Victor Frankenstein (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lifeskills) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2014-11-01 11:19 pm
lifeskills) wrote in entrancelogs2014-11-01 11:19 pm
OPEN | and the moon gazed on my midnight labours
Who: Victor Frankenstein (lifeskills) and whoever!
Where: Basement, caverns, and the library.
When: Oct. 30th, 31st, and Nov. 1st.
Rating: Let's go with PG-13 just to be safe, IDK.
Summary: He's no explorer, but he is a chronic insomniac with time to kill and he can't hide in his room forever, strangeness or no strangeness. Poking around is better than nothing.
The Story:
Basement/Caverns
[It doesn't take Victor long to start feeling the loss of hearth and home. It's more than just existing in a land dredged up from the depths of the human imagination, it's the loss of smaller, mundane things. A familiar workspace. His clothes. His books, his notes, his materials... Unadventurous and unfulfilled though it may seem to some, those bits of flotsam had made up the whole of his life. His hands don't know what to do with themselves without something familiar to touch, to do. He is his work and has been for a long while. As far as abductions go, this one is particularly hard to fathom for all the freedom it grants without the one ultimate liberty: being able to leave. He misses Caliban least of all, but even the task he'd assigned himself in his monster's name had been his choice. A purpose.
Here his sole purpose seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's not a fan of this waiting game, aimless as it is.
While Vanessa takes her rest, Victor is restless. His senses are too raw for him to eat or sleep, and that imbues him with a false courage, enough to propel him out of their room alone. Wandering isn't a habit he's indulged in since boyhood, but it comes naturally, driven by curiosity and a need to do something that isn't just pacing the length of his room. Anything he finds he can report back to Vanessa, and that is of benefit to them both.
Despite his better judgement, he ends up spending time outside their shared lodgings longer than he intends, whiling away the night hours. Before too long, his evaluation of the mansion takes him down floor by floor, to the ballroom, to the kitchen, down halls that never seem to end, and finally down the stairs into the basement.
On the first night, he doesn't stay longer than a minute. On the second, he hunts down the source of the generator hum and adds it to the notes he's already started to compile in a small notebook.
On the third, after danger fails to appear to rip him into shreds and no horde of white-haired blood-eaters swarm him, he returns with the notebook and a lantern to test his luck a little further. Maybe it's simply a desire to reconstitute his notes and have something of comfort around him, but he finds marking down the caverns' first few turns on paper provides a fruitful labor. Tentative at first, Victor doesn't mean to venture very far into the dark maw under the stairs, but it's the same sort of lie he'd told himself when he'd considered giving up his research after the Monster's birth. His need to know overrides good sense. A left turns into another, which turns into another, which turns into the beginnings of a map.]
Library
[The mansion is as lavish as he's ever seen, there can be no denying that, but Victor doesn't come to appreciate much of it until the library. Ah, the library. It puts the "wonder" in Wonderland. Once Victor stumbles across it for the first time, the sharp, metallic edge of tension that characterizes his days softens just a bit.
Books have been some of his only companions over the course of his life; they've filled the roles of friend, colleague, and mentor. They give, not take. If there's a place outside of the surgical room where he's in his element, it's in a place of knowledge. He supposes he has to take what he can get, all else aside. If what he and Vanessa have heard about this new land is to be believed, the discomfort of being in it is of the pervasive and long-lasting variety.
One needs small comforts where one can find them.
During the days, people may find this well-dressed lad making a concentrated effort to hunt down the library so he can walk the aisles, running his fingers along book spines. It's not just for the aesthetic pleasure; he finds the publication dates of material more bewildering the more items he finds from centuries not his own. Amazing how all life in the universe had seemed to stop at the year 1891.]
lifeskills) and whoever!Where: Basement, caverns, and the library.
When: Oct. 30th, 31st, and Nov. 1st.
Rating: Let's go with PG-13 just to be safe, IDK.
Summary: He's no explorer, but he is a chronic insomniac with time to kill and he can't hide in his room forever, strangeness or no strangeness. Poking around is better than nothing.
The Story:
Basement/Caverns
[It doesn't take Victor long to start feeling the loss of hearth and home. It's more than just existing in a land dredged up from the depths of the human imagination, it's the loss of smaller, mundane things. A familiar workspace. His clothes. His books, his notes, his materials... Unadventurous and unfulfilled though it may seem to some, those bits of flotsam had made up the whole of his life. His hands don't know what to do with themselves without something familiar to touch, to do. He is his work and has been for a long while. As far as abductions go, this one is particularly hard to fathom for all the freedom it grants without the one ultimate liberty: being able to leave. He misses Caliban least of all, but even the task he'd assigned himself in his monster's name had been his choice. A purpose.
Here his sole purpose seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's not a fan of this waiting game, aimless as it is.
While Vanessa takes her rest, Victor is restless. His senses are too raw for him to eat or sleep, and that imbues him with a false courage, enough to propel him out of their room alone. Wandering isn't a habit he's indulged in since boyhood, but it comes naturally, driven by curiosity and a need to do something that isn't just pacing the length of his room. Anything he finds he can report back to Vanessa, and that is of benefit to them both.
Despite his better judgement, he ends up spending time outside their shared lodgings longer than he intends, whiling away the night hours. Before too long, his evaluation of the mansion takes him down floor by floor, to the ballroom, to the kitchen, down halls that never seem to end, and finally down the stairs into the basement.
On the first night, he doesn't stay longer than a minute. On the second, he hunts down the source of the generator hum and adds it to the notes he's already started to compile in a small notebook.
On the third, after danger fails to appear to rip him into shreds and no horde of white-haired blood-eaters swarm him, he returns with the notebook and a lantern to test his luck a little further. Maybe it's simply a desire to reconstitute his notes and have something of comfort around him, but he finds marking down the caverns' first few turns on paper provides a fruitful labor. Tentative at first, Victor doesn't mean to venture very far into the dark maw under the stairs, but it's the same sort of lie he'd told himself when he'd considered giving up his research after the Monster's birth. His need to know overrides good sense. A left turns into another, which turns into another, which turns into the beginnings of a map.]
Library
[The mansion is as lavish as he's ever seen, there can be no denying that, but Victor doesn't come to appreciate much of it until the library. Ah, the library. It puts the "wonder" in Wonderland. Once Victor stumbles across it for the first time, the sharp, metallic edge of tension that characterizes his days softens just a bit.
Books have been some of his only companions over the course of his life; they've filled the roles of friend, colleague, and mentor. They give, not take. If there's a place outside of the surgical room where he's in his element, it's in a place of knowledge. He supposes he has to take what he can get, all else aside. If what he and Vanessa have heard about this new land is to be believed, the discomfort of being in it is of the pervasive and long-lasting variety.
One needs small comforts where one can find them.
During the days, people may find this well-dressed lad making a concentrated effort to hunt down the library so he can walk the aisles, running his fingers along book spines. It's not just for the aesthetic pleasure; he finds the publication dates of material more bewildering the more items he finds from centuries not his own. Amazing how all life in the universe had seemed to stop at the year 1891.]
no subject
He could take a sharp tongue, not bothered by mere words, but the people he'd met had been responding to something deeper than his appearance. Something in his name. Frankenstein.
Victor lacks an inflated ego about himself--at least where his physicality is concerned. He'd be the first to admit his features from boyhood to adulthood had been neither exceptionally pleasing to the eye nor exceptionally unpleasing; his mind and his will had always been his greatest strengths, not his outward aspect. If there's an ugliness, it's beneath the skin in that playground of mind and spirit.
He spends an irrational second thinking that's what she means, having seen it like an ink stain on a shirt.]
I could say the same. [Rationally, he suspects she means nothing by it. Or that he's odd, which is next to nothing.] I'd be curious to know who sets the standard.
[He spares a look for her pants. His tone suggests he's not convinced it's her or the others like her who dress and act so unlike himself, but why these people have gathered here is a question he also has yet to answer.]
no subject
Being an Original vampire meant power. It meant inspiring fear.
She lets out a brief and unassuming hmm as she steps forward, watching with some amusement as he gives that pointed look. His own manner of dress is familiar to her; it's been a long while since she's seen it firsthand, but she remembers it well. She'd been rather fond of the era in question.]
Truth be told, there doesn't seem to be one. No single standard that each and every captive is held to and measured against. Disorderly and unseemly.
[That seems to be how Wonderland likes to do most things, she's noticed. Chaotic.]
Do you have a name? It's rude not to introduce yourself when meeting a lady.
no subject
He turns the light out and away from himself to conceal the way interest in his identity--a thing of little import only a few days ago--causes a more grim thoughtfulness to hood his gaze. Giving the most intimate half of his name and only that half sits sits uncomfortably with him, but to give his full name risks further scrutiny, a thing he'd rather see deflected somewhere else.]
There's a standard for manners? I thought there were none to speak of.
[Though her own forthright way gives him room to quip, it doesn't change that there is a marked difference between entertaining a man and a woman. She wins, but only because it would be a pointless fight.]
Victor. A, if the professional title pleases you more. ["Doctor" does just as well as anything else. He can't imagine his first name being used in maintaining tepid acquaintances with people who aren't even close to him.] Pleased to make your acquaintance.
[That done, it's just a matter of waiting for the next opportunity to excuse himself.]
no subject
A doctor.
[Something that takes quite a bit of work and dedication, she knows that much, even if such pursuits were never of much interest to her or her brothers. She looks thoughtful for a moment; they've several doctors here, all different sorts, and for a brief moment she wonders what they all must think of one another. Surely they don't all see eye-to-eye.]
Rebekah Mikaelson. No fancy title to flaunt, unfortunately.
[As though she needs one to think highly of herself.]
A doctor of what, might I ask?
no subject
We wouldn't do the job well if we let ourselves feel as self-important as you make it sound. And as it is, the natural sciences don't seem to hold much of a position of honor here.
[Though pride is surely one of his flaws, he doesn't intend to sound like he's bragging; it isn't worth antagonizing a conversation partner who seems to have no problems being barefaced with her thoughts. His interests had bade him enter into the surgeon's trade with the physician's knowledge, which could indeed earn respect if applied in the right circles, but without the physician's prestige and salary at his back, his reputation is not much to boast about.
If he does have a reputation for something, it's not for the kind of work he wants to be known for.]
But surgery is my specialty. [If someone cares to ask, he has no reason to withhold such information.] Now that we've been introduced, does that allay your concerns about my suspicious character? Or is that a common problem in these parts?
[It's a tenuous position to take when most people should be asleep at this time of night, but he finds it hard to believe he's any more out of place in the caves than her.]
no subject
[Wonderland was indeed a place comprised entirely of chaos and whimsy, of magic that could never be trusted or relied upon, as was often the case. Now and then, however, it seemed that people got hurt badly enough that no amount of help from the closets could cure their ills, and they certainly honored the natural sciences then.
Something about his response causes her to smirk; he's a difficult read, and she can't quite tell if he's stubborn or monotonously flippant or somewhere in between, but she finds herself amused all the same.]
If that was all it took to banish someone's concerns, darling, we'd none of us have any sense of self-preservation.
[Translation: no, but that's adorable that you think so.]
no subject
But this is Wonderland, as they say. Riddles and verbal sparring are supposed to be part of the tale.]
So... common, I should assume.
[There's a touch of sarcasm in the reply, given that he'd already had his fair share of danger and intrigue before stepping through a seam in the universe. Self-preservation he's finding is becoming more and more difficult.
On top of that, he's no threat himself. The idea that he would be makes him want to laugh at the last few months and the tiring cat-and-mouse struggle against the Monster and other supernatural creatures. He doesn't, of course, but dark humor colors his next response all the same.]
Well, no need for you to stay in suspense. I won't keep you from your business.
no subject
[She smiles thinly, and it comes out decidedly unpleasant.]
Through no fault of your own, I assure you. Perhaps time and experience will prove you to be someone unworthy of suspicion, but as things stand now, any unfamiliar face is one to be wary of here. Or, truth be told, anywhere else.
[Including hers, she'll admit. She's certainly no saint, though these days it takes a bit more provocation for that reveal to be made.]
And I suppose I shan't keep you from yours.
no subject
Not an unreasonable way of thinking.
[He doesn't much care how someone had come to adopt such a guarded stance, either way; less so someone who throws so many barbs and expects him to field them. Other pursuits claim his attention.]
Good morning, then.
[The goodbye is said with a sense of humor, running on the sardonic side. Putting a civilized gloss over an untenable is a bit like putting a mule in a dress.]