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Midnight Update
Sep. 1st, 2012 12:00 amThe clock begins to count in midnight, and within the ballroom the faint sound of music ceases. A roar of applause can be heard, an unseen crowd enthusiastically giving thanks to the musicians who had been playing. It fills the room, still seemingly empty, and All Guests feel drawn to it. They gather, stand and join in the appreciation of the invisible players.
From within The Theatre, however, new music begins.
The Little Girl vanishes from the Parlour, taking with her the Hellhounds and the Art Enthusiast.
The Burning Man stays within his fireplace, although he seems more confident now that he is alone -- more willing to strike out at Any source of heat or open flame.
The applause dies down slowly and the invisible crowd begins to murmur to each other, moves through to the theatre and carries the guests with it. The stage is lit up, ready for the start of a performance -- and guests find themselves taking seats to watch if they like it or not. In fact, the seats are quite insistent -- seeming to meld themselves around each of their victims, black vines of thick, rope-like creeper growing out and tying them in place. Once the performance starts there is no leaving, and there will be no intermission.
The Drowned Woman appears to have vacated her spot temporarily, for she stands central -- the stage behind her draped with fabric in varying shades of blue. She seems confused, more so than usual. She is out of place, and she is being watched. Watched by many, many people. Her rotting arms reach out towards the audience, grabbing at thin air helplessly.
Beside her stands The Art Enthusiast, fingers still broken but slightly more himself than he was in the parlour. At his feet is a Lantern, flame safely caged tonight. He looks momentarily nervous, eyeing the crowd before he glances up at something they cannot see and centres himself -- takes a deep breath and looks sideways at his companion. He veils himself in confidence, and begins to speak.
There once was a woman who was in love with the ocean, in all its splendid freedom. Its endless tides called to her and she went, touched every inch of it and learned its passions. She knew it better than any other mistress ever could, for she was the best in the land at her art -- to redraw her love so that others may know it. To share its splendour. People would come to her from far and wide, and she to them, so that she could share her tales and her love. She and the sea had their differences but she would not begrudge it this, would still come back year after year.
Don wets his lips, glances down at the stage for a moment while he prepares himself to continue.
But, like many love stories, it could not last always in happiness.
From behind them both the blue pieces of fabric begin to be unceremoniously ripped down, dragged away off stage to reveal the bare wall behind. Slowly, The Torso crawls onto the stage -- dragging with it one of the pieces of blue fabric. It pulls it across the front of the stage in a thin line, seeming to look towards Don for a moment -- although such a thing should be impossible -- while he watches the progress.
She was invited to play a game. A game where if she won, she could be-- happy forever. If she lost, she would know nothing but unending misery. She went, and for a while she was happy. Her new love was not perfect, but it was new -- it was different, exciting, and she learned it. Saw that there was brightness in it too. She learned how to please it, how to avoid its wrath and how to wait out the worst of it when she must. She learned to hold her tongue when corrected, how to take what little moments of happiness she could -- how to sing to the darkness and dance through the long nights.
But her love was fickle. Their relationship grew stale and she pleased it no more. Her songs caught in her throat, and rhythm faltered in her waltzes. She had forgotten she was playing a game and fallen behind, was so bewitched by her love that she had lost track of time.
Her love tempted her, encouraged her to give in and throw the game-- her chance at happiness. End her lonely nights where it would not talk to her, would not let her make her art. It would not let her be happy. She was so far from winning now, and her fairy tale ending too far to make it on tired feet.
It whispered to her to lose, to forfeit, it gave her an opening and --
Don falters, wets his lips again and frowns. His voice is growing hoarser, and he seems distressed -- almost nauseous although controlling it.
It does not play fair.
One of the lights illuminating the stage extinguishes itself, sending half of it into darkness.
The woman on the stage turns to Don -- and for a second her eyes seem intelligent, understanding. In a brief instant she seems to smile sadly, and he returns it with a grimace, regret written on his face. A curtain depicting a wide, blue, twilight sky is dragged across the back of the stage while the two stare at each other -- then Don turns his stare out on the audience. He seems calmer, although his voice is strained and he seems to be forcing himself to project more.
