Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
participatory) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-06-01 11:12 pm
participatory) wrote in entrancelogs2016-06-01 11:12 pm
[Open] You say you're observing, but this--
Who: Bedelia du Maurier and OPEN
Where: Halls; Bar
When: June 1
Rating: PG, for starters
Summary: Bedelia has been in Wonderland for a few days, observing...
The Story:
After arriving in Wonderland--swiftly and without fanfare--it had taken Bedelia minutes to determine that this place was not a dream or a hallucination: such things generally fall apart under the slightest scrutiny. It was days, however, before she convinced herself that this was not a psychotic delusion brought on by extreme stress. After all, rooms appeared to move, hallways seemed to stretch on forever, and there were windows in all the wrong places--all arguably symptoms of a brain making sense of a space that does not exist. But there were other things, like her own memories and the passage of time, that were consistent. It became clear that there was ultimately more reality here than not.
In the end what finally, truly convinced her, was her last memory of home. She had been sure--absolutely certain--that she would die that night. If she were merely delusional, and she had been wandering around her own house this entire time in a that state-- he no doubt would have found her that way, and...well, it probably would have ended poorly, one way or another. Regardless, she would not still be here.
But she is still here. There is no point in waiting for an explanation that will not come.
HALLS
Bedelia walks the halls of the Mansion with her fingers grazing lightly over the wall next to her. It's a solid reminder of where she's been, where she's going, and that it's all real. In her other hand she grips a pamphlet she'd found lying around on the first floor. It's helpful, she supposes, in the way a diagram of a ship would be helpful to someone who had never heard of water.
She's covered every inch of this place in the last few days. She isn't sure how many times she's walked the same floors, passed the same rooms, all in an attempt to familiarize herself with the space and the residents. She hasn't spoken to anyone--nothing more than a nod and a 'hello', anyway-- but she's been listening. People discuss a great many things out in the open here, and she's heard a lot that she doesn't understand. But she will learn.
She stops at the corner of one long hallway, fingers grasping the corner as it leads off to the right. She closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and reminds herself.
This is real.
BAR
She has learned that its foolish to sit at the bar and wait to be served. There are bartenders here, she sees them occasionally, but they don't seem to keep a regular schedule and they're often busy talking to customers. So now, whenever she enters the bar, she walks directly behind the counter and grabs a bottle of wine and a glass for herself. Simple.
She's been here nearly every day since she arrived. This is where people tend to be the loudest, and the most honest. She has mainly stayed out of any conversations, even ones that have drifted in her direction.
But tonight, half a bottle of wine into her regular routine of silence and furtive glances, she decides that there has been enough of that. She turns to the person nearest her, sitting a few seats down the bar.
"Evening."
Where: Halls; Bar
When: June 1
Rating: PG, for starters
Summary: Bedelia has been in Wonderland for a few days, observing...
The Story:
After arriving in Wonderland--swiftly and without fanfare--it had taken Bedelia minutes to determine that this place was not a dream or a hallucination: such things generally fall apart under the slightest scrutiny. It was days, however, before she convinced herself that this was not a psychotic delusion brought on by extreme stress. After all, rooms appeared to move, hallways seemed to stretch on forever, and there were windows in all the wrong places--all arguably symptoms of a brain making sense of a space that does not exist. But there were other things, like her own memories and the passage of time, that were consistent. It became clear that there was ultimately more reality here than not.
In the end what finally, truly convinced her, was her last memory of home. She had been sure--absolutely certain--that she would die that night. If she were merely delusional, and she had been wandering around her own house this entire time in a that state-- he no doubt would have found her that way, and...well, it probably would have ended poorly, one way or another. Regardless, she would not still be here.
But she is still here. There is no point in waiting for an explanation that will not come.
HALLS
Bedelia walks the halls of the Mansion with her fingers grazing lightly over the wall next to her. It's a solid reminder of where she's been, where she's going, and that it's all real. In her other hand she grips a pamphlet she'd found lying around on the first floor. It's helpful, she supposes, in the way a diagram of a ship would be helpful to someone who had never heard of water.
She's covered every inch of this place in the last few days. She isn't sure how many times she's walked the same floors, passed the same rooms, all in an attempt to familiarize herself with the space and the residents. She hasn't spoken to anyone--nothing more than a nod and a 'hello', anyway-- but she's been listening. People discuss a great many things out in the open here, and she's heard a lot that she doesn't understand. But she will learn.
She stops at the corner of one long hallway, fingers grasping the corner as it leads off to the right. She closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and reminds herself.
This is real.
BAR
She has learned that its foolish to sit at the bar and wait to be served. There are bartenders here, she sees them occasionally, but they don't seem to keep a regular schedule and they're often busy talking to customers. So now, whenever she enters the bar, she walks directly behind the counter and grabs a bottle of wine and a glass for herself. Simple.
She's been here nearly every day since she arrived. This is where people tend to be the loudest, and the most honest. She has mainly stayed out of any conversations, even ones that have drifted in her direction.
But tonight, half a bottle of wine into her regular routine of silence and furtive glances, she decides that there has been enough of that. She turns to the person nearest her, sitting a few seats down the bar.
"Evening."