[log] Event: Lavender's Green, Part Two [open]

[snowblindmods]

Characters: everyone
Location: mysterious, white hallways
Date: Day 193-194
Summary: Find friends. Get lost. Don't look.
Warnings: Potential for gore and psychological horror. Please note any specific warnings in your subject lines!

While confusingly similar, the area is split into a few different sections:

The Core
The hallways here are narrow and twist at a rapid rate. With how dazzlingly white everything is, it's easy to not realize you're coming on a turn and slam right into the walls. There are no rooms here--no one starts here, though they may find it while they wander. At the center is a large, round area, like the center of a spiral. There's a lot of air pressure here.

The Inner Hallways
The largest area, filled with dead ends, gentle slopes and twists, and, occasionally, difficult-to-see drops where a higher hallway intersects with a lower one without a wall to separate them. The whole place tastes vaguely like blood. Most rooms are here--most people start here.

The Outer Hallways
The outer ring of the ball of yarn. It's not as thick with halls and twists as the other two areas, leading to a lot more boring walking in one direction. It's totally possible to circle around the same path multiple times without realizing it, as everything is so similar here. Occasionally, footsteps can be heard just outside the farthest walls. Sometimes, something breathes. There are a few rooms here--some people will start here.


Remember to note what kind of eyes your character has in their top level!

Comments

[hangfire]

[OKAY THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING. Not at an entirely rapid pace, either, given that Lutha has a noticeable limp. He mumbles out a swear in Orc.]

--Yes. I don't exist to be anyone's entertainment. That's a fucking waste of time.

[hangfire]

[There's a momentary halt, Lutha's arm jerking back as though he means to turn around and hit Andersen square in the face. But he doesn't want this little shrew to pull a fast one one him in response. So instead, he stops himself with a great deal of effort, shooting the spirit a sourly irritated look.]

Go chew on someone else, then. What, were you just fucking joking before? Following me isn't going to help you.

[hangfire]

I'm not-- how the fuck am I interesting to you?

[He's not expecting an answer. This is probably a mistake. Nevertheless, he continues, not bothering to look back at Andersen while he barks at him.]

Why don't you pull from that extensively creative pithole of a brain and think of something else to do with your time besides wasting it on me?

[hangfire]

[He answers only with an intricately frustrated sound, his hand fisting in his hair. WHY DOES HE GET STUCK WITH SMALL PEOPLE.]

How about you go recite one of your damn stories to a wall and have a more appreciative audience?

[hangfire]

Then this shouldn't be a hard change to make, should it. [It's pushed through his teeth. Oh my god, does he ever want to hit you in the face, Andersen.]

[hangfire]

[Enough banter? Does that mean: banter more? Because he's not about to stop.

At least he keeps walking.]

Not faithful. Just fucking stubborn. Don't treat me like the one who bothered to conjure you up from sleep. [He has no obligation to you, sir. That can be left with whoever his master actually is.]

Where the hell was someone like you stuck, anyway? Some... decrepit tome in the back of an archive? Is that why you're so fucking bored?

[hangfire]

[Surprisingly, his expression doesn't budge with any sort of surprise, save for the flicker of annoyance at Andersen's correction.]

Sounds about right. [Even the part about eating souls, even though that puts an unnerved edge to his words.] It's supposed to be some sort of... "give and take" kind of partnership, to put it simply. Right?

And I'm not confusing anything, as far as I can hear. You don't sound any different than any other lesser spirit. You're just used to a place that has enough magic left to keep your kind alive.

[hangfire]

... And therefore suited for mundane tasks, and thus not any different than what you assume I'm used to. Is that it? [It's a bit deadpan, but he feels the spirit walked right into that comparison.]

You could have fooled me. You sounded offended enough before to have some pride left in your standing.

[hangfire]

[That earns a scoff, surprisingly humored. He does have to consider his answer for a moment, though he doesn't stop his stride.]

Because following an angry, second-rate bastard is better than starting at a white ceiling or a white floor for hours, and it gives you some convoluted chance to talk about yourself and make some general noise in some attempt to distract yourself from how little you actually might amount to in the end.

Glad to be of fucking service.

[hangfire]

One would think an artist's imagination would be enough, instead of having to subject unwilling company to your torture.

[AKA: go fuck a cactus, Andersen.]

Is that why you're so intent on latching onto creative material, then? Because your actual purpose, as far as you're concerned, is so low that you might as well just... pour your energy into something you actually care about?

[hangfire]

[His expression flattens with tired annoyance when he catches a glimpse at just how exuberant the spirit behind him has turned.]

I'm not the proclaimed worthless one here. I don't have time for shit like that.

[Back at home, he'd only do things like play his violin when he absolutely knew he wouldn't have an audience to take advantage of him. It was a passion made a luxury, one that he has to deal with harshly in light of the danger of life.

Why Norfinbury should be treated as anything different makes absolutely no sense to him.]

[hangfire]

That's because it isn't. Home or otherwise doesn't matter. Take away the snow and the damned overdone machines and this place isn't any different, anyway.

[He will leave that up to your imagination, Andersen. And completely avoid the second question in the process.]