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tampered2006-11-06 01:12 am
revelations9x6.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-06 01:12 am
Log: Complete
When; Nov 6th ( around 3:00 a.m. )
Rating; PG
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wisdom_rcvr Henry, alessalearnt Alessa, revelations9x6 Xulchilbara
Summary; Questions addressed, a metaphysical surprise, and visions of the future. ( This began life as an AIM log, but was transferred due to time constraints. )
Log;
There is a muffling quality to the air in placed such as these. Corridors that have not seen living inhabitants for some time ( well, until very recently) whisper to one another after the disturbance has passed them by.
The way is marked easily for those with the eyes to see it; the very occasional candleflame set in a glass holder...though the light is wane at best, and the further whispered footsteps descend the more prevelent those occasional dances in the dark alight on something wet, yet could not truly be called 'alive'.
The servants gather and whisper to each other with tongueless mouths of the disturbance in the house.
" Who is it?"
"It disturbs."
" Not mother.."
"Not master?"
"Who..who?"
" Not the other, but the first.."
"The last"
"Who who?"
They whisper and writhe, and follow...always out of the reach of the lights, but never far behind.
The marked path ended with no more turns, and no more corridor.
Simply a door of unremarkable make; aged wood in an aged stone frame, though the door is open and welcoming now.
Beyond is a vaulted space, a room of indeterminate size for light is a rare occurence, and the simple glow of an older modelled hurricane lamp casts more shadow than it illuminates.
At odds with the surroundings is a simple, but elegantly comfortable pair of red-leathered wooden chairs set at angles about a small circular table. The table holds the lamp, but also a small eclectic array of objects.
A stack of weathered photographs, three impecably cleaned flechettes that shone with a silvery razor's edge and contained the cold promises of delicate pain in thier slim shafts and curving blades.
These sit on a cleaning cloth, and beyond them a simple wooden bowl covered, seemingly at random, with inlaid symbols that have a tendency to shift and change if the viewer removes thier attentions from it.
The bowl hasbeen recently cleaned for it still shines with moisture.
There is a clear bottle with clear fluid, and a single glass, though it stands empty at present.
Just at the edge of the lamp's light a cloth of the same indeterminate dark color as much of the occupent's favored attire, covers a roughly rectangular shape that lays directly on the weathered carpets that make an island in the middle of the room's flagstones.
In truth the room now has several occupents; The dark man who's dress and demeanor was as close to casual as he ever came.
A dark red ( or perhaps not?) dressing gown wraps shoulders and arms, then drops to brush his ankles, leaving a strip of white, smooth skin visible from shoulder to hip, and then a single bared leg crossed at the ankle over the opposing knee. Cuts, and marks stand out vivid red against the nude skin, but there is an order to them, a strange sense of intent; a cut on forehead, sternum, just below the navel are visible, and should the robe shift it's precarious position more cuts would be revealed.
He sits in silence and seems to be listening intently to the opposing noises of...well...what could only be described as a humanoid figure wrapped in bindings of flesh, and something possibly darker; more visceral, as well as a featureless form that has corpse-white hands and forearms visible, but only just as it hangs from what might assume is the cieling, however the area above and beyond the isle of carpet is engulfed in a pitch darkness.
As the two servants communicate in ways that seem part pantomime, part choking gurgle, the dark man writes, occasionally nodding or making a small sound of interest; as though this 'conversation' is something of domestic import.
The presense of another more than any sound causes the horrors to still completly, and turn silent.
The dark man does not raise his attention from the table top and the pen scratching paper.
" Good evening, Henry." He greets, sounding slightly distracted.
-
"Hello, Lord," said Henry, almost going as still as the other servants. He didn't mean or want to interrupt anything, after all. He had only wanted to talk.
The scene didn't strike him as odd or terrible- merely the way things were. If asked about it, he would probably decide that this area fit the Red God more clearly than the brightness of the cathedral. The darkness was Him, in a way. Henry was also pleased to no longer feel the same sort of crawling fear with the 'monsters' that he used to. He wondered if Walter had this sort of oddly-placed feeling of almost-kinship with the creatures in his world, or if it was different.
