Coraline Jones (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doorkey) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-11-03 02:39 pm
doorkey) wrote in entrancelogs2016-11-03 02:39 pm
[Open] What an extraordinary child...
Who: Coraline Jones & OPEN TO ANYBODY!
Where: The Grounds, Your Bedroom Door, The Halls, The Dining Room
When: Early November
Rating: PG
Summary: Being a mansion busybody, and sampling sounds for spooktunes
The Story: (But first, mood music...)
Out and About
The grounds feel extra chilly these days, air crisp with all the pleasantries of autumn, and the forest edges along with some of the garden is shedding crunchy leaves this way and that. There's a distantly smokey smell too, that's impossible to pinpoint the exact source of, but it pleases Miss Jones immensely.
She wanders the grounds with a sense of open-minded purpose, wearing a slouchy wool cap and a cozy sweater underneath her bright yellow coat. It's not quite cold enough for snazzy gloves, which is just as well- easier to carry a handheld tape recorder, pointing it at scattered leaf piles just before giving them a hearty kick with her wellington boots. Coraline walks hard along the cobblestone pathways too, trying to put a little more deliberate weight in her footsteps, occasionally bouncing from foot to foot rhythmically as if playing on invisible hopscotch boards.
She bothers the vendors for a bit, knocking on empty turtleshells and strings of pretty glass beads, bowls of jangly trickets, poking about at their wares with absolutely no real intentions of buying or bartering. Once the faceless merchants have realized this, and she's had quite enough of their cold shouldering, Coraline moves on quickly, finding a branch with some leaves still attached (not poison oak!) to run along the fences, making a glorious racket. On the review playback, it's not quite as satisfying as she'd hoped. Maybe she should have thought to arm herself with fancier microphones.
Soon she spots someone else out here, probably minding their own business, or lost in their own thoughts, and hurries over wth the branch dragging behind her on the grass.
" 'Scuse me?" The girl pipes, waving mid-approach. "Hi there, uh... Are you busy, right now? Would you mind, um... holding this up for me, for just a second?" Turning the branch around so the leafy ends are facing her sound recorder, she smiles hopefully and makes a flimsy, demonstrating gesture. "Yeah. Give it a good rustle?"
Door to Door
There's an eerie sounding disturbance in the hall, off and on during the day. Maybe you've just been too tired or preoccupied to investigate it's source. But that's okay. The sound machine's about to come to you!
(Knock-Knock-Knock.)
Yep, that's the sound of smallish knuckles on your bedroom door. Did you perhaps forget to put the No Solicitations or Please Do No Disturb sign on the door handle today? Or is a mild distraction a most welcome visitor, right now?
This one might be a little impatient, piping up before you can quite make your way to the door, or yell at the drop-in to go away
"Hello?" Sounds precociously girlish, and not with any particular panic. Like there might be a wagon of Girl Scout Cookies involved? And there's the knock again, repeating. "Is anyone home?"
No cookies in the wagon, alas, though it's rigged with some kind of dated recording equiptment, wedged in alongside a tangle of wires hauled out of her closet, along with one too many odds-and-ends noisemakers. In front of it stands Coraline Jones, a blue-haired girl in a silvery soft sweater that's a couple of sizes too big and stripey neon leggings.
Hallway Sound Effects
Sounds like someone with far too much free time on their hands has raided the music room's percussion and hand-instrument cabinets.
And it sounds like that someone has assigned you a few of them, and has been innocuously tailing you for as long as you can bear to dismiss your shuffling footsteps accompanied by the rattle of maracas, or every turn of your head punctuated by slide whistle. She follows at just enough of a distance to duck into an open doorway or lean up against the wall beside a mirror, examining a chip in her clipped painted nails.
But Coraline's harmless mischief can probably only continue on for so long, before she's called out for being a general nuisance. Or until she can get one of her victims to crack a smile.
Wish to Table
It's on the later side of suppertime, and Coraline has just managed to snag herself a seat in the dining room, staring down at her plate with the usual sigh of indecision. Pepperoni Pizza sounds like a great idea, but she's already had that three times this week, and that annoying naggy voice in her conscience that sounds like her well-meaning father is reminding her of food groups and variety.
She heaves a sigh, and quietly grumbles 'Okay, Dad' under her breath.
"Hmmm..." She strums her fingers on the fancy tablecloth and peeks up and down the long table for some inspiration. "What do I want, what do I- Oh! A...Chicken Pot Pie?" Coraline requests, remembering a microwaved one that she used to help herself to on nights when her father made stuff like Creamed Kale with Goat Cheese, or Seafood Paella. "With no mushy peas, please." She adds, before the magic can complete it's thing. "Ooh, and extra crusty crust!"
