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Doors Verse ([info]doorsverse) wrote in [info]doorslogs,
@ 2013-10-18 21:51:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:plot: halloween

Who: Everyone!
What: The Halloween plot
Where: Passages → The RMS Mauretania
Notes: This is a group log, so anything goes as far as adult content. Please provide locations and warnings, whenever appropriate, in subject lines. Characters may only be in one place at a time, not in multiple threads simultaneously, and you must post using the “doorsween” 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 Mauritania is a ghost ship.

Launched in 1938, it's been decades since she sailed the oceans, and yet the doors of Passages open onto the night-darkened deck of a ship that is barely afloat. She tilts, she lurches, and she is cobweb-lined from her deserted bridge to her silent deck. There is no land to be sighted from any railing, and no light save that from the stars overhead. The promenade winds around the upper level in ominous silence, and haunting music can be heard beyond the doors that lead into the ship's interior.

Promenade; Elevator: It's a curious thing, this ghost ship's elevator. Opulent and splendid, it takes up the entire center of the grand entrance, and it is meant to carry passengers down into the belly of the ship. But it doesn't work just right. Sometimes, the elevator drops impossible lengths. Sometimes, the elevator stops altogether for hours at a time. Yet somehow it's always empty and awaiting new passengers.

First Class; Baths: The upper-level, with its height and distance from the ocean, feels safe and bright. Classical music can be heard in these halls, though there is no orchestra and the ballroom is ominously dark. Laughter leads passengers to the one mostly-lit area in first class, where a swimming bath leads to smaller, more private Turkish bath. The lights here are quiet, flickering and barely there, and shadows dance elusively in the depths of the pool, while ghostly laughter can be heard in the private bath stalls.

Second Class; Theater: Down a level, the second-class floor is louder than the elite first-class floor. Here the air is thick with cigar smoke, and glasses can be heard clinking from the open doors to the smoking room. But it's the theater that draws passengers on this floor. It is cramped and entirely dark, save for the monochrome film on the screen, hauntingly devoid of sound, where a collection of terrifying collages and darkly sexual imagery fill the screen.

Third Class; Dining: Claustrophobic stairs lead down to the narrow passages of the cramped third-class rooms, where the air is heavy and thick, and where the lights flicker and cast the hall into windowless darkness. Here, the ghostly gears of the engine room can be heard sputtering dangerously, and the sensation of the ship's tilting is most pronounced. At the end of the hall, the dining area gives the illusion of windows where none exist. Chairs are pushed aside to allow for dancing to soulful and intimate music, while ocean water teases shoes and heels.



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Second Class; Theater smoking room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 10:22 pm UTC (link)
He had not booked passage on a ship. He had not even intended upon a celebration for he was certain that the music, faint but haunting, indicated that it was such. The man from the flickering celluloid, the gray glimmers of the silent screen stood with the heels of his shiny leather shoes neatly together and the comb grooves in the sharp part of his hair knew that he was not meant to be here at all, and the expanse of polished floors and the rich opulence of this floating ode to history ought be unsettling - but he did not appear to be unsettled. He pushed his hands into the pockets of the tailored suit, and he strolled, the slick leather of his soles slapped and he walked past the elevator cage with a twitch of his head to look at the bars, at the implication of being caught behind them and down the stairs with the neat little flick of steps that were a man made to dance.

Down. Down past the baths and the ripple of water and the glitter of voices; the man with his pocket-square neatly folded and the monochrome shirt did not look over at where the champagne likely flowed and the voices were meant to hold the clipped intonation of the wealthy, of first-class ticket holders who paid in advance for their berths. He turned sharply, click of the heels, where the hubbub was, where the cigar smoke wreathed over his head and turned the air faintly blue. The movie star breathed in the warm fug and he strolled toward an empty chair in the smoking room, withdrawing a silver, engraved cigarette case from his breast pocket and leaned across the nearest shoulder.

