetually nighttime and there are two moons. One moon is smaller than its sister and glows purple. The other looks like the Earth's moon. The weather is pleasantly warm. In fact, conditions are almost too perfect.

Other fluxdrifts are here, too, and you might come across them, all of whom are taking advantage of the pool. They'll converse superficially with you and will come and go randomly. You'll want to keep a close eye on your belongings. Other than cooling off, this isn't a bad place to start making connections. Life in the Diadem is better when you've got allies if not friends.

Just outside the resort is a spacious parking lot, designed for visitors. Nobody's following parking rules so put your car anywhere it fits. If you get blocked in, well, that's a problem for when you leave.

At the end of June, the diffusion zone will flicker and morph into an unremarkable overgrown park, long abandoned to the decades.

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Prompts

As you wander around, you discover deactivated androids in many of the poolside huts. These androids cannot be mistaken for any organic species: their chassis is metal, and their heads are shiny. Circuits and wires are visible. But each is dressed distinctly human in a way that borders on disturbing. You spot lipstick drawn on some of the metal faces, as though they're playing dress up...or as if they don't realize they aren't human. One android is frozen in place with a diary clutched in its hands. Another has a hairbrush for its nonexistent hair.

Something seems to have destroyed them—perhaps a powerful EMP wave that knocked them all out. All except one.

The Bartender

The poolside bar is at the eastern end of the resort. There are plenty of seats. A few are occupied by deactivated androids. The bartender is also an android and appears to be the only functional one in this place. He speaks with a modulated voice and has a neutral accent. He exhibits the following behaviors if you sit at his bar:

• Icebreaker. Whether you're alone or with a companion, he'll try to get you all to be friends, asking random self-generated icebreaker questions. He'll be visibly disappointed if you don't play along.
• Bartending. While cheerful, he can't make the correct drink: it's always too strong, incredibly weak, added salt instead of sugar, messed up the ice. He's obviously doing his best, but it's just not working. The harder he tries, the worse he performs until it becomes a comedy of errors with stuff falling over, ice dumped in your lap, champagne corks flying, and any number of slapstick mishaps. You can help him out by mixing the drink yourself.

If you're nice to him, he'll introduce himself as Thomas Lustras. He's happy to tell you about his son. Strange, you think, but who says androids can't have paternal instincts? Yet, when the android takes out his wallet to show you a photo of his son—named Edward Lustras—the picture is that of a human child, roughly 5 years old, in the arms of his human father.

The driver's license in the same wallet confirms that Thomas is (was?) a real person. The picture on the license matches the human male in the photo. A half-scorched business card states that Thomas was a consultant at Outer Rim Resettlements. Thomas believes he's on a company retreat and wistfully declares he's eager to return home to his son.

Maybe don't look too closely. After all, this place will soon disappear. And so will he.

The Grill

It's not a vacation without a grill! Not a grillable item is in sight, though, so you'll have to rely on what you can bring out of Panorama. Some of the visiting drifters will pitch in to share, unloading hotdogs (some synthetic, others authentic, and some far past expiry), burger patties (same) and buns, and "kebabs" made of blocky frozen vegetable squares. The squares vaguely resemble corn, mushrooms, and pineapple. The texture is passable, like a flavor-infused block of tofu.

Fire up the grill and take turns grilling. You'll also have to manage the propane. The grill's also prone to sputtering out, requiring regular minor repairs to get it back up and going. Any loose bolts or screws can be taken out of the dead androids to replace the rusty ones in the grill. You're unsure if you should feel uncomfortable doing that or what, but it is a solution.

Parking Woes

Like any crowded event, the parking lot can get chaotic, and the lawlessness of the diffusion zones doesn't help. While some are happy to help barbecue, others are more interested in picking fights over who got to the parking space first. It won't take much for a fistfight to break out, and a knife fight isn't out of the question, either, though nobody'll be killed (this time).

You can let the troublemakers beat each other, or you can try to intervene if somebody who doesn't deserve it is getting harassed. Just avoid causing too much of a scene. Breaking noses is acceptable; gutting someone head to toe is not. There are Enforcers visiting the zone, and if you interfere with their nice pool time, they won't hesitate to haul away everybody involved and make you sit in jail for a few days.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[catharses]

Yes, but it had more distinct portals than hoping one might stumble across it while driving.

[ The skepticism is deep in his voice since the directions to get here, while mostly straightforward, still seemed strange compared to a Dreampool. Then again, visitors to Penacony always found that odd on first introduction.

