Day 033

[allthekeys]

|| Day 033: GENERAL As the minute hand is slowly dragged into place on the clock face and the chimes to announce dawn begin, there is a perceptible shift in the world around the house-guests. The horizon begins to brighten rapidly, as if whatever shroud preventing sunrise from being visible has begun to dissipate with the strength of the sun's rays. Still, the air remains murky with an early morning mist that casts everything in shades of grey and blue. The air smells clean and fresh, though no rain has fallen in some time. Nor has this discouraged the slow growth outside of the houses and in the gardens. All Gardens have the barest hints of colour pushing through the dirt and the foliage, the scenery speckled with flower buds. The path outside of the Fifth House has similarly started to be embraced by growth. Green ivy has begun to grow over stones and gravel, weaving itself along the edges of the path. The door to the Boat House especially has been cornered by this sudden growth, new moss joining the old and the wood creaking from dampness. Everyone finds on their person at some point during the day a folded card. It is neatly, almost professionally, done in the way that it is sealed carefully with wax and trimmed in gold foil. Opened, the card itself merely reads Tonight, 6 o'clock sharp in pleasant, coiling handwriting. No matter the reader's individual tastes, they will find there something inherently appealing about the aesthetics of the card. All those with the White Flowers will find that the blossom has become reinvigorated with the warmer weather. It seems to almost tremble with life, its petals stirring as if in breath. At any time that the carrier takes a moment to smell the flowers, a scent that is always comforting and reminds them of something precious even if they cannot place what, they begin to feel further refreshed. The flower stills further the more often this is done, but it offers itself as a comfort throughout the day. Sephiroth wakes in the middle of a diagram drawn into the floor with an oddly metallic tincture. The full figure is within a circle, with a simple, yet intricate, geometric pattern running within; ringing around the edge of the circle is text written in an unreadable script, and odd symbols are patterned through the diagram. While there do not seem to be any ill effects, he will be struck by a stifling, trapped feeling as long as he remains in the center. Sam Winchester wakes to find himself in the center of a circle of salt, a cast-iron knife with a silvered blade setting just outside of it. His wrists and ankles are loosely bound with coarse rope, tied in haphazard slip knots. Shion is not far away, draped over with a white cloth in the center of a close ring of dry twigs and shards of wood, a few blooms of chrysanthemum and marigold laid on his chest over the cloth. Scrawled on the wall near them in ink is a litany beginning in an unfamiliar language, but continuing into several others; the parts of it that are readable seem to be a mix of exorcisms and funeral rites. Dean and Mary Winchester will awaken to similar arrangements as the child, draped over with sheets of plain white cloth with flowers laid over it and dry wood around them, funeral rites written on the nearest wall. Cloud will wake with a rosary tucked gently beneath his hands, and the remnants of something wet on his forehead. Resting next to him is a small cloth bag with fresh food in it, the top neatly folded over to protect the contents. A shawl of some sort has been tucked around him carefully, as though to prevent him from becoming chilled. The door to the Ballroom has been completely sealed off. Chains stretch across it from all sides and corners, a twisting, writhing mass of metal links. Not all of them can be followed to their source; those that can, however, seem to come from the stairs and originate in the same location as all of the others. Only some of them seem to crawl out of the walls and floor of the house. Only the barest amount of the door can be seen through the chains at all, and certainly there is no way to pass through them to get into the room. If one was to look down into the Ballroom from the view in the Loft Bedroom, they would see that it is not, after all, empty. The Mute Ghost Girl spins in the dead centre of the room. She dances all alone, twirling and swaying. She giggles silently, her skirt twisting around her as she reaches her arms out to the air or to invisible partners. She looks content enough for all of her isolation, though from time to time she stumbles and seems, for a moment, lost. Soft music can be heard when looking at it from above, something that could not at all be heard from the entrance. Likely the chains muffled the sound too much for anything to be heard from within. In the Gallery, Don has returned. He looks tired, and cradles his head in his hands, but he smiles to anyone he seems in the morning. He sets out from that room early enough, looking eager to greet anyone he seems, regardless of what pain it might cause his head. The Foul Boy turns at the first strikes of day, looking down the Straight Hallway toward the stairs to the first floor of before moving toward them and slowly vanishing. In the Photography Bedroom the Tormented Girl remains, sobs quieting now nobody is beating down her door. She slowly begins to move the furniture blocking it, once more allowing passage into the room. Lock has vanished from his perch, though someone has left a few wrapped sandwiches and a bottle of water at the door to the Photographer's Bedroom. There is no sign of where the boy might have gone. In the Dawn Room the Pigtailed girl shudders and looks at her assembled council. She drops to her hands and knees once more and glowers before vanishing, leaving behind only an assembly of dolls and figures. The man in the First House remains on his knees, his eyes pressed tightly over his face as though hiding from whatever dim illumination manages to reach him. He seems to be the humming softly to himself, body curled inward as he rocks slowly on the floor. The Boy Twin seems to have vanished from the house, and no trace of him can be found. Any further details about the activity within the First House are difficult to make out in the darkness. In spite of the brightness of the early morning, almost none of the light manages to leak through into this building. The Chains continue to cover all windows and lights tightly, coiled around lamps and windows like snakes. They constrict tighter if anyone attempts to remove them, and will seize upon the hands that pry too hard. The only way to remove them is to hold one’s own light source near by—the chains must temporarily leave their hiding of the light in order to lunge and extinguish the new source. In the darkness however, whenever a house-guest remains still for a few moments, something can be heard in the distance. Tap. Tap. Tap. Those who felt the call of the Lady In White during the night will wake with a small package at their feet. It is wrapped in a brightly patterned scarf, and holds a strange, wooden charm hanging from a woven scrap of fabric. The wood is smooth and feels warm. The symbols that