entrancelogs | [OPEN] and you may ask yourself

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[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.]

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Alex doesn't sleep much these days. He never slept well before, mind, because things still nag at him. No matter how he rationalizes, no matter how he spins through every cycle of his past behavior, there's no dismissing the screams in his head as he left each and every one of them to die. He led them into those cracked, fragmenting places and left them. He knew what he was doing. He knew why he had to do it. He had to make sure.

He's not in the mood for waking up in a cold sweat tonight, so he tugs on a thick jacket, retrieves his communication device, and asks the closet for a camera. It gives him an older model, one of the kinds that runs on tapes, but that's fine, he's used to it, and tapes tend to have a finer, more cinematic quality than the newer, sleeker cameras with their higher frame rates and holy god he just really doesn't want to think about how he's going to venture outside and just wander aimlessly like someone with a death wish.

He'd unlocked his door as soon as he mustered the intent to ditch sleep for the night, but he really wasn't expecting anyone to open the fucking door in the five minutes it took for him to get everything together. But open the door does, and inside steps -

"What the - " Alex jumps, nearly slamming into the closet in the process, backpedaling wildly. "What're you - get out!"

He watches the handle turn underneath his palm, a quiet squeak on every second rotation. Not any minute hand or hour hand he watches, but this. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one,eighty-two, the beans don't quite crackle like a fireplace, but the background noise is good enough. Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, he doubts he needs the full one hundred rotations every night, but what is there, if not time?

The scent of freshly ground coffee fills the air.

The clattering at his back startles him. Like wind chimes made of pots and pans. Or somebody brushing against the latter on her way into the kitchen.

"You're up quite late."

Philip doesn't usually expect her company during his more clandestine cooking hours. He looks for his watch on the counter.

"Or... quite early?"

Wirt has always been a night owl, even in his own world. At home it was proper insomnia that caused it, often exacerbated by his anxiety. Now though, he finds he can slip into (thankfully) dreamless sleep almost too easily, and falling asleep is just a thing that happens with minimal effort - the way he suspects it should be by default.

He's still prone to staying up late. He likes how quiet and empty it is at night, and there's something poetic in the silence. It's a serene world for only those who are awake to see it. ...Plus, he's been concerned that someone will realize he's been reading too many books on death lately, and he's less likely to be caught with yet another one if he goes to the library when very few people will be there.

Still, it feels like he's trespassing, even though the library doesn't have hours of operation exactly. So when he hears someone other than him enter the library, he startles badly enough that he accidentally knocks over the small stack of somewhat morbid books beside him, and then he claps his hands over his mouth before he can yelp. Maybe...maybe if he just stays like this, no one will come into this part of the library. Maybe they'll just assume they're hearing things and not investigate mysterious falling book noises.

Or...maybe he's busted. He's totally busted. He's probably not allowed in here at all. He has no idea what to do to save himself at first. It takes considerable effort, but he eventually makes his legs move and as quietly as he can he runs to hide behind the nearest chair. From there he watches as the sound of footsteps moves closer and closer.]

Similarly, Evelyn doesn't sleep much either, but this should come as no surprise when she's walking about in the middle of the night in nothing but thin bedclothes. The chill of January curls through the halls but she feels none of it, warmed by torchlight and the spice of incense.

The scent of the feast coils around her like a snake, all honeyed wines and pigeon, duck, salt. Sweetcakes and olives, bread and rich milk. Her father's revelry is accepted by the priests - with the rewards of heaven and the dark earth on the riverbanks he is permitted carnality to satiate his desires but she seeks reprieve from the ache in her temples; too much, drunk on overstimulation.

Nefertiri begs leave and departs, sweeping aside another curtain-

"Oh- I- I...oh my god."

Blinking rapidly, clearly shocked into wakefulness and feeling ill - suddenly so ill, and so cold - Evelyn clutches herself, fingers wrapped around her arms and stumbles back. Her shoulder slams into the jamb and she cries out again in surprise, looking very much the startled deer, chest heaving.

"Where- Wh-Where am I?"

Edited 2016-01-08 06:14 (UTC)

Another smell drifts into the mint, the lettuce, the fish - a spread to rival the main course, in which she did not partake - but it is bitter, acrid. Warm, but strong in the way that a sweet beer is strong, almost intoxicating. Nefertiri pauses by a small table, fingertips resting on carved wood-

-and twitching as she stares blankly, past Philip, into the middle distance. The chimes behind her, pipes and small cymbals, die down as the pots and pans settle and a voice greets her.

