|| NIGHT 023: GENERAL
"What is she looking at?"
The woman glances in the direction the baby on her lap is staring, arms supporting her. "Just the corner over there, it's probably nothing."
The man next to her, a familiar face for those who have met Carver, frowns and leans forward, waving his fingers in front of her face. "Rose? Hey, what are you staring at, princess?" The baby barely seems to register the hand in front of her face, blinking a few times as it passes.
"March. Stop that."
He snaps his fingers a few times to try to gain her attention, still frowning. "She's staring at something." The baby finally refocuses her gaze on his hand, pulling her blanket to her mouth as she studies him. After a moment, her gaze returns to the corner. "She's staring at something. Hey! What's over there! Show yourself!"
"March, stop it, you're going to scare her." The woman sighs as the man pushes up from the chair, moving to hand the baby to the other person in the room. "Grant, please." The bespectacled man gives her an odd look, but takes the baby, clearly uncomfortable with holding her. "She's looking somewhere else now."
"It moved. Something's in here."
The woman rises from her chair, reaching for his shoulders. "Shhh, calm down, or else she'll start to cry. Look at her and listen for a moment."
"Lils, she's watching something. We're not alone in here."
The woman presses a kiss to his shoulder, fingers circling gently. "But she isn't crying or scared."
He frowns. "She never cries. Except when I try to hold her."
The woman sighs. "That's because you're angry and afraid all the time, babies can sense things like that. Calm down, just watch your daughter for a moment." They both fall quiet watching the baby. After a few moments of studying an empty patch of wall in complete silence, the little girl turns her attention to the man holding her.
The tension leaves the father, though his eyes remain narrow and guarded. "What was she looking at?"
"Probably nothing, but if it was something, nothing harmful. Rose was born here; this is the only place she has ever known. We're still learning to see what she thinks is normal and natural. Trust her." Her fingers circle against his shoulder, body leaning against his, almost as though she is attempting to anchor him with her presence.
The man sighs. "How do you stay so calm?"
"It's a skill I've mastered over my years as a schoolmistress. When the children are the most chaotic, you must maintain the greatest level of calm." She steps forward, reclaiming her child from the arms of a relieved Grant. "Why don't you hold her?"
He frowns at her, arms crossing. "She just cries when I try."
"Then focus on being calm and stop expecting her to."
He keeps frowning, watching her with a guarded expression. "It takes her forever to calm down."
"She's calm now."
Almost hesitantly, he extends his arms to take the baby. "She's going to cry."
"She won't, not if you stay calm." She shushes the child gently as she passes her to the man, tucking the blanket around the baby before she steps away. The man inhales, watching the child as though waiting for her to explode. Nothing happens.
After a moment, he starts to smile.
The dreamers will find themselves gazing through the eyes of someone only half awake, still blinking the lethargy of sleep from their eyes.
The familiar shape of the hallway outside the Library slowly comes into focus, just Lock rounds the corner into the hall.
He freezes in place, clearly startled.
"Lock?" The voice is clearly that of the woman from the dream before.
His voice cracks a little as he speaks. "Mom?" The woman steps forward, and the boy moves suddenly, rushing forward. He stops just short of barrelling into her, extending a hesitant hand to touch her arm. "You're alive?"
The dreamers feel themselves smile, and the woman they view the world through sinks into a crouch. "For the moment I am."
Lock frowns, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "How long?"
"Probably until the sun finishes setting. I can't return like the others can." She extends her hand, brushing her fingers against the boy's cheek.
"Why not?"
"We all have our parts to play, Lock. Mine requires me in other places."
He ducks his head, looking at his feet. She leans forward to cup his face, shushing him gently. "I'm sorry. I know I wasn't what you wanted, I know I've done nothing but cause you trouble since I was born."
"Says who?"
The answer seems to startle the boy enough to make him lift his head. "But, Rose-"
She shushes him gently, fingers on his lips. "Having a child isn't like writing a book, Lock. Once you were born, no matter how much I might wish to spare you from pain or missteps, I couldn't write your story for you. In the end, you are exactly who you have decided to be. My only wishes for you when you were born were that you were brave enough to face what this difficult world cast at you, that you were strong enough to hold that weight on your shoulders, and that you had enough love in your life to keep your heart from becoming cruel. Your job was to be the best you that you could, and mine was to love and support you, to accept even the choices I did not understand or expect. You are my wonderful, brave, and clever son. I could not have asked for a better child, and I could not love you more than I already do."
