InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Fellini held his ground,"

Bellum Anon (bellum_anon) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-04-27 23:02:00

Entry tags:

plot: fables

Who: Everyone!
What: Transformation Plot Post
Where: All over.
When: Moonrise on the 28th.
Warnings: All kinds, I expect.

The moon slipped up past the horizon full, round, and white. Its effects had been predicted, though perhaps not fully believed by the residents of the building.

Moonlight streamed through the windows of the building, washing the city in pale light. For the tenants of Bellum Letale, where ever they were, scattered in the night, it had a tangible effect.

Change rippled through the building, much as it had over a month before. But this was not simply a twitch in the fabric of things, gone in the blink of an eye. It was a rolling change, gradual as the moonrise, tangible, and, in some cases, likely terrifying in its inexorability. People became what they were, what they ought to have been, and what they weren't.

The moon was up, and trouble was about to run high in Bellum.

[Notes: Remember that the events of last month still apply-I.E, those who became vampires will be vampires when they take on their fable form, the Frog Prince will still be human after being turned back last plot, etc. Whether the fables are aware a month has passed since they were last around is up to the players. This log posted with the anon account so that the mods do not wake up tomorrow with 100 notifications in their gmail. Go forth and plot!]

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Deluxe Floor

snow_bees
2010-04-29 09:34 pm UTC (link)

[after this]

The Snow Queen descended the stairs, hearing people's voices echo up at her (that infurating girl in the red cloak), but encountered no one as she alighted on the next floor down. The halls were familiar, and she brought herself to the door where she had found the child last time. D5. A queen does not knock, and as she had no one to announce her presence for her, she simply turned the knob and let herself inside, seemingly not surprised that the door should open for her.

No voices greeted her this time, no glass covered the kitchen floor. It was almost peaceful, except for the scene she came across in the tiled room where she had found the child before. This time, instead of tea in the bathtub, the floor was covered in dark red, curves and droplets of it making gruesome patterns, some gathered along the gridlines of the groutwork. There was a brief memory of another red-soaked floor, but the Queen pushed it away. It did not concern her at the moment.

She moved further through the silent apartment, becoming well aware that the child and his mother were no longer there.

After she had searched every room, she scowled to herself, the one crack in her composed mask. The child was gone. Until he returned, she would have to seek out another one.

She didn't wish to linger any longer in the silent rooms, and moved back to the front door. Letting herself back into the hallway, she left the door open. The rooms were not hers. What concern was it to her if the door remained open to passersby.

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