[KIN'UN]

[detentionroom]

[You needed an escape.

For a moment– however brief, or however not– you longed to get away. Perhaps you envisioned a vacation upon sunny, beachy shores, palm trees at your back and seagulls floating in the air. Perhaps you envisioned nothing at all, and merely accepted that anywhere but here would do. Either way. . .?

You blink. . . and you wake up slouched on a school desk, arms folded with head resting between. You lift your gaze and realize that you've woken up in the middle of a classroom, seated in one of the. . . uh, very few functional desks that remain. The others have been broken into pieces, with legs and splinters of wood scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks decorate the walls, having gouged the sheetrock with jagged, violent gashes. The window curtains are closed, but they too have been torn and ripped to shreds, with holes showing a dark and unidentifiable landscape beyond the four walls which trap you.

And written on the blackboard, in large, white letters that seem to glow in the midst of the dim room lighting, is a warning]

DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.

[. . . you are not alone]

[Each and every new arrival awakens dressed in a high school-issued track uniform. The design is up to the players, but each uniform is already color-coded to match the group at large. Somewhere on your body is a new marking: a mysterious floral design shaded the same color as your track uniform. It is glowing very gently. And in your pocket you feel. . . something warm. Further investigation reveals a tiny little omamri, tucked away in your outfit, for safe keeping. Huh! What a nice gift!]

[For now, the front door to the classroom is locked. No matter how hard you try– with physical prowess or otherwise– the door cannot be opened.]

[But hey! You can poke around the area, if you'd like! Maybe get to know your new classmates. . . ? Try not to panic. For now, everything is. . . calm]

Comments

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[ratiocinations]

[HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT CRASH OUT MEANS 😭 He thinks this means that maybe she's bad at riding horses or has bad luck with motorcars. It could be true!]

Inaccurate or... embarrassing?

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[velluminous]

[ AS IF SHE KNOWS EITHER ]

Incomprehensible!

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[ratiocinations]

Surely not all of it.

For example. Are you thirty-seven...?

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[velluminous]

[ asking a woman her age, holmes? wow ]

Yes, I am thirty-seven. Yes, I am five foot and two inch.

[ a shiver of revulsion, though: where did this image of her come from, and who acquired it? who took it? she's never seen it before. to stave it off, lays one clawed, manicured finger down over "alias", which is blank. ]

What are you making of this, hm?

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[ratiocinations]

[yeah he is because it's RIGHT THERE

His fingers twitch with the desire to light a pipe or a cigarette to smoke right now.]

That parts of our lives have been observed and recorded. That, for whatever reason, we have been chosen amid very far-flung places to share a classroom together. Lucky us.

[He doesn't mean that, of course. It's wry, but also underlaid with his low hum of consideration.]

Other than that? I don't know. That voice frames it as though this is but a dream we might awaken from.

/2

[velluminous]

[ he speaks with such interesting modulations, such quick expressions and movements. she notices less than half of them, but those she does make her think that there is a lightning mind in there. it is how he is keeping sane, when faced with things he could not previously conceive of.

she has to do the same.

.......rrrraaaaahhhhhhh. sets her thumbnail between her teeth and bites down, briefly. and... breathe. ]

It does not feel like dream...

[ she can read the clock on the wall. she can read the writing on the blackboard. and— ]

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[velluminous]

[ SPINS BACK TOWARDS HER DESK ]

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[ratiocinations]

[Ah. That divot in her thumbnail... He had suspected as much, but that cinches it-

Whoops she has Suddenly Realized something, apparently.]

What is it?

Re: [THE JOURNAL]

[velluminous]

[ tiny woman in tiny track shorts scrabbling at the desk, leaning over it, crouching under it and pushing broken debris aside, all with the attitude of looking for something very, very, very important. ]

My book. You are seeing my book?

1/3

[ratiocinations]

[It's quite clear from her body language that she has lost something very important, and in this case, what is important to her might be relevant to them all.]

Book?

[ratiocinations]

[kaslj;dfa immediately drops to the floor, near her desk, and while he does not scrabble around, he turns his head so that he might get a better look from this perspective, all across the floor in this direction.

He spies plenty of detritus and debris, yes, but no book.]

[ratiocinations]

What sort of book?

[velluminous]

[ kin'un your two adults are on the floor ]

My arcanabula—all of my notes, my work, my spells. It is having everything which means anything to me!

[ratiocinations]

[Her... spells? All right. Barring that, this further proves what her posture, hands, and glasses told him; that she studies often. An academic, if they are notes and work that she has now lost.]

I don't see it.

[Heaves himself back up onto his knees. Pats himself down.]

I've nothing on me, either. All of it, taken away.

[He had a small book of notes, too, and his pipe. Pocketwatch. Handkerchief. Magnifying glass. And god knows what else Sherlock Holmes carries in his pockets. But that's all gone.]

Your studies will simply have to live in your mind for now, I'm afraid.

[velluminous]

[ the fire still scents in her clothing, and now this also thieved from her? it doesn't matter to her that he, too, has been picked clean. slaps her palm on the floor once, hard, before dragging herself into a squat. ]

Damn.

[ratiocinations]

[Wishes he had his pipe!!!]

Would they have aided us? These… spells of yours.

[good lord they really are talking about a spellbook]

[velluminous]

[ wishes she had HER pipe ]

Of course they would have! Lock and unlock doors, create light, shield from attack and mental probing—

[ her accent is particularly thick now, all of this directed at the floor, her hair curtaining down and glasses drooping on her nose. ]

All my field notes on creature and myth, everything I work towards rebuilding some knowledge of.

[ratiocinations]

[Rebuilding. It is easier to focus on that than the... magic.....]

Knowledge once lost?

[velluminous]

[ .............

stiffly, in both movement and tone, as she pushes herself off the floor: ] I cannot keep it all in my mind. It needs somewhere else to go.

[ratiocinations]

[As she rises, he catches that whiff of something having been burnt; a scent stuck closely to her skin. He wonders if this is very recently lost knowledge, indeed.

For now, he makes no mention of it.]

A pen and paper should suffice. What you remember can make its home there for now; and this is a classroom, after all.

[Likely she'll find notepads, paper, pens...]

[velluminous]

[ you have no idea. ]

Is it? It is looking like repurposed into cage, to me.

[ratiocinations]

A cage with writing utensils. Best make use of it while you can.

[velluminous]

[ .....................

turns away and begins to forage. ]

[ratiocinations]

[Just. Hefts himself back to his feet. He does a quick scan of the room, though, and immediately finds crumpled paper on a nearby desk.]

To start.

[He holds it up. It is so pathetic looking.]

[velluminous]

Hha. [ earning the wannest laugh, low and rasping ] Eighty more and we have start of new arcanabula.