It is familiar, and very far away.

"Who are you," she whispers, eyes half-lidded, eyebrows furrowing.

A man who dares to speak out of turn, to address his Pharoah's precious child as though they were close.

No man has that right.

That woke her up. That also woke Alex up, because in his haste to get the fuck away he backed right up into the wall and his shoulders are now throbbing painfully from the sudden impact. He flails inelegantly, scrabbling for his phone, his camera, anything that might serve as an improvised weapon, and comes up empty.

"Wh - you're in my room." And now that he has a minute to process...wow, talk about the world's least threatening intrusion. Just some lady wandering into his room in the middle of the damn night, you know, totally normal. "Did you, uh - are you, like, in the next room over, or - because I can understand the confusion, all right, it's a big place, lotsa rooms, right?"

He's talking frantically, almost babbling, because she looks kind of scared and he doesn't want to bite her head off but his heart is still doing a hundred miles per hour and his mouth seems to be wanting to keep up.

Suddenly, violently aware of her state of undress Evelyn folds her arms tighter over her chest, grateful she'd chosen to wear a nightgown with some amount of substance. Her toes are numb, her hair spilling chilly ringlets over bare shoulders. Showing up in a stranger's bedroom in the middle of the night was not only unanticipated but unheard of - one doesn't burst rantum scantum into the chambers of a fellow resident without prior familiarity, at least.

Which is perhaps the crux of this argument: she does recognise the young man, even in shadowed light, even in the dark. A face Evelyn is certain she hasn't seen in years, and one she doubts would take well to her knowing his name.

"N-No, I...I must have been..."

Evelyn trails off, staring through him glassily for a moment.

Another long wall, covered in bright colors and chronicling the rise of Seti.

"...I'm so sorry, this...I must have been walki- sleep walking. I didn't mean to-" Flushed and disoriented she presses a palm over her mouth. "...I'm sorry."

"You sleepwalk?" He regards her warily, uncertain over that particular emotional response as well as her expression. Fear, alarm, apology - that's all there, and that's exactly what he'd expect. But is that - is that recognition?

Except he's pretty sure he's never seen this chick in his life. He's pretty sure he'd remember, too, ~~unless that's just another one of those things he forgets~~ because she's pretty striking, not to mention, well, this is a hell of a first introduction.

Alex breathes out a slow rush of a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his itching eyes. "Jesus Christ. I mean, I had the door unlocked 'cause I was about to go out, I didn't mean for anyone to - shit. Shit."

She looks upset, so he raises both hands, palms out.

"But, uh, it's no big deal, right? No big. You didn't catch me doing anything scandalous, just bad timing, it's fine, it's all good." Right, yeah. All good here. All good.

The striking woman in the silk nightgown, who under normal circumstances might chide conversational partners for an extreme use of expletives, catches her breath slowly and takes in a room that most certainly belongs to a young bachelor while said young bachelor tries to reassure her that he won't fling the nearest object at her.

It isn't messy, but it is unkempt - pieces of clothing strewn about haphazardly, a single light on, resting upon the dresser, small objects she recognises as more modern camera equipment for portable, mobile filming.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other Evelyn wishes that she had thought to retrieve a robe in her unconscious state, as the floor is very cold and her skin prickles like gooseflesh. How far had she wandered? What floor is this?

Furrowing her brow at the nearest clock she looks to him again, perplexed.

"...you were going out at three in the morning?"

Hey.

Alex's expression folds into a frown as he scowls at her. Is she judging him. Oh no, hell no, that is not how this works, she does not get to judge him when she is the one who entered his goddamn room at ass o'clock in the morning, thank you very much. He'd been thinking, you know, maybe he should offer her a jacket or something since she seems cold and that would be the polite thing to do, but look at that, that offer just went right out the window with that little comment.

"You're the one who broke in at three in the morning," he snaps. "What I do in my room is my business, all right? You just wandered in."

Great, well now he sounds incredibly shady on top of it. Way to rock a first impression, Kralie, great job. A freaking plus.

