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entrancelogs2016-01-07 12:07 pm
nascensibility) wrote in entrancelogs2016-01-07 12:07 pm
[OPEN] and you may ask yourself
Who: Evelyn O'Connell & YOU!
Where: The library, halls, kitchen, parlors, outside grounds - any public space.
When: Night/Early morning of January 7
Rating: PG, PG-13 at most
Summary: Evelyn has always had the occasional nightmares, mild hallucinations, and sleepwalking problems ever since she came to the conclusion she was a reincarnated princess, but there's something to be said for locking your door when prone to somnambulism.
The Story:
She never used to dream as much as she does now, vivid and sharp. On more than one occasion before Rick's arrival Evelyn has found herself on her balcony, in the foyer of her rooms, with no memory of how she got there.
Before her death they had been wildly distracting, a reprieve from the night terrors of old but no less concerning: another person in another time, memories seeping into her mind like dark, insidious floodwaters, emotions that did not belong to her. The wrenching pain, happiness, fear of someone else.
They had rationalized it as a past life, as if the explanation itself were a rational one.
With the smoke of torches in her eyes, lotus and honey thick on her tongue, in her hair, she slips from a bed of linen and carved wood - Hathor's image, wide and loving and lush. Lamps burning oil perfumed with blossoms from the Nile's bank, hold steady light in a chamber of swirling heat. In the far distance the sem'ayt play drums and cymbals, ney-pipes accompanying a carnal beat.
Bare feet brushing carpet and chilled wood, dressed in precious little else but a nightgown and absent the source of warmth still under the sheets, Evelyn sways in place for a moment in the bedroom, seeing and not seeing in the wake of so much loss. A new year and new hurt to compartmentalise, to measure, and she feels the pull of the music that isn't there. Her fingertips trail over a sideboard; she leaves the room.
A decoration of scented fat seeps slowly through her wig, melting into the fibers and dripping down her back, following the curve of her spine. She has become less circumspect of late, alone in the wide expanse of halls. A power in her own right as designated by the gods, by Pharaoh-and-Egypt, her father dotes but knows the will of his sloe-eyed daughter, his favored child.
The pipes are louder now, as she moves to the great hall and nods to the attendants to reach for the handles of the entrance, intricate cobras to mimic the form of Wadjet.
With her chin held high, visualising nothing but alabaster and flame, Evelyn turns the knob and pushes the door
Open.
[NOTE: Feel free to literally encounter her anywhere she might get to that isn't locked, and this is including outside, although it'll be cold as a witch's tit because it's still January. She can be startled to wakefulness but will also be incredibly confused!
Please specify preferred location of interaction in tag headers.]
Where: The library, halls, kitchen, parlors, outside grounds - any public space.
When: Night/Early morning of January 7
Rating: PG, PG-13 at most
Summary: Evelyn has always had the occasional nightmares, mild hallucinations, and sleepwalking problems ever since she came to the conclusion she was a reincarnated princess, but there's something to be said for locking your door when prone to somnambulism.
The Story:
She never used to dream as much as she does now, vivid and sharp. On more than one occasion before Rick's arrival Evelyn has found herself on her balcony, in the foyer of her rooms, with no memory of how she got there.
Before her death they had been wildly distracting, a reprieve from the night terrors of old but no less concerning: another person in another time, memories seeping into her mind like dark, insidious floodwaters, emotions that did not belong to her. The wrenching pain, happiness, fear of someone else.
They had rationalized it as a past life, as if the explanation itself were a rational one.
Bare feet brushing carpet and chilled wood, dressed in precious little else but a nightgown and absent the source of warmth still under the sheets, Evelyn sways in place for a moment in the bedroom, seeing and not seeing in the wake of so much loss. A new year and new hurt to compartmentalise, to measure, and she feels the pull of the music that isn't there. Her fingertips trail over a sideboard; she leaves the room.
The pipes are louder now, as she moves to the great hall and nods to the attendants to reach for the handles of the entrance, intricate cobras to mimic the form of Wadjet.
With her chin held high, visualising nothing but alabaster and flame, Evelyn turns the knob and pushes the door
[NOTE: Feel free to literally encounter her anywhere she might get to that isn't locked, and this is including outside, although it'll be cold as a witch's tit because it's still January. She can be startled to wakefulness but will also be incredibly confused!
Please specify preferred location of interaction in tag headers.]
no subject
"No imposition," he says, flashing her a friendly grin. "Me an' the bar are well acquainted. I reckon I'll be forgiven for leavin'."
No doubt she's shaken, but he'll not see her off alone wearing just her nightgown.
no subject
"...are you new here?" she finally asks tentatively, curiously. Shaking off the veil of dreamtime is no simple matter, but concentrating on a subject that requires her full attention may serve her better than any cup of coffee might. The kind of person who spends the wee hours of their morning in the bar certainly hasn't adjusted to any decent circadian rhythm.
"I've- been here for some time, and we haven't met until...until now."
no subject
".. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." It feels like he's been here a while, but when he really thinks about it, it can't be more than a few months. "I keep a low profile. Me an' Oscar here."
The dog huffs, a sharp sound exhaled from his nose.