We're Here To Talk About Your Car's Extended Warranty...

[Miriam Bell]

"Okay, no more mysterious doors, got it. Unless there's one that leads to a spa or brunch..."

[Wyll]

"We have those here. We tape off areas we don't understand; areas that lead out to danger. Areas outside the clay that have not been prepared by those on the other side."

[Samantha McManus]

"Let's just not try to get bloody cute with it anymore."

[Wyll]

"Me can't help it; me just shaped that way," the ogre said, placing one of their hands on their hips, and running the other through her hair, mockingly.

[Miriam Bell]

"Well I'm officially taking suggestions on how to get to the big cauldron in the sky without having to deal with central processing. Or whatever city hall and it's conveyor belts is called."

[Wyll]

"Well, if you don't want to go out the normal way, I guess you're stuck either waiting for someone to pull you out or climbing.

Might I suggest that actually talking to the people in charge probably will get you out faster, though?"

[Samantha McManus]

"Isn't the point that none of you are really in charge?"

[Wyll]

"Well, the Paragons are. The Wyldclay caused the mythologicals to form. Will was responsible for the other half. So far,"

The ogre bumped a fist on their chest. "I'm of the Wyldclay, like this. Sometimes, if you pull us out, you maybe dilute me with other parts, which is good sometimes. But pure ogre Wyll is from the Wyldclay."

[Miriam Bell]

"Right, so can we talk to the Paragons without going through the mashed potato factory?"

[Wyll]

"Sure, so long as you don't bump into those guys who think you need to get processed."

[Samantha McManus]

"Think I already bumped into one a bit too hard."

[Wyll]

"Occupational hazard," the ogre shrugged, once again flexing their muscles. "I'm sure I be in charge again soon enough. Then I just will have to take care of the extra head, and I be right as rain again."

[Miriam Bell]

"I'm not even thinking about what is going on there right now." Miriam notes as she looks around to find the right direction to head back towards the processing facility and Will-Headquarters.

[Narrator]

It was as simple as walking back down the street the way they came, assuming they didn't bump into the Faun or the Girl, or that the Ogre wouldn't tip them off as they went.

[Wyll]

It turned out, any thought of disguising themselves or otherwise being sneaky about returning towards the center of the clayspace was unnecessary -- the two weren't hassled or harassed at all, as either the trio of Wills looking for them had gotten bored or headed off in the wrong direction or something. Instead, the Wills they passed by seemed more or less friendly, waving to the two (three?) as they made their way back to the central building.

The problem now was Sam and the Ogre -- or was it the Ogre and Sam? As they walked down the street, Sam found it tougher and tougher to control their shared frame. They were still walking towards where they wanted to go, sure, but that was increasingly because the ogre wanted to do it and less because Sam was driving. She had lost control of the left arm entirely, which the ogre Wyll was currently using to scratch their combined ass. She could still feel all the individual parts of their body; she just had less and less control over what it was doing.

[Samantha McManus]

Sam is starting to look more and more concerned as it takes more effort to steer the lumbering body. The evidence of the struggle is showing on her face, though Miriam certainly might be distracted by her desire to leave.

"Think this is starting to get... complicated."

[Wyll]

"We can't all be brains of operation," the ogre smirked. "Maybe we find better role for you. One head better than two, after all," she added, reaching up and poking at Sam's cheek.

[Miriam Bell]

Miriam does seem to miss it until Sam speaks up, frowning at the not-quite-stumbling body and the ogre seeming to physically overpower her. Well, physically in the sense that she's more accustomed to this kind of body and using it to exert more contorl than Sam, presumably.

"I don't even know what that is implying but you're not swallowing up my... roommate." she says, stumbling over calling Sam her girlfriend.

[Samantha McManus]

"I wouldn't get too overconfident just yet," Sam says, fixing the ogre with a glare.

[Wyll]

"You wanted ride in Wyll's body," the ogre grinned. "You no even call shotgun. Maybe we put you in backseat for a bit," the Ogre said, turning her poking into a full-on palming of Sam's face. She started to push, trying to shove Sam's head into the clay of their combined body.

[Samantha McManus]

The situation being what it is, Sam uses what's at her disposal.

That is to say, she bites the ogre's hand.

[Wyll]

The ogre's hand was also, technically, Sam's hand at the moment, so both heads felt the bite as Sam sank her teeth into their hand. Sam, being a bit determined here, bit down with enough force that flesh turned into clay, taking a chunk out of the palm and filling her mouth with the salty taste of victory.

Wyll's measured, sensible response was to roar, and attempt to punch Sam in the face with the other hand, the arm that she didn't have complete control of at the moment.

