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Simon is pretty sure that if hell exists it would look like this – complete with all the hot pink accents.
He walks with his teeth gritted so hard he feels like he just might grind them into dust. He thinks he’s getting some kind of eyestrain induced headache from all the pastels and pinks which only sours his mood even further, especially when it’s combined with all the unnervingly happy people he passes by.
“Hey, man-!”
He looks up to glare at yet another picture perfect looking man. The other is all tanned skin and shiny teeth, muscles looking like something straight out of the old historical Earth ads in crumbling magazines. He looks unbelievable, too good to be true, and far too good to be trusted. Simon feels his hackles instinctively rise at the sight of him.
“Don’t talk to me,” Simon snaps.
Maybe at some other time he’d be more embarrassed about being so standoffish when all that someone has done is say ‘hi’ to him, but Simon really can’t be bothered with that right now when it feels like he’s just stepped onto some alien planet made of cardboard and plastic and he’s half-expecting one of the perfect people around him to suddenly split right out of their unblemished skin to become some blood-covered, tooth-filled monster.
As it is though, Mr. Perfect #43 just raises his hands in surrender and keeps fucking smiling at him. “No worries, dude! Catch you at the beach later?”
The man doesn’t hang around to wait for Simon’s response before jogging down the bright pink pathway toward the beach in the distance.
The plastic beach. With fake water.
“Where the f*** am I?!” Simon growls, only to feel his eye twitch as the word comes out censored once more.
How the hell had he gotten here?!
[Earlier]
Simon fully hadn’t expected to open his eyes again after the creature at the bottom of AT-5 had ripped his submarine to shreds. The last thing Simon had seen, the last thing he ever thought he would see, was an enormous eye, large enough to eclipse the stars staring straight at him, staring straight through him. He’d known then that this had been the thing at the bottom of the ocean - the light, the ‘god’, the whatever it had called itself in the stolen voices of ghosts.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to come after his death. His lessons from Eden had spoken of ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’, but Simon had long questioned whether there was anything at all that awaited him on the other side. He certainly didn’t deserve ‘heaven’, and while ‘hell’ might be more fitting, he couldn’t even begin to conceive of what that might look like. Maybe the fitting end for someone like him would be emptiness, the same hollow feeling that rests behind his ribcage made manifest and extended to eternity.
But then Simon does open his eyes again and he’s not in heaven or hell, at least he doesn’t think so. He’s lying on something hard and unforgiving, but the sky - that has to be sky, right? - above him is so blue that he thinks he’s dreaming.
Simon groans and rolls over, only to grimace as what he’s lying on, plastic he thinks, squeaks beneath him. He gingerly levers himself up into a sitting position with his one remaining arm, only to find himself amidst a field of blue plastic. Some of it pokes up at random intervals, almost like-
“An ocean?” Simon mutters dubiously.
He knocks against the plastic, and it sounds hollow. It’s pristine, so clean he feels like he could eat off it, and gleaming under the sunlight. Wait. Simon turns, and immediately squints as he’s greeted by a bright yellow sun amidst the empty blue sky. He looks back down to see the blue ‘ocean’ stretching out in every direction.
“Where the h*** am I?” Simon asks, only for his eyes to blow wide. “What the f***?!”
Simon balks as the last word comes out wrong, some loud beep emanating from his throat instead. It’s not a sound he’s ever heard, let alone made, before.
“F***!” Simon says, jolting as the strange noise comes out of his mouth again. It’s loud enough to drown out the word he had been trying to say, almost like it was trying to stifle the curse he’d been about to use. “Oh, you gotta be f***ing kidding me!”
Maybe this was ‘heaven’ then. God knows Simon had gotten his mouth washed out with water enough times growing up for using language the elders at Eden had frowned upon. It would only make sense that in heaven he wouldn’t be allowed to curse either. He narrows his eyes then.
‘Fuck,’ he thinks, with feeling. He’s relieved to find that his thoughts at least don’t appear to be censored.
Well, there’s nothing to it then. If this really is heaven - and really, who the hell had let Simon into heaven - then he probably should be doing… something. Something that isn’t just sitting around on a plastic ocean. Wasn’t he supposed to get wings and a harp or some shit? Or maybe this was just the processing area before a trap door opened under his feet and dropped him into the eternal flames.
Actually yeah, that sounded about right.
