it creeps and leaps and glides and slides

[venatical]

Who: Everyone who sees the network post re: the explosion and the impending blob threat!
When: Morning of Day 196. The blob threat and altered personalities have an open-ended date, atm, so people can be dealing with those as they wish!
Where: One of the science labs.
What: The orb causes an explosion of sorts in the lab, which results in two things: 1) some characters act "off," their personalities altering in some way, and 2) there are tiny red blobs (very The Blob-esque) everywhere that are harmless until you get close enough and you realize they want to jump onto your face.

[ The lab is a mess; cabinets and drawers are open, some faucets are dripping, and there's glass and scattered paper and things everywhere. Most troubling, however, are the blobs that like to suffocate people.

Freeze them, contain them in cupboards or whatever intact container you find handy, see if they're afraid of the Bunsen burner, try to use weapons on them -- best to get them cleaned up quickly, though! ]

Comments

[blackmagus]

Scientists. This building. Take your pick, we're not really all that certain ourselves.

[She should likely work on her bedside manner, but at the moment she's more concerned about the blobs. Putting them in drawers seems to hold them at bay more securely without magic. She focuses on moving them, this time using magic to get them sorted out. It takes less time.

Given that others are handling the rest of the blobs, she'll take that as a cue to relax for a moment, giving Christine a warm smile.]

I'm using magic. Do you have magic where you come from?

[Talk about a crash course in the Center.]

[seraphique]

I used to think so, but...I don't know if I can believe that anymore. The man I thought to do magic...he isn't a ghost, or a magician or even a monster. He was only a man.

[A great, horrifying man who chased her, scared the daylights out of her, set up a mannequin that looked just like her wearing a wedding dress that seemed to move on its own - nearly dropped a chandelier on her. She's not sure what to believe anymore, other than that now she's in this new place, separated from everyone she knows and loves, and there is real magic and real monsters here.]

May I have your name?

[blackmagus]

[She offers the pretty young woman her hand.]

Fortescue. I can neither confirm nor deny it, where you come from, but it does exist here. At least for those who brought it with them. This is... a very abrupt introduction to how things work around here, but you should know, the strange and the impossible happen on a regular basis.

[seraphique]

Thank you, Fortescue. I'm called Christine.

[Christine takes her hand - her grip is soft, still curious, but she looks around behind her, down the hallway. If this is only the first of the horrors awaiting her here...well, she's not sure what to expect, anymore.]

We should find a safe place, somewhere the monsters can't reach us.

[blackmagus]

It's lovely to meet you, Christine. [Such as the circumstances are, but they can't be helped. Fortescue has to remind herself to behave.] There should be a room with your name on it, and the rooms are as safe as you get, here. Come on. I'll show you where they are. Although, the hallways do like to change.

[She smiles apologetically. This is a lot to take in.]

[seraphique]

They...change? That's bizzare, but I suppose I should learn to expect the unexpected, here.

[She follows Fortescue, though, keeping her eyes out and her other arm close to her chest as she scans the hallway for more blobs. There's a group advancing behind them, new ones, and Christine picks up the pace as much as she can in her costume shoes from the opera.]

They're coming, Fortescue! We must hurry.

[blackmagus]

It's the way of things, unfortunately. Or fortunately, if you like change and don't mind... changes that are sometimes alarming. Little red globs like these, for example. [Fortescue will keep some of the others to herself. Christine seems appropriately rattled to be here.] This way, love. The others can handle them, I'm sure.

[They don't seem all that violent. Just... numerous. Of course, they didn't get to Fortescue's head, and she doesn't know their nasty tendencies.]

[seraphique]

I should hope they've got magic, then. It seems to me it's very useful here.

[She and Fortescue had managed to get out of get scuffle easily, of course, but she can only imagine what two people like herself without much defense at all would be able to do.]

I don't dislike change, but it's a fact of life. I think I do my best to simply adapt and move forward - as best as I can, in any case.

[blackmagus]

Some do, some don't. Some are much more powerful than me. [Although she hasn't seen many angels around, lately. Or the minor god or two. It's almost worrying.] If you can adapt well, you'll have this place down in no time at all, I should think. Where are you from, may I ask?

[seraphique]

[She keeps turning her head every so often, just to check for the blobs that might be coming after them. She's very cautious as her heels click against the floor.]

I live in Paris, actually. I sing at the Opera House there.

[blackmagus]

Really? Pretty and you can sing. I'm impressed, I couldn't hold a tune in a bucket.

[She smiles, but she's not joking. It's downright sad. On the other hand, the conversation might help her worry less about the blobs. Fortescue keeps going.]

Is that what you always wanted to do?

[seraphique]

It's really not that difficult, so long as you're trained well.

[Of course, that brings up a whole new slew of emotions for Christine. Still, singing...music is her life. It frees her in a way nothing else can, regardless of what angel brought it to her. She follows behind Fortescue, picking up her many skirts as she goes.]

Yes, actually. I suppose you could say it runs in my family? My father was a violinist.

[blackmagus]

[Fortescue's sister had been the creative one. Not her. Mirabelle Fortescue had been the singer and the artist, if just competently. She'd died at a young age; there was no telling how any of that would have worked out. But her big sister, on the other hand, can't so much as draw a straight line.]

That does tend to happen, with those who are creative. My parents were scientists. Physicists. Creativity was different, for them.

[She glances back at Christine, making a note of her skirts and hoping the Center would perhaps be kind enough to provide an alternative dress. It does look cumbersome. Fortescue had never understood the women in Imperium who'd insisted upon wearing that particular fashion. Apparently, the fact that it had "come back" in other worlds meant it was going to in their own.]

We don't have a stage here, I'm afraid. That I know of, and I've been here quite some time.

[seraphique]

That's a pity. Well, one doesn't particularly need a stage to sing. I often did it in my dressing room, when I was learning...

[She sort of trails off, looking frightful for a second, as if she'ss remembering something from the past, something she'd like to forget and put behind her. Christine brings an arm close to her chest, crinkling in the fabrics of the costume, then drops it to her side, turning for a second to look behind her, almost stopping.]

Are the halls changing even as we go?

[blackmagus]

[When Christine's words trail off, Fortescue frowns, thoughtful, but decides not to pursue the subject. The new subject she brings up is, to a newcomer, far more important. It's terribly easy to get lost in the halls, if you aren't careful. And sometimes even if you are.]

Yes, they like to do that. When you blink, or turn your back on them. I've never seen them do it, and yet this is a different route than the one I took to get to the labs. [She smiles sympathetically.] You'll just have to get used to it, I'm afraid, love.