Into the Labyrinth Part 1

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Cast  • Tiarnan Ellis Frances Fen Lurk Alistair Shane Flagg

Location  • Shanghai Tunnels

Date  • 2019-11-4

Summary  • The first 'Quest' the Prince puts towards the Praxis.

 

This new Prince is fond, as some of you already know, of sending his Praxis on 'Quests' -- or so they have been nicknamed over the centuries/decades that he's been doing them. There's usually some kind of reward for completing them, which can range between boons, herd, or even Domain. How very feudal of him! So it is that it's posted all over Elysium that Prince Raedwald is looking for volunteers to journey on one of these 'quests' now. A location is named for everyone for meet at, and, it's in Shanghai Tunnels. Everyone is told to meet down in the tourist entrance under Hobo's Restaurant at a designated time -- which is obviously after it is closed to tourists. Alistair will be very familiar with this area, as it is close to the Necropolis.

The Old Portland Underground, better known locally as the Shanghai Tunnels, is a group of passages mainly underneath the Old Town Chinatown neighborhood and connecting to the main business section. The tunnels connected the basements of many hotels and taverns to the waterfront of the Willamette River. They were originally built to move goods from the ships docked on the Willamette to the basement storage areas, allowing businesses to avoid streetcar and train traffic on the streets when delivering their goods. But, it has a much darker past as well, spiced with shadowy connections to organized crime, prohibition, forced prostitution, and the practice of 'Shaghai-ing'. And of course, there are many stories of ghosts...

Tonight, as you all enter, you will see Brunhilde (http://imgur.com/a/T6X8ulF), the Prince's favorite ghoul, waiting for you.


With a cellphone in hand, rapidly tap-tap-tapping away as she imputs something into whatever it is she has opened there, the glow cast from the screen granting a ghostly hue to pale skin, her brows furrowed and lips pursed in her concentration. She comes to a stop in her languid pace in order to wait for others to arrive, leaning against a wall or doorframe at the designated spot, quietly humming to herself -- some soft, uninspiring rendition of 'we built this city' offered in something just above a murmur.

She's into it.


Oh goody, another fuckin 'quest' for Red's 'volunteers'... surely there's freedom of choice in doing such things but for people like Frances, yeah... that's a no. Either way she'll get here on time, tonight she's in a dusty brown plaid shirt and blue jeans, her boots, nothing fancy but there is a bit of jewelry hanging about her neck, a simple silver chain with a black ring on it. Brunhilde will receive a nod and then Frances will just go to hang out and wait for the others to arrive.


Gloved fingers scrape over stone that has been worn smooth by time and wind, as Alistair makes his way around in the dark. The tunnels are comfortable and restful, given the relaxed gait for the normally withdrawn and stiff Nosferatu. Maybe it's the lack of decent lighting, or just knowing the local environment better than the usual lost ambling that he gets himself into - it doesn't matter, he's just padding along beside Lurk. He gets himself nestled into a corner in the tourist entrance, arms folded over his torso, long fingers curled into his volumous sickly yellow robes. He rubs the fabric inbetween gloved fingers, teasing at fresh tattered strands and holes in the bottom of the fabric. His head jerks at Lurk, and he bops his head at her once.

Then Brunhilde is acknowledged, by the absent sniffing noise that escapes behind the mans mask. He then lets a sigh escape. "Hopefully we won't be crawling about anywhere in the dark." A pause, "Because people bring torches and flashlights. Those aren't fun."


Ellis is a newcomer to the Praxis, though his arrival will be mentioned by the Prince to appropriate officials of the city. The Ventrue of the Ordo Dracul has evidently enjoyed the rule of their benefactor in the past and made a reasonably good impression.

He arrives on the scene wearing a charcoal business suit, a dark blue vest, and a gold chain which connects to a vintage pocket watch. The aforementioned is briefly checked then snapped shut with a 'click' as he scans the interior of the underground. He then murmurs something under his breath, his brow furrowing in curiosity. A curiosity briefly interrupted by the presence of unfamiliar beasts. When a wrenching of his neck and a light grunt, he tames the beast to remain cordial.

A smile returning to his lips he gazes toward Brunhilde, "Its been ages, love. How have you been?"

Ellis will murmur to Frenchie, "Do let me know if you make any new friends."


It's Shane Flagg's personal quest to be a /good/ and /useful/ part of the praxis. So, here he is. New steel toed boots with rugged sort of work attire. The kind that looks like his name should be on his pocket. But it's not Shane embroidered there. Don's is what it reads. He's wearing gloves and has a light mounted on his head. Under a blue mesh trucker cap, of course, turned backwards. He spots Francis and cracks a little smile and upnods a greeting.


Arriving a bit after others have, because he surely has many important things to do, the Sheriff makes his way to the group and gives it an appraising look with a scan of his ice blue gaze. Tiarnan gives a nod of respect toward he covenant mates and then turns attention on the Prince's personal ghoul with a furrow of brows, waiting to see what 'commands' the mortal will give them. A thing he obviously isn't all that impressed with.


Fen likes the Monday night shift at the record shop. It's fairly slow, she can read or play guitar. Occasionally help a customer. Watch youtube. Chill. And be paid for it. Not paid a lot, admittedly, but her demands on life are minimal - ffs leave me alone - and the shop's a happy medium. This isn't the shop. No, this is where she was told to be by Frances and/or Tiarnan, her newly assigned step-Sires. Or whatever the title is. Are. It is unclear. It is, however, clear that being here is a /great inconvenience/ in that tragic way that only a teenager can suffer. Woe. Pink hair, ballcap. Eyepatch. Newly acquired ring in the top of an ear (which will be gone tomorrow night, but such is style). Jean jacket over a black tee with a black sequined logo heart (which she absently plays with because sequins are fun), faded jeans. Sneakers. Strained patience.


Brunhilde, who may be the friendliest Empowered Prince's ghoul around anywhere, greets everyone warmly, like she always does. Tonight though, it's especially gracious, since she knows so many of you. Frances of course, was expected, and she smiles brightly her way. She seems a little concerned to see Shane here, but, Frances' presence eases that up. She greets Ellis brightly. "So good to see you here. His Grace has told me you were here. I have been well, thank you." Tiarnan gets a respectful, but cautious nod, and then... is that... LURK? It's instant recognition in her blue eyes. No surprise is registered, though. Upon seeing Lurk, Brunhilde's voices changes a little, going more husky, and...

"Madame, you honor Us with your presence here in Our Domain." Shocker, Red's either possessing his ghoul currently or has some weird power to be able to see and speak through her anytime he wants. Because it's him talking right now. "You must come visit me soon. We have much to discuss." Those eyes flit to Alistair. Does he know him? Maybe. Maybe not. Then that gaze, which has gone slightly imperious, flits to Tiarnan, catching the furrowing of his brows. The expression is ignored and a low command is given. "Take care of the little one in this quest." Fen, s/he means.

"Now... I presume you all are wondering why We have summoned you here."


Arms cross, observing the way too friendly ghoul as she makes her rounds greeting everybody, and all the while his acidic stare remains steadfast on the blonde human. Though when her personality changes so abruptly, it takes the old Dead Wolf a few seconds to realize what might even be happening. His attention shifts from Brunhilde to Lurk and back again before being given the command that sets his beast growling and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Even if she is being 'possessed' by Red, he doesn't enjoy being ordered by a mere mortal. None the less, it matters little because he intended to do that anyway. After a brief muttered comment in Irish-Gaelic he adds, "That is what I do." and a softer repeat, "that is just what I do."