Astonishingly Evelyn is employing no judgment, but concerned that any individual who doesn't happen to be suffering from the memories of a past life would willingly subject themselves to working at three in the morning. It is difficult not to project compassion and motherly regard on younger peoples with a son of her own, bothered less by her own upset when faced with that of others.

The vehemence with which he responds is a far cry from the more understanding approach not ten seconds ago; Evelyn visibly shrinks against the jamb, already thoroughly humiliated by the fact that she'd somehow wandered out of her bedroom without her husband noticing, down a hall and into another corridor entirely, all while unconscious and in her sleepwear.

Were she not still dragging herself from discombobulation she might demonstrate reproach for rudeness, but she hardly has the right. Chastened, Evelyn mumbles another quiet my apologies and retreats, bumping into the edge of the still-open door and backing into the hall.

She might better orient herself there, to begin the shameful return to her rooms and hope that Rick hasn't yet woken up.

Aw shit, now he's scared her off. Alex hovers in indecision for a minute when she backs right out of the room, torn between vehement self-justification and unexpected regret. Not everyone can be held accountable for the things they did while asleep, without their conscious consent, and a chill rattles down his spine at the thought. He's watched enough footage of himself wandering out into the open with no memory of the experience -

No.

He's not thinking about that.

But he follows her into the hall (taking care to lock the door behind him, thanks), shoulders sagging.

"Look, I - I didn't mean - " Well, no, he really really did mean that, but she's so obviously scared and apologetic that - goddamn, well now he just feels like an asshole. "I'm sorry. I just - you took me off guard."

Jesus Christ. Why is he the one apologizing to her now?

There are nights when Nageki has trouble sleeping. Some nights, it's because of bad dreams. Memories from the past that haunt his sleep. Other nights, his thoughts and worries swirl around in his head and keep his eyes from closing. This night it's his thoughts that keep him awake.

He's looking up at the stars from the garden. He doesn't notice the cold, though the feel of snow under his feet is unmistakable. It just doesn't bother him.

It's quiet enough to hear footsteps. Though it's still too dark for Nageki to see well (this is one of the few times he'd envy human biology), he looks around. He's barely able to make out the outline of a human female off to the side.

"Do you need anything?" he asks, although he isn't sure what anyone could need in a garden.

Edited 2016-01-09 20:36 (UTC)

Sadly, Evelyn blames herself for a great many things.

Taking on the burden becomes much easier once you've made enormous mistakes, and she is aware that her curiosity almost always gets the better of her. While this particular scenario may not fall into that category, it stands to reason she would back down until she has recovered enough to tell herself that these memories are not hers, and she cannot take full responsibility for what they make her do.

Still - he follows and she almost worries that his sudden anger will manifest itself physically. (While Evelyn might be perfectly capable of defending herself from any attack, three o'clock and a near-négligée would prefer she leave peaceably.) Her back hits the opposite wall and she flinches.

"As I said, I'm- I'm very sorry, I didn't mean...to intrude. I should go, the- the hour is late, I am in no fit shape to be here-"

No fit shape at all.

"Look, I don't, uh. I don't know if you, uh, if you've got a lotta experience with this sorta thing." Advice? Is that what he's doing now? Now that his heart isn't playing Led Zeppelin's greatest hits in his chest, it's easier to dwell on the fact that it might not've been just the intrusion that alarmed him. Well, not easier. More immediate, maybe, particularly in terms of something that always exists in the abstract.

The sight had touched something horrible and familiar and he doesn't want to think about that (Philip said, he said it wasn't here so it can't be pulling anyone's strings if it's not here because it's not that powerful, it will never be that powerful, it's gone and he checked and he checked and he checked and not every sleepwalker has ties to a thing beyond their conception) but he can't leave something like this to itself.

"I - you didn't mean to, all right, I get it," the words pour out in a frantic spill and his heart thumps painfully in his ribcage, "I get it, more than you might think, okay, but sometimes - sometimes you can, if you film yourself, you can see - where you go. You can keep it from happening. Sometimes."

His mouth is dry.

Why did he say that.

Since her arrival about twenty-four hours ago, Max has had to learn a lot- about mirrors and events, and all sorts of other things she'll have to sort through for days. To start, she'd begun reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. But it was hard to make any real progress. It was just too... surreal, like she's being made fun of.

Part of her still thinks that's the case. Seriously, how much can someone's life and entire way of seeing the world change in just a handful of hours? She'd been struggling to deal with returning to normalcy back home, and now the universe throws her the strangest thing it possible can. She doesn't know how to feel about that.

