Day 020

[allthekeys]

|| DAY 20 GENERAL Day break over the house is almost imperceptible, as there seems no drastic change at first to lighting or to the surroundings. A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder precede the dawn, sunlight struggling to seep through the dark storm clouds that continue to hang, heavy and foreboding. The sky is still dark but, slowly, it lightens enough to show that the moon has set and day has begun once more. It is only at that moment that things being to change within the house, as if the clouds hiding the light has encouraged the monsters to stay out longer, like they might dare the day if only the light had not given them away. To spite the daylight hours and continue their hunts. But finally they retreat from the slowly brightening sky, and the house returns to relative safety and peace. The first chime of dawn resonates through the houses, echoing and bouncing back at the house-guests like a siren. The bells begin to sound the hour, adding further chaos to the air. The lights over the lake vanish as the morning arrives, ending their game. The ravens burst into flight, complaining loudly at the noise. The ghosts in the chapel fade from view. The house-guests sleep. The sound fades, muffled by the dream as it starts, overwhelmed by the sound of chains around them. They can barely move without the chains catching them, a metal spider-web that will not allow them to escape. Someone breathes in the darkness of the room, each exhale harsh and desperate, as though they fear that the air in the room will vanish on the next inhale. The stink of unwashed flesh fills the air, swear and blood and filth covering a prisoner who has had no chance to escape. Hunger winds through the dream, the gnawing feeling of near starvation, of a body left for days without a trace of sustenance. The prisoner does not speak, and little can be heard beyond the desperate breathing and rattling chain. It is hard to move, and those with phobias of enclosed spaces will quickly find themselves becoming unsettled by the darkness and the lack of movement. There is no awareness of their presence, there is nothing but darkness and cool lengths of chain wrapping around them, holding them in place as they gasp for breath. The muffled sound of the chimes fades, and the prisoner's desperation slips leaving them adrift in darkness for just a moment -- long enough to feel hands start to brush against their skin, tugging on them as though to draw them deeper into the blackness. In contrast, the light of the next dream is momentarily blinding -- full of warmth and laughter. For a few seconds it blots out as eyes close, the warmth of a kiss near enough diminishing the hunger from before. The tenderness and intimacy of the kiss is sure to linger long after the dream has ended. There is soft laughter as the kiss is broken, eyes remaining closed, leaning into a caress. "I like you better now, I think." "What?" The voice that answers is clearly male, though vaguely amused. "Why do you say that?" He simply laughs, pulling his partner down into another kiss without opening his eyes. The warmth from the kisses fades with the chill of rain splashing against someone. A horse runs down a muddy path, the downpour drenching the riders and the animal in equal amounts. The rider is calm, almost frighteningly so, eyes only on what waits ahead. There is nothing to indicate who they might be, though the horse beneath them is clearly white. They stop at a crossroads, horse and rider taking a moment to look between the two paths that lay ahead.A soft voice, clearly that of a child, speaks up from behind. "Where are we going?" The rider offers no answers to the question, nor any explanation for what they must do. Their path chosen, the horse begins to move again, the left fork continuing their journey. The child's arms tighten around the waist of the rider, tiny shivers making themselves known from the small body. The house-guests wake to a nearly silent house, hunger gnawing at them and the kiss still warm on their lips, heavy in the early morning hour. The touch of the lovers still lingers, and the guests might find themselves more open to physical contact. The feeling does not fade as the day progresses, and the lingering chill in the air only encourages them to seek out their fellow prisoners. As though in apology for the hunger caused by the dream, each house-guest will awaken to find a Breakfast Tray sitting beside them, wherever they may have fallen asleep. The food on the tray suits their dietary requirements, and is all freshly made and quite delicious. A single daffodil has been placed in a vase on each tray, and two small white stones sit just next to it. They are clearly only decoration, and surely nothing of importance. Additionally, All of the Bedrooms in all houses have gained a guest. A doll, newly painted and finished and sat leaned against the pillows. Several look alarmingly like previous guests in the house. Rei, Akito, Agito and Sora will awaken to find a doll beside them that is a very good likeness of themselves. In the Opium Den Shion and Nick have been placed almost carefully in the pillows. Both are still sleeping, curled