Static swirls in electric anticipation as the last of the wayward souls trickles in. Vox, now perched like a question mark at the base of the Last Step, clasps his fingered hands together with a snap. A second pair of gloves—slightly smaller, slightly screamier—claps in delayed echo from somewhere under his hat.
He pivots. Spins. Glitches. Then beams. "Ohhhh Caido, my little constellations of trash and trauma, what a turnout!" A balloon pops behind him. Probably on purpose.
"And now,”"he croons, "let’s see what your little monkey-mitts brought me to DROP!"
Vesper
"Maple seeds," Vox repeats, catching one mid-air and squinting at it. "Oh yes. Nature’s tiny propellers of doom. Subtle. Existential. Deceptively aerodynamic." He presses it to what might be a chin. "One question though—how many souls have these claimed in aerial combat? None? Shame." He waves a tentacle dramatically toward the stairs. "Off you go, Mr. Helicopter Emotions. Let the drop judge your seeds."
Jack
A silence. Vox stares at the bouncy ball. It bounces once on his palm. Then again. Then...up. His head follows it, unblinking. "It comes back?" he whispers. "Why?" Another pause. “"Jack...are you a wizard?" He tosses the ball high into the air. "Go. Go bounce your nonsense into the void. I’m sure it will respect you. "
Dantalion
Vox blinks slowly as Danta drops trou. "Ah. A classic Caido mating display," he murmurs, sincerely puzzled. "But...where are the rest?" He cups a hand around his mouth and calls into the trees, "Is there a second penis hiding behind a bush? No? Just the one? Odd." Then, to Danta: "Anyway. Bold. Chaotic. You get partial credit for audience trauma. Stairs. Now."
Colt
Vox eyes the hat. Then Colt. Then the hat again. "Oh darling, it’s got attitude. I love a good hat-drop. It says ‘party’s over, bitches’, but in a sultry way." A sniff. "Points for mystique. Bonus points for trauma proximity because of what happened at the last party. But yes, go! Ascend!"
Iskra
Vox crouches down beside Goose. "You. You I understand." He boops the dog on the nose. "You may lick me once." Then to Iskra: "Ah! A hammer. Delicious. Symbolic. Final." He lifts it and drops it to test the weight. "Yes. Yes. The drAmA. GO." A pause. "And if you get hurt, I am not responsible but will be entertained."
Aithne
"A what?" Vox says, blinking. "A hand-chief? What kind of tribal leader is that?" He snatches it and stares deeply into the cloth. "Does it command other fingers? Is there a wrist king too?" He drapes it over his own finger, which immediately begins to twitch like it's been possessed. "Oooooh, it’s a tiny ghost flag! I surrender to lint!" He flaps it dramatically. "Fly now, fabric dictator! Let the wind tell tales of your cotton conquest!"
Alys
Vox squints at the card. "Oooooh! A rectangle!" he announces with reverence. He flips it upside-down, sideways, and backwards. [as[y]"Did this fall off a cereal box? Is this how you choose mates in King's End? I like it. Randomised disappointment!" He holds it to his forehead like a spyglass. "I see..a giraffe. No, wait. That’s just your future." He flings it upward. "Off you go, Rectangle of Secrets! I hope you become an oracle or a coaster!"
Soren
He grabs the keys and immediately bites them. "Hm. Crunchy. Are these for a door?" He jangles them next to his head. "Are you a door?" He turns to the crowd. "What if Soren is just a very sad cupboard?" To Soren, he stage-whispers: "I bet if you screamed the right word into the ocean, these would open a feeling." He throws them upward like confetti for Soren to catch. "Go! Unlock despair! Or a janitor’s closet! Same thing!"
Callum
Vox turns the wallet over like it might bite him. "So ordinary. So drab. So very you." He licks it once. "Mm. Notes of bitterness. Overtones of avoidance."
"You’re lucky I collect boring feelings like bottlecaps. Go drop it. Let the void sort your vibe."
Liam
The bookmark is lifted and Vox sighs, long and low. "Oh, Liam." His voice is almost tender. He steps closer, leaning in with a static-crackle hum. "You brought papery grief. Doesn't it feel good to let it all go?" He presses his hands together, delighted. "Approved. Throw it with feeling."
Noe
Vox sees her. Stops breathing. Something deep in his glitchcore chest fractures. "Noe," he whispers, voice all wrong for the moment. "My sunrise in a scrapyard. My favourite wrench-shaped migraine." He steps forward, reaching out like he’s forgotten how to not reach for her. "I think of you often. Mostly when things smell like solder and betrayal." He swallows a small balloon of emotion. "That gear...it still works, you know. I can make anything fit. I can be anything for you." He steps back. "Go on. Drop it. I'll catch it."
