entrancelogs | Christmas isn't a season.

i. entrance hall

Told y' not t' jump in that snowdrift. Now look at y'.

[Dan is sitting by the front door of the mansion with his dog, Oscar. The fur sections of the animal are damp and still showing clumps of snow in some places, but the metallic parts are what the man is currently concentrating on. He's rubbing a towel over the chilly, damp steel, making sure to remove every last drop of icy water from the surface and joints. While he does this, he occasionally shakes his head and sighs, muttering to himself.

At one of the rear paws, he stops and leans in close, letting out a soft, entirely PG-rated curse.]

An' now yer rustin' on me? Mph. Okay, no more walks fer you 'til we get y' water-proofed.

ii. kitchen

Gotta be an idiot t' think eatin' these'll lead t' anythin' good.
[As one of the lucky ones not particularly affected by a desire to eat the cookies which have magically appeared around the mansion, Dan is instead suspiciously examining one as he leans against the kitchen counter with a cup of tea already made beside him.

(Wouldn't have normally been his sort of thing, tea, but over his year and a half relationship with Evelyn he has definitely developed a taste for it.)

He puts the cookie down, then pointedly washes his hands to remove any risk of contamination. After that, he picks up his tea and leans back against the counter, taking a small sip of the strong Assam blend. He glances to the next person who walks in, giving a small sideways nod towards the basket of assorted cookies beside his elbow.]

Seen anythin' a' what these things 're gonna do to us, yet?

iii. second floor corridor

[He noticed the small crack in the mirror, first. So used to them being perfect reflective surfaces, it's the odd flaw that draws his attention and only when he draws closer does he notice the peculiar, fragile quality of the entire mirror itself. Dan lifts a hand and traces the crack with one fingertip, narrowing his eyes slightly.]

What in the...

[His fingertip presses down slightly, then he jolts back as the action forces the small crack to abruptly shoot across the entire width of the mirror. A moment later, half of it falls away in a single chunk and shatters in a shower of what looks very much like sugar-glass.]

... heck?

Edited 2017-12-17 20:06 (UTC)

i. the grounds

[There's little use in shooting animals here, but right now, while he's out with his bow, Nathaniel is careful to not even shoot one by accident. Any of the creatures scampering through the snow might actually be people, and even if no permanent harm will come to them the rogue would rather not make a repeat of the time that he accidentally shot Knight-Commander Cullen. That was something that he would not soon be forgetting.

The snow muffles his steps in a way that nothing else can, and he moves through it without a single crunch under his feet. In his hand is a large bow carved from a single piece of wood holding an almost blueish tone - entirely unique, no doubt. When he reaches a few targets set up by himself against the tree line of the forest, he sets his quiver by his feet and checks the bow for any harm the cold might be doing to it. It's a cursory check for a bow of such exquisite make, but one made regardless.

In all honesty, he feels rather lucky that it wasn't turned into a biscuit along with what seems like almost everything else in the mansion.]

ii. entrance hall/ground floor

[In the ground level of the mansion, a very agitated-looking arctic hare is jumping around. It doesn't appear to entirely know what to do with itself, or to entirely know how to be an arctic hare, and it keeps trying to approach people with what could definitely be called a worried expression.

For as much as an arctic hare is capable of looking worried.

Around an hour later, said arctic hare turns back into one Nathaniel Howe, who sits in the middle of the entrance hall looking more than a little stunned before he scrambles abruptly to his feet.]

Don't eat those-- [He says immediately to the nearest person who looks like they're about to dip into a basket of cookies.] No matter how much you might want to. It's... just not worth the headache.

iii. kitchen

[Nathaniel never truly did spend much time in the kitchens when he still lived with his mother and father, nor did he when he was squired under Ser Varley, but that doesn't mean he didn't manage to pick up a few things in his time with the Grey Wardens. Learning to fend for oneself is a necessity when no one else will do it for you, but there are one or two things beyond the basics that he managed to pick up over the years.

One of them is currently filling the kitchen with the scent of red wine and spices as he uses one of the hobs to gently heat some of the alcohol, carefully adding to it as it heats up.

Any curious looks are met with a small lift of his eyebrows, and a smaller smile.]

If you'd care to wait, you can try it. [He hasn't made it for a while, but he thinks it's about right.] A few minutes more, I think.

