The Powers That Be (
powersthatbe) wrote2016-11-18 11:42 am
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Entry tags:
Conversation Space II.
As Thorne shared with the network, Travelers who vanish find themselves alone in a small room. But it doesn’t look quite as described last time. Paper lanterns hang in the corners, and a lemniscate of live, spicily scented blue roses traces a figure eight on the floor. A little marble plinth sits beside the looping roses, with a champagne flute balanced on it, pink, fizzy liquid quietly effervescing within. In place of the throne that was there before, each half of the loop holds a brown leather sphere - a yoga meditation-ball chair. They’re a little tricky to balance on.
The walls, floors, and ceiling are tiled, a prismatic fade from one color to another, each tile unique, just slightly different in hue than those around it, each colored line giving a sense that it belongs to a bigger pattern, but never revealing enough to allow anyone certainty about what that pattern might be. It is only a glimpse of a larger world… in this small, quiet space.
The walls, floors, and ceiling are tiled, a prismatic fade from one color to another, each tile unique, just slightly different in hue than those around it, each colored line giving a sense that it belongs to a bigger pattern, but never revealing enough to allow anyone certainty about what that pattern might be. It is only a glimpse of a larger world… in this small, quiet space.
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"Oh, so they redecorated...," she says, rapidly trying to cover up her nervousness. She's not the smartest girl she knows, but she can see what's coming as well as anyone else. The decor really does catch her eye, though, especially the flowers and the tile pattern.
"Well, whoever set this up, I like your taste a little better than the one Thorne-san saw..." she says, looking around (and thinking around, in case Psychic Detection works) for a sign of who's coming to meet her.
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Still.
Given what the situation is... he's still not impressed. He looks around with a solid, resolute frown, a defensive hint creeping into his posture. "Hey. You there? So are we gonna talk this time?" he calls out, looking around the room.
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"I guess with every set of hosts, the room changes the way it looks." It makes sense, considering how different the Arcana are.
The scent of the roses is quite pleasant, he notices. Jean likes the spiciness they have. Though what makes him actually curious is the pink fizzy liquid. It's nothing he's seen before. At least he can examine that until the meeting starts.
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There's nothing to do but wait. He can do that. He bends to look at the flowers, oddly curious about them.
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But once his senses don't ping anything, and nothing seems prepared to move and do something to him, he starts to take a closer look around. The chairs are just glanced at and deemed uncomfortable-looking, and he's not touching a drink that's just sitting there... so he kneels to inspect the roses.
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The shift isn't so surprising, having long-since become accustomed to the ever-changing nature of Liminal Space. Things like this throw Near far less than they used to. While cautious as always, there is no sense of impending dread in him; whatever he is to face, he shall face.
For the time being, he takes note of the flowers, the paper lamps, but is much more transfixed on the coloured tiles. He instinctively latches onto the sense that there is some larger pattern to it all, mind focused upon puzzling it out. It's what his mind does, trying to deduce the paths and the truths that most fail to see. He twists a lock of hair between his fingers, silently pondering.
No demands. No call-outs. No greetings. Whichever of them wishes to speak with him, he can wait until they choose to make their presence known. For just as he is cautious, Near is also patient.
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His scowl deepens with barely contained anger as he folds his arms and begins yelling at the seemingly-empty room.
"I know you're here! Show yourself!"
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The roses are pretty nice as well, and bring a bit of a smile to her face.
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Look, there's free champagne, and he's incapable of making his own. Of course he's going to drink it. If they wanted him dead, they wouldn't poison him after all of this. Why worry?
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The pattern of the roses is familiar, at least; she wears it on her left arm, along with the lioness. But the rest of it is unknown to her. She's not sure what the leather spheres even are, and while the fizzy liquid reminds her obscurely of Remy, that's a mystery too. The paper lanterns are pretty, but that's all she can really say about them.
Based on network chatter, she's reasonably certain there's no way out, but she checks anyway, unsurprised to find nothing. She doesn't think the Arcana would be so foolish as to provide one when they so clearly want a captive audience. And even if it was possible to escape, it would also be a futile gesture - the Arcana can simply haul them back here, and probably safeguard the room a bit more thoroughly. (She presumes they also have measures in place to prevent anyone from actually harming them, as she still has her sword and she can't imagine they'd be so careless as to let her keep that if they were even remotely worried she might harm them.)
Her inspection complete, she moves to one side to wait, standing straight with her back to the wall. Waiting is all she can really do at this point, anyway; fortunately, she's had years of practice.
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As a father his worry is more for his son then himself. Not only Drizzt anymore, surprisingly enough. His mind often trails towards Elphaba, even moreso now since the mistake in identity nearly cost her life. The thought of losing her had... hurt.
Tugging his hood down over his face to shield his sensitive eyes from the lanterns, he slowly moves to approach the roses, eying what he can of the odd chairs.
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She pauses for a moment, waiting for a response, and sighs a little when there's nothing immediate. At least she hadn't expected much anyway. She steps carefully over the roses, not wanting to damage them, and leans in to inspect the champagne on the table without touching it.
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It is a lovely room, though full of very strange things. She was especially fascinated by the roses that were unlike anything she'd ever seen or smelt before.
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Then he folds his hands in his lap, squares his shoulders and says into the empty room, "well, darlings? I'm waiting." He's perfectly calm, though underneath it, just a hint of anger and impatience stirs.
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She stays calm and relaxed though! Nothing to worry about as this is likely to be something like what fellow travelers experienced last week. So she takes the flute (though she doesn't drink it yet) and sits on a chair, just chilling there with curious look on her face and looking around the room. "So, what are we celebrating?"
Someone somewhere here can hear that, right? Not like she isn't used to talking to herself or to Naga by herself but conversation with someone is probably the reason why she is here.
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Jotaro's aware enough of recent goings-on that he's not exactly surprised to find himself in a space like this, change in decor or not, and so he doesn't appear particularly ruffled as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the setup and lighting a cigarette as he waits for what comes next. There's no point in getting worked up for a conversation.
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There's a part of Souji that's been looking forward to this, and a part that's been braced for confrontation. It depends, he supposes, on who it is, but he has a very keen idea of the possibilities at the moment and none of them make him terribly upset.
He eyes the champagne closely, adjusts his glasses, shakes his head, and steps into the loop of roses to sit calmly on the balance ball and wait.
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She sighs. "I guess this means we get to talk to the one that claimed me, huh, boy? I better not be expected to give offerings!"
Pod ends that with a little 'humf' of breath and eyes the champagne with interest for a moment.
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