entrancelogs | Tavern Mingle (INSIDE)

Entry tags:

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

Who: EVERYONE
Where: The Dark Lantern Tavern!
When: 1/15/16 -1/18/16 - The duration of the event!
Rating: Probably PG-13, will vary by thread.
Summary: Let's go to this creepy tavern and ask for some directions! A log for staying nice and dry inside.
The Story:

For the duration of the event, the mansion has become a dingy tavern. It has two floors, the bottom being the main tavern and the upper floor has six bedrooms with one bed and one magic closet in each room for everyone to fight over, unless they don't mind sleeping on the floor or in the tavern somewhere. With the amount of people in Wonderland, everyone is cramped together and it will be very crowded. The closets will work, however they will only provide clothing and items from time periods long gone (though they do not seem to be bound to any particular time period). There are no employees to be found in the Tavern, but there's a working kitchen with a wood fire stove and enough food and drink for everyone to last the entire event comfortably. There's even a stage with musical instruments to entertain yourselves with! There's no electricity, but plenty of candles and lanterns around.

For the entire length of the event, it will be dark outside. In addition to the never-ending night, it will pour for four days straight, and it will all seem rather ominous once it becomes apparent the sun isn't coming out. Pretty much all signs will suggest that everyone should stay in the tavern and eat, drink, and be merry with their stupid new names. But it really is tight quarters, and some might be curious to see what else is out there. Maybe there's another place to stay out there, or something. Maybe the Beast Alice spoke of is out there.

(Lost? Perhaps you're looking for the outside log or the event information.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yikes, this place is freaking packed. Every corner and chair is occupied, and he hasn't had any luck upstairs, either. Time to head out. Or, better yet, to raise a rousing yell of "fire!" that would ideally clear everyone out pretty quick.

Fortunately, the Puppet isn't that crude. He'll work his way around slightly less crowded edges, but he gets distracted by the flutter of paper. He almost doesn't pay it any attention, except - hang on - that's a sketch of him lying around with the rest. Like, definitely.

He picks it up, staring in mingled suspicion and surprise. It's not so hard to track down the culprit; she's sitting right there, pencil and paper in hand.

The Puppet advances and thrusts the paper in her direction, glaring.

"What's the deal here? Huh?" It's not that he's not used to having his image show up in unusual places - he's kept a camera on himself for several months for a reason - but it's when other people do it without his permission that sets him on edge. What's she playing at? What's her agenda here?

It takes a moment for his question to even register, because her deal is— well, she doesn't have a deal. There's no hidden agenda, no ulterior motive for her to confess to. She can't actually imagine one, which makes the question all that more bizarre. It's only a sketch, nothing more, she could say, but somehow that doesn't seem like the answer he's looking for.

"The deal?" she asks, raising an eyebrow in a half-quizzical, half-unamused expression. Is this a joke? As she looks at him, really looks at him, she realizes that he was one of her subjects. "Oh— it's you. You can have it, if you want."

She isn't too bad of an artist, after all. Solitary confinement really gives a girl time to work on her skills.

"I like drawing, and I haven't done it much since I got here. So..." The Princess gestures to the papers, letting her slightly messy workspace do the talking for her.

Oh no, no, it's definitely him, he got that much. He just doesn't appreciate it, is all. Unfettered, the Puppet simply continues to glower at her from beneath lowered brows.

"So you thought you'd draw yourself a few mugshots? Why?" Sure, like he's gonna believe an explanation as simple as she likes drawing. He likes making movies! It doesn't mean he films other people at random!

...Except when it does. So maybe that makes him a bit of a hypocrite. It's not like she knows that. "Was there something about me that just screamed, hey! I'm someone whose face you'd better remember! Is that it?"

Her attempt at defusing the situation seems to have failed, and she's never been good at avoiding confrontation. Especially when it's so blatantly rude and, quite frankly, unwarranted. So she sketches people. She doesn't— watch them sleep, or anything. It's not like she just killed his puppy.

"I'm sorry, do you have a problem?" Her voice is even, a well-practiced deadpan. She's more than a bit offended beneath the surface, but she hardly lets that show. A twitch of her eyebrow betrays her true annoyance, however. "I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're asking."

She breaks her gaze, looking down at her papers and pressing her lips into a thin line. "Look, you can do what you want with it. If you want to throw it away, I'm not going to stop you."

Paranoid, him? Of course not! Never. He'd be offended at the suggestion.

"I don't like people keeping tabs on me," he snaps, making short work of folding up the drawing and tucking it into his jacket pocket. "That's all. And I'd watch it, if I were you. I get the feeling other people might feel the same."

It just contributes to the feeling of being watched, which he's had to deal with enough for the past several months of his life, and getting transported to this hellhole certainly hasn't helped.

To add insult to injury, he regards the rest of her drawings with a caustic eye, then snorts.

"Stick to still life."

Oh, that's a low blow. She completely ignores that comment, because one: it's never good to give them a reaction, and two: ouch. He didn't rip the drawing up and throw it away, either, which means it can't be that bad. Or maybe he's just compiling evidence to use against her later.