Simon stands then, and glances around warily. He sees blue, blue, blue- pink. There in the distance stands what looks like it might be some kind of city, though it also looks like it’s been painted brightly, offensively pink. Yeah, he’s not really getting cloud and garden vibes from it, but it’s the only direction that looks like it has anything at all, so Simon sighs and starts walking.
[Earlier]
Simon had been right before, this place was pink, aggressively so. The fake water had ended on an equally fake beach, the sand made out of a light pink version of the exact same plastic the water had been made from. Simon tests it with his boot, and it sounds equally hollow. He can’t dig his fingers into it at all, and any attempts to punch a hole in it are only met with aching knuckles and rising frustration.
“Yo, dude!”
Simon whirls around, not having expected there to be anyone around. Then again, there were probably other people in heaven, right? If this was heaven? Maybe it was an angel or some other celestial being sent to guide him to-
Simon’s thoughts grind to a halt as a man jogs up to him. He looks like some kind of model from old-Earth media - all perfect skin, hair, eyes, and teeth - and he’s wearing a white shirt edged with blue and bright red shorts. That said, Simon definitely doesn’t think this guy is an angel, especially when the other has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his perfect blonde hair and a long, plastic board under his arm that has ‘Hang Ten!’ scrawled in looping script on the side.
“What the f***?” Simon deadpans, only to grimace.
Strangely, the man doesn’t even seem to react to the weird sound that just came out of Simon’s mouth. “Are you a new Ken? Welcome, man!”
“Huh?” Simon says, though it’s more a general reaction than a response to anything this guy just said. “Did you just ask if I was a-?”
“Right, stupid question!” The man laughs, waving a hand, “Of course you’re a Ken, right? Not like they make Allan’s anymore!”
Simon is becoming progressively more confused with every word out of this man’s mouth. “My name is-“
“Hey Ken, what’s your job?”
“Wh- Job?” Simon asks, baffled by the sudden change in topic. “And my name isn’t-“
“Is it Beach? Ooh, you’re gonna love Beach here!”
“Are you listening to me you f***ing a**hole?!” Simon snaps.
Apparently the fucking asshole is not listening to him, as the man just beams. “Don’t worry, I know everything about Beach! Well, maybe not as much as Traditional Ken, he was the first one to have Beach, but I still know a lot! Lifeguard Ken, you know?” He points out at the fake ocean. “That’s water!”
“It’s plastic,” Simon grinds out.
“Huh?” The man looks confused. He scratches the side of his head. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s water, man!”
“Oh my f***ing g**-“ Simon blinks. “I can’t even say g**?!”
“But really, you don’t look like a Beach Ken,” Ken says, looking him up and down. “More like a… Camping Ken? Oh, do you like s’mores?!”
“My name is Simon, a**hole!” Simon snaps.
The man’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What job is ‘Simon’?”
“Oh, hey!” The man finally seems to notice Simon’s missing arm, eyes widening, “Lose one?”
“I- huh?!”
“Don’t worry, Weird Barbie loses them all the time, we can fix you up with a new one!”
Simon gapes at him for a long second, his brain warring between trying to get any sort of explanation out of this guy or just punching him in the goddamn face. It’s pretty clear now to Simon that this place, wherever it is, is definitely not heaven. It might be hell, actually. This is about as frustrating as anyother kind of eternal torment Simon can think of.
Maybe he should play along though, since it seems like being straightforward is just going to drive Simon straight over the fucking edge.
Simon lets out a long breath. “Ken.”
Ken stops his rambling monologue he’d been in the middle of that Simon hadn’t been paying any attention to - something about eating and swimming or whatever - and smiles. “Yeah, bro?”
“Where the- can you tell me where I am?” It’s almost as painful as pulling teeth to try and be cordial with this guy, but Simon manages it just barely.
Thankfully, it pays off when Ken beams with all of his alarmingly white teeth. “Oh, you’re in Barbieland, dude! Best place on Earth!”
Ken points then to an enormous sign in the distance. It’s lit up neon pink, a glowing curling script that announces ‘Barbieland’ amidst the rolling green plastic hills it sits on. Simon can only stare at it uncomprehendingly as his last bit of sanity finally snaps.
“What the f*** is a Barbie?” Simon finally manages.
“Nah, you mean who is Barbie!” Ken beams, “There’s, uh…” he looks around, only to wave at one of the women walking further down the beach. “Hi, Barbie!”
The woman looks up, then smiles back. “Hi Ken!” She seems to notice Simon. “Hi, Ken!”
“What.” Simon says.
“No, you’re supposed to say, ‘hi, Barbie’,” Ken whispers, like Simon’s forgotten his lines or something.
Simon gives Ken a long-suffering look, but when the other remains obliviously wide-eyed, Simon grits out, “Hi, Barbie.”
Both Ken and Barbie smile. Simon wonders then if he could manage to brain himself on the plastic waves.
[Present]
It’s been about three hours - at least Simon thinks it’s been three hours, honestly he’s lost all concept of time since the sun never seems to move and all the clocks are just pieces of paper pasted to the plastic walls - since Simon ditched Lifeguard Ken and made some half-baked excuse about wanting to explore the rest of Barbieland. The other had let him go easy enough, but only after making Simon promise to come back for the evening bonfire on the beach. Simon had done so while absolutely lying through his teeth.
In the hours since Simon has found absolutely nothing to help him, and has only become more and more convinced he’s landed in the middle of some very strange, very unnerving cult (and that’s really saying something considering Simon’s personal history). All the men and women in the city look ‘perfect’, from their head to their toes. All bright eyed, all smiles, all named either ‘Barbie’ or ‘Ken’. Well, that’s not totally true. He’d met a ‘Midge’ and a ‘Skipper’, but for the most part it seemed the city was made up of mostly the same dead-eyed, demographic with identical names.
The eerie feeling is compounded exponentially by how fake everything around him is. Seemingly everything from the houses to the cars to the goddamn grass beneath Simon’s feet is made from either cardboard or plastic. At one point he’d tried to walk toward some distant mountains he’d seen, only to be stopped barely a couple hundred yards outside Barbieland with the realization that the mountains were just painted onto a cardboard backdrop he couldn’t find the end of.
All of the citizens treat this as normal, going through mimicries of regular activities even as their faucets don’t dispense water and their toilets don’t flush and their beds are rigid and uncomfortable. Even the food in the grocery stores and fridges is oversized and made from plastic. Simon feels like he’s in the middle of some immense cosmic joke with him as the punchline.
“This is such a pile of-!”
“Psst!”
Simon pauses mid-spiraling crisis. He looks around, suspicious and on edge. Unfortunately, there’s nothing around him that could be used as a suitable weapon for much more than briefly stunning someone. Simon scowls, scanning the bright pink buildings until he hears it again.
“Psst!”
It’s coming from behind a green, plastic bush on the edge of the sidewalk leading into a dog park. All the dogs are made of plastic, but their owners are still making them do tricks by tossing them around. Simon thinks for a second he might be having a stroke, which would be a hell of a thing to accomplish post-mortem, but it’s then that he notices a flash of blonde hair from someone clearly squatting behind the bushes.
Simon looks around, but there’s no one watching him, at least not any more than anyone seems to be watching anyone.
“Hi, Ken!” A passing man waves at him.
“Up yours,” Simon deadpans. If he can’t swear, he can at least get creative with it.
The Ken doesn’t even blink, just smiling wider. “See you at the bonfire!”
“Like h***.”
“Psst!”
“Oh, for the love of- I’m coming, f***, calm down!”
Simon finally heads for the bushes, not even bothering to try and be stealthy as he crouches down behind the leafy mass of green plastic. As he does, he glares at the man already sitting there, only to raise an eyebrow when he sees exactly who’s hiding behind the bush.
This man still looks a lot like some of the other Ken’s, but there’s something… off. He’s not wearing the bright pastels that the others are, and his hair is far too messy to be even artfully disheveled. He’s wearing glasses, and Simon is pretty sure there are stains on his pants and shirt. His shoes are beat up and untied. He looks about as far from perfect as can be.
And fuck, isn’t that a relief
Maybe it’s that very relief that makes Simon more inclined to hear out this stranger who doesn’t look like all the other cookie-cutter citizens in Barbieland. After so many hours of bright pink perfection he’s desperate for even the slightest hint of humanity.
“Alright, you got me over here. The f*** do you want?” Simon asks dryly, though with about 40% less vitriol than he’d been using.
The other looks startled for a second, but quickly recollects himself. It’s more emotion than Simon’s seen from any other person so far, so he relaxes a little more. The man bites his lip before blurting, “Yousaidyournamewasn’tKen!”
“What?” Simon leans back. It’d be just his luck that the first guy he meets here that isn’t eerily perfect is completely unhinged.