Henry added apologetically, "If you're busy, I can leave you alone. Or wait, or...uh, anything, really." Finding he was too nervous to stay still but with lack of anything better to do, he rubbed the back of his neck.
-
After a moment more of writing, the dark man raised his subtley shifting-colored eyes.
" Nonsense, Henry." A smirk that may have been meant to be reasurring..." I told you to call upon me whenever you wished, did I not?"
Standing, the long indeterminate colored fabric hinted at red as it caught the dancing light, and pooled ever so slightly around the dark man's ankles.
An absent gesture of dismissal spoke of elegance and comfort with holding command sent the horrors abasing themselves ( the former by crumppling in on itself, then skittering backwards into the dark, and the latter with a bizarre shuddering before likewise pulling itself up into the impenetrable shadows above.) and the servents departed.
Another light gesture pointed at the stones under Henry's feet.
Where Henry to look down, he would see that between the doorway, and the dark man there was a smearing splash of crimson, with equally alien marks to those of the bowl wiped into the thick fluid.
To look beyond, this circle curved off into the shadows the lamp could not touch, but came around again to be easily infferred as completly connected.
" If you wish to stay, you must cross the circle, dearest." he purred, a smug look pulling at the corners of his mouth.
" If so, please......sit."
-
Henry suddenly felt a bit overdressed, which may have unconsciously added to the feeling of being out of place, of interrupting. He almost never wore anything but his clean, blue or white dress shirts, the ones he liked with pockets on both sides. However formal that was, the jeans always seemed to set it apart from 'work clothes'. Every once in awhile, he would change it up and wear a t-shirt, but today wasn't one of those days.
He followed the lines of the circle almost as if it were moving away from him itself. He tried to take in the whole of it, but obviously his eyes couldn't follow into the darkness. The patterns were intriguing- he wanted to know what they meant, or if they meant anything at all. "Uh...okay." He took in a deep breath (more of an indication that he was thinking hard than anything else) and nodded.
Then he stepped over the lines and headed towards the other seat.
Rating; PG
Characters;
wisdom_rcvr Henry, alessalearnt Alessa, revelations9x6 XulchilbaraSummary; Questions addressed, a metaphysical surprise, and visions of the future. ( This began life as an AIM log, but was transferred due to time constraints. )
Log;
There is a muffling quality to the air in placed such as these. Corridors that have not seen living inhabitants for some time ( well, until very recently) whisper to one another after the disturbance has passed them by.
The way is marked easily for those with the eyes to see it; the very occasional candleflame set in a glass holder...though the light is wane at best, and the further whispered footsteps descend the more prevelent those occasional dances in the dark alight on something wet, yet could not truly be called 'alive'.
The servants gather and whisper to each other with tongueless mouths of the disturbance in the house.
" Who is it?"
"It disturbs."
" Not mother.."
"Not master?"
"Who..who?"
" Not the other, but the first.."
"The last"
"Who who?"
They whisper and writhe, and follow...always out of the reach of the lights, but never far behind.
The marked path ended with no more turns, and no more corridor.
Simply a door of unremarkable make; aged wood in an aged stone frame, though the door is open and welcoming now.
Beyond is a vaulted space, a room of indeterminate size for light is a rare occurence, and the simple glow of an older modelled hurricane lamp casts more shadow than it illuminates.
At odds with the surroundings is a simple, but elegantly comfortable pair of red-leathered wooden chairs set at angles about a small circular table. The table holds the lamp, but also a small eclectic array of objects.
A stack of weathered photographs, three impecably cleaned flechettes that shone with a silvery razor's edge and contained the cold promises of delicate pain in thier slim shafts and curving blades.
These sit on a cleaning cloth, and beyond them a simple wooden bowl covered, seemingly at random, with inlaid symbols that have a tendency to shift and change if the viewer removes thier attentions from it.
The bowl hasbeen recently cleaned for it still shines with moisture.
There is a clear bottle with clear fluid, and a single glass, though it stands empty at present.
Just at the edge of the lamp's light a cloth of the same indeterminate dark color as much of the occupent's favored attire, covers a roughly rectangular shape that lays directly on the weathered carpets that make an island in the middle of the room's flagstones.
In truth the room now has several occupents; The dark man who's dress and demeanor was as close to casual as he ever came.
A dark red ( or perhaps not?) dressing gown wraps shoulders and arms, then drops to brush his ankles, leaving a strip of white, smooth skin visible from shoulder to hip, and then a single bared leg crossed at the ankle over the opposing knee. Cuts, and marks stand out vivid red against the nude skin, but there is an order to them, a strange sense of intent; a cut on forehead, sternum, just below the navel are visible, and should the robe shift it's precarious position more cuts would be revealed.
He sits in silence and seems to be listening intently to the opposing noises of...well...what could only be described as a humanoid figure wrapped in bindings of flesh, and something possibly darker; more visceral, as well as a featureless form that has corpse-white hands and forearms visible, but only just as it hangs from what might assume is the cieling, however the area above and beyond the isle of carpet is engulfed in a pitch darkness.
As the two servants communicate in ways that seem part pantomime, part choking gurgle, the dark man writes, occasionally nodding or making a small sound of interest; as though this 'conversation' is something of domestic import.
The presense of another more than any sound causes the horrors to still completly, and turn silent.
The dark man does not raise his attention from the table top and the pen scratching paper.
" Good evening, Henry." He greets, sounding slightly distracted.
-
"Hello, Lord," said Henry, almost going as still as the other servants. He didn't mean or want to interrupt anything, after all. He had only wanted to talk.
The scene didn't strike him as odd or terrible- merely the way things were. If asked about it, he would probably decide that this area fit the Red God more clearly than the brightness of the cathedral. The darkness was Him, in a way. Henry was also pleased to no longer feel the same sort of crawling fear with the 'monsters' that he used to. He wondered if Walter had this sort of oddly-placed feeling of almost-kinship with the creatures in his world, or if it was different.
Henry added apologetically, "If you're busy, I can leave you alone. Or wait, or...uh, anything, really." Finding he was too nervous to stay still but with lack of anything better to do, he rubbed the back of his neck.
-
After a moment more of writing, the dark man raised his subtley shifting-colored eyes.
" Nonsense, Henry." A smirk that may have been meant to be reasurring..." I told you to call upon me whenever you wished, did I not?"
Standing, the long indeterminate colored fabric hinted at red as it caught the dancing light, and pooled ever so slightly around the dark man's ankles.
An absent gesture of dismissal spoke of elegance and comfort with holding command sent the horrors abasing themselves ( the former by crumppling in on itself, then skittering backwards into the dark, and the latter with a bizarre shuddering before likewise pulling itself up into the impenetrable shadows above.) and the servents departed.
Another light gesture pointed at the stones under Henry's feet.
Where Henry to look down, he would see that between the doorway, and the dark man there was a smearing splash of crimson, with equally alien marks to those of the bowl wiped into the thick fluid.
To look beyond, this circle curved off into the shadows the lamp could not touch, but came around again to be easily infferred as completly connected.
" If you wish to stay, you must cross the circle, dearest." he purred, a smug look pulling at the corners of his mouth.
" If so, please......sit."
-
Henry suddenly felt a bit overdressed, which may have unconsciously added to the feeling of being out of place, of interrupting. He almost never wore anything but his clean, blue or white dress shirts, the ones he liked with pockets on both sides. However formal that was, the jeans always seemed to set it apart from 'work clothes'. Every once in awhile, he would change it up and wear a t-shirt, but today wasn't one of those days.
He followed the lines of the circle almost as if it were moving away from him itself. He tried to take in the whole of it, but obviously his eyes couldn't follow into the darkness. The patterns were intriguing- he wanted to know what they meant, or if they meant anything at all. "Uh...okay." He took in a deep breath (more of an indication that he was thinking hard than anything else) and nodded.
Then he stepped over the lines and headed towards the other seat.