She lost. This is what happens if--
The other light is forcibly extinguished, and the stage descends into chaos. In the darkness, the chairs release their captors -- but something else has also been released. The faint sound of something swishing can be heard, the patter of hundreds of tiny paws. The Rats have descended on the theatre, crawling over all its occupants -- biting any guests who try to stop them. The shadow of one is thrown on to the back of the stage as it stands beside the lantern on hind legs, looks about before it seems to turn and push it. The lantern tips, flames flickering out and catching the line of blue fabric -- a wall of flame rushing across the the front of the stage. The rats set to work ripping apart the set.
The Art Enthusiast, Don, disappears from the stage along with The Drowned Woman. She re-appears at her post in the bathroom as glassy eyed as ever, and he re-appears within The Gallery -- eyes fixed upon the paintings on the far wall. He has been returned to his worsened state, neck hanging broken and unresponsive.
In All Kitchens the rotting food appears to have vanished. Now, there is simply nothing at all.
From within The Theatre, however, new music begins.
The Little Girl vanishes from the Parlour, taking with her the Hellhounds and the Art Enthusiast.
The Burning Man stays within his fireplace, although he seems more confident now that he is alone -- more willing to strike out at Any source of heat or open flame.
The applause dies down slowly and the invisible crowd begins to murmur to each other, moves through to the theatre and carries the guests with it. The stage is lit up, ready for the start of a performance -- and guests find themselves taking seats to watch if they like it or not. In fact, the seats are quite insistent -- seeming to meld themselves around each of their victims, black vines of thick, rope-like creeper growing out and tying them in place. Once the performance starts there is no leaving, and there will be no intermission.
The Drowned Woman appears to have vacated her spot temporarily, for she stands central -- the stage behind her draped with fabric in varying shades of blue. She seems confused, more so than usual. She is out of place, and she is being watched. Watched by many, many people. Her rotting arms reach out towards the audience, grabbing at thin air helplessly.
Beside her stands The Art Enthusiast, fingers still broken but slightly more himself than he was in the parlour. At his feet is a Lantern, flame safely caged tonight. He looks momentarily nervous, eyeing the crowd before he glances up at something they cannot see and centres himself -- takes a deep breath and looks sideways at his companion. He veils himself in confidence, and begins to speak.
There once was a woman who was in love with the ocean, in all its splendid freedom. Its endless tides called to her and she went, touched every inch of it and learned its passions. She knew it better than any other mistress ever could, for she was the best in the land at her art -- to redraw her love so that others may know it. To share its splendour. People would come to her from far and wide, and she to them, so that she could share her tales and her love. She and the sea had their differences but she would not begrudge it this, would still come back year after year.
Don wets his lips, glances down at the stage for a moment while he prepares himself to continue.
But, like many love stories, it could not last always in happiness.
From behind them both the blue pieces of fabric begin to be unceremoniously ripped down, dragged away off stage to reveal the bare wall behind. Slowly, The Torso crawls onto the stage -- dragging with it one of the pieces of blue fabric. It pulls it across the front of the stage in a thin line, seeming to look towards Don for a moment -- although such a thing should be impossible -- while he watches the progress.
She was invited to play a game. A game where if she won, she could be-- happy forever. If she lost, she would know nothing but unending misery. She went, and for a while she was happy. Her new love was not perfect, but it was new -- it was different, exciting, and she learned it. Saw that there was brightness in it too. She learned how to please it, how to avoid its wrath and how to wait out the worst of it when she must. She learned to hold her tongue when corrected, how to take what little moments of happiness she could -- how to sing to the darkness and dance through the long nights.
But her love was fickle. Their relationship grew stale and she pleased it no more. Her songs caught in her throat, and rhythm faltered in her waltzes. She had forgotten she was playing a game and fallen behind, was so bewitched by her love that she had lost track of time.
Her love tempted her, encouraged her to give in and throw the game-- her chance at happiness. End her lonely nights where it would not talk to her, would not let her make her art. It would not let her be happy. She was so far from winning now, and her fairy tale ending too far to make it on tired feet.
It whispered to her to lose, to forfeit, it gave her an opening and --
Don falters, wets his lips again and frowns. His voice is growing hoarser, and he seems distressed -- almost nauseous although controlling it.
It does not play fair.
One of the lights illuminating the stage extinguishes itself, sending half of it into darkness.
