|| NIGHT 020: GENERAL
Night falls without any particular ceremony. The clock counts out the hour as darkness sweeps through the house, a slow dimming of the last shreds of safety.
With the darkness comes inescapable heaviness, exhaustion, and then sleep.
With the sleep comes dreams.
Lock sits on the table in the center of the ballroom. His normal outfit has been changed, and he wears something better suited for an institution of some sort than a haunted house -- though he has drawn a coat around him against the nightly chill. His eyes stare blankly straight ahead, and he seems almost incapable of reacting to anything at all.
Rose has settled herself behind him, animate where he is still, one hand cupped under his and holding a music box that is just starting to play. Her chin is resting on his shoulder, her other tucked around him in a strange parody of affection that does not match her tone at all.
"Poor Lock, all alone. Nobody to love him, nobody to care. I hear his mother hung herself just to get away with him. Grant too, even the man without feelings couldn't stand the obligation of a child. And well, them? They'll die too. All because of poor little Lock, the key that doomed them all. They'll die, or they'll forget, or they'll just stop caring."
The boy offers no response, barely seeming to register her presence there at all.
"That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? That they'll just stop, for whatever reason. It's not like anyone can love a monster for long." She laughs, nuzzling his shoulder. "My mommy and daddy loved me, Lock. See? They made me this music box. What did your parents ever leave you but corpses?" His continued unresponsiveness seems to irritate her a little, but she soldiers on with her intended speech. "Maybe someday I'll turn you back into a key and put you in my pocket. That's all you're good for, isn't it?" She giggled, leaning to whisper in his ear. "But keys can't suffer, Lock, and I want you to suffer. So I don't think I'll do that. I want you to pay for all the lies you tell."
The soft song from the music box grinds to a halt, and Rose closes it with her grip on Lock's hand, plucking the tiny box from his. "It's very pretty, isn't it? Daddy loved me, he made it for his pretty little girl." She smiled brightly, winding the music box again. "Listen to the song my daddy made for me, Lock."
The dream fades away as the music begins to play again, the sound of it winding through the dreams as they continue.
The feeling of cold is the first thing that makes itself known, cold and wet and the brush of fresh, clean air filling their senses.
As their eyes open, they will find themselves staring out into an endless expanse of water, the waves lapping over their feet like a promise of something great. The water is cold, and the tang of salt fills the air.
But it is freedom, luring them to step forward into the water, calling them to taste it just for a moment.
In the far distance, what looks like a ship crests just over the horizon. Behind, the islands float, looming reminders of where they have been and where they must return.
The taste of freedom is sweet, the water laps against their bare feet.
Suddenly there is a violent shift, though the want and knowledge of freedom never dissipates. Now, though, it is tinged with regret and dread. Fear.
The perspective is skewed, the head tilted down, so that they cannot quite see the other people around them. Still the room is full and motionless, and the dreamers are aware of a number of presences surrounding them. There are people on all sides forming a circle. In the centre there is a woman who does not seem phased by the eyes upon her from all angles, her face partly obscured by a black veil. Her smile is just barely visible, calm and serene. Her gloved hands deftly and professionally prepare a syringe.
The dream fades.
The storm outside has begun to ebb, but by no means cease. The rain continues to drum heavily against the building, but the sky is lighter now, and the lightning has become intermittent. The power still bends to the will of the thunder, flickering on and off at intervals that seem stressed by the crashing in the skies. From time to time the lights flicker, making it difficult for any guest to adjust their vision for long.
In all fireplaces the flames that have long provided a comfort against the cold, damp air of the storm and light to protect one's passage through the dark suddenly seem to die out. A moment later they flash back to life as if fighting to survive, but inevitably the dampness seems to win and the sparks dwindle to burning coals. The ashes yet burn hot, glow with an angry red; the crackle mimicking an enraged roar. Any who make a sustained effort to bring the flames' safety back will find themselves faced with the Burning Man. He is relentless, and will drag them into his arms in the dirt where he will cradle them. Protect them from the night, just like they asked for.