up against each other like two puppies. Both have bandages around their heads and arms, though removing the bandages reveals only unmarked skin, with no scars or injuries to indicate a need for the covering. They will be a bit groggy as they start to wake up, slow to react to things around them, though quick to cry if anyone tries to separate them. The Silenced Woman hovers almost protectively over the children. They seem calmed by her presence as they start to wake, accepting her petting and reassurance without reacting to her macabre appearance. In the Seedy Bar most of the patrons have vanished with the coming of the day, though the Bartender remains behind -- tidying up and doing the dishes as the morning progresses. It might be easy to miss her, tucked into one of the booths and fast asleep, but the Lady In White has remained despite the arrival of morning. A blanket has been placed over her, and she seems to be sleeping deeply. In the Velvet Bedroom the male doll has been returned to his case. His arms are unbound once more and he has procured a cloak during his brief respite from his imprisonment. A small satchel hangs over his shoulder, though what he might have brought back with him is difficult to tell. He is utterly still in the case, staring straight ahead at the wall, as though he might be able to see through it. It is difficult to tell the state of his injuries, and the only thing that might indicate that he is still alive is the slow rise and fall of his chest. The Silver coin sways slowly over his skin, though there is no movement to cause its motion. It leaves blisters where it touches his skin, but there is no reaction from the doll. In the Silk Room the woman has returned to her feet, though blood dims the grandeur of her gown. She does not move, eyes fixed straight ahead, though slight tremors shake her frame, as though she wishes to react to something. A cord vanishes beneath her dress, and what little can be seen of her back shows that she is still badly injured. She does not blink, or make a single sound. The Wax Man has returned to his closet and his original position therein. The only clear difference is the lashes still distorting the shape of his back, though with the coming of day his skin has become rigid wax once more. The cord still hangs around his neck, but the coin is hidden under his body. His hands have healed, the bone set cleanly. The water level in the First Floors is thankfully falling, though anyone who attempts a Basement Level will still find themselves wading through brackish, stale water. The snow melt in the Open Hallway is nearly complete, leaving only cobblestones and mud behind. In the Rose Garden the single flower still blooms, though the other bushes seem on the verge of waking from their winter slumber. Around the stone, someone has placed a cacophony of brightly colored wildflowers, the scent of them filling the air. Where they might have come from remains unknown, as the soil is still too chilled for anything to grow. In the Chapel another being has taken up residence. One of the Unnatural Servants stands at the altar, a variety of objects spread out on the desecrated stone. Among bobbles and bags that offer little hint to their purpose lays a very simple silver key. Though taking it is another matter entirely, as the being will quickly attack any who attempt theft. It does, however, seem willing to trade, and will offer a fair price for any item of importance. Around the house, it seems that someone has been having a little bit of fun. Blank post-its have been plastered across the walls, hidden in a variety of odd places. Anyone who attempts to move the post-its will find that the irritating bits of paper stick to them, and will not allow themselves to be removed. They seem to hold no purpose and cause no harm, though they are quite annoying. In All Kitchens recipe cards have been placed. Anyone picking them up will feel inclined to try to make them, and any who does so successfully will be rewarded or can trade with the Unnatural Servant for other items they might like. The extravagance of the prize seems to rely on the complexity of the recipe, and only those on the cards will be rewarded. Failure will be punished, so the house-guests would be wise to take stock of their skills before attempting the challenge. The Shadows seem to stay long, the darkness under any object stretching out farther than it has any right to. They curl around the ankles of the sleeping house-guests, hissing softly, before they seem to finally react to the light. They retreat hastily, seeping into floors and leaving the darkness of the rooms as they should be. The storm grows in fervour, the air rumbling with electricity. The rain does not stop falling, loud against the roofs of the houses and occasionally leaking in from cracks at windows or under front doors. And the storm has made its way into the Greenhouse, Open Hallway, Orchard, and Courtyard. It is an unpleasantly windy and wet walk through any of them, though at least the lightning does not seem to strike anything within them. It seems that the storm has not let up on the power in the house, either, and all appliances and lights