[Miriam Bell]

"Okay maybe not the other way around either!" Miriam exclaims, trying to grab the ogre's arm by the elbow in an attempt to keep her from punching Sam. Granted, compared to the ogre her arms have the muscle mass of wet noodles and she's easily a foot shorter if not more, so her odds of success aren't exactly looking stellar.

[Samantha McManus]

"Just give me a bloody second, Miriam," she grumbles.

Then she rears her head back and headbutts the ogre.

[Wyll]

The combined efforts of Miriam grabbing the arm and Sam having at least some control over their combined body meant that the punch was held back. Let's say it was 50/50, to save Miriam's poor ego.

There's a satisfying *thud* as Wyll and Sam's head combined, bone on bone, war goddess against ogre warrior. A nice, solid crack, considering the relative position of the two heads on the same pair of shoulders.

And then, there was a *smush*, as two giant balls of clay were slammed into each other at speed. Normally, when Will hit someone, he didn't just automatically revert into clay; that would make him truly useless in a fight. But a) Sam isn't Will, and is still getting the whole mechanics of this form down on the fly, b) Will doesn't normally do his fights inside himself, where he, his opponent, and the air around them are all actually clay in different shapes and forms, and c) he is not usually both punch-er and punch-ee at the same time. So perhaps Sam can be excused, considering the circumstances, as her and Wyll's head smushed into one another, sticking together like....well, like two blobs of play-doh a toddler smashed together to see what would happen.

[Samantha McManus]

This is, to say the least, less than ideal.

Once it becomes obvious that she can't extricate her head, Sam reasons that the only way to the other side of this is through.

She presses harder against the ogre's head, while doing her damnedest to broadcast thoughts of war, conquest, and glory.

[Wyll]

Sam's telepathy was still dimmed in this world of clay. Academically, it would be interesting to figure out why. Was it because she was made of clay at the moment, and thus some biological distinction component of her mutation wasn't functioning properly? Was it because there were so many voices of Wills in this cauldron that it blew out her telepathy, like trying to hear a single voice in a crowded stadium? Or did the gallons and gallons of Will around her head serve as a sort of buffer, like a malleable version of Magneto's helmet? The actual mechanics of it didn't matter so much at the moment, but it was good to keep in mind.

That being said, there's more than one way to skin a cat. It is an established fact that when Will merges together with something else with a mind, that there's a link connected between them. It turns out, when telepathy is short on the ground, just smashing your brain into someone else's brain is fine.

Sam has some war, conquest and glory in her recent past. Heaven knows, she has just ridden atop a car in a chase scene on a highway, plummeting off of the overpass and shattering through a skylight which is one of the most metal things you can do in life. She's dived into the muck of time and brought a vampire back to life through sheer force of energy. Oh, and she's also the incarnation of the goddess of war and fate, so, you know, she has her credentials in order.

Wyll the Ogre, on the other hand...did not have a resume or a track record. Technically, Wyll the Ogre had never existed -- never coming out of the cauldron, never living and breathing and fighting as a completely unique identity. She talked a big talk and had home court advantage, but ultimately, she was just a form and role that the Wyldclay had taken, once in the past -- a large, smelly, muscular suit that had been used to terrify children. Those memories poured down the link at Sam -- flashes of a medieval hamlet on fire, snapping a pitchfork in twain with her jaws, a kid in a burlap sack thrown over her shoulder. But it was just a one-off, so long ago; a flickering candle to the raging fire that was the Morrigan.

[Samantha McManus]

Sam tries to seize upon this, emanating thoughts that the ogre doesn't have to be just a Hallowe'en mask for the Wyldclay. The lines are being redrawn, and the lineup of Paragons is up in the air.

And the Morrigan knows a thing or two about being a monster.

[Wyll]

This particular Wyll is not et up with brains or discipline, and being tempted by shiny baubles and promises of future considerations is something that certainly works on her.

Channeling back through the link between the two is a sort of eager hungering. After all, Being is what Wills do best, and not all of them are content being a chair or a wallflower. And if the Wyldclay doesn't want to let them out...maybe the Morrigan will.

[Samantha McManus]

With the carrot and the stick liberally applied, Sam tries to flow her will through their shared body and take as much control as she can.

[Narrator]

It's like...pouring yourself into a mold, slowly filling up the cracks and flowing into every nook and cranny. This is, in the end, sort of a form of possession, of taking the Ogre's clay and making it her own. Or something close to it at least.

Sam was already feeling the body as if it were her own -- which, in a manner of speaking it was, at least in part. Now, though, she could feel the control coming back, as she gently but firmly shoved Wyll to one side, slipping her mind more fully into the form as if she were sliding into a pair of ill-fitting jeans. Taking the keys and pushing the ogre into the backseat; distracting her with shiny objects.

