hotelcaelum | Event Log #002

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Event Log #002

EVENT LOG
number 002

The hotel humbly hopes that you're settling in well and are taking advantage of the various pleasures on offer for your stay. In Mr Bennet's opinion, things have been going quite well and he doesn't think that the guests are unhappy at all. New guests have arrived, some have left, it's all going along perfectly. So, of course, this is when the next troublesome thing pops up.

SHADOWS

One morning, characters will find the hotel to be a little dimmer than usual, a little more shadowy. Yet if anyone asks Mr Bennet about it, he will claim to not have noticed anything different than usual. Either way, as the characters move on with their day, they'll start to notice a few odd things start to happen.

PHASE ONE: Initially, characters will notice their shadow beginning to move a little out of sync with them. Discreetly at first until eventually, their shadow takes on a life of its own, mischievously playing with characters and enjoying their newfound freedom. Very Peter Pan, and completely harmless.

PHASE TWO: Now, shadows might disappear entirely, roaming the hotel to their own discretion and ignoring the characters they belong to. As the shadow takes on this free will, characters will begin to feel slightly off balance and have a hard time feeling whole without their shadow around. The shadow may become slightly aggressive as well if told they should return to their characters, fighting back in their own way from knocking things over to outright attacking other characters. It's a little hard to fight back though when your opponent is a shadow, isn't it?

PHASE THREE: The shadows have become fully aggressive now, fighting anyone who tries to get them to return to their original person. Characters will find themselves feeling weak and low energy as a result of losing their shadow. Eventually, the shadows will come back to their owners but the characters will find themselves sinking into their shadow, eventually changing places entirely with their shadow. The only way to rescue a character from this fate is for another character to pull them out of their shadow forcibly. The bright side is once a character is pulled out of their shadow, it all returns to normal and their shadow is no longer sentient.

These phases will last over the course of the week and it is quite alright to stay in phase one/two/three. Not all shadows will become aggressive, not all shadows will be playful. Feel free to manipulate your character's shadow in the way that's most fun for you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ with the way Henry lurches into the table, it's almost more the tremble, or the scrape of the legs on the floor, than the man himself that dredges her from the mire. then he speaks, without any of the soft politesse she's come to associate with him. no placid half-smile.

he sounds—nearly snide. he could be Selcouth Vaux, if he added but a modicum more timbre. just going to let them? you have nothing to say for yourself? of course you don't. not without this world's answers all already laid out before you. not unless you are already finding something to parrot from another book.

slowly and subtly, the nails of one hand curl down, digging into the grain of the wood. but it's scant, and her voice lacks fire. everything is thick, and the weight bears down like a lifetime of muck. ]

You... do not talk to me like that.

[The thing is, lurching forward to have balanced himself against the table might not have been the best idea he's ever had. His limbs feel heavy, too, like he's been drugged, and he lists forward even more; the only thing that keeps him from fully staggering forward is his hipbone knocking against the table properly, scraping the legs of it across the floor once again.

He regards her, yes, without that placid smile. Watching her shadows splay beneath her to let her sink in, and down, and away. To where? She can't possibly know, and she's telling him not to speak to him in that way?]

You don't even know what your shadows will do to you once you're... covered, and you're not even trying to get away.

[Can't you stand, move, push yourself ever forward, with pure, unadulterated rage like him, Sprezzatura? Surely that's not unreasonable.]

[ her anger is every bit as insidious as Henry Creel's, but with a fatal difference in kind—she suffers from misery. the kind that simply erodes, rather than fuels; only in droplets, not nearly so much as the rage that drips from her when the bindings of etiquette and pretense are cut, but...

well. she's tired down to her bones, and the twin shadows are tireless.

she curls her lip at him, or tries to. she tells him not to speak to her like that, so he doubles down? ]

You think that. [ of course he thinks that. the study and the work and the effort and the toil mean nothing to him now, just like it meant nothing to her peers at Teaferth then. ] All week, I am trying. To get away...

[Well, credit where it’s due. That lances away any retort he might have had about her wilting so soon under the influence of her shadows; instead, she’s wilted in the length of a week.

Henry, unsteady as he is, really fares no better. But where others fail, he never applies those same failures to himself. Instead, he seeks an outlet for his indignity and bitterness and hatred, and if she redirects his blame, he’ll place it on the more obvious targets instead: her twin shadows, trying to engulf her centimeter by centimeter.]

Fine. Then let me try instead.

[This time, his telekinesis is not the slow, deliberate kind he showed a wine bottle. It’s forceful and immediate and grasping, trying to wrench Sprezzatura’s chair (and therefore her) to the side, away from where her shadows try to overlap her.]

Edited 2023-11-11 06:51 (UTC)

[ well, there goes Sprezzatura and her chair, forcibly plunged to one side. even exhausted, that gets the old heart pumping, the blood flowing, and she looses a graceless squawk as she's made bereft of the table she was draping listlessly over.

but her shadows are crafty, and when Henry yanks her away, they're angry, too. the first loops its tail around the table leg and joins hands with the second, who remains clutching stubbornly onto Sprezzatura's ankle. the end result is all three "Sprezzaturas" straining against Henry's telekinetic force. to be fair to the woman herself, at least she has a justifiable excuse for doing so. ]

Let go!

[ is she talking to him or the shadows? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]

[To be fair, he's not exactly being kind or particularly delicate. He's trying to forcibly remove her from her shadows for the sake of spiting the shadows themselves, and to prove to himself that, despite his exhaustion, he isn't powerless.

And yet. He already feels a ribbon of warm blood starting to eke down a nostril.

Well, who fucking cares. Henry sneers as the shadows latch onto her, leaving a tiefling chain of Sprezzaturas to contend with as his powers continue to pull. He leans forward stubbornly, holding out a hand to her, the other still bracing against the table.]

Grab on!

[You know, the opposite of "let go." :)

He is also telekinetically flinging an empty chair at the shadow latched onto the table, for good measure.]

[ grab on? onto what?? his hand?

her poor, bleary brain can think of no other reasonable explanation, and so she strains her own hand out, gaze dully sliding past the slow trickle of blood from his nose and then back again. is that from...?

then the chair wraps around the shadow, or the shadow wraps around it, and it makes an unearthly hissing noise like skin being pressed to magma rock—it releases the table, but in seconds has clawed up and over it, lunging at him. at his face. ]

[Exactly. Grab onto his hand, and he'll grasp in turn, his grip tight enough where his nails might even dig into her skin.

But between that and the use of his powers in an already weakened state, he'll only have just enough strength for one final effort. But what an effort it is, the moment the shadows hiss, one of them leaping up over the table and lunging right at his face. Henry doesn't feel panic, or fear--those emotions rarely reach him, these days--but only the ever-familiar bright bloom of anger churning in his chest. If something's going to try to claw his eyes out, then he's going to make them regret it.

A huge burst of force billows out from Henry; it can only be described as a psychic blast that pushes outward, formidable enough to upend tables and chairs and probably send a bookshelf or two reeling. Tomes gone flying, pages torn from their spines. His grip on Sprezzatura remains iron (for now), but it might send her tousling aside, too, yanking at the joints of both of their shoulders. The table careens away, and they'll be crashing to the floor without it to keep Henry balanced.

Hopefully, that's enough to properly dislodge her from both shadows, because. Well. He's not going to have much in the tank left after that.]

[ oh, yes—that force buffets her, too. for an instant, the shadow seems to hang in the air before Henry's face, a moment frozen in time to her beleaguered mind. and then her nestled nook of the library explodes. the carnage is painful to her even in this state: like Teaferth again, just a smaller Teaferth, this ruination of knowledge and logic and lore that seems to follow her and forbid her from her hopeful future as a Scribe.