There's a quick blink, Lurk's strange eyes torn away from her screen at the shift in voice, a quick squint fired off Brunhilde's way as her brows raise. There's a bit of an awkward smile to her lips, not uncommon for the Gangrel priscus when attention is leveled in any direct capacity. "It's been too long." She agrees with a shallow nod, "I'll be about as soon as you've a moment. We can... oh, what's the word..." She takes in a slow breath through her nose, giving an airy gesture with one of her hands. "Dish?" She then falls silent and allows for others to do what they're going to do.


Alistair's fingertips wiggle towards Brunhilde, a little wave as the Haunt remains quiet. He lowers his hands and settles them together, rubbing them for a moment before he reaches back down and grasps his robes again - working the edges of the fabric and ruining fresh tattered edges into it. "Dish." He echoes, as confirmation of the appropriate term of discussion. He doesn't dislodge himself from the darkened corner though as more and more people arrive. He seems to fade into it a bit more.


Apparently it takes Frances a minute or two to figure out what's going on but her first instinct is to bare her teeth and take a step or two forward towards Brunhilde as if she's about to attack the woman.. but she doesn't. There's reasons that she doesn't take too kindly to 'possessions' and yeah, there will be a touch of a throaty growl, but she'll behave herself and end up being a grumbly cranky sourpuss as she then decides to walk over towards Shane instead.


Shane, who looks completely confused but doesn't say anything. He sidles behind Frances a little though. Just a bit.


The little one takes a vestigial breath. This is going to be one of those nights, isn't it. Welp. Just gotta suck it up. Take one for the team. Also because Fen's complaints aren't going to get her anywhere. So. Yeah. Shrug at Tiarnan. Bobble of slight shoulders. She's getting taken care of now, whatever that means. The young Deadwolf is entirely uncertain if she should find that reassuring or insulting. It can go either way, it really can. So she'll meander over towards the elder Deadwolf, since that's apparently her role here tonight, absently flattening out the sequin logo on her shirt. They are black sequins, as described, but one side is matt and the other glossy. A pass turns the gloss off.


"There is a secret passageway here." Brun-Raed points to the left. Alistair will likely be pleased it's no where near the Necropolis entrance. "This area was discovered by the Carthian Movement about eleven years ago, just before the Revolution. I have sent helpful emissaries down there and... only one's come back, and his sanity didn't last long after his return, I'm afraid. What he reported was... both frightening, and... magnificent. He said he ended up in Portland, but... not in Portland. He said his comrades all perished fighting battles against their own natures. He said there was something down there that looked familiar, and he knew the moment he saw it, it was a Cure for the Sickness." Brun-Raed glances around to see if anyone's heard of 'the Sickness'.


Lurk is clearly down with the sickness.


Brun-Raed adds, "All the emissaries were humans, mind. Thralls or ghouls, so, weaker."


"Fuck." Shane breaks his silence with a low grumble.


Fen is totally unaware of Red's reputation for questgiving. She didn't think that was a thing. So when the voice in her head is warning her that this sounds suspiciously like a quest, there's a doubt. Because who does that? Seriously? So instead of Broomhilda, she'll be looking up at Tiarnan. He'll no doubt recognize her 'what the fuck?' expression. Because he sees it a lot, no doubt. Frances? You will become used to this face.


"Not-Portland. The middle bit of Portland. Did they go through the darkest parts of the land here? Something's settled in its bones. Something right. But not for the living." There's a quiet pop in Alistair's jaw as he talks. He pauses, and reaches under his mask with probing fingertips, working something beneath around a bit before he brings his hand away. "The living flesh in the dark. More malleable than ours." His head turns towards Shane, and the small tilt of the head is almost like a sympathetic puppy. He then looks back towards Brunhilde-Turned-Prince. "Did they bring lights with them? Did they make it too bright?" He clucks his tongue. "Portland isn't all bright beneath. It prefers the dark."


Once glance at Fen and the Irishman knows that look. "Aye." he answers the silent question. "It is just what ye ken it is, lass." Tiarnan hears mention of a cure for the Sickness and brows lift. He is a little familiar with said sickness... "A cure." he repeats what Brun-Raed just said to them. "Then a cure we shal find." Ti says with a glance at the others. He pauses to listen to the conversation between Alistair and the Prince Possessed Ghoul, further referred to as PPG. PPG gets a strange look.


"Now, the 'cure'... won't cure everything, but it -will- cure the Sickness. And the Sickness is why you--" s/he points to Lurk, "--and you..." s/he points to Tiarnan, "--and all of you in some way or another, have issues with your tempers as of late. It's why the former Archbishop went mad and destroyed all the Khaibit." A glance to Alistair and a nod. "It is very dark there. You see why they were victims of genocide. That and it allowed the Strix more access, though, the Strix have nothing to do with Not-Portland."

A breath, "You will go Below and you will find the cure. The only one who's managed any luck with getting close was a recently destroyed relation to Madame Lurk." A beat, and s/he reaches into their tartan suit jacket and out comes a red stone, which they toss to Lurk. "You'll need this." Lurk will recognize it right away.


Ellis is quite content with just listening to the exchanges. Everyone once and awhile, he murmurs into the air as if he is having a conversation with someone unseen. When the possessed ghoul offers the final order, he claps his hands together and rubs them, "Ah, brings back memories of galavanting about lower London, my prince."

He gazes over the others, "Cutting to the quick.. I am Ellis, and my specialty is ghosts. I am at your utmost disposal as we no doubtedly quest further into realms unknown and quite paranormal." He folds an arm over his waist and offers a brief bow than gazes toward Tiarnan. "And thus, I am available for your consultation and advisement."


Lurk looks up just in time to have that gem tossed toward her, her attentions brought back to the matter at hand by the mention of her name, and the 'relation' she shared with the now deceased Iasc. Her hand snaps up to catch the gem, her lips pressing to a tight line as she regards it, turning it about before she squints toward the previously named PPG. "How did you..." She stops herself there, her shoulders lifting with the tension of rising apprehension -- something always in the back of her mind, gnawing, clawing, biting at her rational thoughts. "Nevermind. It matters not." Her fingers, gloved as they are, coil about that gem as she falls silent, her gaze travelling toward Alistair to give a lingering stare in his direction, before she glances back down at her phone.


When Ellis speaks, the odd-eyed Gangrel quirks a brow, one eye darting his way whilst the other remains fixed to her screen, lips parting as though she would say something, but she merely closes her mouth again. Not now, Lurk. Not now.


"Hopefully we limit the light we're bringing, yes? Bunch of flashlights and torches, poking around where they shouldn't be going. That'll be lovely." Alistair slowly pulls himself out of the corner - as if his back was made of velcro - and stands somewhat fully upright beside Lurk. There's a sort of permanent hunch going on in the low-light levels of the touristy side of the tunnels about here. "And now we have a confidant for those Ghouls and Ghosts that are undoubtedly going to appear. This is going to go a lot better than those Ghouls that all died or came back wishing they were dead. Sounds good to have you. Yes." He stops picking at his robe, before he shuffles his gloved hands into his sleeves, just letting everything hang a bit idle.

"Did anyone need to stop to use the bathroom or to eat before we go on our little road trip?" A poor attempt at humor.


A nod given towards Shane as Frances states a simple, "Stick close, don't want you gettin lost in the dark." and while she doesn't know what this whole sickness thing is, the fact that it's been making Tiarnan twitchy isn't good news at all. Of course her gaze will linger on his form for a moment or two as she waits to see who's going in first. New city to her, new routes and kindred, they can go in first while she gets her bearings anyways.


"You'll need him," Brun-Raed states, in regard to Ellis the Dragon. Then to Lurk s/he says. "That stone is your compass. Just follow where it directs you. You'll all know what to do when the time has come." And with that, s/he gestures towards what looks like an ordinary wall. "You first," s/he tells Lurk. "You have the key."