The woman on the stage turns to Don -- and for a second her eyes seem intelligent, understanding. In a brief instant she seems to smile sadly, and he returns it with a grimace, regret written on his face. A curtain depicting a wide, blue, twilight sky is dragged across the back of the stage while the two stare at each other -- then Don turns his stare out on the audience. He seems calmer, although his voice is strained and he seems to be forcing himself to project more.
She lost. This is what happens if--
The other light is forcibly extinguished, and the stage descends into chaos. In the darkness, the chairs release their captors -- but something else has also been released. The faint sound of something swishing can be heard, the patter of hundreds of tiny paws. The Rats have descended on the theatre, crawling over all its occupants -- biting any guests who try to stop them. The shadow of one is thrown on to the back of the stage as it stands beside the lantern on hind legs, looks about before it seems to turn and push it. The lantern tips, flames flickering out and catching the line of blue fabric -- a wall of flame rushing across the the front of the stage. The rats set to work ripping apart the set.
The Art Enthusiast, Don, disappears from the stage along with The Drowned Woman. She re-appears at her post in the bathroom as glassy eyed as ever, and he re-appears within The Gallery -- eyes fixed upon the paintings on the far wall. He has been returned to his worsened state, neck hanging broken and unresponsive.
In All Kitchens the rotting food appears to have vanished. Now, there is simply nothing at all.
Darkness falls with a sudden, unnaturally fast rush. It sweeps through the house as the clock starts to click, as the winding mechanism within it starts to whirr rapidly. Whatever was wrong with it before is fixing itself, those watching the face will watch the hands heal.
Without warning it begins to strike.
One
Two
The Little Girl appears in the day room, looking out into the first house then along the hallway to the second. Anyone nearby who can see her will notice she seems... irritated, a slight frown of disapproval at something.
Even for those not nearby, though, her discontent is evident. Anyone with a walkie-talkie will hear it shriek for a moment as it activates, a piercing sound that slowly settles into white noise. No amount of fiddling can make it stop, and strangely even taking the batteries out will not cause the sound to cease. It continues the entire night, insistent -- and at times it seems closer to distorted screaming.
"This is my house."
The girl's voice is loud in the heads of all the guests, forcing them to their knees as the clock continues to count the hour
Three
Four...
"My house! Stop ruining it!"
Five
Six
She stamps her foot to underline the statement and the house seems to tremble, either from the impact or from fear of her wrath. All at once she sits in a chair in the Parlour of the first house, dwarfed by its size. The last chime of the clock seems to stay in the air for a long time, almost deafening -- but as it fades away guests may notice their throats feeling dry. It seems hard to swallow, sore suddenly, and an oppressive heat pushes at everyone from all sides. They still cannot move, paralyzed under her spell.
"You're my guests."
The heat seems to intensify, making the air stifling until they want to cough. Nobody falls asleep, tonight. There are no dreams, for tonight she will not allow it. One by one the open doors of rooms through All Houses start to slam, shutting some people in and others out.
"You can't leave!"
Her voice hits a tantrum-esque peak, loud enough to make guests want to cover their ears even though there's no way it would help. Her voice is inside their heads, echoing with sickening insistence. There's a moment of stillness, a moment where they can move again and might start to uncurl and pick themselves up. A moment where perhaps it might be over, her tantrum might be done.
It isn't.
"Let's play a game."
This time her voice is quieter, more playful. There's something about it, though. Something unnerving. For anyone who can see her, or who comes to find her later, The Little Girl is still sat in her chair. At her feet is a rather large hellhound, the beast lays with its head on its paws, watching the doorway intently. In her lap sits a elaborate doll. She might look normal if not for her expression, smile unnatural and not meeting her eyes. If not for her voice forcing itself on the guests. Behind her the Burning Man has returned to the fireplace, but he stays subdued -- wary, perhaps. He does not move beyond the boundaries of the parlour, and only moves to fire sources lit within it. Even that he does reluctantly, wary of being stopped by her presence.
For guests on the Second Floor of All Houses something unexpected happens.
The floor of the hallways disappears.
Or at least, it appears to. Anyone brave enough to test might notice that this is not entirely true. Although there is no surface to be seen it is there -- in sections. An odd, invisible, floating piece of board here and there. Strong enough to hold weight, but frustrating to negotiate. Every so often the pieces seem to move, too, re-arranging themselves like a puzzle.
