Coraline Jones (
doorkey) wrote in
entrancelogs2016-11-03 02:39 pm
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[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
But if all else fails, they can be one hell of a biking, kazooing duo, and sound like a clanking swarm of angry hornets.
Coraline reaches for one of the string cheese packets, stripping away pieces down the sides. "Or we could put together something like... a pinwheel that sticks up on the back, that makes noise as the world breezes by?"
no subject
"It has to be strong to sustain it, like a farm's windmill like in the Wizard of Oz. Oh, but it could make that squeaky noise, that grating--iiiiiiiiiieeeeee thing that it always does, right?"
He pulls out a weathervane, frowns, and chucks it back. Not quite.
"I bet you write nohands awesomely, by the way."
no subject
"It's been a while since I've seen that movie..." She admits, though she's pretty sure she's seen what he's talking about. Her father's gardening catalogues contain all kinds of decorative weathervanes, and some of them probably probably loud when rusty.
"Heh! Save that for once we actually do it." Heaving a roll of her eyes, she still has doubts about how skillfully she'll be able to stay on the back pegs of a moving bike without clinging on to the back of Dustin's shirt for dear life.
Still, even if she could theoretically only spare one hand... "What about a Xylophone?"
no subject
"Xylophone," he echoes, like Coraline has just come up with a cure for some strange and horrible disease, like malaria, or influence, or even chicken pox.
"Try to make it with a strap, so I can wear it on my back and you can play it. This is going to be perfect. Let's see--we have percussion, we've got kazoos, pinwheels... What else?"
no subject
Her mom would probably also point out something worse, like what if Dustin stopped short and she managed to poke her own eye out.
Coraline really didn't want to think that hard about potential injury.
"Um." She's quickly running out of wild ideas, spouting whatever pops into her head. "Could you attach a harmonica on your handlebars? Would a wind up music box be cheating?"
no subject
"I say we just do all of this, set it up, and go for a major test run. That way if it fails we can just try again--the scientific method. We just gotta figure out how to attach all of it."
no subject
To Coraline, it sounded less like scientific trial and error, more like recklessly giving it their best shot. She shrugged. Not like she had any better wacky ideas for today?
"Bread bag twisty ties." She repeated, because those earned her vote of confidence when it came to attaching stuff easily. "Or like the thingy that holds wires in a bundle? we can use those."
no subject
"I say this takes 20 minutes of prep time, max." It's a number he's pulled out of air much like what he's just done with the fastening items.
He immediately gets to work, too, and even shoves his hat off because he doesn't want it falling or getting in the way. "I bet you five bucks we can do this while riding down a staircase," he bets, waggling his eyebrows as he talks.
no subject
There are moments even adventurous Coraline is sensible enough to have some sense of self-preservation, and Dustin's plan has her a bit skeptical.
"Are you nuts?!"
Just a bit.
"And if I break half the bones in my body, Dustin, what good's five bucks gonna do me?" She demands, snatching up the plastic ties and starting on adding jangly attachments to the wheel spokes