Better to put the offending neon item down since it also seems to be made of some impossibly stretchy material unfamiliar to him. It belongs right back in the suitcase never to be seen again while continuing to look through the other options as his thoughts turn back to more important(?) matters. ]

The Dreamscape is something more permanent even if it's created from memoria gathered over time. It was not quite reality either though it was linked to it as something a visitor could pass between, which is part of that feels familiar about being - [ with a wave of one hand to their surroundings - ] here.

[unsunder]

It sounds as though you come from quite an interesting place.

[ He’s not even saying that to humor him. A “Dreamscape” that people can move in and out of as they please does sound fascinating.

Leaving Sunday to his rummaging for the moment, Emet-Selch retreats to the washroom to change his clothes, ditching his heavy city clothes for his more tropical attire. Still, he inquires through the closed door– ]

This Dreamscape. What is its purpose? Purely recreation, or something else?

[catharses]

It's what it's known for, after all. That intrigue was what kept visitors coming to find out for themselves.

[ It is, decidedly, exactly the kind of polished line he's offered about Penacony over the years in his role as Family head to welcome those very guests as they'd arrived to slip into the sweet dream. Perhaps another time it would've been paired with a chuckle as if this is an inside joke they share, one method of many associated to that same welcoming act, but Sunday lets it stand.

Next out of the suitcase is a pair of sunglasses that were rolled up in yet another bright shirt. They're a viable option - possibly the best one by far, at least in terms of accessories - so Sunday sets them on a nearby table. ]

The Dreamscape contained many worlds within it so there was something for anyone and space for our administration across the branches of The Family. But mostly it was a place visitors could come and set aside their worries for a while for recreation with many opportunities, and thought of as a paradise by many for that reason.

[ Not by him, though Sunday opts not to add that as he abandons the suitcase for a bag he's spotted to see what it might contain. ]

[unsunder]

[ That does sound like a line, he thinks, shrugging into his new orange shirt of questionable taste, decidedly not looking at his own reflection until he's buttoned it up well past the scar tissue marring his torso.

A short moment later, Emet-Selch emerges, now fully dressed for the locale, sunglasses pushed up to rest atop his head. His old clothes lay draped over his arm instead. He'll need a bag to put these in, probably. ]

So 'twas a resort of some sort as well, then. Not too unlike where we find ourselves now, but with a fair bit more variety. And you helped to manage the place?

[catharses]

Yes, Penacony is known across the star systems. Guests arrive to The Reverie, a grand hotel that greets them first before their rooms allow them to enter the Dreamscape. Though... there are other methods to attain entry beyond the hotel's fees.

[ Of which said fees are many; The Family is careful in other administrative aspects to ensure not only the funding of the sweet dream but also a rather generous lining of its accounts. Something about which he'd reviewed many reports or heard in numerous meetings between the Family branches though his area of expertise was elsewhere. As were his concerns, as it turned out. ]

I am... ah, I was the head of the Oak Family, one of those aforementioned branches and the one which leads of the five lineages on Penacony. Before I left, my main role was to coordinate the rules and regulations, settle matters with guests when necessary, and guide the Dreamscape towards what it should have been.

[ Which - is certainly one way to describe it though he's distracted from continuing by pulling out a pair of shiny pants he puts back just as quickly. Someone else might appreciate them more because Sunday certainly doesn't. ]

You do not have experience with places like this or the Dreamscape, if I might assume as much?

[unsunder]

[ There’s a lot to unpack there – and not from the suitcase. From the bureaucracy, to the “should have been,” to the slip from “am” to “was”. Whatever Sunday’s role there, it’s clear he’s no longer a part of it, and Emet-Selch finds himself a little curious as to what happened. A man capable of manipulating the minds of others would surely be a boon in any sort of business. Why let him go? Did he have his own designs for the place? ]

I have experience with a great many things, including what happens when one reality collides with another.

[ In a manner of speaking, anyway. He has ruined entire worlds to see them merged with the world from which they originated. The Rejoinings were violent, disastrous things, coming at so high a cost of life. ]

Nothing quite like this, however. A pocket of a place slotted so neatly into another reality that we might visit it freely.

[catharses]

[ There's a moment where if it's witnessed will tell on Sunday when the reaction is too much to suppress: an infinitesimal pause but one still there at one reality colliding with another. A millisecond too long of dwelling on it even though it's meant for here and not where a dream overrides reality by replacing it.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, one which would take one exhale to release but one which Sunday fails to ask in the end as he goes back to absently folding the clothes he's pulled out of the bag. Nothing in there appeals to him, but it can't hurt to pack it back away properly. ]

Then it sounds as though your experience also includes ones far less pleasant than this - [ which - another pause, this time to glance at the androids in the room since pleasant might be an overstatement to what's happened here before the diffusion zone, and so he adds quite quickly: ] ... relatively speaking.