Fen is wondering why they weren't told this BEFORE they came here. She might've worn different shoes. Brought a bat. With nails in it. Not that she has one, but she would've thought about it. At least she's not claustraphobic. Yet. No doubt she will be after tonight. Like her recently acquired and unreasonable fear of being eaten by a whale. Yay.


"Nope. Already pissed my pants." Shane quips, removing his nice little headlamp. "I'm sticking with you, Ma. Don't worry. Just get me home to my people. Even if I'm gibbering mad and drooling."


Ellis gazes momentarily toward Fen and Shane, evidently having picked up on the latter S quip. "You should look forward to it. Some of the finest people I know are quite mad. Though I think we could do without the drooling. Gibbering? Well, what's a proper lunatic without a little incomprehensible banter."

Ellis gazes over his shoulder and frowns at something, "Oh don't be an ass. I'm perfectly sane."


Lurk takes in a slow breath and lets it out in a sigh before slinking forward to play her part as the key. "Of course..." She murmurs under her breath, glancing over her shoulder at her robed companion. "You're first, I'm just opening the door."


Brun-Raed grabs Frances' arm before she follows, looks at her directly. Their grip is /quite/ strong. "Come back to me. And don't be jealous over a little possession. It's not like I do it when she's showering." A wink, then s/he lets her go.


The Sheriff is here to keep people safe really. Nobody ever accused him of being a great investigator. So Tiarnan is simply prepared to make sure nobody gets hurt...too much. "After ye, lass." he offers to Lurk when it appears she is the one leading them inside. Then he glances aside to Fen and comments, "Stick close." When he notes Frances looking his way, she is given a slight nod, but the expression of irritation barely lifts from his features, especially in the wake of PPG all over the Bruja.


Brun-Red will get a snarl in response... hey at least Frances is holding her tongue, that counts for something right? And then she's heading in there with Shane, totally adding an, "If you get too fuckin stupid I'm knockin ya out and bringing you home to Don and if she gets pissy it's on you cause I ain't ready to deal with her shit..."


There's no real hesitation from Alistair. As soon as the path opens, he just makes his way in - the whispering hiss of his dragging robes as he hauls himself around and in to the dark. There might have been a sigh of relief. Or just a trick of the mind. Whatever.


"It's an adveeentuuure," Fen mutters in a dry sing-song as she starts down the path. She'd roll her eyes, but with the eyepatch it's not really that effective a gesture. At least she can see in the dark. And doesn't have to worry about hitting her head on things.


Ellis begins to follow then stops abruptly. He looks over his shoulder again. "What's amiss, old chap?" He appears to be talking to the air again. "Is it really all to pot? It is really worth all the kerfuffle? Pull yourself together man!" He waves his arms in exclamation.


The stone Lurk holds glows in her palm a little. Everyone smells vitae for a moment, then it fades. The wall opens up and beyond it -- utter blackness. Blacker than black.


How she knows where she's going is anybody's guess, really, but Lurk seems to be doing alright for herself as she makes her way through the darkness. There is occasionally a soft hum to those with particularly acute senses, but it could be coming from anywhere with the way the tunnels bounce sound. There is the soft sound of claws scraping across stone as she slinks her way through, the gem's dim glow all but gone within the vicelike grip of the hand that holds it.


Lurk offers quietly, "Just follow. Might keep talking to a minimum, mm?"


Like a toddler hanging to a parent, Shane takes a hold of Francis' shirttail. "Ma, I'm not as steely as I used to be. I've seen some shit. I've done some shit. Shit's been done to me. I have a kid. I'm closer to 50 than I'd like. I'm here to help but...just, just...get me home."


Ellis follows, his hand patting the stone as he walks along behind. He occasionally stops, listens, nods.. though no-one probably sees that, then continues along, his expensive loafers scuff the ground at a random misstep. "Oh shut it, yank." He'll banter to Shane.