The boy leans forward, stepping into to close the gap between them. "But you died, and dad, and Grant and everyone. I'm the only common thing. It's my fault."
She wraps her arms around him, pulling him nearer. "These are still narrow shoulders. Not quite ready yet to for the weight of the world, Lock. We were adults, and we all made mistakes and choices. The only common thing is that you brought light into a dark, terrible place that had none to spare, and gave us something to continue on for. That we were weak and weary is not at all your fault." She kisses the side of his head. "You look like your father."
"I wish I looked like you." He presses his face into her hair, arms wrapping tightly around her.
"And miss out on these curls? That would be a true tragedy."
Lock laughs softly, still hidden from view. "He doesn't even like me. He likes Rose better."
"He barely knows you. Give him a chance. There's more to both of you than either understands." She runs her fingers through his hair, keeping him close. The boy huffed, hiding his face further in her shoulder. "Stubborn." She presses another kiss to the side of his head. "Both of you are. But Lock, you are not your fathers, you are not Rose, and you are not me. Your life will be decided by your own choices. Remember that. "
Her eyes close, and the dream fades away.
The next dream is almost not a dream, the room empty and full of dust. Sunbeams catch dust motes floating in the air, reflecting and catching the shadows strangely. The age of the room is heavy, and the dust obscures it almost completely. The face of the clock is barely visible beneath the grime. The soft sound of footfalls breaks the stillness, four young children wandering into view. They are all dressed in ragged clothes, but seem clean and well fed. The eldest one stops in the middle of the room, glancing up for a moment as though he can see the dreamers. His hair is a soft dirty blonde, shoved messily beneath a cap. The girl behind him stops as well, dark curls bouncing around her face as she looks straight at the dreamers, to direct to only be imagined.
"Lily? Wassamater?" The other boy in the group nearly runs into the pair, clearly not registering whatever has caught their attention.
The girl looks down, and the older boy catches her eye, shaking his head slightly. She smiles. "Nothing, Nick, just thought I heard something. Come on, I bet I can beat you to the kitchen!"
The other boy scowls, darting past her, trailing the last, silent child in his wake. "No way! Come on, Winny! Uncle’s making breakfast!" Winny glances once to the other two, nearly colorless eyes clearly curious, but she says noting as she follows Nick.
The girl – Lily – looks at the older boy for a moment, blue eyes slightly confused. "Did you...?"
He nods. "We'd better go; he'll come looking for us. Don't say anything, ok?"
She nods. "Okay. Go on, I'll be right behind you." He watches her for another moment, then nods, following the other two children.
The girl remains where she is for a moment longer, lifting two fingers to her lips and placing them in the air, as though she is touching something no one but she can see. "Sobu, find me." The words are a barely voiced whisper, and she moves quickly after saying them, following the other children through the trails of dust.
The dream fades.
The house-guests will find themselves awakening where they fell asleep; no effort has been made to redress them or to move them. Though those who are new the house and have not yet been marked will find that one of their sleeves has been rolled up, and the dark curling letters of an unfamiliar language is now tattooed on their arms.
Their clothes and other items sit in neat stacks just in front of them, each item cleaned, repaired, and good as new. A few among them might find themselves waking with a little more than they started with. Anyone who owns a magical item with some degree of sentience might notice that it feels a little confused, though overall relaxed by the experience.
All house-guests wake with a makeshift black ribbon tied around their non-dominant arm, a simple piece of fabric town from light silk, made to adorn them. It is difficult, though not impossible, to untie, the knot almost painfully tight.
Laura will wake to find a small wooden box, about the size of a hardback book, carved from a dark wood and covered with an intricate patterning of birds and flowers. A key sits in the lock, waiting to be turned.
Akito and Coraline will wake with a small note and an orb tucked into their hands. The orbs glow from within, and someone in messy scrawl has written "Just think of it going dark." The grey kitten that was playing with the children during the day has curled up next to the girl.
Ami will wake to find a small necklace and a note sitting on top of her things. The gem is incredibly beautiful, as though someone has frozen a drop of water and hung it from the chain. The note says simply "I admire your spirit".
Soubi will wake to find a butterfly sitting on his chest, glowing wings slowly opening and closing. Though it seems much too small to have managed to carry it, beneath the delicate creature sits a note. The handwriting is very flowery and intricate, though the message is quite simple. "The future is not yet written. Shed your chains and fly."
