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

[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.