But some things did carry over- whether in Oregon or in Wonderland, sleeping is still hard, especially in the dark. Too much baggage. So around midnight, she shuffled out of her room, Lewis Carroll's book stowed away in her sling bag.

The place is kind of creepy at night, but poking around is better than lying awake in bed. In her hand is her old Oregon phone- it's just about useless but she likes to keep it around- with the built-in flashlight on. Aiming it down the fifth floor hallway, she catches sight of someone- a woman. Okay... definitely creepy, she thinks. Relax, Max, it's probably someone new, like you. God I hope I don't regret this.

"Hey," she half-whispers, half-calls. "Are you lost?"

Sleep is hard to come by when you're trapped somewhere with no plan of escape, imagine that. Anders is yet another person who's had trouble relaxing the last few nights; like many people, it's a difficulty he's faced before even when he hadn't had the taint coursing through his veins, inflaming his nightmares with the putrid stench of darkspawn.

A year after being brought to the Circle, Anders had still found himself kicking his bed covers around in the middle of the night, anxiety turning his legs restless and his mind a churning sea of half-dreamed fears. To think that he'd be sleeping among strangers for the foreseeable future had been a difficult adjustment. It's no different here--he's slept in spurts not so much out of desire as out of need to keep mind and body sharp--except that he's older now, better able to control his fears.

Still unused to the bed and the sounds of the mansion shifting in the quiet of the night, Anders had woken up and dressed, creeping carefully out the door with his staff fastened snugly on his back. It would be dawn soon, safe to go looking around the grounds again.

"Safe." He has to wonder if there is such a thing. What ugliness could be lurking under this pretty facade.

He's sitting on the front steps, unfocused eyes aimed somewhere at the horizon, when the front door opens behind him. At first he thinks it's an early bird getting a jump on the day, or someone else come to sweat out their sleeplessness with a walk, but the first thing he sees upon turning around is a set of delicate toes.

Bare feet? In this temperature?

Edited 2016-01-09 20:13 (UTC)

Delicate toes are attached to delicate feet, summarily attached to a small, delicate person, who under normal circumstances would not venture outside into the chill of early January without at least four layers of clothing. A light breeze blows, catches the hem of the nightgown and she should shiver, she should, but all she feels is

Heat.

It is smothering in its fury, oppressive and thick with the lamps and stagnant air, choking her nose and lungs. Across the hall she can see Anck su-Namun, poised and polite not three seats away from Seti, head bowed. She is ignoring the meal, looking to her hands as though it absolved her of being Pharoah's favoured concubine.

The heat curls itself in the pit of her stomach and she approaches

Taking a step down and wobbling uncertainly for a moment, Evelyn lifts her chin and looks ahead. Another step. Another. Two more and frost gives way to snow, several inches thick under her and soft.

Night owl or not there are others in the dark.

In the library Evelyn sees a great hypostyle hall, columns stretching long and tall with ornate capitals, the lotus flower a curling bud to support the many lintels. Her progress is slow for the admiring, a beringed finger dragging over supposed sandstone and alabaster.

It is Egypt's domain, the God's domain
she is Egypt-touched
God-touched
it is hers.

Pausing at the edge of a wide base, a curtain and flickering light beyond in the dark she takes a careful breath. Someone is there - the Medjai know better than to hide in the shadows unless ordered, their duty to be a present show of strength comes first. Visible protection comes first.

"Tnı͗?"

Struck by surprise, Anders' gaze follows the legs up to the serene, sleep-glazed face of a woman. Luckily, from this angle he can't see up her sleeping gown, but the gossamer-thin layer of clothing standing between her and the open air is more than enough to steal his attention. Of all the things to walk out that door, he hadn't thought an under-dressed woman would be one of them. An eyebrow lifts.

"Uh, are you...?"

All right? Before he can get the words of concern out, the dark-haired woman starts forward, trance-like. Seeing she's not about to stop before she hits the chilled cold stone, Anders leaps up after her, height giving him the advantage of being able to reach the bottom of the steps in two strides.

"Hey, lady, not to interrupt, but--"

The glazed look in her eyes tells him she's not hearing him, but she's about to have some very cold feet if she goes any further. He whistles a low note to try and get her attention, stepping out ahead of her with arm extended like a guard rail to guide her back around to the open sidewalk. A sleepwalker? If so, grabbing her arm and jarring her awake might startle her too badly to be worth the effort.