Lyhn's Students will all wake with a note that reads simply "If you can spare a moment to meet." Should they decide to go to him, they will discover the softest tug guiding them to his current location.
Jack Frost will wake with a crumpled note shoved into his hand. It reads only "Basement," though the hand writing is very messy.
Ben Winchester and Chrome will wake with sketches of themselves sleeping on top of their piles of clothing. There is no note, or any indication of who might have left the pictures there.
Braig will wake with a neatly folded piece of paper holding a small, blood red gem hung on a chain. Within the paper are three sketches, one of the pendant, and two of two children. Beneath the pendant is a neat note seeming to offer some explanation.
Ienzo will wake with a new pen among his things, a bold gold and black affair. It is warm to the touch, and writes quite nicely.
The locked doors that contained the guests have now been opened, and free travel between the houses is once more a possibility. The strange lack of desire to use powers will not lift for those in the Third House until they leave it and anyone returning to that house will find themselves once again uninterested in their abilities.
The house, as though in deference to this oddity, is safe tonight. No monsters stir within its halls. Little stirs at all, save those awakening there.
In spite of the passing of the day, one other strange thing has remained with all house-guests, regardless of location. No matter what they do, senses remain heightened, their receptors for taste, touch, and smell all on overdrive. This effect persists in spite of the night and all of the negative sensory experiences it might bring.
The house around them has been completely repaired, the windows gleam as though newly placed, the floors shine with polish, and the air smells faintly of cleaner. There is no sign that the house has been flooded at all, though anyone in the First House to glance into the Corkscrew Stair will find that the water still laps against the steps.
In spite of the freshly cleaned nature of the house, everything has been darkened. Curtains in all rooms have been replaced with darker colours, primarily blacks and deep purples. The instruments in the house have all been covered with velvets of similar colours, shut away from use for the time being. Similar drapery has been stretched across all paintings and mirrors in the house, shrouding them from view.
From behind the dark cloth atop the mirrors, a soft rapping noise can be heard; a fist on glass, calling for someone’s attention. If the sheets are pulled away, however, there is nothing to been seen, just another mirror. Although the reflection in the glass never seems quite right, like something has been changed in the room behind the guest and they cannot quite decipher what it is.
All of the desks, tables, and mantels in the house are decorated with photographs that were not there before. Old, taupe portraits of stiffly seated individuals are given a place of honour, surrounded carefully with dark flowers. The subjects of these pictures seem strangely out of place, their bodies oddly rigid, or else sleeping in an unnaturally still position. Occasionally the focus is not a sole person, but instead a small group surrounding them. The extras in the photograph always appear much livelier, blurred as if caught in the midst of movement, and all seem to be crying, their faces streaked and their hands raised to the heavens in anguish. The normal photographs of the house, those that have been present for longer, are all turned face down, their stands folded over, so that nothing but their frames are visible.
Outside the house, the fog is heaving, pressing against the window and making it impossible to see anything through the glass. Strangely, this fog has not entered any of the outside areas the house-guests can currently reach. Beyond the fog, those who pause for long in the windows might see dark shapes moving, as though something circles the houses on the outside.
The Hellhounds seem unusually lazy tonight; a female has even flopped down to take care of a rather excitable pair of puppies. They can be found stretched out in the Blue Kitchen and seem disinterested in moving at all. They will attack if anyone threatening the puppies, but are otherwise perfectly harmless. The corpses of those who die tonight will be left to wait for daybreak.
Anyone who owns a clock, has been in contact with the Sundial or has been behind the clock in the Parlor will find themselves being overwhelmed by a soft ticking noise, seemingly without a source. The noise continues on through the night, and seems to grow louder as they come closer to the spirits of the night.
The source of this ticking noise is absolutely impossible to discern, as the clocks and watches themselves seem to remain stopped. Each are paused at a specific time, and refuse to be wound or altered by any who touch them, as if they are meant to mark that time only. Approaching any ghost or monster, however, causes the hands of the watch to spin themselves, dredging up a new hour to observe. They once again refuse to budge, at least until a new creature is approached.
In spite of the gloomy atmosphere, the moonlight persistently tries to shine through the blackout curtains. Reflecting off of the water, light heats the air and causes the entire house to feel much more humid than it has in recent nights. At odds with the darkness, it is a rather warm night.
|
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allthekeys) wrote2013-07-13 12:00 am
