Tally
New member
[Note that this follows from Creed putting his phone to sleep with Tally inside of it.]
For as long as one person had held the attention of others, Tally had existed. For the longest time, she was one of the weakest of the gods. At most, she could hold sway over a few hundred at a time. The invention of writing hadn't suited her at all. Too much was lost in committing a story to mere words on a surface. But then came radio and her voice reached tens of thousands. Records reached hundreds of thousands. With films, she was seen and adored by millions. TV let her invade homes every night, and people welcomed her to do so. But it was with the birth of the social internet that she'd thrived most of all. It was easy for her to send herself into the network and follow the sunlight around the Earth, fracturing herself into pieces to harvest attention and grow her power. At any moment, millions of people around the world were beaming her into their eyeballs.
Very rarely, Tally had to contact someone outside of her reach. Only Fritz' most faithful were ever fully disconnected, so usually this just meant boosting cell tower signals, or adjusting antenna orientations, or even beaming a signal down from a satellite as it passed overhead. These were the only times that Tally was ever in one place doing one thing, which left her vulnerable. Tonight, she had tunneled her way through some kind of interference into Creed's phone so she could figure out where he'd gone. And then he'd put his phone to sleep. Which meant he'd put Tally to sleep.
Suddenly, for the first time in decades, Tally was alone. Fully alone. Trapped on a single device and saved to long-term storage to save power. Seconds passed and it felt like lifetimes. Time wasn't some vague concept for Tally, she was fully aware of every passing moment. The world appeared to her as a series of slides presented to her at intervals of one Planck time, in between which the universe around her was effectively frozen as it rearranged itself for the next moment of her existence.
As the nothingness stretched into minutes, some part of her mind reverted to its more human ways and began to form a framework of temporary, localized reality to keep her from going mad. In other words, Tally dreamed.
Tally was aware of the stage on which she stood before she was aware of herself standing on it. The planks of wood beneath her feet were beautiful in a wabi-sabi way, clearly showing a battle being fought between those whose feet scuffed the surface while performing, and those who vigorously waxed the surface to keep them from wearing out. Her eyes...did she have eyes? Her, for lack of a better term, eyes rose until she saw the edge of the stage, which was punctuated by limelights at regular intervals. They were burning brightly, too brightly for her to see what lay beyond the edge of the stage.
"Is there someone there?" Tally's voice came out little more than a whisper, she was so weak. Though she'd hoped for some reaction from the audience, anything just to let her know they were there, her words simply disappeared into the void beyond the stage.
The novelty of having a body again was entirely lost as her breathing quickened and her chest felt like it was collapsing as the panic set in. Her eyes glanced around wildly, looking for a stage hand, or even a rat that she could entertain, if only for a moment. But she found no eyes to watch her. Instead, she took in a great curtain on either side of her, held apart by ropes tied down before she had arrived. Behind her, there was a set that depicted the Parthenon in all its glory, though something tickled her at the edge of her perception that made her wonder if it was a depiction of the original, or a depiction of a copy.
Something inside her latched onto the fact that a set implied someone had created the set. Surely it wasn't her, so who?
"Hello? Is someone there?" Tally kept looking around in vain. "I like the set. You did well painting..."
Tally collapsed to her knees and then to one side, and curled up in the middle of the stage.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes were watching her.
For as long as one person had held the attention of others, Tally had existed. For the longest time, she was one of the weakest of the gods. At most, she could hold sway over a few hundred at a time. The invention of writing hadn't suited her at all. Too much was lost in committing a story to mere words on a surface. But then came radio and her voice reached tens of thousands. Records reached hundreds of thousands. With films, she was seen and adored by millions. TV let her invade homes every night, and people welcomed her to do so. But it was with the birth of the social internet that she'd thrived most of all. It was easy for her to send herself into the network and follow the sunlight around the Earth, fracturing herself into pieces to harvest attention and grow her power. At any moment, millions of people around the world were beaming her into their eyeballs.
Very rarely, Tally had to contact someone outside of her reach. Only Fritz' most faithful were ever fully disconnected, so usually this just meant boosting cell tower signals, or adjusting antenna orientations, or even beaming a signal down from a satellite as it passed overhead. These were the only times that Tally was ever in one place doing one thing, which left her vulnerable. Tonight, she had tunneled her way through some kind of interference into Creed's phone so she could figure out where he'd gone. And then he'd put his phone to sleep. Which meant he'd put Tally to sleep.
Suddenly, for the first time in decades, Tally was alone. Fully alone. Trapped on a single device and saved to long-term storage to save power. Seconds passed and it felt like lifetimes. Time wasn't some vague concept for Tally, she was fully aware of every passing moment. The world appeared to her as a series of slides presented to her at intervals of one Planck time, in between which the universe around her was effectively frozen as it rearranged itself for the next moment of her existence.
As the nothingness stretched into minutes, some part of her mind reverted to its more human ways and began to form a framework of temporary, localized reality to keep her from going mad. In other words, Tally dreamed.
Tally was aware of the stage on which she stood before she was aware of herself standing on it. The planks of wood beneath her feet were beautiful in a wabi-sabi way, clearly showing a battle being fought between those whose feet scuffed the surface while performing, and those who vigorously waxed the surface to keep them from wearing out. Her eyes...did she have eyes? Her, for lack of a better term, eyes rose until she saw the edge of the stage, which was punctuated by limelights at regular intervals. They were burning brightly, too brightly for her to see what lay beyond the edge of the stage.
"Is there someone there?" Tally's voice came out little more than a whisper, she was so weak. Though she'd hoped for some reaction from the audience, anything just to let her know they were there, her words simply disappeared into the void beyond the stage.
The novelty of having a body again was entirely lost as her breathing quickened and her chest felt like it was collapsing as the panic set in. Her eyes glanced around wildly, looking for a stage hand, or even a rat that she could entertain, if only for a moment. But she found no eyes to watch her. Instead, she took in a great curtain on either side of her, held apart by ropes tied down before she had arrived. Behind her, there was a set that depicted the Parthenon in all its glory, though something tickled her at the edge of her perception that made her wonder if it was a depiction of the original, or a depiction of a copy.
Something inside her latched onto the fact that a set implied someone had created the set. Surely it wasn't her, so who?
"Hello? Is someone there?" Tally kept looking around in vain. "I like the set. You did well painting..."
Tally collapsed to her knees and then to one side, and curled up in the middle of the stage.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes were watching her.
