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TP - WEEK ONE CURFEW - OH GOD NOT THE CHURCH
free for all style unless otherwise marked, have fun
free for all style unless otherwise marked, have fun
free for all style unless otherwise marked, have fun
free for all style unless otherwise marked, have fun
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[It's said a little too brightly as he pulls out his phone and flips it open. A beat, and his brow furrows.]
I don't suppose you've lost access to the forum, as well?
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...no access. Something must have happened.
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Perhaps the Father is making good on his rules, after all. [Said quietly, calmly, though his eyes are sharp as he traces the space for any other exits.]
Dawn by Friday, I believe, was the time limit on his third edict.
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Ah, of course. Every seven days, on the fifth day, thou shalt kill.
[ Something about that elicits an actual giggle from the man, and it just spirals from there. He laughs. Laughs! ]
Ha! Someone is going to die, and here I am, stuck in some holy building with you instead of having a front row seat to the show.
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Solomon: yeah that might as well happen, honestly]
I'm sure you'll get over your disappointment.
We're not going anywhere for the time being. If you're that determined to get out and chase death, then help me check the rest of the entryways.
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Of course, though I suspect every door will be the same.
[ And off he goes, taking one side of the chapel to do a few door checks. Won't open, won't one, also won't open, nope. ]
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Glances are passed over to Annette and Lovecraft, and his neutral expression thins even further.
Still, he comes up empty at every turn, backing up into the wide space of the altar crossing to take a better look at the windows.]
No doors, then. No way up, either. And I'd imagine the windows are unable to be broken.
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[ At least, that's the conclusion he's come to as he returns from his own side of the chapel. Fascinating place, all those nastily familiar paintings on the walls, but those aren't his focus right now. ]
It may be time to make ourselves comfortable for the night. I think we are well and truly trapped.
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[Meanwhile, Lovecraft has been oh so kind to blab about Fandaniel being a little More of a being than expected, and ohhhh Solomon is fighting the urge to just swing that bat right at the bait immediately. But Annette is here, Lovecraft is here, and while Solomon is fine if he has to deal with some mess... Now is a poor time for it.]
As much as I know how excited you must be to see bloodshed, I'll have to ask you to refrain. Can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself until morning?
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[ fucking candy cane piece of sh-- ]
So why don't we both agree to behave, hm?
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[tee hee]
But behaving? Oh, I don't see why not.
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[:)]
Maybe we can figure out some of these mysterious images all over the walls while we're stuck here, as well.
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Must we?
[ He finds those to be pretty obnoxious, actually, mostly due to how the ones he could attribute to himself only show one silhouette that actually looks like how he currently appears. ]
I doubt they'll make much sense with how they're painted.
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I know there's a few I recognize, though I wouldn't call them happy stories.
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How good of a storyteller are you, Fandaniel?
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[ Well, they are stuck here. ]
Very well. If you can identify any of mine, I shall tell you the tale behind it.
[ ...and he will no doubt demand the same from Solomon later (unless they all black out before then, oops). Then, let the guessing begin! Three paintings that cannot be easily attributed to anyone else in the chapel adorn the wall in a row:
The first is of tall, slender, berobed silhouettes cowering amongst a beautiful yet burning city, stars falling from the sky above them.
After that, a silhouette with a large feathered cap and a cape, as illustriously dressed as the limited shape and palette can manage, gazing down upon yet another ruined city. Once more, stars... falling...
And finally, three silhouettes standing on the edge of a... cliff, perhaps? Beyond them, a world hanging in inky blackness, surrounded by stars. To the left, a slender figure whose stand displays shock, surprise, and to the right, a towering figure with a scythe, and at the center? A man in a tattered robe, arms wide, standing at the very edge of the supposed cliff.
None of these figures are similarly shaped across the paintings. None look quite like Fandaniel, either, considering he has not yet worn his original robe outside the dorm as of yet. ]
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He incorrectly guesses a couple, to however much distasteful sneering Fandaniel may want to provide. Boooo, booooooooo. But his third guess has him pointing towards the first image.]
I promise, this will be my last attempt.
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... [ Sir? ] Are you still merely guessing at random or do you actually believe that refers to me?
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[hee hee hee hee hee]
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That, you nosy little man-- [ Which is funny since Fandaniel is much shorter. ] --is the end of the world.
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That does, indeed, shut him up tight for a good few moments, expression growing thoughtful and distant as his eyes trace back up to the imagery. The sky falling like so many distant stars. How frightening a sight, to the normal man.]
Your world? Or one you only knew of?
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But who's to say if that's what you truly mean? You do seem to like your mysteries.
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