“Sorry!” The other says quickly, flushing, “I just, I heard you talking earlier to Lifeguard Ken.”
“Alright,” Simon says. He’s a lot less disturbed than he probably should be hearing that someone was apparently eavesdropping on his conversations and following him around, but then again he’d never really had a good concept of privacy in the first place. “And?”
“Well, that never happens,” the other says, “I mean, we have Allan and all that, but everyone else is Ken!”
“Including… you?” Simon asks.
The man grimaces. “I, well, yes, I suppose. But I’ve never felt like a Ken! Not like the others. And not an Allan either!”
“Seems like you might have a problem then,” Simon says.
“Exactly!” Not-Ken says. “I was made to be a Traditional Ken originally.”
“What the h*** is a Traditional Ken?” Simon asks. He’s heard the name before from the guy on the beach, but he has no idea what that means. He thinks it’s a person, but it could also be some kind of title considering ‘Ken’ seemed to be the only name around here.
Not-Ken waves a hand. “Oh, you know.”
“I really don’t. I know less and less with each passing minute I’m stuck here,” Simon deadpans.
“Ah, well, Traditional Ken is just… what all Ken’s are modeled from. There have been more variations recently, but it all goes back to Traditional Ken.” Not-Ken says.
“And who exactly is that?” Simon asks. Honestly all of these people are starting to blur together for him, except maybe Not-Ken.
Not-Ken sighs. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect face and body. He was the original one, and the first one to have the job of Beach.”
“Oh my g**, not the f***ing beach again,” Simon mutters.
But now that Simon’s looking for it, he can kind of see it. Not-Ken still has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice facial structure, but that’s about where the resemblance stops. Every Ken that Simon has seen so far has this air of self-assured confidence, whereas Not-Ken looks like he’s about five steps away from a panic attack and his sense of style leans more toward ‘practical comfort’ than ‘pastel nightmare’.
“So what, you just decided one day that you didn’t want to look like you’re fresh out of the doctor’s office for your lobotomy?” Simon grunts.
It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Not-Ken. “I, uh, I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah. I just realized this place wasn’t a good fit for me.” Not-Ken pokes his head over the top of the bush and looks around. “Okay, I think we can make a run for it.”
“A run where?” Simon asks, on guard again.
“Just to my house,” Not-Ken says, “It’s safer to talk inside.”
“None of these places have four walls,” Simon says.
“Trust me, uh, mine does,” Not-Ken says, “I insisted on it once the Ken’s started to be allowed to have houses.”
And really, Simon has no reason to trust Not-Ken, especially since they’ve just met and already the guy is setting off every alarm bell in Simon’s head, but compared to the other unnerving residents of Barbieland, Simon finds the squirrely man in front of him somehow the lesser of two evils. At the very least, Simon is pretty sure he could take Not-Ken in a fight if things ended up going south.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
Not-Ken brightens. “Alright! I live over-“ The other almost immediately trips over his untied shoelaces the moment he stands up. He hits the plastic ground with a muted thud. “Ow…”
Simon stares down at the other, unimpressed. Maybe he should have put his bets on another horse.
Eventually they do make it to Not-Ken’s house, and to Simon’s pleasant surprise it does actually have four walls and a door that closes. It’s not very large, barely bigger than that godforsaken submarine he was trapped on before, but it’s cozy. There’s mix-matched furniture and simplistic charts plastered all over the walls. A bizarre assortment of plastic models of science equipment clutters the small table, and a huge beanbag chair patterned like the Earth sits in the corner.
“Oh, sorry!” Not-Ken says, clearing the table off and shoving things in random cabinets. “I’m not usually this messy- uh, well, I am, but I would’ve cleaned up if I knew someone was coming over!”
“It’s fine,” Simon says, plopping down on the beanbag chair. He’s definitely been in worse. “So no one’s going to hear us talk in here?” Even with the added privacy of a door that actually works, Simon has his doubts that the plastic house really does all that much to douse noise.
“Well, most of the other Barbie’s and Ken’s don’t really eavesdrop unless you’re talking about,” Not-Ken lowers his voice, “Local parties and stuff.”
“Huh?”
“Barbieland just has certain priorities,” Not-Ken says, waving a hand, “If you aren’t, uh, interested in those then they tend to ignore you.” There’s a hint of melancholy in his words.
“And you aren’t very interested in all of that?” Simon surmises.
Not-Ken grimaces. “I told you I was supposed to be a Traditional Ken, right?”
