unknownseas | WEEK 7

Entry tags:

week 7

WEEK 7

Another Saturday gone and just like that you wake on Sunday, down five of your number. The largest dent taken out of you at once so far - it's surely noticeable, the head count being cut by a third. Almost enough to make you wonder how many of you will even be left by the next motive or two. Surely this isn't a sustainable rate for body counts to increase... right?

There's a new and, it looks like, final wing of the building to explore, bringing everything full circle. Maybe you'll get some more answers to some of the questions and mysteries of this place there - or at least, you can certainly hope for them. Time to turn your investigative eyes towards one last batch of rooms, who knows what you might find?

Angel remains around at night, her appearances much more common now that... well, she's certainly seen a downtick in necessary surveillance work, hasn't she? The app giving you a line to The Professor remains open, and well... whatever's going on with that ouija in the library continues to happen! You're not suffering from a shortage of leads, at least, even as things get more bizarre.

Something's going to have to give here, eventually. Right?

SUNDAY | MONDAY | TUESDAY | WEDNESDAY | THURSDAY

[ ooc: Welcome to your last player case week! AC is over here, regains as always are over here, and... well, enjoy! After this we get to take our big turn towards the Serious. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Don't be fooled. They're wily. Blink and they're gone.

Ah, no wonder seeing them is so lucky...

[ There's still that slight off beat to her voice and the way she looks, but... it's lightened. Just a little. ]

Let's hope that doesn't happen with this one.

[He can stick around, talk quietly about nothing, as long as it takes to bring her back.]

Lucky for you, it'd have some trouble with that.

[Therion taps the table near its feet, since they're still one piece with the flat base it needs to stand upright.]

Anyway, why would it want to. Once it sees how you spoil your mutt-- [He says that, you know, as tolerantly-to-fondly as he can.] --it'll never want to leave.

[ She lets out a little huff, one without any real force behind it. ]

She's pure-bred, thank you very much. [ She leans against the table. ] .... But you have a point. I can't help it when it comes to cute things.

...If you want... I could try to paint it. Or I could tell you what colors I've seen on caits and you can do it. Bet it'd be even cuter than you think it is now.

Hmm... Which would you prefer? I don't mind painting, though I expect that's obvious, but you could probably visualize it a little better.

But I think it would look perfect with some color.

You'd know what you're doing more. Hmm...

[He looks around the art room, then retrieves some paper and colored pencils before sitting down.]

Most the ones I've seen are kind of orange, with stripes. [He's not drawing, really, just scribbling down swatches of color and circling the ones that look right.] But I saw one once that was grey. Heh. It had a hat with a feather in it. And they all have lighter boots and stomachs...

[He thinks about it, then draws a couple emerald almond shapes near the orange blotch and ice-blue ones by the stripes of grey.]

Think that's what color eyes they had.

[ The paints are already here, so she takes a seat next to him and ties her hair back. It's gotten a little longer, she realizes--but she quickly dashes that thought away. Instead, she focuses on him and what he's saying. It's easier that way.

She pulls a palette close, squeezing a small dollop of paint into each spot. ]

Orange or grey with stripes... ah, like a tabby cat. [ She considers the palette of each, and in the end... the green paint remains untouched as she starts to mix in a bit of white with the blue. It's a pretty close match to what he's scribbled down. ] Like this, do you think?

[Nod!]

Yeah, that's right. Their cloaks must be made of whatever they get their paws on, so that doesn't matter as much.

Hmm, that makes sense.

[ Let's see... something between purple and blue, she thinks. Gently, she takes the little statue into her left hand, and her right is steady as she starts to paint. ]

There's so much detail here... I hope I can do it justice.

[He chuckles a very little, folding his arms on the table as he watches.]

You know it's for you. Just paint it the way you like.

That's true... but you took so much effort to make it for me.

[ She glances at him with a tiny smile. ]

So... it's important to me.

[Oh. He adjusts his scarf and clears his throat.]

The wood they have here's pretty easy to work with. If you're not happy with how this comes out, I can just make another one.

[ She can tell he's embarrassed, but she won't call him out. ... She does smile a little more, though. ]

A whole collection of caits.... But, really, you don't have to go through the trouble.

[He settles back in his chair and crosses his arms.]

Not as long as you like this one, anyway. And don't act like you are if, in the end, you decide you're not. Not like you have to make the best of things with me. We both know I've caused you enough trouble.

Well, if you insist, I have no choice but to be brutally honest.

[ ... but, hm. She mulls that over for a little while, quiet as she paints. ]

... Maybe, but I'd say you've more than made up for it.

...Did I?

[Like. When?]

[ She's quiet for a few moments. Then she looks at him, a little hesitant, a little unsure. ]

Standing guard outside the arcade. Not talking about what you knew when Anna brought up my being covered in blood at the beginning. Carving these for me. ... Listening to me. And opening up about your envelope last week.

...

[He blinks at her through all that, drops his gaze at the last. Picks at a thread coming loose from his cloak.

Finally, very quietly, he says:]

You trusted me first.

Mm. I did.

[ She doesn't even hesitate. ]

And so far, that trust hasn't been misplaced.

[It doesn't hit him like a sucker-punch anymore, like it did with Della, but he still has to take a breath. He pulls one foot onto the seat of his chair and wraps his arms around his leg, resting his head on his knee. He breathes out.]

...Ema said the same damn thing.

[ Her throat tightens, and she has to put down her paintbrush. Her hand isn't so steady anymore; she doesn't want to make a mistake. ]

... Do you think it is? Misplaced.

Would've told the both of you yes, two weeks ago.

[Two weeks. It hasn't even been two weeks since they lost her.]

Now I don't know. You're not the only ones who... seem to have faith in me. Makes me wonder if there's something I'm missing.

[ Two weeks... it feels so much longer.

She understands, though. Understands how he feels--because she feels it, too. It's difficult to put her feelings into words, but after a few moments, she thinks she knows what to say. ]

... We have trouble seeing the good parts of ourselves, most of the time. Sometimes it takes someone else to see the best parts of ourselves, and for them to tell us. [ There we go. That's a start. ] ... It's hard to see yourself clearly, when you've been hurt in certain ways.

[He glances at her, taking a moment to absorb what she says, and then reaches for the cait and the paintbrush. Carefully, he continues where she left off; he might not be a painter, but he can follow from where she began.]

...What do you have trouble seeing?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject