Day 25

[allthekeys]

|| Day 025 Day arrives with a familiar feeling of lethargy gripping the house-guests, the chimes bring with them a wave of exhaustion so deep some of the guests might find themselves falling asleep on their feet, while others will find themselves curled on whatever surfaces is readily available to them. They do not dream, or do not remember dreaming, though each will wake with the memory of a terrifying smile and the deep, uneasy feeling that somewhere a candle has been snuffed. Why this candle was important, they will not be able to ascertain. As they wake, there are perhaps other things to distract them. Someone has moved them while they slept, laying them straight on the ground. Their clothes have been straightened and cleaned; a white shroud has been carefully placed over their prone frames and their hands have been placed on their chests, a flower placed beneath them. Two gold coins have been placed with exquisite care over their eyes. As they rise, the will find a cloth bag clasped beneath their hands, full of tiny corn cakes, amber beads, sage, and charcoal. There is no indication of why these offerings have been left, but they seem quite oddly placed. Each house-guest will also find that bells have been woven with colorful beads into their hair, and their faces have been painted with make-up to enhance their appearance. The house has also changed around them -- the kitchens stand empty, and the water will not turn on. The heat is extreme, and the lack of water will soon leave house-guests suffering from the beginnings of dehydration. There is a reprieve, though. In the Ballroom someone has arranged several long tables and covered them with plates. In front of each plate is a name card, each holding the name of one of the guests. The moment a guest sits down, the plate and cup will fill. The food is good, and there is nothing obviously wrong with it, save for the fact that it appears in this way. The houseguests have no other real options, if they want to eat, and it seems the house has readily provided. At the end of the banquet sits Rose, who smiles broadly to herself. When someone enters the room, her glassy, unfocused gaze seems lost for a moment, before she snaps out of it and her lips spread taut to reveal more of her teeth, not saying a word. She does not eat anything, but she watches everyone else as they sit at their places, staring them down one by one. She seems disdainful, but she is undoubtedly watching. In the Red Bedroom a note has been tucked under the rose on the pillow. The writing is pretty, well-trained, and asks, 'Why can't I remember what you look like?' Someone has taped a message to the door leading to the Maid Hallway. The lined page, seemingly torn right from a notebook and frayed at the edges, has text written in large, bold letters: 'Stop trying to get into the basement. You'll get into trouble and you know it. I'm tired of having to tell you things that you already know, so stop making me.' Both doors to the Seedy Bar are locked. Strange new creatures roam the halls. They appear to be the size and shape of middling large dogs, although they are completely skeletal. Besides their lack of any flesh or other tissue, they seem to be acting like normal dogs, and the skeletons have no abnormal features. They rattle with every step, and the click of their paws on the floors of the house will announce their presence long before they appear. They can be found throughout the house, behaving as normal dogs; playing with each other, resting next to the fireplace, or otherwise exploring the area. They don't seem dangerous, although they do seem somewhat eerie, and there is no indication of where they came from or why they're present. The Book in the Art Gallery remains on its pedestal this morning, its pages still showing the sketches of monsters. It has returned partly to normal however, as now the pages do not feature only the creatures of the night. House-guests, too, find themselves mixed into the pages, especially those who have met Don or the Art Enthusiast. They are drawn kindly, his warm style showing his love for the art and the care for the subjects -- except that there are no details in their eyes, leaving them only pupil-less orbs staring through the page. The artist in question has reverted from his doll state of the night, waking at the same time as all the others where he had been left by those caring for him. He bolts upright in a panic when he comes to his senses, and then stares ahead as he catches his breath. He is extremely distressed, but remains silent. Soubi lays curled in a ball at the foot of the altar in the Chapel, Lily tucked tightly in his arms. He, unlike the rest of the house-guests, does not appear to have been shrouded during the transition from night to day. He does, however, appear to be asleep. Above the altar floats a dark orb, slick, oily, and spinning slightly. On the desk of the Glass Half Empty room another page has been torn from a notebook. This one, however, is covered with thick and violent black streaks, blocking almost all words from view. Whatever was used to destroy the message has seeped through the page, making it impossible to discern the original meaning. At the bottom someone has scribbled, 'fuckin live a little.' In the Lift, and on a table that surely wasn't there before, is a small and rather prettily ornamented box. It seems a little stuck and will not open easily. It seems harmless, however, and quite pretty. Surely the contents could only be helpful. There is piece of paper in the Servant's Kitchen, pinned to the counter by the point of a paring knife. The page is torn to offer little space outside of the words on it, which are written in a quick but efficient hand. 'Where are the kids? Find them. Need more supplies. Have to get out of this house, start looking, there's no time.' On the side table of the Soft Bedroom, a note has been tucked away in the pages of a mangled romance novel. It is a neat, feminine script, like the page has been torn from a diary: The sun has risen half a dozen times since we ran out of food. There aren't many of us left. I should feel guilty. I should. I don't. On the bed there is the impression of a body lying on the malleable mattress. The mark will not leave no matter who lies there. Oddly, it seems the perfect fit for all young adult women to lie in. In the Priest's Bedroom a man hangs from the ceiling. To those who have encountered the ghost, he is clearly the Priest. He is quite dead, but cutting him down will prove perilous to any who attempt it. They will find themselves taking his place as he stands beneath them, pulling down on their feet. His eyes are full of sympathy, and from the expression he seems to be trying to help. Rei will wake with an additional item, a photograph of herself stepping from the hot springs. Written on the back of it is a simple note: 'You smell good. Can I watch you swim again?' Anyone alone in a room with a closed door will soon begin to hear the soft tap of someone knocking at it, though if opened there will be no one in the hall. There seems to be no source for this knocking, but it does become more persistent the longer the day goes on. There are three butterflies in the Rose Garden, one yellow, one red, and one green. They seem to glow strangely, and alight from time to time on the flowers around them. The hole in the middle of the area has been filled in and gently patted down. Flower petals have been mixed with the soil. Digging it up again will reveal nothing hidden beneath the disturbed earth. The soft sound of a child singing seems to reach any guests that stands for long in the area, though the child never appears. The smell of the roses is nearly overpowering in the heat, but the birdbath is continually filled with fresh water. Lock stands at the shore of the pond just down the steps from the Courtyard in the Fourth House. He seems pensive about something, but not overly communicative about it. He is skipping rocks and standing ankle deep in the water, boots off and cast to the side. On the floor of the Red Hallway, someone has dropped a piece of paper. It has been crumpled and torn and suffered a great deal of abuse, almost to the point of illegibility. It is still possible to read, however, the frustrated scrawling. 'shut up, alright? You can't tell me what to do 'there are two kinds of people in this world: those who tell other people what to do, and those who DO it!!' Placed over the heart of Zevran and Sirius is a pair of identical notes. They are made from scrap paper, the writing done in broad strokes of pencil: 'FIND YOUR OWN.' A final word was written, but has been gouged out by an effort to scratch it out. In the Velvet and Silk rooms, the prisoners have been returned to their cases. Both have been dressed in different styles than they normally favor, appearing almost as porcelain dolls. Their eyes are fixed and staring, faces slack without emotion, and hair dressed up in fanciful styles that makes them almost uncanny. They will not move should anyone attempt to gain their attention. In the Wax Bedroom, the Wax Doll sits on the floor, humming softly to himself. The Wax Daughter has hidden herself under the bed, and appears to be asleep. -------- [ OOC; Anyone who touches the orb above the altar, or the box in the lift, or the butterflies in the Rose Garden should leave us a note here! ]