“Yeah.” Simon raises an eyebrow.
“Well, I got lost one day,” Not-Ken says, and Simon nods because that sounds about right for this guy. Simon’s known him less than a day, but Not-Ken already strikes him as a bit absent-minded about things that aren’t directly related to his current focus. “I ended up in Science Barbie’s labs.”
“Who is-?” Simon cuts himself off, already sensing he’s about to get another stupid answer, and changes tracks, “So you want to be a scientist, I assume?”
“Yeah!” Not-Ken lights up, “I just- she had all these cool tools and notes and she was doing this research-!” He’s gesturing wildly now, nervous demeanor melting away as he gets going, “She was nice enough to let me use some of her equipment and she taught me all about cells and biology and- ah! Sorry, you probably don’t care.” Not-Ken grimaces.
“No, it’s… it’s fine,” Simon replies awkwardly.
He’s not about to tell the other that it’s actually a relief to hear someone speak with real tone and inflection, and to actually speak passionately while smiling in a way that actually felt genuine. Simon would rather cut off his other arm than admit that.
“Really?” Not-Ken asks, looking surprised, “Oh, uh, well then, after all that I decided I wanted to become a scientist too! Like her! Only… there aren’t a lot of opportunities for Ken’s to become scientists in Barbieland.”
“Oh.”
Now that Simon thinks about it, he can’t really recall any of the male citizens of Barbieland looking like they were working or at their jobs. He supposes Lifeguard Ken might have had one, but it was kind of just an extension of all the other Ken’s who seemed to have made it their life’s mission to be milling around the beach. All of the businesses that Simon had seen - from corporate buildings to food stands to doctor’s offices - had been staffed by the Barbie’s.
“Yeah,” Not-Ken says, face grim. “Most of the Ken’s aren’t really motivated to work anyway so it’s not a problem, but I just can’t. I’m not happy like this.” He spreads his hands out. “It’s gotten better after The Patriarchy Debacle-“
“Wait, what?” Simon holds up a hand, “What the f*** is ‘The Patriarchy Debacle’?”
Not-Ken sighs. “It’s a long story, but basically Traditional Ken and Traditional Barbie went to The Real World, and when Ken came back he tried to install The Patriarchy in Barbieland, but it didn’t work out.”
There’s so much wrong with what the other just said that Simon doesn’t even know where to begin. “You can’t just… create a patriarchy,” Simon says dryly. “It’s a combination of historical norms and- okay, whatever. It didn’t work?”
“No,” Not-Ken says, “Apparently Traditional Ken thought it was just about horses and men ruling things, but he and a lot of the Ken’s realized they didn’t like acting like how The Patriarchy said they should. The whole thing collapsed pretty quickly.”
There’s a long silence as Simon attempts to process what the other has just said.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say something completely f***ing insane,” Simon says, “New question, what the h*** is ‘The Real World’?”
Not-Ken grins then, wide and excited. “That, Simon, is the way out for both of us!”
So apparently ‘The Real World’ is a place completely separate from Barbieland, a world where the people have essentially created the world and people that Simon currently sees around him. He tries to question Not-Ken about it further, about whether these ‘creators’ are deity-like figures, but Not-Ken just kind of hems and haws and Simon gets no definite answers. Honestly, he’s fine letting it slide at this point because he’s pretty sure if he tries to comprehend all the ins and outs of this place he’ll actually lose his mind.
That said, Not-Ken assures Simon that The Real World is definitely where they need to go since it’ll allow Not-Ken to finally study science and Simon to… well, he’s still figuring that part out, but for right now he’ll be happy with ‘getting the fuck out of this pastel pink hellscape’.
“How do we get to The Real World then?” Simon asks.
“Well, it’s a pretty long journey,” Not-Ken says. “Apparently we have to drive out of town, cross some mountains, sail an ocean, then go to space-“
“Whoa, what the f***?!” Simon blurts, “How the h*** did you plan to do that?!”
Not-Ken looks startled, turning away from the whiteboard diagram he’d been using to explain. “It’s not that bad!”
“Mountains? Oceans? Space?!” Simon gestures. “Are you insane?!”
Not-Ken blinks, then laughs. “Oh, it’s all the same as this. You know. Cardboard and plastic. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get through.”
Simon blinks. He rubs his forehead. “Sure. Okay. Why the f*** not?” He waves a hand. “Continue.”
“Right, so after we land the spaceship, we should be in The Real World,” Not-Ken concludes.
