[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]

[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.]

[hangfire]

Hard to get by if you don't.

Spirits only know some of you around here could use one.

[hangfire]

I'm still alive.

[That's more than enough, if the tone he takes says anything.]

[hangfire]

[Wow, hey, did you know he could roll his eyes so far they are practically in the currently nonexistent sun? Well, now you do.]

I already told you, I'm not your damn muse. Don't talk like I'm some character in an epic.

[hangfire]

Pulp fiction?

[Fiction he knows, at least, but. Excuse you???]

The hell is that?

[hangfire]

[Trash, huh. That... hits more of a nerve than Lutha was honestly expecting. He goes numbly quiet, lips pressing tight.]

Shouldn't call it by name like it's some fantastical genre of its own, then. If it's garbage, it's garbage. Use it for damned kindling.

[And sure, make him the protagonist of such a laughing stock of a story. Burn it to ashes. That's about where he'd like this to end, right?

Sure.]