InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "One's mama to you."

Bellum Anon (bellum_anon) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-03-21 23:25:00

Entry tags:

plot: fables

Fables Plot Close
Who: Everyone who wants to participate!
What: The End of the Fables plot. Post your change backs here if you so choose!
Where: Bellum Letale
When: 11:59 PM
Warnings: All sorts?

At 11:59 PM exactly, the building twitched again, shuddering and shaking through time and space, a shift so quick that it was nearly invisible. Stories, fairy tales, and fables began to go back into their boxes, closed off from where they'd bled into reality, into the selves of the tenants. The building righted itself as clock hands shuddered over to a minute to midnight.

Then things began to revert to their normal selves, whether they liked it or not. First the hallways, then the doors, and then the people, one by one. Rich finery spun back into 100% cotton, rage melted into confusion and despair. Only the memories stayed, unchanged by the building's influence. And, despite the fights and and the strangeness and the magic of the day, the memories the day left behind may have been the worst of the aftermath.

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Lobby, 12:15 AM

takingsides
2010-03-22 05:21 am UTC (link)

Rick sat on one of the curving cushions at the border of the lobby. His fiery hair was slick and dark, and his clothes had the loose straight lines of being recently donned. Unlike his previous appearances--and disappearances, Christ--he wore both socks and shoes (low white running shoes), and he had on a look of profound concentration. The previous twenty-four hours were crystal clear in his mind, and yet it was so obviously not quite his own mind that it was like seeing everything through a round crystal that distorted not only the image, but the entire experience. He was taken by the strong need for a drink, and for exactly that reason, he wasn't having one.

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202: Midnight / Closed

acatalyst
2010-03-22 05:25 am UTC (link)

He was in his apartment when he changed back. He had gone looking for Mary, but he'd found a mystery instead. A room where images, photographs were developed. It had kept him intrigued long into the night.

When he'd become tired, more in the fashion of his regular age than the age of this new-and-improved version of himself (despite the carryover of ailments), he fell asleep in a chair, his pained leg propped on an ottoman.

He hadn't woken when his cane fell out of his hand, nor had he woken at 12:00, when he slipped dreamily from Watson to Micah. His clothes changed to scrubs, and the cane melted into nothing (along with the mustache), and still he slept on.

His dreams changed too, but he was asleep (of course) and didn't notice. Holmes went from friend to uncertain acquaintance, Irene went from admired to a challenge, Katya went from new to unknown.

In the morning, he would remember everything, but he would think it a dream.

Until someone enlightened him, that is.

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P1, 11:59 pm

snow_bees
2010-03-22 05:29 am UTC (link)

The Snow Queen had spent her entire day in her castle, tending to her new child. The snow lingered in the corners of the rooms, occasionally swirling around her, though she tried to control it as best she could to keep the baby warm enough.

When the clock shivered back over to 11:59 pm, Deirdre blinked a few times, standing next to her bed in her nightgown and robe, feet now freezing in the snow that was still there, and staring down at a child that was most definitely not hers. Her breath caught in her throat at the fear and worry that hit her, forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed as her knees momentarily gave out, cursing softly to herself. The memories filled her mind, vivid and nonsensical, and she searched out the one that would give her the information she needed.

Whose baby was this?

Everything else could wait...

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Penthouse floor, 12:01 am

nobleblood
2010-03-22 07:52 pm UTC (link)

After his escape from Van Helsing and Jonathan, Vlad had spent the daylight hours in the basement - the catacombs, specifically - attempting to rest in order to gather his strength for the next night. Even in the shadows he could feel the effects of the day, keeping him weak and lethargic; in no state for another encounter with the men who wished him dead. Somehow, however, he managed to stay hidden until the sun set once more.

This time he ventured outside beyond the building's constraints, and it was nearing midnight when he returned, content and sated. Finally he could return to his apartment, now that his hunger was quenched and he was powerful once more. Then, perhaps, he might return for Mina before the sun rose once again.

He'd just reached the penthouse floor when the changes occurred, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling into the wall. His clothing melted away into the simple pants and shirt he'd been wearing the day before, eyes returning to their normal color as his fangs shrank back down to average teeth. The worst, however, was his literal return to the land of the living - his heart and lungs were flattened for a moment before he was left gasping for air, the feel of a pulse too foreign for his own liking. Vlad was mortal once more, and among the onslaught of sensations and emotions, he recognized disappointment. He'd liked the power Dracula wielded, the immortality he possessed.