“Whatever that means,” Simon says.
“Whatever that means!” Not-Ken says optimistically.
Simon lets out a long breath. “Fine. But we’ll need to make some preparations first.”
“Oh, I’ve already got some food and water!” Not-Ken holds up a backpack. Simon can already hear plastic clunking around in it. Simon decides not to die on that hill today.
“Not that. I’m talking about potential dangers,” Simon says, “Animals. People. G**d**n Mother Nature.” Granted, Simon himself has not experienced anything like what he’s just listed, but after the shitshow of AT-5 he’d rather be over prepared than under prepared.
“Oh, uh,” Not-Ken flips through his notes, “I don’t think we need to worry about that. Animals are all the same as the ones here. As far as I can tell all the weather is just a little wind and water, and the usually no one travels down that path unless they’re Barbie’s or Ken’s. People from The Real World don’t usually know about this place.”
“Still, no reason to take any chances,” Simon says.
He crosses the room to Not-Ken’s kitchen digging through the drawers until he manages to find the silverware. He pulls out a plastic knife, but it’s rounded at the end. It looks like it’d do less damage than a butter knife. If Simon were forced to defend himself, he’d have a better chance with his bare hands.
“Careful with that!” Simon turns to see Not-Ken staring at him with wide eyes, completely serious.
Simon gives the other a dry look before he braces the dull blade of the knife against the counter and leans his weight against it. The knife snaps near the handle, leaving him with an uneven but much sharper point. He hands the makeshift shank off to Not-Ken, who takes it reflexively even as his eyes widen with alarm. “Here.”
“Wh- that’s dangerous!” Not-Ken splutters, though he seems fascinated by the actual sharp point of the knife. Tentatively he reaches a finger out to touch the tip of it, only to quickly recoil. “Ow!”
“Careful with that,” Simon echoes the other’s earlier words, “That’ll actually do some damage.” He reaches into the drawers and pulls out another knife to repeat the process. The result is still a pretty shitty shank, but it’s better than nothing.
“Where did you learn to make this?” Not-Ken asks, still staring intently at the blade.
“Prison,” Simon deadpans.
Not-Ken laughs, though it quickly trails off as he stares at Simon’s unchanging, unamused expression. He goes a bit paler. “Wait, really?”
“Something else,” Simon says instead of answering, “You need different name.”
“Huh?” Not-Ken’s jaw drops.
“You said you didn’t really feel like Ken, so I’ve been referring to you as ‘Not-Ken’ in my head, but that’s starting to get annoying as f***, so you need a new name.”
Additionally, and Simon would never say this aloud, but he knows what it’s like to have names slapped on him that chafe and cut. It’s humiliating, dehumanizing in the worst kind of way, and not a fate he’d wish on anyone else, even the weirdos of Barbieland. So if Not-Ken doesn’t like his name, then he should have a new one and anyone who thought otherwise could answer to Simon’s newly sharpened butter knife.
“Oh, gosh, um, I’ve never really thought about getting a new name,” Not-Ken says, looking uncertain. “I mean, most people don’t really choose them, right? They just have them-“ He looks at Simon with hopeful eyes.
“What’s with that look?” Simon asks, scowling reflexively.
“Well, most people are given names, right?” Not-Ken asks. “So-“
“Oh no.”
“You should give me a name then!” Not-Ken beams as if this is some fantastic plan and not the worst idea Simon has ever heard since it was suggested he be in a metal death trap in an ocean full of blood.
“You don’t want me to give you a name,” Simon says.
Not-Ken pouts. “Why not?”
“I’m not very creative,” Simon says. He has no trouble admitting as much. He supposes one could consider him ‘creative’ if they included ‘battlefield improvisation’ or ‘items that could be used as a weapon’, but art or words? He’d always left that to others.
“I’m not either,” Not-Ken says, “So you can’t do worse than me!”
Simon severely doubts he’s more creative than Not-Ken, but it’s clear the blonde is not about to let this go if the stubborn line of his jaw is any indication, so Simon squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. Despite his frustration, he’s not about to half-ass it with something as important as someone else’s name of all things.
Let’s see…
What the hell does he even know about this guy? He’s talked to him for all of maybe one or two hours, but in that time he’s learned the other likes science and… has blue eyes. Hm, not much to go off of there. Oh, and he’s learned the guy is clumsy as fuck. Simon nearly snorts at the memory of the other tripping over his own shoelaces-
Wait.