Sprezzatura's heart wedges into her throat and beats there hard enough that, combined with a sudden bright pop! in her shoulder, tears spring to her eyes. the force is pushing, pushing on her; his hand clutches onto her like a claw. she's going to be torn in two.

the next thing she's aware of is her teeth cracking together as they go down. her chin hits the floor hard. stars bloom behind her eyes. but, Mammon, she can feel it gone, that shadow's evil grip. the languishment recedes in parallel.

now she's furious. now she's terrified, breathing frenetic as she scrambles towards him on all fours ]

Get me away, get away—

[Vibrant, fiery pain florets behind his eyes as his jaw cracks against the library floor in kind. Splayed across the ground, arm extended in Sprezzatura's direction, barely cognizant of the fact that he's clinging no longer.

He's still furious, of course. He's always furious. But this is well past the point where his anger can hold up his frame any longer, and there's not much else Henry can do than just lift his head, gaze still piercing as it seeks out her. Her shadows. The state of the library immediately around him, in shambles.

Mostly, he just sees her, scrambling closer.]

Where... are they-

[Her shadows. Hard to tell in a daze if they've attached themselves to her properly and behaving, now.]

[ this man glaring at her is... Henry Creel? she doesn't stop, but maybe her frantic scramble towards him slows a touch, as her mind finally catches up to where the rest of the situation already progressed. ]

I don't—

[ gone? they're gone. no longer pulling at her, no longer sucking her down into a fathomless drop. she looks behind herself, then beneath herself, and indeed, there her shadows are, as serene and peaceful as they have ever been. sentient no more.

is it a trick? ]

[It definitely is Henry Creel, just Henry Creel with all of his polite edges sawed off, unable and uncaring to keep them plastered on as he often does. He's pushing himself up on his elbows, dripping blood from one nostril. Even that is a great, great effort that lifts him maybe only a few inches from the ground.

Now he's not only exhausted, but his head is splitting, like knives behind his eyes. He gazes at her, cuts his look down to the ground where her shadows remain peaceful, lifts that gaze back up-

And sneers.

At something just beyond, over her shoulder, further down the library.]

Ha... of course.

[Henry's shadow splays across a bookshelf, shaped... strangely. Larger, almost more muscular, with... hm. Is that a large left claw hand? It moves closer, slow and purposeful.

guess they can't catch a break]

[ is he sneering at her? the thought seems all-too plausible, despite its incongruency; after all, he thinks her incompetent, doesn't he? too happy to lay down and let things do with her as they will.

but—no, he's looking past. something else. with a surge of energy one can only attribute to adrenaline alone, Sprezzatura whips around, dragging her anguished gaze past the ruination of the books, the bookshelves, the sheaves of torn and stained paper, to...

the fuck.

is that. ]

Mister Creel—?

[ the fuck is that!!!!! ]

[He can barely move, but his eyes track the shadow as though he’s watching some manner of betrayal in action, displeased the entire time. And that large shadow, with the extended, sharp-tipped hand? There’s something undulating about it, like just beneath the silhouette, writhing vines might exist, waiting for the right moment to unfurl from its back. Its neck.

Like right now.

Stepping away from the bookshelves, it draws closer to the both of them with long, even steps, tendrils of darkness stretching across the ground and… wending right towards Sprezzatura and Henry.]

That’s my shadow.

[Henry says, teeth grit.]

What?

[ his shadow

nonsense. unbelievable, improbable... but true.

there are two instincts in Sprezzatura Vaux in this moment. the first is a terrible, unkind curiosity, the manner of which would freeze her in place just to see what happens. the other puts her body through the automatic motions of casting Dancing Lights. the four gently-humming motes of light wink into existence around them, bobbing in equally gentle circles. and as is always the case, the brighter the light, the darker the shadow... but also: the shadow can never touch the light. ]

[Ah, clever. She's clever, he thinks, a thought that remains sadly unspoken as the lights dance around them in a circle. The shadow cannot penetrate strong light, and the tendrils' approach is stymied and slowed.