are still out, leaving the house somewhat dreary with only the barest amount of light entering from the windows. As if in compensation, however, all fireplaces have been lit, providing warmth to dry any who have been victimized by the weather, and a little more light where there is little. The fires are not strong, as if something could easily put them out at any moment, but they are warm and inviting. To all high sensitives they seem doubly so: almost calling them to the hearths. The fire wishes to have them near, to lick at their faces, to whisper to them in the crackling of the coals. It calls to them and promises safety. These fires are not dangerous -- they are a source of comfort to stay near, for those who are plagued most by the cold of the house. It is still prudent to take care, of course; no matter how promising the fire, it will still burn. The Wax Daughter has returned to her place with the rest of her family in the Dining Room, though they have shifted their seating arrangement. The Father now sits beside her, his face twisted into a deep scowl of disapproval and resentment and with his hand held tight around the wrist of his little daughter. The Mother and Son sit nearer to one another, though they do not look at each other; they stare pointedly away from any of the others -- the boy's eyes fixed at a corner of the room, and the woman's toward the doorway. Neither seem willing to acknowledge their frozen family in the heat of the argument building. Unlike the other three, however, the girl does not seem frozen at all. She moves quite animatedly, squeaking and whimpering as she tries to jerk her hand out of her father's grip, her tiny hand balled into a fist and unable to get through the tight hold he has on her. She cries openly, but never calls out for help. In the Blind Bedroom the young woman sits dejectedly on her bed, a magazine open in front of her that she absently flips through. She seems to be attempting to read, but unable to focus as she hardly looks at the pages at all. Her face twists into pain from time to time, and she itches all over her body. The back of her white shirt is soaked in blood, and the bottoms of her pants are dotted with bright red pinpricks of colour. She has discarded her slippers, showing feet that look as if they have been smashed by something large and heavy. Occasionally she reaches for the IV in her arm, expression one of pure and tired frustration, as if she is considering tearing it out of her vein, but she never does. In the Open Bathroom the little boy lets out little howls to mark his distress, the noise echoing through the tiles and announcing his misery. He lies wrapped up into himself, scratching viciously at his arms so as to ease the terrible itch he is surely feeling, his skin visibly covered in red bumps and hives. The shower still runs, washing the blood down the drain. The door to his chamber is cracked open, standing ajar but stuck fast in place. The child doesn't seem inclined to move toward it and try his luck -- his misshapen legs don't seem able to propel him toward the potential for escape. The Giant Hellhound remains for a time after dawn, as does his pack, but eventually he gathers them and urges them away from the house-guests with steady and affirmative barks and stern growls. He makes one last sweep of all three houses, checking on those he has found interesting and making sure no pups escape his notice. He even offers a brief, curious sniff at the door to the Open Bathroom before he disappears into the Basement of the First House. The Front Door in the first house stands open, rain soaking the floor as it gusts through the opening. The wind outside is cold, though not quite freezing. It is impossible to see more than a few feet from the door, and any who might think to attempt escape with the lure of the open door will quickly find themselves lost in the rain and mud. Laying on the ground just inside the door is a young girl, soaked completely through and shivering. She stays very still, not seeming inclined to move despite the rain falling on her. Her dress is finely made, though obviously not meant to face this sort of weather. Her hair is a dark blond, neatly brained back from her face, and she seems well cared for, despite her current position. She shudders once, coughing and sputtering around a mouthful of rain water, and pushes herself slowly to her hands and knees, wide doe eyes staring aghast at the entry way, clearly not where she expected to be at all. ---------------- ((ooc: So the poll results are in-- we're going to be extending the next two updates by one week, in order to accommodate for some busy schedules. This will be temporary, with Day 020 lasting from March 22nd to April 12th, and Night 020 from April 13th to May 4th. Hopefully this helps people catch up where needed, and of course feel free to make as many threads as you'd like in the span of the three weeks! This is an IC as well as OOC time change, the characters will feel the extra hours in the day and night. Also, the poll remains open in spite of this decision, so that people may still vote and discuss the update format!))

Comments

Re: Chapel

[allthekeys]

Yes Ma'am!