Sohalia
Vox gasps when she reveals the crown. "IS THAT FOR ME?" He snatches it, places it on his head, and it immediately slips sideways. "I feel powerful. I feel like an angry vegetable." He blinks at her. He holds the crown up reverently, then he chucks it gleefully toward the top step. "Long live the overthrown! Up you go!"
Elizabeth
Vox takes the book with a reverent hush. "Knowledge...dropped. I understand." He flips it open, reads a line aloud. "In the year 589, Caido was...BORING." He snaps it shut. "Off you go, Professor Symbolism. Let’s see how far a library can fall."
Nova
He twitches visibly with delight. "A GLITTER BOMB! Darling Nova, my little detonation of personality—if this doesn’t blind a bird, I’ll eat my own aesthetic." He cradles it like a child. "You understand me. Go. Detonate beauty."
Thalassa
The skull is held aloft. Vox vibrates with glee. "Oh Thal, my tempest, my bony muse! It sings!" He presses the skull to his chest. "If I had nipples, they’d be erect with joy. Drop it. And may the whistle be a lullaby for lesser gods."
Zavien
The shoe. Vox frowns. Then slowly brightens. "One shoe? One dragon-chomped, scorched, probably stinky shoe? PERFECTION." He turns it over, sniffs. Gags slightly. "Yes. This is art. Sol has taste. To the stairs, darling. Let footwear meet freefall."
Koa
Vox’s eyes narrow. The shackles dangle. "Ohhh," he murmurs. "You brought bitterness and failure." He clicks the broken loop with a nail. "They don’t fit anymore, do they?" Tsk. "Up you go. Try not to break under the weight of your own metaphors."
Hawthorn
A squash. Vox stares. Then..."...Yes." A single tear rolls down a cheek that doesn’t exist. "Pie. Memory. Loss. Seasonal regret." He kisses the squash. "Drop it. The void craves carbs."
When all have presented, Vox lifts his arms high.
"Now! Let each of you climb the crooked stairs of the Last Step and drop your hearts, your hates, your jokes, your grief."
He lowers his arms.
Then lifts one hand to his mouth and calls out with a sudden, sharp ache: "NOE! I MISS YOU MOST WHEN MY TEETH FALL OUT IN DREAMS." A tremble in his tone. "Which is always. Which is often. Which is now."
A deep breath. Static resets.
Everyone, go up the stairs and drop your BEST THING TO DROP!
You have 24 hours to reply!
He pivots. Spins. Glitches. Then beams. "Ohhhh Caido, my little constellations of trash and trauma, what a turnout!" A balloon pops behind him. Probably on purpose.
"And now,”"he croons, "let’s see what your little monkey-mitts brought me to DROP!"
Vesper
"Maple seeds," Vox repeats, catching one mid-air and squinting at it. "Oh yes. Nature’s tiny propellers of doom. Subtle. Existential. Deceptively aerodynamic." He presses it to what might be a chin. "One question though—how many souls have these claimed in aerial combat? None? Shame." He waves a tentacle dramatically toward the stairs. "Off you go, Mr. Helicopter Emotions. Let the drop judge your seeds."
Jack
A silence. Vox stares at the bouncy ball. It bounces once on his palm. Then again. Then...up. His head follows it, unblinking. "It comes back?" he whispers. "Why?" Another pause. “"Jack...are you a wizard?" He tosses the ball high into the air. "Go. Go bounce your nonsense into the void. I’m sure it will respect you. "
Dantalion
Vox blinks slowly as Danta drops trou. "Ah. A classic Caido mating display," he murmurs, sincerely puzzled. "But...where are the rest?" He cups a hand around his mouth and calls into the trees, "Is there a second penis hiding behind a bush? No? Just the one? Odd." Then, to Danta: "Anyway. Bold. Chaotic. You get partial credit for audience trauma. Stairs. Now."
Colt
Vox eyes the hat. Then Colt. Then the hat again. "Oh darling, it’s got attitude. I love a good hat-drop. It says ‘party’s over, bitches’, but in a sultry way." A sniff. "Points for mystique. Bonus points for trauma proximity because of what happened at the last party. But yes, go! Ascend!"
Iskra
Vox crouches down beside Goose. "You. You I understand." He boops the dog on the nose. "You may lick me once." Then to Iskra: "Ah! A hammer. Delicious. Symbolic. Final." He lifts it and drops it to test the weight. "Yes. Yes. The drAmA. GO." A pause. "And if you get hurt, I am not responsible but will be entertained."
