Doors Verse (doorsverse) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-06-29 11:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | plot: secrets |
Who: Everyone!
What: The Secrets Plot
Warnings/Rating: This is a group log, so anything goes as far as adult content. Please provide locations and warn whenever appropriate in subject lines. All bolded locations are visitable. Characters may only be in one place at a time, not in multiple threads, and you must post using the “secrets” anon account. This post is anonymous; no names, accents, or defining fonts, please. Lastly, comment with "dibs" on threads you intend to hit, and feel free to exit your characters from threads at any time.
The party was taking place in a house that God might build for himself, were He to have a great deal of money. The paint was fresh and the stone smoothly new-cut, but the style was older, designed to look like it had been nestled outside the city for a very long time indeed. The city itself was no more than a shimmer of lights on the horizon, but the people inside the house shone with all the brightness of individual suns. Notes fixed to certain doors and in certain places helped the guests make their way through the evening's entertainment. Ballroom. The decor was impeccable. Glass shone and crystal glittered. Expensive antiques from the continent mingled freely with contemporary art deco minimalism, art nouveau beside rococo in the rooms. The ballroom itself was a marvel, with a hot jazz band playing as fat and loud as they knew how, and a hundred different sequined women dancing with a hundred different suited men. Beads flew and fringe sizzled across hosiery. This was the Twenties- the dresses were long lines meeting short ends at the hip, the women bobbed hair and tarry red lipstick. Waiters swept dangerous and graceful circles past the dancers to ply the guests with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Above the dancers, immense hoops hung from the ceiling, and beautiful men and women did acrobatic routines to thrill the crowd. At the back, a bar was pouring out very strong drinks, the pure stuff, unlike the unadulterated wood alcohol like one would find at the speakeasies in town. And if any of the dancers took a shine to their partners, they could always take them upstairs, to the dark and beautifully appointed bedrooms there. Greenhouse. The note upon the greenhouse door reads "Dig." Reached by following the dark hallways past the main party areas, tucked away from the house, at the back, the greenhouse was dim, lights off for the night, and one could just make out the stars through the begrimed windows. This part of the house, it seemed, was neglected - shut away from the glisteningly clean front. There were exotic plants of all kinds in the planters, obscuring the narrow walkways from each other and growing almost to the ceiling. The dark soil they grew from was fertilized by secrets, and if one grabbed one of the trowels that hung on the wall by the door and dug, they would find secrets indeed - artifacts of themselves, and of the things they kept hidden, all buried in the dirt like hidden treasure. Basement. At the end of the main hall, a door, and stairs led down to the different world of the lower floor. Smokey and decorated in grimy jewel tones and dark wood, the guests below were a different cut than those shining people upstairs. Here, desires were in the open, and secrets blossomed like flowers in the underbelly of the house. The hallway that the stair emptied into was barely wide enough to fit two people walking side by side, and it opened into a large room dominated by a low stage. On the stage was a line of women and men, all heavily painted and looking down at the patrons clustered below. Off to the side stood an auction master, searching the crowd for interested parties, the words "Buy" and "Sell" engraved upon his podium. This was a burlesque-style flesh sale. Guests could leave, but if they stayed, they would need to become one of the spectators assessing the lots, or one of the lots onstage, awaiting their buyer. No currency was needed to take a lot from the lineup - just an inclination, and a nod to the auctioneer in his bowtie and boater. An open doorway from the stage lead into a dim room lit with flickering lamps and candles, with velvet booths into which each couple could disappear, and the buyer could make of their purchase what they liked. Camera gallery. Through one of the doorways in that narrow, narrow hall was a darkroom all in red, disorienting to the eye. On either side were banks of liquid chemicals, and the place stank of the process of creating images. But through that room, and through a heavy velvet curtain to keep light out of the darkroom behind, was the studio. It was dim too, lit with lamps, a dozen cameras there to use, each tucked into the privacy of a screened space. Some of the cameras were open, and there are some scenes to pose in. Classical scenes - a fake plant and the backdrop of a forest which seems strangely alive, a backdrop of ruins with a thin, gauzy toga to change into. "Snap," was the word engraved upon the camera stand. There, if a guest took control of the camera, they took control of whatever model sat for them. With every picture they could issue a single order for the model to obey. Pose this way, pose that. The possibilities ran deeply indeed. And if they chose to become the model, the guest would need to obey the demands of the photographer. If they did not want to answer the command, they had to flee, before the camera could snap off another tiny piece of their soul. Hunt. Beyond the garden and the opulent waters of the circular pool, the main draw on the grounds was the hunt running its way through the thick woods around the manse. Men and women on horseback and on foot were following dogs and their own inclinations through the trees, chasing each other and being chased. All were smiles, but something sinister edged its way out underneath. It was just a game, after all, but the horses foamed with exertion, and the drunken participants wove and hunted after their prey with increasing intensity. When guests arrived at the clearing, a bank of 1920s hunting rifles and knives awaited them, with a note upon the wood cupboard that read, simply, "Hunt." The hunt was already in progress, and weaker guests venturing into this area should run into the thick woods that surrounded the house for safety, while stronger guests might prefer to grab a weapon and join the chase. |