“Excuse me,” polite, with all the finesse of a bygone golden era played out in lights, “Do you have a light?” He held out his cigarette in the pinch of his fingers.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 10:56 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:20 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:53 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:19 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:34 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:30 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 10:57 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:08 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:44 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 01:05 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:16 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 02:01 pm UTC
Promenade; Elevator
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 10:22 pm UTC (link)
One of many, the concubine's bare feet pressed into the wood of the deck, her toes in search of awakening. She had arrived in a very different guise, and every instinct told her to turn and flee. But instinct only lasted a moment, replaced by something deeper that clung to her bones and sucked at the meat and marrow that was her being. She looked down, unsurprised to find herself garbed in sin. She knew that she should feel shame. She knew that heat should burn her cheeks and send rivulets of degradation down the sides of her pale, exposed neck. But she felt only one thing, and that one thing was wrong.

Her hair was onyx, and it moved on the sea breeze like something with obscenely longboned fingers. Her smooth and silken hair reached out and grabbed passersby, the work of the devils and demons that she belonged to and pleasured. She was one of many, and she took a step forward on cold feet that were inked with whorls and decorations made with thin needles tipped with indigo and coal. She was alabaster skin, cool to the touch and marble that gave and curved and promised disgusting things. The white of her shift peeked from beneath black at one shoulder, and she did nothing to tuck it beneath the gauzy black that worshiped at her bare toes. She was a dip of cleavage, a thing made for sin and relegated to that dark harem that smelled of charred flesh and human decay.

Her lashes were soot and ash, long and overdefined, and her lips were pout puckered. She was made this way, created this way from rivers of forgetting and woe and lamentation. All these things were inherent to who she was in the waking world, and they belonged to her here. She looked down at her clothing with the lingering ghost of dread, and she smoothed her pale and deathly hands over the bones that contained the ache beneath that gauze of black. Transparent nearly, and pale flesh and provocativeness beneath. It was her last attempt at fighting, that splay and press of fingers at her breastbone.

Her inhibition fled, carried away by the deadman's ferry, and she continued forward and wished for the concerns that filled her still lungs with breath and gifted her with humanity. Yet her chest remained unmoving, and she entered the elevator in search of quickening. The serpentine strands atop her head reached for the open elevator doors, beckoning and promising with a hiss and a whisper.

"Look."

"Are not we fit for God?"

"Are not we fit for you?"

"Allow us."


Black eyes wide and whiteless, the sylphlike concubine pressed fingers to the elevator's buttons. Home was down, where she had been forged. This lofty cleanliness was not for her kind.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:12 pm UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:31 pm UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:53 am UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:27 am UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 08:23 pm UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:07 pm UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:01 am UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 01:52 am UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 09:06 am UTC
Re: Promenade; Elevator [Adult] - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:16 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:21 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 12:11 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 08:53 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 09:46 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 04:38 am UTC
theater; aisle seat
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 10:23 pm UTC (link)
He's smoking inside the theater. It's not a cigarette, but a cheroot, and the smoke he exhales is heavy with sweet tobacco, clotting in the air into small, viscous clouds.

He's wearing a trenchcoat, which seems to suit him. It's a little dirty and the lapels are rumpled, and so is the clothing beneath, an old suit in a timeless style that is, still, antique. He has a young face, too young to be dressed like an old man and smoking by himself.

By now, he's come to expect something to happen at Halloween, and his worry about what might happen this time faded with his first exhale of smoke from the little cigar that appeared in his fingers. He's watching the images on screen with vague interest, and he is trying to stay in his seat. It's better for him to stay there, even if he doesn't want to. He may be old, but for him, with his young face and his tired eyes, the will never outlives the strength of the body. It merely bides, and waits for him to give it an opportunity. But he's left all that behind him, or so he says.

The little cigar fades, centimeter by centimeter, and he tips his head back and to the left to look at the first person to approach from behind. He ashes the cheroot onto the sticky theater floor. Onscreen, there is a flash of an arcing body, sweat beading out on a chest too thin to be so twisted.