Simon opens his eyes again and drops his hand, giving Not-Ken a critical once over. Not-Ken stiffens uncertainly under his gaze. He’s trying to look casual, but the other doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, alternately fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan and his sleeves before he almost pulls a loose thread and starts unraveling the whole thing. He then goes to mess with his glasses, but nearly knocks them off his face.
Yeah, okay.
“Grace,” Simon says, with only a hint of sarcasm.
Not-Ken blinks, then looks thoughtful. “Grace, Grace, Grace…” He tests it out a few times, and Simon feels uncharacteristically nervous, hearing it out loud. Then the other grins. “I like it!”
“Good,” Simon says, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief. “We ready to go then, uh, Grace?”
“Oh, yeah!” Not-Ken, er, Grace says. “Here, I just need to get you some food too-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Simon cuts him off, “You said it’s only a few hours, right?” He’s really not interested in hauling around a bag full of plastic food.
“Are you sure?” Grace asks, looking concerned. “What if you get hungry?”
“I’ll be fine,” Simon says, “I’ve fasted for way longer.”
“Wait-“
“Anyway,” Simon looks around, “Where’s this ‘car’ of yours to get out of Barbieland?” Simon vaguely knows what a car is from the various Earth historical reels, but he has no idea what it’d be like to actually ride in one. Despite himself, he’s a little excited to see one in person.
“Ah, it’s around back!” Grace slings his own backpack over his shoulders. “Follow me! I, er, borrowed it from Race Car Driver Barbie!”
“You stole it?” Simon asks, almost impressed.
“Borrowed!” Grace squawks, “I left a note!”
“But you’re not planning on giving it back,” Simon points out.
“Uh, well… she has others?” Grace says, face flushing. “Look, it’s in the garage.”
“No arguments, I just didn’t think you had it in you,” Simon says.
“Hah, well,” Grace looks a little proud, “I didn’t either, but I guess it was finally time I surprised myself.”
And with that Simon and the newly named Grace set out to leave Barbieland for good. Simon can’t say he’ll miss it, but even he can admit that viewing it in a rearview mirror with the wind blowing through his hair the pink color is less offensive.
Grace hadn’t been lying that the trip to The Real World would involve mountain climbing and oceans and goddamn space, but it all went smoothly once they got down to it. All of the travels were across plastic and cardboard landscapes and nothing lasted longer than an hour or so to traverse.
At one point Grace had offered him a plastic chicken drumstick, and more out of curiosity than anything Simon had actually taken a bite. His teeth had clacked against the plastic, as expected, but he had caught a whiff of actual chicken. Unfortunately that just made him hungry, so he’d wiped the drumstick off and given it back to Grace.
Eventually though, they do crossover some kind of threshold. Simon’s not really sure how to describe it, but at some point all the fake scenery changes, shifting from the bright plastic mimicries of nature to actual nature. The plastic grass of the fake forest around them changes to solid ground that crunches beneath their boots. The skies fill with birdsong and – holy shit, are those actual animals? And dirt? And trees?!
“What the hell-?” Simon says, only for his eyes to widen as the word slips out uncensored.
Grace gives him a scandalized look, but Simon barely processes it as he’s too busy running up to the nearest tree he can find and staring up at the leaves and branches towering over his head. He tentatively reaches out his hand to run over the rough bark of the trunk. It’s a different tree than the last one that had survived in Eden, but…
“Oh my god,” Simon mutters. Maybe he had actually made it to heaven after all.
“Simon?” Grace jogs up next to him, but balks as he sees Simon clearly having some kind of a moment. “Um, I’m gonna go- go scout ahead!”
Grace leaves Simon alone to give him time to collect himself, and Simon is almost pathetically grate for the consideration. It’s strange to be surrounded by trees, real trees, that live and breathe the same as he does. And there are animals, birds and squirrels, and in the distance he can hear sounds he doesn’t recognize but are just as mysterious and incredible.
It’s unreal. Overwhelming. It takes an almost embarrassingly long time for Simon to try and process it all, and by the time he does his legs are stiff and his palm has deep grooves molded into the skin from how tightly he’d pressed it to the tree bark. It aches slightly as he pulls it free and traces the memories of the wood with his fingertips.
Simon lets out a long breath. “Okay.”