Edited 2017-12-17 21:44 (UTC)

i. gardens

[Regis, as a higher vampire, has always had a particular affinity for birds. Ravens and other corvids in particular - their intelligence makes them fine conversationalists - but now and then he finds that other species can offer a pleasant diversion. That, then, is undoubtedly what anyone in the gardens might find him doing. He sits on a bench with one of the spun-sugar birds on the tip of his finger, quietly murmuring to it as it looks at him with one bright, beady eye.

It isn't what one might call riveting conversation, but it's amusing in its own way. The bird has very few cares save for the weather and the season in its small, spun-sugar brain and can't tell him very much at all, but he listens to it regardless.

Should someone come close, the bird hops nervously but doesn't fly away. Regis glances from the sugar-creature to the newcomer and smiles amicably.]

Not to worry, they won't hurt you.

[Hard to tell if he's talking to the person.. or the bird.]

ii. dining room

[He doesn't need to eat anything, but it hasn't made him immune to the temptation of the strange cookies that have appeared in the mansion. The fact that he doesn't need to eat, however, seems to have dulled the worst of it and he's been able to push it back to what is mostly curiosity. In the dining room, he picks up a cookie and turns it over between his fingers, humming curiously.

Very interesting.]

I dislike having magical impulses imposed upon me at the best of times. [Regis murmurs aloud, pointedly breaking the cookie in half. Part of his mind does want to try it, but he's determinedly working against that impulse.]

But this just seems so terribly rude.

iii. entrance hall

[The vampire stands by one of the windows near the entrance hall, quietly considering the 'invite' in his hand. It's late, and the number had recently ticked down to the next, and he finds himself wondering if he really wants to attend such a gathering when it's so clearly linked to the recent events that have fallen on the mansion.

How could they possibly trust such an invitation?]

Hm. [Regis murmurs to himself, tilting his head towards the window and looking to the snow blanketing the gardens outside.] ... Curiouser and curiouser.

Edited 2017-12-17 20:34 (UTC)

i. ground floor

[He's at a window, staring at the snow with an entirely baleful expression. Snow. Why does it always have to be snow? And not just a sprinkling of snow but inches of the stuff. The kind of thing that would grind London to a halt. He feels cold just looking at it, and turns up the collar of his coat with a disgruntled sound.]

Utterly ridiculous. [The demon complains to himself. And if this wasn't bad enough, there's the Mirrors, and the blessed cookies littered around the place turning people into Disney princesses and bastions of charity and really, it's enough to make a demon's skin crawl right off.]

This can't be over soon enough.

[Just call him Scrooge and get it over with.]

ii. deux lux

[As if he wasn't making it completely clear that he doesn't want any part of any of this particular season, a great portion of Ewaymas will find Crowley sat in Lucifer's bar, nursing his way though an apparently never-ending glass of something that looks a lot like whiskey but feels like it's burning the hairs out of your nose if you breathe in too close to it.

He doesn't look up if anyone approaches him, but he does speak.]

If you're going to offer to help me with something, wish me a 'Merry Christmas', or - God forbid - start singing, kindly go and boil your head before I do it for you. I'm sure I can manage to find a way to make it unpleasant.

[The likelihood of that is quite low at the moment, but he would really, really try.]

iii. music room

[On the occasional late evening, there's music coming from the music room. The sound of a bow being drawn across the strings of a violin, filtering out through the crack of an opening left in the door when Crowley entered. Everything in here has been turned into some kind of candy or biscuit, but the instrument that he had summoned into his room some time ago and then promptly forgotten about seems to have escaped the inconvenient enchantment.

At the moment, with his nerves so inexplicably frayed by the current levels of festive cheer, it's a soothing hobby to pick back up again. The notes that flow from the instrument are initially unpracticed and not without a few unpleasant squeaks, but with no one to cricise his non-performance he doesn't take much time to pick up where he left off so many decades ago.

The moment that someone walks through the door, however, he stops and lowers the violin from his shoulder with a slight narrowing of his eyes.]

Something I can help you with?