Aithne
"A what?" Vox says, blinking. "A hand-chief? What kind of tribal leader is that?" He snatches it and stares deeply into the cloth. "Does it command other fingers? Is there a wrist king too?" He drapes it over his own finger, which immediately begins to twitch like it's been possessed. "Oooooh, it’s a tiny ghost flag! I surrender to lint!" He flaps it dramatically. "Fly now, fabric dictator! Let the wind tell tales of your cotton conquest!"
Alys
Vox squints at the card. "Oooooh! A rectangle!" he announces with reverence. He flips it upside-down, sideways, and backwards. [as[y]"Did this fall off a cereal box? Is this how you choose mates in King's End? I like it. Randomised disappointment!" He holds it to his forehead like a spyglass. "I see..a giraffe. No, wait. That’s just your future." He flings it upward. "Off you go, Rectangle of Secrets! I hope you become an oracle or a coaster!"
Soren
He grabs the keys and immediately bites them. "Hm. Crunchy. Are these for a door?" He jangles them next to his head. "Are you a door?" He turns to the crowd. "What if Soren is just a very sad cupboard?" To Soren, he stage-whispers: "I bet if you screamed the right word into the ocean, these would open a feeling." He throws them upward like confetti for Soren to catch. "Go! Unlock despair! Or a janitor’s closet! Same thing!"
Vox turns the wallet over like it might bite him. "So ordinary. So drab. So very you." He licks it once. "Mm. Notes of bitterness. Overtones of avoidance."
"You’re lucky I collect boring feelings like bottlecaps. Go drop it. Let the void sort your vibe."
Liam
The bookmark is lifted and Vox sighs, long and low. "Oh, Liam." His voice is almost tender. He steps closer, leaning in with a static-crackle hum. "You brought papery grief. Doesn't it feel good to let it all go?" He presses his hands together, delighted. "Approved. Throw it with feeling."
Noe
Vox sees her. Stops breathing. Something deep in his glitchcore chest fractures. "Noe," he whispers, voice all wrong for the moment. "My sunrise in a scrapyard. My favourite wrench-shaped migraine." He steps forward, reaching out like he’s forgotten how to not reach for her. "I think of you often. Mostly when things smell like solder and betrayal." He swallows a small balloon of emotion. "That gear...it still works, you know. I can make anything fit. I can be anything for you." He steps back. "Go on. Drop it. I'll catch it."
Sohalia
Vox gasps when she reveals the crown. "IS THAT FOR ME?" He snatches it, places it on his head, and it immediately slips sideways. "I feel powerful. I feel like an angry vegetable." He blinks at her. He holds the crown up reverently, then he chucks it gleefully toward the top step. "Long live the overthrown! Up you go!"
Vox takes the book with a reverent hush. "Knowledge...dropped. I understand." He flips it open, reads a line aloud. "In the year 589, Caido was...BORING." He snaps it shut. "Off you go, Professor Symbolism. Let’s see how far a library can fall."
Nova
He twitches visibly with delight. "A GLITTER BOMB! Darling Nova, my little detonation of personality—if this doesn’t blind a bird, I’ll eat my own aesthetic." He cradles it like a child. "You understand me. Go. Detonate beauty."
Thalassa
The skull is held aloft. Vox vibrates with glee. "Oh Thal, my tempest, my bony muse! It sings!" He presses the skull to his chest. "If I had nipples, they’d be erect with joy. Drop it. And may the whistle be a lullaby for lesser gods."
Zavien
The shoe. Vox frowns. Then slowly brightens. "One shoe? One dragon-chomped, scorched, probably stinky shoe? PERFECTION." He turns it over, sniffs. Gags slightly. "Yes. This is art. Sol has taste. To the stairs, darling. Let footwear meet freefall."
Vox’s eyes narrow. The shackles dangle. "Ohhh," he murmurs. "You brought bitterness and failure." He clicks the broken loop with a nail. "They don’t fit anymore, do they?" Tsk. "Up you go. Try not to break under the weight of your own metaphors."
Hawthorn
A squash. Vox stares. Then..."...Yes." A single tear rolls down a cheek that doesn’t exist. "Pie. Memory. Loss. Seasonal regret." He kisses the squash. "Drop it. The void craves carbs."
When all have presented, Vox lifts his arms high.
"Now! Let each of you climb the crooked stairs of the Last Step and drop your hearts, your hates, your jokes, your grief."
He lowers his arms.
Then lifts one hand to his mouth and calls out with a sudden, sharp ache: "NOE! I MISS YOU MOST WHEN MY TEETH FALL OUT IN DREAMS." A tremble in his tone. "Which is always. Which is often. Which is now."
A deep breath. Static resets.
Everyone, go up the stairs and drop your BEST THING TO DROP!
You have 24 hours to reply!
vox