He hikes further through the forest, breathing in deeply like between one inhale and another the whole thing might vanish, like it might just be another trick of the blood ocean and the horrible creatures that swam through the depths of it. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if that happened now. His mind might just break entirely if that was the case, but it doesn’t feel fake. He can feel the sun on his face and the ground beneath his feet, and that’s enough.
Isn’t it?
He finds Grace standing at the edge of the forest in front of a building so tall that Simon has to crane his neck back to see the top of it. Shockingly, it’s not even the tallest building around, surrounded by other towering masses of concrete and steel. Honestly, it’s enough to set Simon’s teeth on edge, made worse by all the people milling about (though thankfully none are sending him odd looks yet).
He scurries over in Grace’s direction, only to freeze when he sees the other speaking with a woman. She’s beautiful - long blonde hair and blue eyes - and wearing a light pink pantsuit with a leather bag hanging off her shoulder. She and Grace are hunched over some kind of small glowing rectangle, the woman speaking excitedly as Grace smiles back.
Simon grimaces, feeling oddly like he might be intruding. He half-turns, ready to retreat to the woods, but then Grace looks up and they lock eyes. Grace beams and motions Simon over, and Simon really can’t run now that both of them are looking at him. Reluctantly, Simon trudges over to where the two are waiting.
“Simon!” Grace exclaims once Simon nears the pair, looking excited, “This is Barbie!”
Simon is immediately on guard, enough so that he looks warily at the hand Barbie extends. It takes him a second before he reaches up to shake it, though he lets go as soon as possible. “Hello,” he greets curtly.
Barbie doesn’t look offended at all, still smiling. Strangely enough though, it’s not the smiles he remembers from Barbieland, instead looking a little softer and more real. It takes some of the tension out of Simon’s shoulders. “Hi, Simon. It’s nice to meet you. Ken- oh, Grace, I mean, was telling me that the two of you traveled here from Barbieland.”
“Yeah, we did,” Simon says, a little guarded. “You’re from there too, I presume?”
“She’s the original Traditional Barbie!” Grace interjects excitedly, “She and Traditional Ken came to The Real World before and- well, there was the whole Patriarchy thing that she came back to help with, but she actually decided to go back to live in The Real World!”
Barbie laughs. “Yes, I found I prefer it here. I’ve established a program on this side in the time since in case any other Barbie’s or Ken’s or whoever makes the same decision. When I saw Grace here wandering outside the Mattel building, I was pretty sure I knew what was going on.” Her head tilts. “But you aren’t from Barbieland originally, are you?”
“I’m not,” Simon confirms. “I just… ended up on the beach there.”
Barbie hums. “I see. Where are you from originally?”
And isn’t that the million credit question. Mars and Eden no longer exists, and the Consolidation of Iron had sent him to the bottom of the ocean to die. He’s not going back to AT-5, he’d rather die then go back there, but that just meant that now Simon was… adrift.
“Somewhere I’m not sure still exists anymore,” Simon says.
Barbie nods, as if that makes any sort of sense. “Well, what do you want to do now?”
Simon blinks. “What do I…?”
It’d been so long before anyone had asked him that question. His whole life he’d spent being ordered around by someone or other - the elders and Father at Eden, the guards in the prison block, the Consolidation of Iron over the speaker box as he descended into an ocean full of blood… They’d all framed his participation as option, as his own decisions, but really he’d never had a choice at all.
Was it really okay now?
“I want to stay here,” Simon says.
He braces for her to sneer, to add a dozen unreasonable conditions to fulfill, to immediately tell him to turn around and go back to whatever place he’d come from before he’d dropped into her lap, but she just smiles.
“Alright. We can offer temporary housing until you two can find your feet here,” Barbie says. “The building we rent rooms from has a few rules, but they’re pretty easy to follow, and if you want to leave and go back to Barbieland, you can head out at any time!”
Simon blinks. “Just like that?”
“Just like that!” Barbie confirms, “We have people leave all the time. The Real World is… not for everyone. There’s a lot here that isn’t good, a lot that can hurt people.” Her expression is solemn. “But I think it’s worth it. And I hope you’ll find something out here worth it too.”
Simon looks around, and again his gaze lingers on the green leaves of the tree branches as they sway in the breeze before he turns back to her. “I think I will.”
Grace beams. “Thanks for the help, Barbie!”
“Of course!” Barbie says, “It’s the least I can do for anyone who wants to feel like a real person for once!”
Feeling like a real person for once, huh?
Yeah, that’s something Simon thinks he’d like to try too.