Edited 2017-12-17 20:58 (UTC)

i. tea rooms

[In the tea rooms sits a very... not-quite-alive-looking young man with dark hair, who is very slowly crumbling one of the enchanted cookies into the smallest crumbs he can manage on the small plate in front of him. He doesn't really have any desire to eat it - it would only taste like cardboard anyway - but he isn't entirely sure why he started to break it up in the way he's doing right now save for the fact that it smells kind of nice in a way he was so sure he wouldn't be able to detect.

He looks up as someone enters the room, then looks down again, trying to make himself as unremarkable as possible in the hopes that they won't really notice him there... or won't think anything of it if they do. After being in the mansion for a few months R has admitted his particular 'condition' to a number of people and a surprising few of them have taken it badly, but for the ones who still treated him like he was some kind of threat... he would prefer to continue to avoid their interest.

If he doesn't know them, R presses his hands down on either side of the plate and stands, making sure to keep his balance. As he walks across the room he concentrates very hard on not stumbling, and the door moves closer with every step forwards.

Just act natural, R. Act natural.

However, if he does know the person who walks in, he looks at them with a timid smile and pushes the crumb-covered plate away from him with a small motion of one hand. It's definitely not weird that he just spent twenty minutes making a small mess on a plate, is it?]

ii. hallways/etc

[The reason that R is softly humming to himself could well be because he caved and ate one of the cookies, but when you listen closely he isn't following the tune of anything festive, but rather humming snatches of jazz tunes as he walks the halls and corridors of the mansion.

Sometimes, he pauses half way through a 'line' and stops mid-step, a small frown on his face. He'll repeat the first part, slowly, and sometimes continue but sometimes fail to remember what comes next. When the latter happens, he simply switches to something else.

If you know what he was trying to remember, maybe you'll help a guy out?]

iii. the gardens

[R stands in the snow, not feeling the cold, and looks up at the sky for far longer than anyone would ordinarily concentrate on such a mundane thing. The snow seems to fascinate him - as do the small spun-sugar birds and the various other delicate things now turned even more delicate by being turned into candy - and he explores the gardens like a deer taking its first steps, leaving a trail of footprints behind him.

When he's made his way around the entirety of the gardens and has criss-crossed through them a couple of times, he sits down on a snow-covered bench and clasps his hands in his lap. Dressed in little more than a pair of jeans and a shirt, his red tie creating an all-too-visible splash of colour against the snow and his own pale shape, he doesn't shiver at all--

Until he suddenly does.

The zombie draws in a single sharp breath and, just for a moment, wraps his arms tightly around himself. It's gone as quickly as it happened, but it's happened before...

R sits very still, waiting for it to happen again.]

Edited 2017-12-17 22:10 (UTC)

i. fourth floor corridor

[The corridor is empty when a man with dark hair and green eyes wary behind his sunglasses pokes his head out from the wrong side of a mirror. He looks one way, then the other, then carefully steps out entirely and looks back over his shoulder, catching his lip between his teeth for a moment.

That invitation meant everyone, and everyone includes him, even if he can never be entirely sure just how much the queen knows about where his allegiances really lie.

Crowley's mirror looks almost entirely like him. He dresses in a smart suit, though the shoes are black rather than snakeskin, and while he does wear the same style of sunglasses the eyes behind them are a sharp green, the pupils rounded rather than the snake-slits of his demonic counterpart. This is an angel, a version of Crowley who never Fell at all, and his name is Gadreel.]

Ah... [Gadreel says softly, looking up and down the corridor once again. He straightens his jacket and allows himself a small half-smile.] How lovely.

ii. gardens

[After he picks his way carefully down several flights of stairs and out into the entrance hall, Crowley's mirror goes outside. There, he stands near the door in utter enchantment of what he sees outside, with his hands clasped together in front of him and an entirely delighted smile on his face. The snow, the colours, everything about it is just so... wonderful, and so unlike the mirror side that he almost wishes he could come over more often without pushing his Real into taking his place.

Crowley himself might have had no such principles, but Gadreel is no Crowley.

He runs his fingertips along a wall, digging shallowly into the snow with his fingertips, then sets off into the garden proper. Everything about it appears to draw him in and he spends far longer than most people would just looking at... well, everything.]

Edited 2017-12-17 20:07 (UTC)

Dan Palmer | OTA

Nathaniel Howe | OTA

Regis | OTA

Crowley | OTA

R | OTA

Mirror!Crowley | OTA