For those involved in the plot, the thrall of sleep seems unwilling to release them -- though they are still within the house if any of those remaining would like to check on them. They have all been moved to the Opium Den, wrapped in blankets and tucked into the pillow nests. The Silenced Woman moves between them, carefully tending to each of the sleepers. Nothing will wake them from their slumber, and they seem deeply enough caught not to notice any attempt to rouse them. Anyone with active mental links to any of the sleepers will feel only that the person is deeply, peacefully asleep.
The cause for their slumber remains unknown, but guests who leave by the door into the kitchen and are greeted by the sight of the mannequins there may begin to wonder if they are really safe close to such activity.
Lily, Shion, Nicholas and any pets or partner animals the house-guests involved in the event might possess have been removed from the sides of their guardians. The two boys and the other creatures have been placed on the floor, a barrier of blankets and pillows erected to keep them from the rest of the room. Toys have been procured from somewhere to keep them entertained and food is provided as they need it. Lily has been placed in a crib, her hands flexing occasionally in the air as though reaching for something that no one else can see. The Silenced Woman will not allow them to be removed from the room, and moves quickly to defend them if anyone seems intent on harming them. So long as they mind that limit, others are welcome to interact with the children.
The temperature, tonight, has risen perceptibly -- enough to be uncomfortably warm for most. Even the walls themselves seem to exude heat in an unnatural fashion, and anyone who lays a hand on them long enough may feel a strange pulse from within them. It is regular, like a heartbeat, though with no discernible source -- no stronger in any one wall than another. Anyone who picks up on it may find it quickly becomes difficult to not notice, seeming pulse through every wall or door they touch -- even through the floor sometimes.
Sometimes, they might swear they could hear it.
The construction workers have returned to work tonight, and the noise once again rises to a fever pitch throughout the houses.
In the Ivory Bathroom the pipes have burst again, water pooling out of the room and across the floor. A mop has been set against the door as if someone had been considering cleaning up the mess before they thought better of it, leaving the scene there for anyone else but them to deal with. At the centre is the Drowned Woman, sobbing softly into her hands as she leans against the tub. She seems to lack the energy to get up and chase anyone, but will instead peer up at them with reddened eyes from behind damp blonde hair. She looks pitifully, reaching weakly but unable to garner the strength for much more. She is still dangerous, however: coming close enough to let her touch will find her grip as steadfast as ever, and she clings with the same nightly desperation as she can be known for.
In the Gallery, the artist residing there reacts just as night begins to fall. Don topples over as the clock chimes, doubling over in pain and cradling his own body as he struggles not to cry out. As the dreamers wake, however, he is gone; the Art Enthusiast is nowhere to be found tonight.
The Mannequins have moved from the Sewing Room, spreading throughout the houses. They can be found in any number of places and in the midst of many activities, though they freeze the moment anyone comes upon them. Anyone who ventures close enough to inspect them tonight will notice the cracks and grains in their wood seem to seep a thin, red substance -- one that congeals slightly in sections throughout the night. For those with the right senses or sensibilities to recognise it, it does indeed appear to be blood -- but blood that will smell and taste wrong. Old, decayed, and liable to give an upset stomach.
Mannequins occupy each Kitchen, standing caught in the midst of food preparations, it seems that their presence has done something horrible to the supplies, though, as everything in the kitchens in quite rank and rotted. Plates of foul smelling food stand throughout the kitchens, and none of it looks remotely appetising.
A few have tucked themselves into the beds upon the fall of night, curled beneath the covers, giving the illusion of the real person resting just beneath the sheets. They seem rather stubbornly disinclined to move.
In the Tea Room, Candy Store and Bakery a mannequin stands just behind the counter, as though waiting to offer service to anyone who wishes to order. If asked for something they will procure it, after a fashion, but those within the house might be wise to avoid them, as anything they touch will quickly have ill effects on the digestive system and a high fever.
In the Dining Room four mannequins have displaced the Wax Family and seem to involved in some sort of conversation.
Unnervingly, though they will not move so long as someone is looking at them, the moment anyone blinks, they seem to edge just a tiny bit closer. It seems the only place they have not made themselves at home is the Seedy Bar and the attached Opium Den.