Stepping in was doable enough, and Sam would feel herself more in control than she had been to this point -- count the fingers and toes, everything seemed to be in order. Keeping control might be more difficult -- most of the clay in their shared form still originated from the ogre, after all. It would be easier for the ogre to take it back than it had been for Sam to take it to begin with, so any sudden changes or alterations might get her dander up. The old boiling a frog metaphor seemed to apply.

But, at least for now, Sam seemed to be in charge, as their shared head began to reshape itself.

[Samantha McManus]

Sam solidifies everything into a shape that is, frankly, still an ogre. A bit less green, the facial features much more reminiscent of Sam, albeit still brutish and tusked, with vibrant ginger hair.

"...sorted. Let's go."

[Miriam Bell]

Miriam watches the transformation more or less entirely from the outside, her telepathy still refusing to function properly for some reason. "Just like that?" Miriam quirks an eyebrow at a body that is very clearly still partially ogre.

[Samantha McManus]

"It'll work for now. At least until we find someone that doesn't want to render us to a fine slurry."

[Miriam Bell]

"Bloody shapeshifters..." Miriam mutters as they head towards what she's been calling city hall in her head.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

The two continued to face no resistance going forward, as long as they didn't interact with any of the Wills they came across. No harm, no foul.

And, by proceeding left where the Ogre had suggested they go at the beginning of their escape, they came to a large central doorway -- ornate and elaborate, clearly indicating a Room of Import. It swung open as they approached it -- no need to knock, no need to push it open themselves, no need to make an appointment at the front desk and wait 4-6 weeks for processing.

The room was large, a huge, circular structure underneath an immense glass dome -- 20 meters across, easily. The center floor was a stage, essentially, sort of a theater-in-the-round sort of setup, with dozens -- no, hundreds -- of chairs surrounding it, plus a pretty sizeable visitor's gallery on a second floor above. Lots of cast iron and and marble pilasters, delicate green patterns on the wall. It didn't seem to quite fit the aesthetics of either Will or Wyll exactly, but maybe it served as some sort of compromise; some sort of general, overarching Will-ness that transcended individual perspectives? The door opened itself to an aisle which led towards the stage.

"Hah! 25 minutes. You owe me a Coke."

The room, despite it's vast size and ample seating, was mostly empty. The one who had spoke was the Wyldclay -- larger than they appeared in everyday life, maybe nine or ten feet tall? Wearing their white linen suit with a green shirt underneath, Wayfarer sunglasses on even indoors, their feet kicked up on the railing separating the seating from the stage, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sam, Miriam. Sorry about the confusion, everything's rather new and exciting in here. I hope you're not too put out.".

That one was Will -- their Will, or the other Sam's Will, or however you wanted to define him, in his X-Man uniform, leaning over the railing on the other side of the stage.

[Miriam Bell]

"You should probably let all the riff-raff know that non-Wills can wander in here. I wouldn't recommend adding my memories to anybody's mind."

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"Yes, let's deal with the practicalities first," Wyldclay said, popping themselves over the railing and walking onto the stage, striding over towards Miriam.

"You can do this yourself with a marker or a pen, and it doesn't need to be in such an obvious place. The intent, as much as anything else, is what matters. Even a nametag might work, but then you'd have to worry about what happens if it fell off. But, well, there's a tradition to these things, my little clay golem, and as such..."

Wyll pressed their index finger against, and then slightly into, Miriam's scalp, slowly moving it across her forehead. He carved, for lack of a better word, the name 'Miriam', and stood back, nodding, pleased with themselves. "Quite the mouthful; I don't suppose we could go with just 'Miri'?"

"I'm very sorry," their Will said, rubbing the back of his head. "I would have warned you about this but...I mean, I had no idea it could happen. First time you've fed us another, uh, us."

[Samantha McManus]

"Well as you can see, there's been complications."

[Will Stanton]

"Yes," Will said, misunderstanding Ogre-Sam's remark, nodding. "There's always a little suction when one of us enters, but I guess bringing in someone with little millennia of un-absorbed experiences provoked a stronger reaction. A hunger, as it were, and you two were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Really, this is terribly embarrassing, I am so sorry this is how your first trip in happened. Never, in a million years, would have wanted to force either of you into anything, nor would I want your welcoming committee to be so...confused. We're learning on the fly here, I know, but still. You deserved a brass band and at least one gazebo. Maybe multiple gazebii."



"I don't know. I think it suits you," the Wyldclay grinned, not misunderstanding the remark and providing an actual reply rather than just a joke.