"I'm not keeping tabs on you," she sighs, already frustrated with the conversation and sincerely regretting ever drawing him. Other people here don't think everyone's out to get them, she thinks, but doesn't say. It wouldn't be wise. "If I wanted to, don't you think I'd choose a better method than drawing you a mug shot?"

She'd at least take a photo. Spending the time to sketch him would be wasteful. A princess knows how to keep tabs on her people, and this isn't it.

"I didn't think I needed to keep tabs on you. Until now."

He doesn't hesitate. He raises his camera and snaps a picture of her, sharp and reflexive, like he's been doing it his whole life. It's an impulse he doesn't bother to stifle, considering his background. Considering his frustration and his paranoia. Considering everything.

"We make do with what we have." He lowers the camera back to his side, as if to prove how little he cares to follow up on the idle threat. This chick - she can't be that big of a threat, surely? She's human, after all, and ordinary people don't compare to the thing that stalks his goddamn nightmares. "I don't like being watched."

She responds to the picture being taken with an exasperated stare. Has anyone more frustrating ever existed in the entire world? She thinks not. Clarke certainly doesn't fear being watched; she's been watched. Many times. What's one more time? Still, she doesn't appreciate the threat.

"I'm not," she starts to say, then trails off. Clearly, reason isn't going to work here. It was just a sketch isn't going to work. She huffs, squaring her shoulders and facing him head on. "No one's this paranoid unless they have something to hide. Whatever you're afraid of people finding out, I don't care. Is that good enough for you?"

"You deaf, or did you hear about the so-called Beast hanging around?" He crosses his arms, unimpressed with the latent implication. "As far as I'm concerned, everyone's suspect until we can get a better handle on what it is and how it works. Someone who watches other people lands number one on my suspect list."

Fingers stained with ink and charcoal, scribbling myriad nothings on walls and crackling paper, looming words and rough drawings of trees and tall men draped over every possible surface, ALWAYS WATCHES, NO EYES, SEES ME, AT THE TOWER, message after message left for himself as he rolls sleeplessly on a sagging mattress, springs groaning, heart pounding, throat dry, palms slick with cool sweat. Nothing would ward it off but the symbol, the ever-present circle with the X carved through it, and there was a tautness in his chest and a breathlessness in his lungs he couldn't shake no matter what he did.

The Puppet's brow creases, a flicker of suppressed memory, and then he wrenches himself back to the clear-cut present. That has nothing to do with it. His own paranoia has nothing to do with it. He has to watch out for the Beast, and this chick has ended up on his suspect list. It's objective. It has nothing to do with his own experiences. Nothing.

The Princess can barely believe her ears. Is this happening? Is this real life? How can someone possibly get this upset over a harmless drawing? They've barely begun to talk and already accusations are being thrown around. This is not how she imagined her night would go.

"I heard about the Beast," she replies, nearly scoffing. She's been the one trying to keep people away from its dwelling. "Which is why I've been trying to keep everyone inside. It's in the forest. It isn't here."

She hopes. It hadn't occurred to her that maybe the Beast could be among them, waiting, biding its time. The truth is that they know so little about it, that the Pilgrim's announcement could have been lacking in detail. If her worrywart survival instincts hadn't already kicked in, they have now.

"Whoever— whatever you think I am? I'm not. Your list is wrong... and if you took a second to work with someone else instead of turning against them, maybe you'd actually figure things out."

His lip curls in a faint sneer, scoffing, one staunch denial away from a declaration of, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing a Beast would say. He's not paranoid. He's not paranoid! This is a perfectly acceptable amount of suspicion to be leveraging against anyone he deems shady enough to be a Beast.

"Just watch yourself. That's all I'm saying. Find a willing muse if you're really that eager to be an ar-teest." He punctuates that with the scornful, exaggerated flourish of a hand.

You'd be an artiste too, if you'd been in solitary confinement with nothing else to do, she thinks of saying, but it really doesn't help her case. It's beyond frustrating to take this. Back home, she'd been somebody. She'd mattered, at least enough to get a little respect. Here, she has some guy giving her lip over a drawing. It's like she's back to the beginning all over again, when everyone laughed at her instead of listening. The beginning isn't a fun place to be.

"What do you want, an apology?" It's clear she thinks it's ridiculous. "Fine. I'm sorry. I'll make sure to keep you out of all my drawings."

It would have sounded more sincere had she not been so huffy about it. As it is, it's more like a kid being forced to apologize to their sibling. "You have my picture. We're even."

"Great." The Puppet turns away, having pretty much worn out his uncalled-for, paranoid, aggressive welcome. Stupid. Stupid. There was no reason to tear into this chick based on an impulse that doesn't even linger in his fingers anymore ~~fingers that itch to draw the symbol on every surface and scrap of paper they can find~~ but, whatever. He nipped that thoroughly in the bud.

He's more than ready to dissolve into the crowd and (hopefully) never show up in the same vicinity as this lady ever again.

He brings two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute. "See you never."

This has been... incredibly strange. Never before has she met someone so combative, and she's met wild savages who spear people who cross the border into their territory. She raises an eyebrow at his salute, mouth twisting into a wry grin.

"You won't see me," she says, dry and deadpan. "But I'll see you."

She's owed at least a small laugh after this conversation. It's only right.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

option a hope this is ok

it sure is c:

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject