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

[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. ]

[Her grip's tight, even if her claws are going to leave marks blooming across his pale skin after this is all said and done. But for now, the effort's great enough to pull him up, darkness clinging to him like living tendrils that don't want to let go.

But this, now, also makes them vulnerable to the searing light she's cast. Weakened, coiling back... Becoming undone, piece by piece. Like ichorous strings snapping, not wanting to let go as he's dragged forward, but having no choice.

So if she's stubborn enough not to give up, they finally let loose in one go. With nothing clinging to Henry, they're left only with the effort to her pulling, sending him lurching forward and hitting the ground again. God. How fucking humiliating.

But! That cumbersome shadow with its many vines? It oozes back under Henry, "snapping" into place. And remains... peaceful. Henry murmurs something, unintelligible.]

[ she pulls, and pulls, and pulls, until she thinks one of their shoulders is going to pop again for real this time. but that's the price to pay, isn't it? to keep him from being taken?

so she pulls. and pulls. and pulls.

and suddenly, the resisting pressure releases, and she collapses onto her back with another crack—her head and horns bashing into the floor. thrusting herself upright— ]

—Are you fine? Is it gone?

[And there's Henry, still brimming with exhuastion, but no longer feeling like he has a hole in him, draining his vigor away. There's a stop in it now, even if it'll take a moment for it all to return.

His pride, of course, wants him to sit up and declare everything is fine. They definitely had this all under control. Didn't his idea work out? Doesn't anger provide motivation, which provides power, which overcomes everything thrown at him? It was always going to end up this way.

The reality, his mind still blistering, his thoughts relatively foggy:]

My... head.

[Fucking hurts.

Slowly, he presses his palms to the ground and tries to heave himself up.]

I know...

[ her head, too.

on instinct, she puts her hand out to help(?) him up(?) ]

[That hand enters his periphery, and maybe it speaks for the kind of person Henry is that he can't, in his hazy state, quite understand what she's offering him.

It clicks a moment later, and there's a pause, setting his jaw. But ultimately, he takes it. Uses her as a lever to heft himself up until he's properly sitting up. Bruised, bloodied. Tired.

And he has no idea what to say. He can't pull his polite facade back on right now.]

This is absurd.

[nailed it]

Completely.

[ drops her hand lifelessly as soon as he's upright, closing her eyes for a moment. don't look at the state of the books strewn about her, or the toppled shelves, or the splintered chairs. ]

You will need rest.

I can lie down later.

[He won't. He'll refuse. He's stronger than a headache flowering at the center of his brain -- right?

Also, remember Henry's skill of finding what makes others uncomfortable, despite not even trying? H casts a glance around at the fallen shelves and ruined books and says:]

I made a mess.

[It's not concern, only simple... observation. As if, now out of his murky exhaustion, he can better see his own handiwork.]

Edited 2023-11-13 21:31 (UTC)

[ a mess? a MESS? ]

You destroy half of room! I am going to be in so much trouble! Banned from library, forbidden to touch tomes—

[ she grabs for the nearest torn book, its remaining pages crumpled from how it landed on the floor, and begins searching for any pages that seem like they might fit. ]

Help me. I can Mend this.

[Help her? Help her how? They just survived being eaten by their shadows and this is her knee-jerk reaction?]

Do you really think this hotel will be inept enough to blame you for what happened?

[Oh. He dares them to. He will have words with them, should they have the gall to blame this on the guests — and by proxy, him. ]

[ it is, indeed, her kneejerk reaction. the venom in his voice, however, stops her cold, with a crumpled tome in her lap. ]

I—...

[ he calls it ineptitude, if she were blamed. no one has ever done that before. not for Teaferth. not for Sprezzatura Vaux. ]

[Henry doesn’t know what to attribute that to, not right now, other than her strange, blind panic over someone else’s mess. Even if the hotel wanted to blame someone, wouldn’t they blame him, instead? The man who actually blew up the tomes like they were birds shot out of the sky?]

Leave it. It’s their fault, they can clean it up.

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