[ It's closer to the question he wanted to ask but still not quite. For all Sunday once wouldn't have stopped to consider anything but pressing until he found out what he wanted to know, he tells himself this is an attempt to be that person no longer. ]

[unsunder]

[ There’s not much that escapes Emet-Selch’s keen gaze, and he’s just as adept at reading body language as he is the aether in the air. That pause is noticed, noted, but not asked about for the moment.

He imagines the reason behind it will come to light eventually, especially when there seems to be an unasked question hanging in the air.

Silence for a beat or two, eyes tracking the motion of Sunday’s hands, folding clothes neatly for no reason, for nobody but still, steel skeletons, and placing them back into the suitcase. ]

If you have aught to ask, you may as well come out with it. I am aware that what I have said would invite questions.

[catharses]

[ Unexpectedly, a laugh escapes him. Or something more like the suggestion of one when it's basically an exhale with a vague air of amusement, but being (correctly) called out is enough for Sunday to abandon his task with the suitcase's contents. He can appreciate the directness for what it is and the request for it in return. ]

I suppose there is no hiding as much, is there.

[ No question this time in the words or the intonation; merely a statement as a placeholder to organize his thoughts. Of which he has many since there's any number of things he'd like to ask, but Sunday selects a place to start as he raises his gaze to Emet-Selch. ]

I know how such a thing came to pass at my home when it comes to one reality replacing another, [ for he'll admit to this while holding back the rest a bit longer, ] but I had not heard of it happening anywhere else. Nor did I expect to meet someone who has experience with it, should you care to tell me what your experience is.

[unsunder]

Insofar as my own star is concerned, one reality was not replaced with another. They were pieces of what was once the same whole, rejoined. ‘Twas not a gentle process, and not without massive loss of life as a result.

[ He doesn’t seem to feel any one way about the heavy casualties. At the time, it was worth it. Snuffing out countless lives that he saw as so frail and ephemeral as to barely be counted as alive at all in the service of restoring what was once whole.

After all he has done, he cannot begin to feel bad about it now. ]

In layman’s terms, if one could get the Source and one of its disparate Shards to tip toward the same element, usually by way of some sort of calamity, then they would be drawn back together.

[ As he says it, he illustrates with his hands, lifting one and then the other, and bringing them together, fingers intertwined. ]

[catharses]

[ He'd had no expectations when asking beyond hoping that there would be an answer as tacitly promised. If there hadn't been, that wouldn't have been surprising either. There are any number of ways this conversation can go though the options begin to narrow when 'replaced' is the wrong word. Something which doesn't align completely with what he'd attempted, and the same for the loss of life.

His gaze tracks the motion Emet-Selch makes as part of the explanation and after a pause, Sunday says: ] I see.

[ Because he does, sort of, in an abstract sense. Enough to know there's more to the explanation which would mean more to someone from the same world to know all of the intricacies which brought about such a choice; does he not know the same is true for himself? There is no judgment either present on his face or internally. Instead his expression stays contemplative while Sunday considers with the appropriate level of gravity. ]

An option not to be taken lightly with the consequences named, but what sounds like one that someone would reach for if they felt there was nothing else to be done. [ A beat, and then because he might've been projecting a little in those assumptions - ] I can relate to that much.

[unsunder]

[ It’s sort of funny how quickly he’d pinned Sunday for being the type of person who would understand. Emet-Selch isn’t out here to make friends or win any sort of sympathy – he’s lived far too long and done far too much for any of that. But there is something sort of relieving about being able to tell his tale, regardless of how sanitized he makes his involvement sound, and receive simple understanding in response.

There are plenty of things they are not telling each other, plenty more that may never see the light of day. That’s fine, they’re allowed their secrets. This alone is enough. ]

Can you. [ Not a question, just a statement, devoid of the usual derision Emet-Selch tends to sling about. ] Would that explain, then, why you are familiar with the consequences of one reality replacing another?

[catharses]

[ As a deadpan tone is mirrored back to him, this time it - fortunately - doesn't result in Sunday's attitude making a resurgence. Instead he looks at Emet-Selch evenly with his gaze unwavering in anticipation of the question which follows. A fair thing to ask even if he hadn't laid a direct path to being asked this. ]

It would. Though it was perhaps more the consequences of initially succeeding at doing so and then opting to fail rather than maintaining it.

[ A different set of consequences in the end, and ones Sunday can say (with the benefit of hindsight) that he hadn't foreseen. It'd seemed inevitable that all would work out in those careful plans orchestrated behind the scenes, and he lets out a mostly inaudible sigh. ]

I believed I was right and wanted to be right until persuaded otherwise. It was for the best, though I wouldn't have believed it just a few weeks ago.

[unsunder]

Bested, were you?

