Journal the First

[theabjectauthor]

[the lobby door creaks open a few inches, just enough for a man in a fedora to poke his head in carefully. his eyes widen, and he ducks back out and shuts the door. from without, there's a muffled yet still pretty pronounced shout:]

O, LORD.

[with that, the door opens again, all the way, this time, and he shuffles in, shutting it quickly behind him and clutching a worn leather messenger bag to his chest as though his very life depended on it. his pinstripe suit is slightly rumpled and spotted here and there with ash, and there's a thick scarf wound around his neck. he moves carefully away from the door, eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings]

... I certainly think I'd remember this being on the map.

[and with that, he sits down on one of the lobby couches and starts going through his bag - getting more and more distraught the longer he rummages. clearly, whatever he's looking for isn't there...]

Comments

[theabjectauthor]

[okay, he's not a Volunteer, then. which is even CREEPIER, even if it's confirmation that the guy isn't going to try and kill him right away. maybe later? but certainly not right now. he manages to get hold of the bag and slowly drops down to the floor on one knee to gather everything up. stalling, however, there needs to be more stalling.]

Mmm ... I'd have a better idea of whether you were or not, if you took off your glasses.

[onlyanapple]

I don't do that, sorry. Personal thing.

[He'll watch with mild amusement]

Also if you want to run, I suggest heading out those big doors there. Or maybe to the left or right. Heading up the stairs will just get yourself lost and cornered and you don't want to give yourself heart failure.

[theabjectauthor]

[if it were possible, Lemony Snicket would look like a deer in headlights. but he is not a deer, he is a human being, and as such he looks like a human being who was trying to flee, but was just informed that his antagonist is aware that he was about to flee, and therefore is faced with the very unfair choice of running predictably, or standing his ground and taking whatever horrible fate might await him.

well.

the man isn't armed, other than with the usual appendages. he's just creepy. he takes a slow, shaky breath to steady himself - he can always flee in the next moment or so if it actually becomes eminently dangerous]

How do you know who I am?

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley's brows arch from behind the sunglasses, before he casually jumps over the back of the couch to lounge on the piece of furniture proper]

Well, that's quite a long and extravagantly unbelievable story. It depends on if you want to hear it or not, really.

[theabjectauthor]

[there's another small yelp - though not nearly as impressive as the first - as he scrambles away so that he doesn't get clipped somehow in the vaulting of the couch. after he's a comfortable distance from Crowley's feet, however, he'll start quietly gathering his scattered belongings, while still paying him a courteous amount of attention]

Extravagantly unbelievable, you say. Would this extravagance be along the scales of an opera, or more akin to a penny-dreadful? There is a mark-ed difference, you see.

[onlyanapple]

[The demon considers, then makes a waggling motion with his hand]

A little of both, really.

[theabjectauthor]

[to his credit, he only winces a tiny bit] Somehow, I had an inkling that was precisely what you'd say. ... [he sighs] Well, as I've not much idea where I am, and They aren't right behind me, I suppose I have some time. But I'll warn you in advance, if a Man With A Beard But No Hair and a Woman With Hair But No Beard come through those doors, I will have to cut our conversation short.

[onlyanapple]

...Duly noted. Wow I forgot how weird you were.

Anyway. [He raises his arm, showing off the lobby at large] This is Paradisa, sometimes affectionately known as Castle Wonderfuck.

[theabjectauthor]

[he scoffs lightly in disgust] I, sir, am most certainly not weird, and your language is atrocious.

[onlyanapple]

Do I look like I'm even marginally bothered by either of those comments?

[theabjectauthor]

Well, no, but that simply says volumes about your manners, as well. [he'll put that aside, though, because INFORMATION IS IMPORTANT.]

However. Paradisa. How do you spell that? [just in case there's a silent Q or something. you never know. he looks in his book, pulls out a pen, and -]

-- That's odd. I know it was here.

[onlyanapple]

I only show manners when I feel like it.

P.A R- What was there?

[theabjectauthor]

[vaguely flummoxed and distracted] ... My commonplace notebook. I need to write this down, and -- ah.

[relief only lasts on his face for a moment, though, because what he comes up with is his journal] Oh, no! ... They stole it, I've been hornswaggled...! Police! Reasonably moral individuals!

[onlyanapple]

...Ah. That would be your loss, then.

[theabjectauthor]

No, it wasn't lost, or even misplaced, it has been pilfered. [weren't you LISTENING, Crowley?] ... Over twenty years of invaluable research, errata, and ticket stubs, gone! ... This is terrible, this is superlatively insidious....!

[onlyanapple]

...You don't understand.

This place, this castle, it takes something from everyone. It's a price or...something for them to live here.

[theabjectauthor]

Oh yes, thank you, I feel much better, now.

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley will reach over to slap Lemony on the back]

And we haven't even got to the castle's shenanigans yet.

[theabjectauthor]

[he flinches considerably at the invasion of personal space, but takes it as the price one has to pay for actual information. because, well, this place seems perilous and horrible, and the more he can prepare himself for it, the better]

What do you mean by that? The inhabitants, surely, and not the castle itself.

[onlyanapple]

No, the castle itself. It's...well it has moods.

[theabjectauthor]

How is that even possible?

[onlyanapple]

It's best not to think too hard on that, it'll only give you a nosebleed.

[theabjectauthor]

I should think headaches were more possible than nosebleeds. But... Well... I suppose you had rather tell me what you mean, anyway. I can find some ibuprofin or acetaminophen around here somewhere, I'm sure.

[onlyanapple]

The castle is sentient. It thinks, it feels, and it has a pretty sour attitude at times. Once or twice a month, things happen, all kinds of things, to mess with us.

[theabjectauthor]

... It sounds like something out of a Gothic novel, the more I hear.