detentionroom | [KIN'UN]

[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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

[ 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.

[Wishes he had his pipe!!!]

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

[good lord they really are talking about a spellbook]

[ 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.

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

Knowledge once lost?

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

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.

[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...]

[ you have no idea. ]

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

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

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

turns away and begins to forage. ]

[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.]

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

[Flashes a quick little smile.]

Well. I cannot promise eighty, but maybe… ten.

[ quick as a lightning strike. ]

I must inscribe with brevity.

Have you information enough stored away to fill up ten pages if I were to hand them to you now?

I fill ten pages on this room alone. This mark, this... voice.

So then you are an academic, afflicted with the symptom of studious note-taking.

Yes. [ softly: ] I love it. To learn and grow, use my mind. It is what I was given, hm?

[Hm. He can imagine it easily, with what little he's garnered from her already — holed up in a library, hunched over her (magical???) studies, with waning candlelight burning nearby. (No, maybe not the last, given the strangeness of her eyes.)]

And so why not water it with knowledge and let it flourish? [In other words, he agrees.] You may put that mind of yours to practical use, regardless. I may be a man of learning myself [lmao sorta] but I am not equipped to deal with the... impenetrable and arcane. So your knowledge will be needed.

[In fact, TAKES HIS OMAMORI OUT OF HIS POCKET-] Such as: what do you make of this? [It's the pink one.]

[ he is truly not far from it.

a raised brow as she looks down... ]

It is charm of some kind. I have one also.

Does yours radiate warmth as well?

Da. Somehow... comforting.

[ she pulls out her own, which is a simple wooden omamori. ]

Warding charm of some sort, I would think. Protective.

[Eyes flick from hers to his own, and he turns it over in his hand curiously. Again, he feels nothing but warmth — but it does have the appearance of some kind of talisman. If only he were more familiar with Japanese culture in general. Alas, I have truly apped the wrong Holmes variant.]

To be kept close. But protecting us from what, I wonder.

Fey? Hags? Demons, devils? Evil, whatever our true answer.

All the things nightmares are made of, come to life.

[A fraction of his mind is still railing against this idea, holding onto the impossibility of it all. That'll all fall apart once, well. You know. But for now, it keeps his composure relatively even-keeled.]

Let us hope we needn't find out any time soon. I would much rather make a quiet exit.

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velluminous - 2025-07-20 20:59 (UTC) - Expand