Misstep and it's a long, painful fall down to the first floor. Those out in the hallways while the floor vanished had better hope they were lucky enough to be on a section that stayed intact.
"Everyone should play with me. You can't leave me out."
She touches a hand to her face a moment, an exaggerated posture of thought for someone so young in appearance.
"Something fun. A finding game. If you find what I'm looking for, I'll give you something you want. Something good. Or maybe we can play something else, if I like it. I don't want my guests to be bored. I like playing with my friends. You're all my friends, right?"
Once she finishes speaking a weight seems to be lifted, a tension in the air eases allowing guests to gather themselves together. Their throats, though, still seem dry -- perhaps from the heat, perhaps something else. Tonight, for everyone it seems hard to talk above a whisper.
In all hallways and rooms of the first house sits a Doll. They vary from location to location, some neat and perfectly coiffed, others broken and clothes ripped. They watch passers by closely, seeming to move when not being watched. Not all of them belong to the little group from the bathroom, however. One or two appear to be new, and a closer examination will reveal that they have an alarming likeness to guests who are no longer in the house. Their expressions appear slightly pained.
Along both the Straight and Floating hallway sit the Doll-Spiders. They move with alarming speed and agility, scurrying along walls after house-guests and herding them towards the danger of the second story halls. They seem eager to make people fall, although once they do their victims are simply left to suffer.
In All Bathrooms the faucets are dripping. No amount of turning or tightening will make it stop, and the sound seems to echo -- making it all the more frustrating.
Within the Ivory Bathroom, however, the effect has become extreme. Dark murky water overflows from the sink and out into the hallway, signalling the return of the Drowned woman. She gropes out desperately at any who come too close, the overpowering scent of damp and rot permeating the air as she staggers unsteadily within her limits.
In All Kitchens The heat appears to have taken its toll. The food is rotting, even that within the fridge appears to have been affected by the change in temperature. The scent is overpowering, enough to make even the strongest stomach turn a little. Food usually happily cooking away on stoves is now over-boiled, turning and not advisable to eat. Cupboards full of basic staples tell a worse story; opening them in search of something reveals nothing has been safe. The Rats have pulled apart anything not already rotting in the heat, quickly and efficiently forming lines and disappearing into the dark corners of the house with their spoils. Taking out your temper on them is not to be recommended, but the result is simple: nothing here is edible. Tonight guests will have to rely on what they have stored up themselves, either from the breakfast spread or from backpacks. If they search far enough, Tea Trays in the various parlours seem to have been unaffected.
The Candy Store, as if continuing the theme, has been invaded by ants. They crawl in and out of every container, efficiently breaking down the sweets as they sweat in the heat. Some high up shelves look as if they might not have been touched by the insects yet, but step too far in and you raise the alarm. Before your fingers can even close around what you crave the ants turn as one and move in to defend their territory. A swarm emptying itself from all the containers and focused on taking down the enemy. Their bite is painful, but not deadly. Individually. From a whole swarm, who can say?
Within the heat, it seems like the ants and rats are not the only thing to thrive. Any injury sustained tonight is in danger of going bad, infection taking hold and -- if you fall asleep unawares -- maggots making a home of it. Luckily, the hellhounds are not patrolling tonight, making open injuries safe. Any house guests who die, however, will be left to rot.
The Hellhounds seem unable to leave the Parlor and the presence of the girl. As the night deepens, the hounds seem increasingly distressed, whining and moving about, sniffing the boundaries of the room. The dog at the girl's feet does not stir from its watchful pose.
Though the hellhounds all seem to be in evidence, neither of the pups can be found among the pack of lounging dogs. They do not seem overly concerned about their absence, though they do seem to recognize those among the guests they have befriended.
Shelter Bedroom has tonight become the hiding place of The Twins, fingers interlocked as they sit closer together on the ground. The boy appears to be reciting nursery rhymes under his breath quietly, the girl huddled against him and watching the rest of the room warily as she listens. They do not appreciate interruptions.
The Ballroom is haunted by faint music, as if a far-off orchestra is playing. The music is romantic, if tinged with sadness. Over the top of it shuffling footsteps can be heard, whispered conversations that can't quite be discerned -- as if the room is filled with an unseen crowd that have gathered to listen. Stand still long enough and you might even be jostled by an invisible passer-by.