Yum. That's perfect, and perfectly sized for her appetite with room for dessert, too.
But after a second marveling sniff of the air, her face pulls a grimace of disgust. Gross. Where is that coming from?
Her attention goes scurrying a few places down in curious horror as she stabs a fork into her pot pie, steam rising from the pierced crust.
"What are you eating?!" Coraline exclaims, eyes wide with revulsion.
"That looks, um..." (Gosh, don't be completely rude, Coraline. Even if that smell is turning your stomach) "...Different?"
Where: The Grounds, Your Bedroom Door, The Halls, The Dining Room
When: Early November
Rating: PG
Summary: Being a mansion busybody, and sampling sounds for spooktunes
The Story: (But first, mood music...)
Out and About
The grounds feel extra chilly these days, air crisp with all the pleasantries of autumn, and the forest edges along with some of the garden is shedding crunchy leaves this way and that. There's a distantly smokey smell too, that's impossible to pinpoint the exact source of, but it pleases Miss Jones immensely.
She wanders the grounds with a sense of open-minded purpose, wearing a slouchy wool cap and a cozy sweater underneath her bright yellow coat. It's not quite cold enough for snazzy gloves, which is just as well- easier to carry a handheld tape recorder, pointing it at scattered leaf piles just before giving them a hearty kick with her wellington boots. Coraline walks hard along the cobblestone pathways too, trying to put a little more deliberate weight in her footsteps, occasionally bouncing from foot to foot rhythmically as if playing on invisible hopscotch boards.
She bothers the vendors for a bit, knocking on empty turtleshells and strings of pretty glass beads, bowls of jangly trickets, poking about at their wares with absolutely no real intentions of buying or bartering. Once the faceless merchants have realized this, and she's had quite enough of their cold shouldering, Coraline moves on quickly, finding a branch with some leaves still attached (not poison oak!) to run along the fences, making a glorious racket. On the review playback, it's not quite as satisfying as she'd hoped. Maybe she should have thought to arm herself with fancier microphones.
Soon she spots someone else out here, probably minding their own business, or lost in their own thoughts, and hurries over wth the branch dragging behind her on the grass.
" 'Scuse me?" The girl pipes, waving mid-approach. "Hi there, uh... Are you busy, right now? Would you mind, um... holding this up for me, for just a second?" Turning the branch around so the leafy ends are facing her sound recorder, she smiles hopefully and makes a flimsy, demonstrating gesture. "Yeah. Give it a good rustle?"
Door to Door
There's an eerie sounding disturbance in the hall, off and on during the day. Maybe you've just been too tired or preoccupied to investigate it's source. But that's okay. The sound machine's about to come to you!
(Knock-Knock-Knock.)
Yep, that's the sound of smallish knuckles on your bedroom door. Did you perhaps forget to put the No Solicitations or Please Do No Disturb sign on the door handle today? Or is a mild distraction a most welcome visitor, right now?
This one might be a little impatient, piping up before you can quite make your way to the door, or yell at the drop-in to go away
"Hello?" Sounds precociously girlish, and not with any particular panic. Like there might be a wagon of Girl Scout Cookies involved? And there's the knock again, repeating. "Is anyone home?"
No cookies in the wagon, alas, though it's rigged with some kind of dated recording equiptment, wedged in alongside a tangle of wires hauled out of her closet, along with one too many odds-and-ends noisemakers. In front of it stands Coraline Jones, a blue-haired girl in a silvery soft sweater that's a couple of sizes too big and stripey neon leggings.
Hallway Sound Effects
Sounds like someone with far too much free time on their hands has raided the music room's percussion and hand-instrument cabinets.
And it sounds like that someone has assigned you a few of them, and has been innocuously tailing you for as long as you can bear to dismiss your shuffling footsteps accompanied by the rattle of maracas, or every turn of your head punctuated by slide whistle. She follows at just enough of a distance to duck into an open doorway or lean up against the wall beside a mirror, examining a chip in her clipped painted nails.
But Coraline's harmless mischief can probably only continue on for so long, before she's called out for being a general nuisance. Or until she can get one of her victims to crack a smile.
Wish to Table
It's on the later side of suppertime, and Coraline has just managed to snag herself a seat in the dining room, staring down at her plate with the usual sigh of indecision. Pepperoni Pizza sounds like a great idea, but she's already had that three times this week, and that annoying naggy voice in her conscience that sounds like her well-meaning father is reminding her of food groups and variety.
