detentionroom | [KIN'UN]

[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

[ in pink track shorts? ]

Da, I am awake. [ spoken slowly, in a very heavy accent, as the clarity comes into that sharp, dark gaze. there's even a tail, which has wrapped around her ankle, its tip flickering. through concerted effort, the hammering of her heart is held back, but her hands are tense. ] Having something on my face, me?

[ the faintly-glowing lupine tattoo on her fuckin forehead ]

[Pink track suit, thank you. No leg pics for free.

Not only is she... strange-looking, in a way that defies anything he's seen before—that, or she is a master of costuming that he would be envious of—she has... a Russian accent.

His jawline tenses, but in the same way she keeps much tamped down for now, so does he. He extends a hand, the tip of his finger almost brushing against the tattoo on her forehead. All that keeps it from making contact is Victorian Propriety.]

Indeed. Unless it is normal for that to be glowing.

[ is he going to touch her? subtly leaning back as his finger approaches... but he stops himself, and good thing, too, that. she feels like a coiled spring. ]

Glowing?

[ what? something glowing on her face? she lifts her own hand and touches her forehead. she feels nothing but her own warm skin...

stands suddenly, wobbles only slightly, and turns towards the nearest window. the dark, indistinct chiaroscuro exterior... at least it can serve as a mirror. ]

What??

[He lets her go, of course. Inspecting her own hazy reflection. Watching her... tail, as this provides a new perspective of her strange, devil-like form which is still highly baffling to him.]

...So it is a new addition.

[ the tail itself moving naturally, to counterbalance and twine, as with any creature born to one. harshly, she finger-combs her bangs as if to tug them over the mark, then pushes them back and scratches along the edge of it. ohhh, she hates this. ]

Would I mark myself so flagrantly? [ as if he would know. ] No, this is work of another.

[ a blackness in her voice. Eunoia, Selcouth... what have they done? she turns to him, and her gaze slides past to the blackboard. ]

[Her tail, like that of a large predator. A lion would be the closest parallel he can dredge from his mind; the way it moves is reminiscent of one.

She's speaking to him again.]

Hm?

[Grey-hazel eyes raking across her. Picking up little details, and within them: no, he would not know if she were to mark herself so flagrantly. But he lets that pass.]

I've found no such marking on myself, though I've not engaged in a thorough search just yet. That, however- [He gestures over his shoulder to the blackboard, where her strange gaze has clearly landed.] -may be unrelated.

[ DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.

it was already a tenuous idea, but now this seems impossible to chalk up to Eunoia and Selcouth Vaux, who would love their name attached to anything of import, and would love even more her own attached to anything of repute.

she skirts around the desk, without moving her gaze from the blackboard—skirts around him—and moves forward to touch the lettering. the room suddenly feels very alien, from the architecture to the lighting to the oppressiveness of the damage on every surface. ]

Oh, blyat.

[Yes, even to him, this room is alien and strange. He cannot deny that there is not enough data to even remotely guess at where they could be, but he might safely assume for now that it is nowhere close to home. And given his... company, he might double down on that notion.

She passes him and he tracks her with his gaze, turns around to keep watching, and finally steps forward.]

A warning. But who is "them?" Those who brought us here? Or are we not to trust each other? Both? You'll find that the handwriting there matches the one found in a journal left in this room, as well, so unless this is meant to mislead, some poor soul has already unwent whatever dark mistreatments await.

[Also. He's just going to say it.]

And you... That isn't a costume of any sort, is it?

[ without meaning to, a disbelieving sound bubbles up out of her throat. direct response to "dark mistreatments". sounds insane to say that aloud, though the accuracy seemingly reflects in the room and the circumstance.

uuuuUUUUUGHHHHHHHH—

another disbelieving little laugh. ]

I look like woman in costume to you? This skin, these eyes? Do you not know what I am?

[His look of fascination is overriden with the expression in this icon.]

It would be a very convincing costume, unlike any I've seen before, but given that I have never laid eyes upon a blue Russian woman with horns, it was the only plausible explanation.

Though I'm certain you're going to correct me...?

It is not costume.

No, indeed. Which would make you...?

[That answers her question well enough. He does not know what a tiefling is.]

[ and so, he answers another question. they—or at the least, she—has been Planeshifted or elsewise Banished to another realm. perhaps another sphere entirely.

fascinating.

and ... ]

Devil as which walks among men. Long-descended daughter of those who made ill-fated bargains with forces beyond their ken. To put it simply, I am tiefling. That is what we are called.

[Planeshifted and banished. Those terms would be so far from his ken; even now, he is trying to reconcile the idea of her everything versus still being somewhere. On Earth.]

The stuff of penny dreadfuls. And yet the evidence is clear.

[Literally standing before him. It is not costume, it is not makeup. She is... as she is. He does not know what to do with this information, and the fact that she uses "devil" only conjures up dark things in his imagination, given his era.]

Still, you choose a rather unflattering way to describe yourself, madam.

[ dispassionately: ] It is how other humans describe us.

["Other humans." What a strange thing to hear. And yet the fact that she chooses to describe herself in this way says enough on its own.]

How that must color your perception of me, then.

[Even though he feels as though he cannot fit into that category, never having met a tiefling. Though... he would be a fool to think that those in London would not react in a revolting way towards her. Even now, he does feel that undercurrent of uncertainty around her, amid the fascination. She's so very devil-coded.]

I might ask that you set it aside for now.

[ what humans always forget—or like to ignore—is that tieflings are human, too. a strange look passes over her face; she squints behind her glasses as though trying to find a crevice in his attitude that she can pry apart and get to the truth of it. determine that this is the truth of it. ]

I reserve all my judgment for now.

[She will find no such crevice this early on in their CR; if only because his face flickers so vividly with passing expressions, and frequently. But in that same vein, there is nothing evident that contradicts what he says.]

Good. And so do I.

[Devil-horns or otherwise.]

You must forgive my curiosity in the interim. No one looks like you where I'm from, not at all, and I have met many types in my time.

Edited 2025-07-19 19:53 (UTC)

Many, but not all, it would seem. Do I unsettle you? I am told we have this effect.

[ and she is curious—suddenly, deeply curious—to know whether that is true, when faced with someone for whom the conception of tieflings has not already been pre-established. ]

Edited 2025-07-19 20:15 (UTC)

[ ... ]

There may be no tieflings where I am from, but we are warned of the sins and temptations of devils and demons from a young age. There is that primordial part of me that is unsettled by your appearance upon first glance, yes.

[There's no point in being dishonest about this. She seems suddenly deeply curious.]

But if I were merely made of base instinct and primigenial emotions, then I'd be only a fraction of the man I am today. It is ultimately minuscule and unimportant.

[She's more fascinating to look at than unnerving, in a way.]

[ temptations? she'd laugh; almost does. every word from his mouth is at once an oddity and a comfort. at least, probably, she will not have to worry about being bludgeoned in the back of the head or blamed for the misfortune, if they cannot devise their own way out. ]

You are very unusual man.

Hmph! So I’ve been told.

[Girl you have NO idea.]

But unusual is a boon in times such as these. We will not sufficiently understand what’s happening to us with minds muddied with a lack of creativity.

Creativity is what saves us, then?

Creativity, courage, cleverness. Anything else you might think of that starts with a "c."

[KIN'UN]

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