In both the Dawn Room and the Day Room the Unnatural servants are at work, cleaning and tidying away any dirty crockery. There are tea carts and sandwiches in both these rooms, as usual, however you will have to brave their company to get at them -- without interrupting. If you happen to get in their way, they will not take kindly to it. Remain quiet and unobtrusive, however, and they might even refill your cup for you.
The Wallpapered Parlour paint is flaking, discolouring and cracking. The Children are here, and each of them holds a red crayon with which they are covering up the fading mural. Their scrawls are far from artistic, however. Crude stick-figure depictions of people hanging and bleeding, of people fighting and running from monsters. They laugh to themselves as they scribble, playful but mocking, and between the drawings occasional writing can be seen. Let's play!
The Sirens have returned to the Gentleman's Lounge, sprawled out in chairs and stroking delicate fingers through their long hair. They all appear to be humming under their breath, some half-forgotten enchanting tune that draws guests closer to them.
The lack of consistent floor isn't the only problem in the Red Hallway, it seems. Any guests attempting to traverse it may suddenly hear the sound of running footsteps, harsh breathing. The Tormented Girl is out and about, and it seems she is being forced to play as well. She runs as if the floor is solid for her, harsh sobs escaping as she attempts to reach the Stalker Room to shut herself in. She doesn't appear to see guests who may be in her way, phasing straight through them -- although the impact may jostle them as they try to keep from falling. She shuts herself in once she reaches it, but every so often she seems forced to leave again and continue running.
The Frogs are on guard tonight, seeming to sense the tension in the air. Any children who own one will find a strange thing occurring: should they become too close to danger the frog will animate. The toy will stand its ground in defense of them, opening its mouth unnaturally and alarmingly wide to display rows of dagger-like teeth that should not be there. It will not attack unless attacked first, and is not a match for most of the monsters in the house, but it may gain some valuable time if you are willing to leave it behind. Unfortunately, however, the ghosts and monsters of the house are not the only things it finds to be a threat. Some adults may trigger this affect too.
Within the entry parlour of the first house the Art Enthusiast sits with the Little Girl, somehow halfway between his two states tonight. He appears confused, wary as she tends to the silver service and pours him some tea -- which is unlikely to be a lot of use, with his fingers broken. Tonight, he is very much aware of what is going on but far from completely in control. He remains passive, like the burning man, unless an encounter with your hostess turns bad.
The safe rooms tonight are the Dark Bedroom and the Birdcage Room.
The door leading to the Basement is solidly locked, allowing no one entry into the lowest floor.
( Threat Down )
[ OOC note: The girl is open to requests! Be warned, though, if you agree to play a game with her. Her price will vary depending on what you want, and will cater to each individual character. Also, although you will get what you ask for if you complete... Well, it might not necessarily be in the way you hoped. Sign up to let us know so we can sort something out! ]
Without warning it begins to strike.
One
Two
The Little Girl appears in the day room, looking out into the first house then along the hallway to the second. Anyone nearby who can see her will notice she seems... irritated, a slight frown of disapproval at something.
Even for those not nearby, though, her discontent is evident. Anyone with a walkie-talkie will hear it shriek for a moment as it activates, a piercing sound that slowly settles into white noise. No amount of fiddling can make it stop, and strangely even taking the batteries out will not cause the sound to cease. It continues the entire night, insistent -- and at times it seems closer to distorted screaming.
"This is my house."
The girl's voice is loud in the heads of all the guests, forcing them to their knees as the clock continues to count the hour
Three
Four...
"My house! Stop ruining it!"
Five
Six
She stamps her foot to underline the statement and the house seems to tremble, either from the impact or from fear of her wrath. All at once she sits in a chair in the Parlour of the first house, dwarfed by its size. The last chime of the clock seems to stay in the air for a long time, almost deafening -- but as it fades away guests may notice their throats feeling dry. It seems hard to swallow, sore suddenly, and an oppressive heat pushes at everyone from all sides. They still cannot move, paralyzed under her spell.
"You're my guests."
The heat seems to intensify, making the air stifling until they want to cough. Nobody falls asleep, tonight. There are no dreams, for tonight she will not allow it. One by one the open doors of rooms through All Houses start to slam, shutting some people in and others out.