Silent, as if already knowing Lurk was going to suggest it, the Irishman follows at the back of the group where he can keep a watchful eye on everybody. As they are moving along in the darkness, he does sniff the air as quietly as he can, letting his other Feral Senses guide if possible. Glancing beside him, not even sure if she can see his movements, Tiarnan gestures to his nose and then ear, the action meant for Fen to witness. Then he moves along behind the rest of the troupe.


Fen has not experienced darkness for nearly a year. She awake to her new unlife with, amoung other things, what she came to assume were regular ol' vampire super-senses. Which was pretty cool, if often overwhelming. So as she splashes into the black there's a clear and low "Fuck" out of her, as one fairly important sense to her is traded for a cold pit of anxiety. Wee this adventure is fun already. At least her hearing is just as sensitive, as is her sense of smell. Though that just means her mind is free to come up with its own imagry. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck..." it drifts to silence. Not because she doesn't want to keep swearing, but she needs to be able to hear and she can't over her own complaints.


"Silence Shane.. I'm trying to focus." and then she'll too close her lips and open her eyes up wide... as if that would help her 'see' better, of course it doesn't but for thankfully nooone's paying attention to her, much less be able to see her, since .. things .. are happening to her body, extra bits, super earz yo. And damnit Shane your heart beat is fookin loud, you need a volume control son... Either way Frances does indeed grasp his hand once he goes to grab ahold of her shirt tail, all the better to keep tabs on him. "water ahead...not movin'" Another pause, "Fen...shh.."


Scurry. Scurry. Crawl. Alistair moves far more happy and free than he does when he's stuck in meetings or talking, or, you know. Around people or light. Ahead of the group, they can hear the whisper of his tattered robes as they drag over stone and pull over surfaces that catch on things - leaving more tatters for him to pull at later. He comes to a stop, one hand moving into his pocket as he presses at a cellphone with keyboard without taking it out, thumb doing all the work before he continues, then stops dead. He stares at the water, eyes wide behind his mask. If only because normally they're shut tight - he reaches out towards it, then catches himself and yanks his hand back. Instead, he tosses in a pebble. It plinks, it plonks, but it does not make a sound beyond that. He coo's at that, before reaching out towards the pool with gloved fingertips.


"Water, eh?" Ellis murmurs then calls out, "My friend says that there's something alive down that shouldn't be. Like a non-living object or substance that is aware.. maybe haunted."


Settling into her remaining senses is actually sort of calming. They are powerful. She just doesn't tend to use them, what with sight being so naturally dominant. This isn't so bad, actually. It's not awesome. But there's a peace in nothing. The water feels like a natural sound to have in dark places. The smell is old and damp and clean. This isn't spooky at all. Just... empty. Empty with a bunch of shuffling blind people around her. Oh fuck off Ellis. Fen would glare at him. Actually she DOES glare at him, at least, in the direction she heard the voice.


Something ahead lets out a sharp screech of surprise before an audiable 'plop' of water.

"... just fell into the water, I bet..." Lurk can be heard after that plop, her eyes closing tightly for a moment of reflection. And grieving, for the untimely passing of her friend. Lost to the depths.


Tiarnan casts a side glance at Fen as if to say 'Oh great' after hearing the screech and plop, but of course she can't even SEE his expression so it is utterly wasted. Damn and it was a good one too. So now he just remains alert, listening to see if something comes at them.


"Me? Well that's bloody cheeky. Never seen that one before." Ellis thinks out loud about something.


"Don't .. touch .. anything Shane..." Frances states simply since this is all completely just wrong.


"I am touching nothing but your shirt, Ma." Shane whispers. He's a soft spoken guy by nature. So his words aren't much more than a breath for anything but kindred ears.


There was a moment there, a whole moment, when Fen thought this might not turn out bad at all. It's fluttered away. We're doomed. Starting with whoever splashed there. The dark is making her dizzy, kinda sudden. Weird. How long have they been here anyway? It can't have been long. It feels like forever. Why is Shane calling Frances 'Ma?' What the heck is that about?