The Seedy Bar is empty, and although the creeping decay of this night seems to crawl around the doorway and seep black oil from the frame the interior is well lit as always. The Barkeeper is gone for the moment. There is food sitting on the bar, and though simple in creation, appear edible in contrast to much of the fare offered by the house tonight. The room, as always, offers safety for those wearied by the night. Bags of blankets and clothes that might be comfortable to sleep in have been set in most of the booths, as though left for the house-guests to use. Wherever the barkeeper has gone, he has apparently left in no hurry or with any great concern for his own safety.
The soft sound of chirping crickets disturbs those who might wish to pause for long outside the safe room, though no bugs appear. It never rises above a soft hum, barely audible in the otherwise noisy atmosphere of the night, but present nonetheless. Strangely, as the noise permeates the night, the house-guests might find themselves pausing to listen closer, trying to hear it better, though there seems to be no cause for this activity.
In the Chapel a familiar figure has taken up residence a few rows away from the alter. The Shadow Man sits with a woman tucked against his side. The Wax Mother's face is caught in a rickets of terror, though she makes no move to pull away from her captor. His arm has settled around her shoulders, nearly a parody of friendliness, though her alarm indicates it is anything but. The veins beneath her waxy skin are dark and seem more defined than they should be. Where his arm rest across her shoulders, the skin cracks and blisters.
He speaks to her softly, voice indistinct amid the construction, but compelling all the same. She shivers in his grasp, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Neither moves from their spot.
The Wax Girl cannot quite be placated tonight. She runs back and forth across the Second House, hardly ever pausing, darting about like a frightened mouse. She cradles an arm close to her chest, holding it in place with the other hand. The fist she will not move, protecting it against her dress, is still clutched tightly around something unseen.
Her brother, the Wax Son has moved into the Public Restrooms again. He sits quietly on the floor of one stall and seems to ignore anyone who enters.
Their Wax Father stalks across All Four Houses, intent and driven. He is never seen moving, unlike his girl, but instead simply appears in room after room, as if systematically searching. Whenever he is found by any who have interacted heavily with his daughter he starts to follow after them, seeming to appear in every room they arrive in, soon or later, for at least an hour at a time. His wax face is fixed into a scowl, his hands clenched into fists at his side and his knuckles are spattered with what appears to be melted wax.
The Wraiths have returned once more, though they seem unwilling to remain to their former boundaries, scattering through the dark places in all the houses. Once caught in their gaze, an unwary house-guest might find it incredibly difficult to jerk away, or even feel as though they should remain with the creature, as though the slow stripping away of their life force is a kindness, rather than a cruelty. They will not attack any group of two or more, seemingly disinterested in multiple targets, no matter how many they themselves number, but any house-guest enterprising enough to strike out on their own will soon encounter these strange, seemingly innocuous creatures.
In the Greenhouse the smell of food cooking has made its way into the air. The Cook, Lady In White and The Huntsman have all gathered around a small fire. The Huntsman is gutting and de-scaling fish, casting them into the pot as he finishes, the Cook is cutting meat into smaller pieces, impaling them on skewers to hang over the fire, the smell enticing and rich. The Lady In White has given herself another task, washing greens and roots to add to the pot. Directly in the flame rest tiny bundles of greenery surrounding larger roots, allowing them to cook.
The entire gathering seems fairly genial, though none of those around the fire speak to each other. Roughly made crockery bowls sit beside the fire, waiting to be filled with the fragrant strew.
Sprawled at the edge of the tree-line is a blue-green dragon, only a bit larger than a horse. It yawns on occasion, and one of the people at the fireplace rises to cast a fish into its mouth, or to offer it affection and reassurance.
Two seats have been left open near the fire, though no one appears to fill them. None by flames move to dissuade anyone from coming closer, and any who take one of the seats will find themselves being encouraged to take from the food provided.
A closer look to the Lady In White might reveal that the young woman seems to have gained a new decoration, a tiny glass frog perched on her shoulder. If anyone watches for very long, they might see the creature move, despite it's obvious nature.
In the Dawn Room stands a new ornament, a brass statute of a young girl. She is smiling serenely, eyes focused on the door, and does not move. The statue is quite lovely, the movement captured in the cold metal exquisite. Why the statue has arrived in this place is not explained, but the monsters will not touch it.