"You can't leave!"
Her voice hits a tantrum-esque peak, loud enough to make guests want to cover their ears even though there's no way it would help. Her voice is inside their heads, echoing with sickening insistence. There's a moment of stillness, a moment where they can move again and might start to uncurl and pick themselves up. A moment where perhaps it might be over, her tantrum might be done.
It isn't.
"Let's play a game."
This time her voice is quieter, more playful. There's something about it, though. Something unnerving. For anyone who can see her, or who comes to find her later, The Little Girl is still sat in her chair. At her feet is a rather large hellhound, the beast lays with its head on its paws, watching the doorway intently. In her lap sits a elaborate doll. She might look normal if not for her expression, smile unnatural and not meeting her eyes. If not for her voice forcing itself on the guests. Behind her the Burning Man has returned to the fireplace, but he stays subdued -- wary, perhaps. He does not move beyond the boundaries of the parlour, and only moves to fire sources lit within it. Even that he does reluctantly, wary of being stopped by her presence.
For guests on the Second Floor of All Houses something unexpected happens.
The floor of the hallways disappears.
Or at least, it appears to. Anyone brave enough to test might notice that this is not entirely true. Although there is no surface to be seen it is there -- in sections. An odd, invisible, floating piece of board here and there. Strong enough to hold weight, but frustrating to negotiate. Every so often the pieces seem to move, too, re-arranging themselves like a puzzle.
Misstep and it's a long, painful fall down to the first floor. Those out in the hallways while the floor vanished had better hope they were lucky enough to be on a section that stayed intact.
"Everyone should play with me. You can't leave me out."
She touches a hand to her face a moment, an exaggerated posture of thought for someone so young in appearance.
"Something fun. A finding game. If you find what I'm looking for, I'll give you something you want. Something good. Or maybe we can play something else, if I like it. I don't want my guests to be bored. I like playing with my friends. You're all my friends, right?"
Once she finishes speaking a weight seems to be lifted, a tension in the air eases allowing guests to gather themselves together. Their throats, though, still seem dry -- perhaps from the heat, perhaps something else. Tonight, for everyone it seems hard to talk above a whisper.
In all hallways and rooms of the first house sits a Doll. They vary from location to location, some neat and perfectly coiffed, others broken and clothes ripped. They watch passers by closely, seeming to move when not being watched. Not all of them belong to the little group from the bathroom, however. One or two appear to be new, and a closer examination will reveal that they have an alarming likeness to guests who are no longer in the house. Their expressions appear slightly pained.
Along both the Straight and Floating hallway sit the Doll-Spiders. They move with alarming speed and agility, scurrying along walls after house-guests and herding them towards the danger of the second story halls. They seem eager to make people fall, although once they do their victims are simply left to suffer.
In All Bathrooms the faucets are dripping. No amount of turning or tightening will make it stop, and the sound seems to echo -- making it all the more frustrating.
Within the Ivory Bathroom, however, the effect has become extreme. Dark murky water overflows from the sink and out into the hallway, signalling the return of the Drowned woman. She gropes out desperately at any who come too close, the overpowering scent of damp and rot permeating the air as she staggers unsteadily within her limits.
In All Kitchens The heat appears to have taken its toll. The food is rotting, even that within the fridge appears to have been affected by the change in temperature. The scent is overpowering, enough to make even the strongest stomach turn a little. Food usually happily cooking away on stoves is now over-boiled, turning and not advisable to eat. Cupboards full of basic staples tell a worse story; opening them in search of something reveals nothing has been safe. The Rats have pulled apart anything not already rotting in the heat, quickly and efficiently forming lines and disappearing into the dark corners of the house with their spoils. Taking out your temper on them is not to be recommended, but the result is simple: nothing here is edible. Tonight guests will have to rely on what they have stored up themselves, either from the breakfast spread or from backpacks. If they search far enough, Tea Trays in the various parlours seem to have been unaffected.
The Candy Store, as if continuing the theme, has been invaded by ants. They crawl in and out of every container, efficiently breaking down the sweets as they sweat in the heat. Some high up shelves look as if they might not have been touched by the insects yet, but step too far in and you raise the alarm. Before your fingers can even close around what you crave the ants turn as one and move in to defend their territory. A swarm emptying itself from all the containers and focused on taking down the enemy. Their bite is painful, but not deadly. Individually. From a whole swarm, who can say?