Not lost, no.

Far from it, if by "lost" the girl is referring to a physical sense of place. Lost in her mind, perhaps, in someone else's memories and someone else's friends, subordinates, father. A distant part of Evelyn might find comfort in knowing that the woman she is reincarnated from lost her father too, at a young age. A distant part of Evelyn might also worry that her stubbornness isn't all that different from Nefertiri's, either.

She doesn't hear the voice calling to her, not at first, but turns toward the sound regardless. Garbled, the words are nothing but the noise of a feast, splitting bones and swallowed wine.

Evelyn looks through the girl, but begins to approach slowly.

Well, shit. Max is indeed starting to regret this. Are you kidding? Creepy as hell. This woman better not be one of those zombies she heard about. Max backs up a step, almost involuntarily, but keeps the stairs nearby so she can bolt if she needs to.

"What are you doing?" She can't keep the nervousness out of her voice, nor can she keep it at a whisper- it comes out louder than she means it to. The light on Evelyn swings back and forth as Max shakes the phone, trying to catch the woman's attention. Maybe she should have brought some form of self-defense. Like a taser, because that would definitely end well.

She is not all right.

The priest of Osiris, the god for whom the festivities are held, stands quietly next to Seti and rarely - so rarely - glances askance, down the row to the concubine with the painted flesh. In this attire she is not permitted to touch herself, a gift of Egypt-on-earth for Pharaoh to consume and rightly so.

Her birthright is one of sweat and dirt, a long-limbed girl from the fields with no claim to a lavish life. She is not made of Re.

Evelyn pauses, transfixed by something in the distance as the soles of her feet grow cold beneath her. Listlessly her arms hang at her sides and her brow furrows, suddenly hurt pricking angry tears at the edges of her eyes.

The priest and the concubine look at each other too often. Seti does not know.

"...tiyu."

Perhaps if this were an average walk in the gardens at a reasonable hour with coats, hats, and scarves, it would only seem slightly unusual to encounter an enormous mourning dove. This is, however, neither a normal time of day, nor is it a time when Evelyn has her own wits about her, which is why she's walking through a planter of foxgloves, running her fingertips over the coiled petals in her nightgown.

The Nile does not abut her chambers but a small allowance was made in the bathing room, water siphoned in through a system of channels. It is accessible throughout the whole of the royal complex but this one is hers, the edges lined with planters of lilies and soft grasses, a breeze catching the swath of linen hanging over her head.

Downriver, far downriver she can hear the crews in their boats, preparing for another hunt. The hippopotami are large this year.

Evelyn hears nothing.

It's not Faith's business.

It's not. Who knows what kinda ridiculous bullshit the mansion could be pulling on her? Hell, she could trigger another bad trip somehow. So it's definitely not her business.

The inner monologue works for a few paces, as she walks toward the library woman, Faith's favorite axe hanging at her side. Her feet slow down without permission, and her eyes track as Sleeping Walky comes closer and closer -- as if both lost and completely at home here.

So Faith waves. An awkward almost-salute that she instantly lets drop. She could count that as a try and just truck on back to her room, now. Oh yeah I saw her, couldn't wake her up. Too bad she sleepwalked off the roof, yeah.

"Hey, lady. Uhhh-- Edith?" she says, volume lower than she'd use to actually wake someone. It's not Faith's business and this is Wonderland. She should definitely leave it alone. And yet, she chooses to heft her axe into its sheath at her back before taking a few steps into Eve's trajectory. It's just the librarian, so the knives in Faith's belt remain in place -- a fight is the last thing on her mind.

Her voice raises, this time: "Yo, you OK? C'mon, snap out of it! Gonna somersault down the stairs, or something."

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Page 1 of 4

[OPEN] and you may ask yourself

Alex's room because how's that for first impressions

Kitchen

Library!

sooo maybe I should mention that Evie knew our old Alex...............

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lmaooooo SECOND IMPRESSIONS IT IS

it was so long ago but she once chewed him out for being rude and u don't forget that

i'm sorry to say alex is still a rude lil shit

somehow this is not at all surprising to me

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Garden

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Fifth Floor Hallway

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(⊙ヮ⊙)

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