She heaves a sigh, and quietly grumbles 'Okay, Dad' under her breath.
"Hmmm..." She strums her fingers on the fancy tablecloth and peeks up and down the long table for some inspiration. "What do I want, what do I- Oh! A...Chicken Pot Pie?" Coraline requests, remembering a microwaved one that she used to help herself to on nights when her father made stuff like Creamed Kale with Goat Cheese, or Seafood Paella. "With no mushy peas, please." She adds, before the magic can complete it's thing. "Ooh, and extra crusty crust!"
Yum. That's perfect, and perfectly sized for her appetite with room for dessert, too.
But after a second marveling sniff of the air, her face pulls a grimace of disgust. Gross. Where is that coming from?
Her attention goes scurrying a few places down in curious horror as she stabs a fork into her pot pie, steam rising from the pierced crust.
"What are you eating?!" Coraline exclaims, eyes wide with revulsion.
"That looks, um..." (Gosh, don't be completely rude, Coraline. Even if that smell is turning your stomach) "...Different?"
no subject
Once she saw the inside of Mikan's room, however, Coraline's eyes went round in a mixture of curiousity and unease, peering around at all the medical supplies and heavy textbooks. It made her feel uneasy, like she was going in for a checkup.
"Oh..." She realizes a few steps into the room, turning around questioningly to look back at Mikan. "That's right, you're the girl who got to study this stuff for High School, that I talked to before? This is your room? Wow, you've really got all kinds of neat stuff in here, huh..."
The sight of needles was certainly scary, but not necessarily in the good way.
"So, um... What've you got that's spookiest?"
no subject
"Um... I d-don't mind the noise, but others do... The sound of bones being cut." Thankfully she didn't have any real bones with her, but a fake one to practice some of her skills on. She propped it on the table. "I, um, I ask for fake b-body parts so I don't lose my skills...w-would that help you both?"
no subject
"Y-yeah, that'll work, I think?" She nods, laughing uneasily. Is it going to be a sound worse than the dentist's drill? "Most people won't know the difference, if its only fake?"
It could pass for real as far as Coraline was concerned, so she was relieved that Mikan had pointed that out.
"We'll try a sound test first," She explains a bit bossily, patting at the microphone, "then we'll go and record it again?"
no subject
As she propped up the bone, her eyes took on a sudden steely look. "Begin the procedure!" She announced to nobody. She secured the fake bone tightly in her hand - it even came up with a wrist and finger bones. Despite looking heavy, Mikan began to quickly hack apart the wrist and cut apart the finger bones. How many times had she done this before?
no subject
She watches in round-eyed fascination, feeling her stomach drop and clench as Mikan goes to work quickly with the bone saw. It's astonishingly quick, but also viscerally bothersome, and Coraline nearly forgets to click on her microphone and record the noise, so she misses the first few sounds of the tool colliding with bone, her own shoulders cringing up a bit as the watches the practice arm go to pieces before her eyes.
"That's... amazing." She finally exhales, fairly sure she's going to wind up having nightmares about that saw at some point? Good going, Coraline. "...and terrifying! They really taught you how to do that in High School?"
no subject
"Oh, no... I learned this before High School." She explains, nervously fidgeting all over again. The confidence from before has vanished. "Before I officially started Hope's Peak Academy. It's because I already knew stuff like th-this that I got accepted."
no subject
Did she watch a bunch of emergency room shows? It was obvious from the looks of her room that Mikan did a lot of medical reading, but practice really wasn't the sort of thing you could just pick up from books? Or was it?
"Were your parents doctors?" She asks nosily, shifting from foot to foot and glancing briefly back at the door, just to be completely sure she wasn't about to get herself locked in with a crazy person weilding a tool that could slice right through human bone. "Did you grow up in a war where lots of soldiers needed their arms hacked off?"
no subject
"N-No, my parents weren't doctors... My f-father is a salaryman, and my mother stays at home... They, um... They just get frustrated a lot... Th-they don't have a lot of patience... And, I-I just took care of myself a lot. And a lot. And a lot more."
no subject
"...Huhn. So you're super independant and super smart." She observes, cocking her head to one side till her ear is nearly touching her shoulder. "What are you so nervous for, if you're already a hospital genius?"
no subject
"I c-cant help it... I'm always worried about everything. And this place is so strange... i-it can take away all I know, or give me something I can't heal..."
no subject
"Think about the events like, um, a challenge for all the sorts of smarts you can't learn from a textbook!"