In the Day Room a contingent of dolls seems to have gathered once more, frozen in the midst of a tea party. The Doll Queen sits with them, small black armband still clearly visible. A fairy statue is in attendance, as well as a mannequin -- and what appears to be one of the statues from the Statuary Bedroom. They seem quite content, and there is no particularly unwelcoming air about the place -- other than the strangeness of the scene itself. The Dolls, however, and their contingent are not in a friendly mood. Anyone who attempts to join in the tea party who has earned their ire before, via direct influence or dissent in some way, will find they are quick to be on the defensive.
The Dolls tonight, though, are not the same as their normal selves. They are heavier, a little slower -- and for anyone who attacks them an unpleasant surprise is on store. Rather than the hollow porcelain of their nights past, a strike tonight reveals the dolls are heavier for a reason. The porcelain crackers and digs into soft, raw flesh underneath, eliciting high pitched shrieks of rage and drawing out swarms of Doll-spiders.
In All Bedrooms the dolls that have rested there during the day have perceptibly become heavier too. They have an odd, bloody smell -- almost akin to festering meat.
All Mirrors in the house are covered with a thick, tacky substance. It smells like rotted blood and makes any reflection the glass might hold impossible to see. Strangely, the mirrors seem to bulge outward, as though something has pressed a hand to the other side. Nothing seems able to come through at this moment, but the effect is rather unnerving, not the mention how horrendous the smell is.
In the Glassblower's room a figure of a hummingbird and butterfly have taken flight, sitting a top a shelf. The blue fish appears to have flopped to the floor, and twitches every so often.
The 'Abstract' sculpture writhes, a tangle of tendrils. Although it seems incapable of moving particularly far it is certainly upset, and could well cause harm to any who get too close.
Standing in the Lift in the Fourth House is the Broken Woman her head lolling to the side. She seems to be waiting for the proper button to be pushed, and makes no move to attack anyone who enters the lift unless they attempt to go to the Attic. She is noiseless as she waits, feet hovering a few inches above the floor, bruised flesh concealing any identifying markers. The noose dangles down her back like a promise.
Lock sits rather carelessly in the chair at the desk in the Study, knees drawn up to tuck beneath him. He seems on the verge of putting his feet up on the desk, the casualness of the pose indicating that he might have considered it. He doesn't, though, seeming to hold just enough reverence to avoid being offensive to the owner of the room. He has located a pair of shoes to cover his feet, and has mostly hidden the white hospital uniform with a heavy coat better suited for a man twice his size. In his hands he holds a small key, turning it over and over in his hands as though lost in thought. He is uninjured, despite his time away, and seems quite well, if a bit absent.
The music box from the dream sits almost innocently in the middle of the desk.
The Blind Bedroom finds the door knocked open at long last, the lock no longer in place and in fact impossible to find on the other side. The wooden structure is nearly forced off of its hinges and it creaks its complaints if any attempt to move it. The young woman from inside is no longer to be found, but it appears as if there has been a struggle within. Several objects and pieces of furniture have been knocked about and toppled to the floor, and there is mess of blood and feathers in the midst of it all.
The little boy who had been her neighbour, Tyler is no longer in the Open Bathroom, the door of which is currently on the floor as if misplaced by some great force. The child has been relocated to the Herbivore Bedroom, though someone seems to have visited him while the house-guests slept. His hands and feet are covered in freshly changed bandages, and his coverings have been exchanged for pure white scrubs, altered to fit his off-kilter shape. There are also bandages on the insides of his elbows and knees, covering fresh pinpricks that are still dotted with blood. He is distressed, but oddly composed, tucking himself halfway under the bed but remaining silent.
In the Gentleman's Lounge there is a lone Siren. She sits upon the stage, a pretty young thin and smaller than most of the others. Her wings are wrapped around herself somewhat protectively, and she stares out the door. She does not sing but instead seems lost and dazed, as if she is not quite certain what to do. Approaching her too closely re-activates her instinct, though, and she is ruthless in her attack if she is interrupted in her reverie.
As the night falls fully upon the house, the door to the Dusk Bedroom bursts open, slamming solidly against the wall behind it hard enough to damage the plaster and crack the mirrors. The sound of small feet running away from the room quickly can be heard for just a moment, by any who are lucky enough to hear, they vanish down the stairs and do not return again.
