[ Once upon a time... or something to that extent. Seriously, why do we always gotta start with that?

( Anyway, cutting to the chase, there once this magician, people liked to call him. )

( ooc: Because I'm horrible, here's a spin on Pinocchio. With Roxas having come just at the start of Day One of his simulation days, these are the last of his ties to the Organization come to life in a dream. Not that he'll realize it. Feel free to hop in as one of the other puppets. Will they try to stop him or will they be gun ho to go with? Or maybe you want to hop in as the puppeteer catching him dead in the act. Or even a nosy fan or someone who got lost trying to find the bathroom- or something. Yep.

P.S. Ah-hahaha;;; Don't mind the tl;dr.

P.P.S. Mods, if you'd put in a Roxas tag, I'd really appreciate it. |D;;; )

Uwaaahh!! I'm going to be late! ( and out like a shot, comes usagi from her house. she's dressed in her new high school uniform, already trying to beat the clock in order to be on time. there's a piece of toast in her mouth as she zooms by -- and it's not hard to imagine a trail of dust behind her at the pace she's trying to make )

Not on the very first day! I can't believe no one woke me up!! I didn't even have time for breakfast! How am I supposed to make it through the morning like this? ( and she cringes, rounding another corner at top speed, and skids to a stop, coming to a realization. she slaps her forehead... ) Maah! I forgot my lunch too! ( a groan ) This is shaping up to be one of the worst first days of school ever...

The location is a long stretch of highway, one that if followed straight would lead to the heart of Los Angeles. The weather is warm, typical of the area, and a pleasant breeze dances through every so often to add to the appeal. Hundreds of cars, trucks, and motorcycles are stuck on the road, but they're not moving. In fact, there aren't any people inhabiting the vehicles. They're all empty, sitting on the highway, as if they've all been spontaneously abandoned.

Well, except for one. Atop one of the cars sits Violet, her expression somewhat wistful. Longing. As if there's something she's missing (or in this case, something she's just gotten back.) Though the scene is innocuous enough, occasional rumbles of thunder can be heard in the distance, as if signaling a warning.

The Grid looks the same day after day, cycle after cycle. Sleek black roads and buildings with glowing lines of energy to decorate them. TRON City is at the heart of the Grid. The skyline doesn't quite go on forever, broken up by the mountains of the Outlands. To the far distance is the Portal - the way out of the Grid. Only one person ever used it: Kevin Flynn. The Creator. Then, his son, Sam Flynn.

Quorra is standing in the roads of the city, looking up at the rain that seems to always fall. She's out of the Grid now. Free to explore the User world. In her dreams, she always returns to the city. She can't tell if it's before or after CLU took over, but it's always empty. Alone in a ghost city. Maybe it's because she's the only remaining ISO.

She sighs and leans against one of the railings of the road.

The scene swims into view with a lazy sort of speed, forming the image of someone's back yard. There are a few trees spaced out across the lawn, and an old-looking tire swing hangs from one of their tall branches. There's something strange about the picture, though; half of the yard is covered in snow, and the blanket only thickens as flurries drift down from the clouded sky. The other is strewn with a cover of gold, orange, red, and brown leaves, some of which still hang from the trees. The air is chilly on both sides, though the winter-oriented half has a cold that makes your cheeks red, while the other is simply an autumn wind, rattling the cracked leaves that still hang in the trees.

In the middle of everything, where it seemingly parts down the middle, is a rosy-faced girl of sixteen, Violet. She stares around at it all for a minute, looking particularly pleased about something, and then she falls into a snowy pile of leaves that just about draws the line between the seasons.

[He's sitting cross-legged on a bed in a room that isn't very well lit. The only light that's coming in is from a nearby window, but even then, the dark seems to be crowding the room. Tate seems to stand out from the dark, his blond, messy hair being the only thing that really makes him stand out in the first place.

There is a long quiet that feels awkward and almost wrong as he slowly gets up from the bed to look around the room. He looks familiar enough with it, like he's been there for his whole life, but there's something in his eyes that suggests a longing for something more. It's like nostalgia had taken over him completely. He looks perplexed for a moment, staring down at the bed sheets before looking up abruptly, straight at a memory, or perhaps someone who's not supposed to be in his dream at all. ]

I'm sick of being here.

You're aware of a deep, chilling darkness that surrounds you. You're in an unfamiliar basement, and there's a terrible potpourri of dust and formaldehyde that creates the stench of the dank place. There's something like a whisper in your ear, voices speaking in undertones that you can't hear, even though there's really no one there with you. A chill runs up your spine, as if a wind has come through, but the air is still, and the silence all around hangs heavy.

Amid musty boxes, a claw-footed tub, and numerous other things, there stands a girl. She's dressed fairly typically for a girl her age in the 21st century, and for one who is trying to set herself apart. The teenager stands, staring off into the shadows of the room, holding her arms as if she's cold.

"Why am I... here?"