make it up are unknown to them, but the finish is a dark, rich red colour. The group in the Wallpapered Parlour has dispersed and there remains no sign of the woman and children, save for a larger echo of charm painted in the corner where they hid.. The Lady in White has disappeared, the Wax Daughter soon finds herself with Kipps, and the Wax Son refuses to remain still. He can be found at various points in the second house throughout the day. He has a tendency to upturn the rooms he appears in, flipping furniture onto their sides of moving objects from their proper place. Fortunately, most of these pranks seem harmless for the moment. The Wax Father lurks at the bottom of the stairs to the Catacombs, growling a feral sound low in his throat. The figures in the Chapel have vanished as morning arrives on the house. The pews are empty, and whatever remnant of the conflict has gone with those who occupied the room during the night. There is no real indication that they were there at all, save for faint bloodstains where the Priest fell. Easy to miss with the sudden drop in activity is the figure curled in the back pew, his hand braced on the bench in front of him and his face contorted in agony. Joseph has returned to the house, though he looks decidedly worse for wear. Blood seeps through his shirt on the back, and drips its slow way to the floor on his front. He makes no sound, save for breathing heavily as he attempts to overcome the pain, and makes no move to heal himself. There is no sign of what has attacked him, and no indication of what might have injured him. His shirt remains intact. The Priest's Room is eerily quiet. In contrast to the disarray before, there are no loose papers about, and all of the books are neatly arranged on the shelf, the pen set aside in a stand on the desk, the inkwell covered. The cases that had laid open before with weapons and other tools are slid out of the way, closed and locked. The feeling of being watched from before is gone, but an uneasy pall hangs over the room, leaving any guest with the gnawing, quiet feeling of intrusion; for any guest that is nonhuman or has powers, the feeling grows more anxious and unnerving the longer they choose to remain in the room, and will linger for hours after they've left, a dread certainty they have committed a grave trespass. The door to the Third House remains locked tight though the structure rattles and shakes with the heavy wind the hallway provides. In the fourth house, the Cafeteria is empty of furniture, nor does any trace remain of the Carved Priest. In actuality, a closer look shows that anything wooden that wasn't nailed down is missing and whoever has collected it has done so carelessly, leaving marks behind. Where the many rows of tables and benches were lined up only scratch marks and dents on the floor now show that they've been there at all. But everything else in the room remains untouched, meaning that there is still food to be found -- just nowhere to eat it, other than the floor. The reason for this quickly becomes apparent to anyone who ventures into the Courtyard. There is a bonfire near the center which looks like it has been burning for some time already. It's built high and wide which lets the flames curl several feet into the air, even if the colour and size of the fire isn't as impressive as it would have been, had it been night. The smoke is a little peculiar and seems to defy the expected behaviour; it's white and curls gently around the base of the bonfire, extending slowly outwards the longer the fire burns, looking like a low circle of mist. Something about the smell of it is inviting, and both the smoke and the sight of the embers in the air seems to lure people to the fire to watch. Anyone who stands in the smoke will hear soft, indistinct singing. The bonfire burns bright and hot but slowly, and doesn't seem to start dying down properly until the very end of the day, when most of the furniture it's built from has been burnt to pieces and it starts collapsing inwards. In the Chamber of Purification the Siren uncrosses her legs and eases from the desk she was sat on, taking a swig of the bottle of alcohol before setting it down behind herself and easing her way out. She turns through a doorway and disappears. Within the Horrific Hotel Room the Hellhounds look up, ears pricked curiously. They clamber to their feet and scramble through the basement towards the Locked door. It opens and allows them through, locking firmly behind them again. The Seedy Bar is bright and welcoming again tonight, although the hallway just outside is rather the opposite. Rats scurry to and fro, and something appears to be leaking from the ceiling and pooling on the floor outside it. Whatever it is has a pungent, unappealing quality to it akin to something rotting -- and to add insult to injury the Men's Room and Unidentified Restroom appear to have flooded out into the hall as well making approaching it akin to sloshing through sewage. The bar itself, however, is safe and dry as it has always been. It is almost as if whatever creeping unpleasantness is outside is being repelled from here. Within it, Estella sits perfectly still at the bar. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, pupils completely swallowing any colour from them and the neat curls of her dark hair tidy once more. The Lantern is sat by her feet, and she keeps a careful eye on it. Dave stands near her, studying her curiously as he cleans and dries a glass. Every so often he asks her something, too quiet to be overheard, and she turns slowly to regard him before answering equally softly. A black dog lays at Estella's feet, his head resting quietly on his paws, and his dark eyes serious as he studies the room around them. His tail doesn't wag. Anyone entering the bar will feel as though their tiredness eases, their stress falls away and their energy returns. A Grey Maid sits at the covered table in the Bachelor's Kitchen, her face is covered and she sits unnaturally still at the table, barely seeming to breathe at all. The only sound is an occasional sob, shaking her shoulders beneath the dress. A Crow sits on the back of one of the chairs, her feathers fluffed up and her unblinking gaze fixed on the women. Neither move from their strange positions throughout the day. In the Guest Room a few of the hellhounds have remained. One of them is the mother with the puppy, her pup tucked gently in a nest of blankets. The two older pups play with one of their pack mates, tails wagging and mouths open with what one could only call a toothy grin. They seem disinclined to do anything to those who enter the room, though they will respond to violence if it is offered. Those who have befriended the hellhounds or enter the room carefully can even play with them, though none of the pack will let them near the mother and baby. Someone has pushed a wooden trunk over top of the Hatch in the Nursery. From time to time it rattles, something shaking it from below. The corpse in the Den seems to have moved a bit, though nobody is sure why they think so. She still lays in the exact same position on the floor, her hand out stretched. The bottoms of her feet are covered in dirt.