But then the other memories came - of what he'd done and who he'd done it to, of torn flesh and drained blood, and in horror he realized what this meant. Everyone knew; Peter and Helena, Daniel and Rosalie, even those he didn't recognize, like the girl with the doll-- and the man he'd recognized as Van Helsing. If he remembered, then that meant they all would. Kiki could be dead for all he knew, and Helena - no, he couldn't have, not to her. Of all people, he never would have harmed her... and yet, he did.

What had he done?

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ex_sanguine300
2010-03-23 05:02 am UTC (link)

She was in the park when she changed back.

She'd wanted to be in the woods, near the trees and the grass and with a canopy of green overhead; the park is the closest thing she'd found.

She also hadn't found her vampire.

When she changed back it was a nothing of a thing. A disappearing cloak, a small lightening of the hair, but that was all.

She needed to get up, to run, to see if Shane ate anyone.

She didn't move. She stayed where she was late into the day, then she walked slowly back to Bellum Letale, crawled into bed and slept.

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wolfishane
2010-03-23 05:19 am UTC (link)

The change back for Shane wasn't pleasant. He'd been chasing after Red, who had gone running off and away, but he'd lost her somehow, and had ended up circling back up the stairs, prowling the building.

Around midnight he was getting bored and hungry again. Red never had turned up, her scent confused with too many other people's for him to track her properly, and he'd decided to seek out whatever entertainment he could find--likely in whatever prey he could catch. Then the clock clicked over to 11:59.

The pain was just as excruciating the second time around as it had been the first. His tail compressed back into his spine, the bones in his face shifting, cracking, snapping back into place. Dark fur sank back into skin, and sharp teeth, teeth that were nearly familiar to him by now, receded into blunt human ones. His body rearranged itself under his skin, and he tried to keep the screaming to a minimum.

When it was done, he was left lying naked on the floor, enduring small aftershocks of pain. There was still some blood around his mouth, and he pushed himself up with sore, protesting muscles, wincing.

How many people had he almost killed? Three that he could bring to mind right away, maybe four, maybe five. And Boyd among them. He felt a pang, then remembered she'd gotten away.

A small comfort. What the hell had happened? And why? And, likely most importantly, was it going to happen again?

He pushed himself to his feet. He knew he had to get back to his apartment before someone found him naked in the hall, and he stumbled for the stairs. Boyd. What could he say to her after this? What was there to say?

A voice at the back of his mind piped up, picking up a chant, insidious. It was only a matter of time. Animals always turn on the people who care for them.

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706, 11:40 pm.

deductively
2010-03-23 07:27 am UTC (link)

The day had gone by quickly for Eliot. Once they had finished their tea, Iris and Eliot had spent a part of the morning discussing the details of the case he had observed during his brief hospital visit. After that, she had filled him on everything she had learned about the tenants of Bellum Letale since moving in, and Eliot had absorbed the information eagerly. He didn't know what he made of the information just yet, but it was intriguing enough to warrant actually taking notes.

But they had eventually run out of rumors to discuss, and Eliot had to return to his experiments. Iris had wandered off soon after, and Eliot had not pressed for more information. A woman like Irene Adler did what she pleased, and Eliot had no desire to displease her in any way. So he had bid her good bye pleasantly, asked her to call whenever she liked, and returned back to his work.

Eliot did not know when or how the afternoon and evening rolled by, but just that it was well past eleven p.m. by the time he took a break to eat. He made himself a quick sandwich (which was really all he had provisions for in the new apartment), and was downing his second cup of coffee when he heard a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in!" The door was still unlocked from that morning, and Eliot wasn't ready to put down his coffee to be polite.

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Re: 706, 11:40 pm.

nightmrholmes
2010-03-23 08:02 am UTC (link)

Irene stepped in. She was wearing the same dress she had before, as if the late hour was not enough a breech of civil behavior; she had dressed down slightly from its extravagance, and the jacket was missing, along with much of the train, much of the lace, the gloves and the muffler. As a result, the blue dress lost its stage-like impression, and the woman looked like the kind of person one might greet by given name on the street rather than in some civil soiree. She was clearly troubled, judging by her expression, and though she would never have dreamed it earlier, she opened the door as bid and moved forward into the room, lifting her skirts so they would not impede her progress.

"I'm disturbing you," she said, as she came in. Though her tone was apologetic, she did not beg his pardon. She did not sit in the chair she had occupied previously, but moved forward until she stood in the doorway of his kitchen. "This is quite a horrible place, Mr. Holmes," she told him, letting her eyelids slip down demurely to avoid being too confrontational about the topic. "I do not know how we (they?) stand it."