Lurk heaves a sigh. "... Guess we're about to find out if we all float down here." She mutters before she makes her way into the water, growing silent after those few words are spoken. She hasn't been paying much attention to those behind her. They're still doing their talking, and she's still doing her best to ignore it. But, she's put time and money into Alistair, and she means to reap the benefits. To do that, he has to remain living, such as it is. And so, in she goes.


Frances grumbles and then just carries on since she's not going to stay behind and not continue on with the others. Unforunatly this means that Shane will get a tug as well into the doooom.


Ellis focuses for a moment on his hand which then pools with a substance that observed by a discerning eye is somewhere between vitae and ectoplasm. He then steps into the water and immediately grieves for his suit and loafers. He then makes kissy sounds like someone was trying to attract a cat. "Come one now.. Come to Ellis. I've got a sweet cocktail for you. Just a sip. All your cares will melt away."


"Into the water then." Tiarnan remarks with a grunt after he hears others starting to go inside. At least he has a couple of Protean adaptations that let him swim better. After waiting to make sure the others are safely in, he steps to the edge and slips into the water as well.


Welcome to Not-Portland. Because that's what it is. You all are spat out right into Hobo's Restaurant. Or rather... Not-Hobo's. There are patrons there but no one seems to notice because they're all eating. And what they're all eating is...

Filth. Foul. Dead animal carcasses and the twitching bodies of children. Some drag queen with a slashed on maw like a perpetual wound on her face is chasing little rolly-polly furry things around on a platter made of stinking tire. What is poured from the draft into pints for the regulars is frothy and green and reeks of formaldehyde -- and that's just the cheap stuff. There are violent fights breaking out at every corner and... the fucked up thing?

Some of you recognize these people as local Portlandians. You've seen them around. Hell, maybe you've even drank from them.

But ARE they them?


Demin takes forever to dry. Fen doesn't particularly want to get wet, mainly for this reason. Creature comfort. She would've worn something else had she known there was going to be water. Something dryfast. Appropriate. Does she own anything like that? She can't remember for some reason, but there's this dull irritation at being put in this position even if she can't quite put her finger on any possible alternatives. Still, forward. Only forward. Why isn't backward an option? It just isn't. Fine. The deadwolf steps into the water, careful placement of shoes. Don't want to slip or anything... and instead reality slipped. Slipped on its fuckin' head. It's official, Fen thinks. I've gone mad. This is what madness is like. I am disappointed. Madness is really gross.


At least Shane doesn't get cold. He comes up wet and breathless. And once he lays eyes on the sight, his complexion pales. He manages to shake that off and look away. "Where are we?" He whispers, harshly.


This is not at all what Tiarnan expected. He may not be quite as surprised as others, having seen some strange stuff in the past; especially in Shadow. Still, this is just creepy. As his gaze sweeps across the room and takes it all in, he turns his gaze one Shane and mutters, "Not in Kansas anymore..."


Ellis holds his somewhat bloody palm and tilts his head as he observes the gruesome scene. "Well bugger."


There was something weird going on with Frances's ears but that's gone now, whatever it was, either way she's looking around and wrinkling up her features in disgust. "Definetly don't eat anythin here..." cause eww, seriously eww. Course Frances doesn't have an answer, she's not knowledgable about this particular type of weirdness but hey, there's always more to learn and then she'll know for next time... stupid weirdness. "Only thing I can think of is some kinda slip between real and not, like the wolves got their spirits and where the spirits live but this is the shitty Portland land that's not the real land and some asshole has fucked it up. Some asshole who likes to eat rotten shit and babies as if full-sized ones wouldn't work better.. more meat on em." cause...priorities.. and good eats.


Ellis will snap his fingers and go 'Ooooooh'. He then coughs into his hand and regains his composure. "Be on the watchout for your dopplegangers, Ladies and Chaps. Those.. are likely to be the worst for all of us."