The safe rooms tonight are the Seedy Bar and the Opium Den.
|| THREAT DOWN
First House
1. Front Door 2. Entry Way 3. Coat Closet 4. Parlor 5. Formal Dining Room 6. Blue Kitchen 7. Doll Bathroom 8. East Hallway 9. Library 10. Study 11. Dawn Room 12. Closed Closet 13. Nursery 14. Dollhouse Room 15. Dollhouse 16. The Crack In The Wall 17. Maid Hallway 18. Clean Bedroom 19. Dirty Bedroom 20. Closet Room 21. Smoke Room 22. Yellow Bedroom 23. Vanity Room 24. Ivory Bathroom 25. Door to Basement 26. Supply Closet 27. Ballroom 28. Oak Hallway 30. Theater 31. Backstage 32. Locked Door 33. Music Room
1. Hallway 2. Princess Bedroom 3. Princess Closet 4. Mirror Bedroom 5. Journey Bedroom 6. Fairy Bedroom 7. Red Bedroom 8. Mask Bedroom 9. Trophy Room 10. Gallery 11. Observatory 12. Sewing Room 13. Glass Bathroom 14. Perfume Bedroom 15. Library 16. Cherry Hallway 17. Thin Bedroom 18. Dark Bedroom 19. Light Bedroom 20. Loft Bedroom 21. Ink Bedroom 22. Mosaic Bedroom 23. Day Room 24. Narrow Hallway 25. Store Room 26. Open Bathroom 27. Blind Bedroom 28. Door To Floating Hallway 29. Corkscrew Stair
1. Main Room 2. Green Room 3. Half Bath 4. Small Kitchen 5. Garden Closet 6. Empty Hall 7. Radio Room 8. Carpenters Room 9. Painter’s Room 10. Shared Bath 11. Glass Blowers Room 12. Tapestry Bedroom 13. Dollmaker's Workshop 14. Pottery Room
Second House
1. Stairwell Room 2. Wallpapered Parlor 3. The Open Door 4. Plain Kitchen 5. Pantry 6. Dining Room 7. Hallway 8. Half Sized Bath 9. The Blank Library 10. ??? Room 11. Open Hall 12. Rose Garden 13. Chapel 14. Priest's Room 15. Priest's Bedroom 16. Hallway 17. Locked Door 18. Rough Kitchen 19. Junior Dormitory 20. Bell Tower 21. Courtyard
Second Floor has no threat specific changes tonight
Third House
1. Wind Tunnel Hallway 2. The Front Door 3. Sitting Room 4. Leather Study 5. Gentlemen's Lounge 6. Diamond Dining Room 7. Professional Kitchen 8. Stable 9. Locked Door 10. Orchard 11. Hanging Tree 12. Hot Springs 13. Locked Door
1. Red Hallway 2. Herbal Bedroom 3. Costumed Room 4. Bell Bathroom 5. Locked Door 6. Playboy Bedroom 7. Statuary Bedroom 8. Candy Store 9. Stalker Room 10. Satin Room 11. Scented Bathroom 12. Birdcage Room 13. Hedonist Room 14. Carved Parlor 15. Silk Room 16. Get Away Cabin 17. Vanity Bathroom 18. Velvet Bedroom 19. Wax Bedroom 20. Husk Bedroom
Fourth House
Second Floor and the Basement have no threat specific changes tonight
1. Tea Room 2. Cafeteria 3. Entrance Hall 4. Courtyard 5. Bakery 6. Patisserie 7. Overstuffed Kitchen 8. Ladies' Room 9. Mis-sized Dining Room 10. Men's Room 11. Servant's Kitchen 12. Unidentified Restroom 13. Empty Kitchen 14. Opium Den 15. Seedy Bar
--------------------------------
[ This is a reminder of the plotting post for those involved in the event tonight. There will be an open log posted for you to start threading and going about it. Remember to ask if you have any questions!
Also, don't forget that Night 020 will last from April 13th to May 4th. This time change is IC as well as OOC, and the day will seem to last longer for the characters. ]
|
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allthekeys) wrote2013-04-12 10:55 pm
no subject
...And anything too destructible that might be needed later has been moved up off the floor of the glassblower's room with a couple stray pieces of wood or something from a neighboring room left on the floor/Giotto will be in and out checking on the poor tentacle monster.