[ He knows all too well the sorts of schemes that heroes like to stick their noses into, getting all tangled up in them with their indomitable spirits and what have you.

The very same thing happened to him, though he doesn’t believe that he was wrong, necessarily. He understands, however, why he lost, and was more than happy to leave the star’s care in another’s hands. ]

Funny how that pans out.

[catharses]

I was. And I wanted to be by the end, even as much as I wanted to succeed.

[ Not at first - it had taken a slow cracking of his beliefs he'd held fast to after losing faith in The Harmony to be a tool for that shared dream with his sister. Order had eroded in the end, too; it was a bitter realization that knowing there were no gods which would answer such as in Xipe's silence to his entreaties that Ena would have done the same.

Being shown he was wrong was ... difficult. But in the aftermath those feelings crystallized into the belief it was for the best and is something Sunday holds fast to now. Can the same be said for Emet-Selch? There's a distinct pause on Sunday's end this time where he doesn't look away while weighing his next words before speaking again. ]

Can you relate to this as well?

[ Maybe not the part about it being for the best; Sunday cares less about that as a potential something they share compared to everything else. Maybe there being multiple commonalities is too much to hope for as Sunday tells himself it's enough to have one - which it is when he could not have guessed it would be a possibility upon arriving here. ]

[unsunder]

[ I wanted to be by the end.

A wayward time traveler once came to him, eons ago now, and told him of the monster he was to become. The very thought raised his hackles, had him decrying a future he would later learn was always going to be inevitable. But more than the horrible things he would do, the dark path he would walk, he could not wrap his head around one thing:

Why would he welcome his own demise? Why would he invite the hero of the star personally to his doorstep, where he would meet his end by their hand?

Having now lived it, he understands. ]

Aye, I wanted it, too.

[ A soft admission, but one that comes out easily nonetheless. Emet-Selch has spent an awful lot of time since he got here trying not to think about what this second chance at life means for him, on the things that he did and what having to live with them now is going to look like.

This mounting understanding between himself and Sunday has done a lot to grease the wheels when it comes to talking about his past, and though he may not show it or admit out loud, it sits a little lighter now that it’s out in the open. ]

After thousands and thousands of long years of toil, I was ready.

[ He was tired, and he knew finally that he was leaving the star in good hands. It was enough. ]

[catharses]

[ That admission - though Sunday was not exactly moving before, the weight of it somehow stills him further as he watches Emet-Selch. A weight both within the words but also the action of saying them, and one he acknowledges in himself as having lessened when he'd said his own truth of his actions.

Wonweek was right, Sunday thinks absently. It isn't the being judged for it which brings any relief for what he seeks, but the confessing which relieves some of the frightfully tangled knot in his chest of too many things intricately linked. There's been one conversation he's already had about this, and now here is a second. More steps towards honesty he has not practiced for years.

Years, however, which do not total up to the ones Emet-Selch has spent. ]

Thousands and thousands of years? [ It's more a curious echo than anything with a question concealed within it since it's possible more explanation will follow even without prompting. ] I cannot imagine such a thing when my own time was a fraction of that.

[ And it'd broken him in some ways he knows of and others he's yet to discover, but Sunday allows himself to consider the implication of millennia. He shakes his head as if to reprimand himself and the quiet chime of his earrings does the same with their ever weighted reminder. ]

I cannot imagine that was easy to bear. What I did... what I have done, [ he corrects himself when it sounds too much like minimizing the burden he must now bear, ] cost me everything. I left with the hope of finding a new path, though I know not yet what it will be.

[unsunder]

[ He can practically feel the way his admission settles, a quilt of quiet that blankets the room. It does not feel bad – merely different, lighter, like he’d thought. Strange that he’d never say anything like this to the people here from his own world, the ones who’d fought so fiercely by the hero’s side and ushered in his demise. That feels too vulnerable.

Sunday is all but a perfect stranger, and yet there is something here, a thread that while thin and new, seems perfectly capable of bearing that weight. ]

Twelve thousand and counting. If I had to guess, I would say most here can boast only a fraction of that.

[ There are things in this universe far older and stranger than himself, but he doubts there will be anyone like that among the other fluxdrifts. He is ancient. He should be at rest, and instead, he is here. ]

Ah, and that is where we differ. [ Sunday lost everything, but for Emet-Selch himself, everything was already lost. He toiled and tried and did everything he could to bring it back. No matter how desperately he clung to the past, that desperation could not hope to stand against the hope of the future.

Hope. He’s almost forgotten what that feels like.

He heaves a sigh, a quiet huff blown out through his nose, and leans one shoulder against the nearest wall, one eyebrow arching. The look on his face tips toward amused, if only barely so. ]

Still, I cannot imagine this is quite what you had in mind for your second chance.