Within the heat, it seems like the ants and rats are not the only thing to thrive. Any injury sustained tonight is in danger of going bad, infection taking hold and -- if you fall asleep unawares -- maggots making a home of it. Luckily, the hellhounds are not patrolling tonight, making open injuries safe. Any house guests who die, however, will be left to rot.
The Hellhounds seem unable to leave the Parlor and the presence of the girl. As the night deepens, the hounds seem increasingly distressed, whining and moving about, sniffing the boundaries of the room. The dog at the girl's feet does not stir from its watchful pose.
Though the hellhounds all seem to be in evidence, neither of the pups can be found among the pack of lounging dogs. They do not seem overly concerned about their absence, though they do seem to recognize those among the guests they have befriended.
Shelter Bedroom has tonight become the hiding place of The Twins, fingers interlocked as they sit closer together on the ground. The boy appears to be reciting nursery rhymes under his breath quietly, the girl huddled against him and watching the rest of the room warily as she listens. They do not appreciate interruptions.
The Ballroom is haunted by faint music, as if a far-off orchestra is playing. The music is romantic, if tinged with sadness. Over the top of it shuffling footsteps can be heard, whispered conversations that can't quite be discerned -- as if the room is filled with an unseen crowd that have gathered to listen. Stand still long enough and you might even be jostled by an invisible passer-by.
In both the Dawn Room and the Day Room the Unnatural servants are at work, cleaning and tidying away any dirty crockery. There are tea carts and sandwiches in both these rooms, as usual, however you will have to brave their company to get at them -- without interrupting. If you happen to get in their way, they will not take kindly to it. Remain quiet and unobtrusive, however, and they might even refill your cup for you.
The Wallpapered Parlour paint is flaking, discolouring and cracking. The Children are here, and each of them holds a red crayon with which they are covering up the fading mural. Their scrawls are far from artistic, however. Crude stick-figure depictions of people hanging and bleeding, of people fighting and running from monsters. They laugh to themselves as they scribble, playful but mocking, and between the drawings occasional writing can be seen. Let's play!
The Sirens have returned to the Gentleman's Lounge, sprawled out in chairs and stroking delicate fingers through their long hair. They all appear to be humming under their breath, some half-forgotten enchanting tune that draws guests closer to them.
The lack of consistent floor isn't the only problem in the Red Hallway, it seems. Any guests attempting to traverse it may suddenly hear the sound of running footsteps, harsh breathing. The Tormented Girl is out and about, and it seems she is being forced to play as well. She runs as if the floor is solid for her, harsh sobs escaping as she attempts to reach the Stalker Room to shut herself in. She doesn't appear to see guests who may be in her way, phasing straight through them -- although the impact may jostle them as they try to keep from falling. She shuts herself in once she reaches it, but every so often she seems forced to leave again and continue running.
The Frogs are on guard tonight, seeming to sense the tension in the air. Any children who own one will find a strange thing occurring: should they become too close to danger the frog will animate. The toy will stand its ground in defense of them, opening its mouth unnaturally and alarmingly wide to display rows of dagger-like teeth that should not be there. It will not attack unless attacked first, and is not a match for most of the monsters in the house, but it may gain some valuable time if you are willing to leave it behind. Unfortunately, however, the ghosts and monsters of the house are not the only things it finds to be a threat. Some adults may trigger this affect too.
Within the entry parlour of the first house the Art Enthusiast sits with the Little Girl, somehow halfway between his two states tonight. He appears confused, wary as she tends to the silver service and pours him some tea -- which is unlikely to be a lot of use, with his fingers broken. Tonight, he is very much aware of what is going on but far from completely in control. He remains passive, like the burning man, unless an encounter with your hostess turns bad.
The safe rooms tonight are the Dark Bedroom and the Birdcage Room.
The door leading to the Basement is solidly locked, allowing no one entry into the lowest floor.
( Threat Down )
[ OOC note: The girl is open to requests! Be warned, though, if you agree to play a game with her. Her price will vary depending on what you want, and will cater to each individual character. Also, although you will get what you ask for if you complete... Well, it might not necessarily be in the way you hoped. Sign up to let us know so we can sort something out! ]