They ease around Sprezzatura, all the same. Encroaching closer to Henry, halting when they cannot traverse any further. In fact, they seem far more interested in him than her -- but that's not terribly surprising, given what they've seen of her shadows so far. No doubt Henry's shadow wants to engulf him and overtake him, pulling him into a cold, dark void.]

My shadow. [He repeats, not much of a explanation.] And it... probably wants to do to me what it did to you.

[For now, they're protected by her bobbing little lights, and the shadow stands before them, patient and waiting. The tendrils of darkness encircle them, just as patient.]

Then I suppose I will have to keep this up, won't I?

[ she can. she has to. it's only a cantrip; the most instinctive of spellwork, the incantations seared into her mind, that she would be able to cast it in her sleep. and she might have to, considering her every motion carries a sluggishness. even her tongue feels heavy.

she pushes the circumference of the ring a little wider. testing. ]

[She can. She could. The light expands, and the tendril creep away, but only as far as they are pushed back. They remain, and so does the shadow.

And the wider the radius of light, the less they are protected, the luminescence itself stretched thin. No, Henry thinks that this is unviable, untenable. He mostly doesn't want to remain here like sitting ducks, just hoping that things go to plan, and this realization strikes him more moments later.

Stubbornly, he's always preferred to act rather than react, anyway.]

No. Wait. Let it in.

[sir???]

Are you insane?

How long are you willing to keep this up? For hours? For the whole day?

[While he lies here, useless and barely conscious? His head on the verge of exploding, his nose eking so much red?]

It'll grab me and draw me in. Like it did to you. And then you... You pull me out.

[ yeah; he's insane. but it's the only thing that's worked.

all at once, in perfect timing, the lights wink out. ]

[He’s a little insane, yes. But it gets things done.

And just like that, the shadows lurch forward, tendriling around Sprezzatura, ignoring her completely. Instead, the vines wrap around every one of Henry’s limbs, securing him in place.

And dragging him, useless as he is, to the larger shadow, who leans forward, considers him for a bleak moment— and pools into the ground beneath Henry in an effort to make him sink slowly in.

Have you ever seen a man look simultaneously pissed off and completely out of energy? That’s him.]

[ like a spider ensnaring its prey. she's left trembling but untouched in the wreckage of her own battle as that horrible figure turns sable and liquid underneath.

she's so fucking exhausted. for a long moment, all she does is dully watch... Henry begin to subsume.

...

what is wrong with her?

her ragged voice spills from her lips again— ] Mister Creel!

[ and this time, Dancing Lights coalesce in a triangulation of stars like a constellation: one bright as a planet above Henry's head, and four spiraling tightly around his feet, as if to sear the very concept of a shadow from the page. ]

[Once again, it's a sound strategy... But one that only works partway. Because while the tendrils retract around Henry's limbs, especially those closest to the brightest orb above his head—as though offended by the very suggestion of a burning ball of light, even if there is no heat—there's nothing that light can do to tame the pool of darkness directly under his body. Where Henry will still sink, slowly, into a shadowy silhouette exactly in his own shape, if he must.

Half his face is already swallowed up in the cold and dark void. Isolating, like a solitary confinement room back at HNL, his brain uselessly supplies. Now, it well and truly feels like he's been sedated, just like back then... One of his hands rise from the muck of the void, fingers flexing weakly, but he can't even dredge up the energy to bark a command out to Sprezzatura to wrench him free.

Despite her own exhaustion, she's just going to have to try.

(Or, you know, just leave him there.)]

[ fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK— ]

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK—

[ she dives for his hand, clapping both of hers around it, around his wrist, and digging in her claws. her shoulder still aches, and the lethargy has found its way into her bones, but she gives a loud, painful grunt of exertion... and pulls. ]

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