"Happy Halloween," he says, congratulating them both. Here they all are for another ride on the freaky merry go round, and without the fear of it all he can do is feel resign.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:01 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:08 am UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:29 am UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:42 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:07 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 04:21 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 04:52 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:08 pm UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:44 am UTC
Re: theater; aisle seat - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 02:04 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 03:11 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:29 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 01:22 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:25 pm UTC
first class - baths
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 10:40 pm UTC (link)
"Oops!" She put her hand over her mouth as the door into the baths slammed good and loud behind her. Her blonde pigtails preceded the turn of her head as she looked over her shoulder guiltily. No one there. Phew. She was gonna have so much fun! She had a new uniform, and it made her wanna do bad things. She realized just what kind of bad things as she tugged on the little name tag thingie that was clipped over the white nurse's top. Oh. Not that she didn't do bad things sometimes, but tonight was gonna be special. She could feel it!

She had a Mister J somewheres, but she wasn't gonna go looking for him. Mister J should find her sometimes, and not the other way around. Red would approve of her thinkin' that, but Red didn't matter neither. Tonight, she was gonna do what she wanted to do, and everyone else could just worry about B-Man or somethin' borin'. She wasn't crazy or nothin.' She knew Mister J wasn't really Mister J, and Red wasn't really Red, and B-Man wasn't really B-Man. She wasn't really a nurse, but none of that mattered. Tonight, everythin' was gonna be whatever she wanted it to be. She knew it was just playin,' but she needed a night of playin'. No one deserved it better than her.

She leaned back against the door she'd slammed near off its hinges, and she listened to it complain at her weight. "Be quiet. We don't wanna be heard yet," she told the door. She stepped forward, red and purple boots and black fishnets tucked beneath and climbing to her thighs. The door sighed as she moved away, because it was a door that didn't listen good. She sucked the end of one pigtail into her mouth as she spun to tell the door to be quiet again, but the spin was almost quick enough to knock her off her thick soled boots. Her lips turned up in a grin of understanding, and the black paint that circled her eyes crinkled as she bounced happily. She did a row of flips to prove her theory, and she ended with a victorious whoop! that was louder than any sound the no-good door made. "That'll show 'em!" she crowed, holding up a gun with green liquid that appeared without warning in her hand. She giggled as the gun cycled between hammer, scepter and bazooka.

"Tonight, I'm the one callin' the shots!" she called out, bloodstained white pleats floppin' indecently against her upper thighs as she swished toward them nice smellin' Turkish baths.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:38 pm UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:03 am UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:51 am UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:51 am UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:59 pm UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:36 pm UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:13 pm UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:30 pm UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:05 am UTC
Re: first class - baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:32 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:10 am UTC
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first class ; baths
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 10:52 pm UTC (link)
Death was aboard the ship tonight, a fitting venue indeed. He stood on the deck, still and unmoving in the midst of rocking and lurching, a sight one might look upon and then blink to clear their vision, for how could he be?

But he was. Here, now, he was, even if he wasn't normally, beyond the sea, where he breathed and his heart beat a steady thump-thump-thump in his chest, where he knew the warmth of humanity rather than the eternal chill of the grave. He was no angel though some referred to him as such, no brave Michael with his sword or Gabriel, who'd carried the good news to Earth, whom people admired and adored. Death was feared, hated, blamed for pain and suffering though none of it was his doing. He did not choose who lived and who died. He did not judge; the damned and the saved were predetermined before they felt his icy touch. Everyone died. He was meant to be neither good nor evil, and he was meant to be impartial.

Sometimes, though, sometimes he took liberties. Sometimes he found satisfaction in the fear of those who begged and pleased, and for those who did neither, who showed no remorse for their lives, he smiled knowing that they would reap what they had sown. Old, so old he was. He felt old. He felt as though he had been so many things; a loved one, a fearsome monster, a kind hand to guide the dead and vengeance incarnate. That was right, even outside of the role he'd adopted tonight, the conflict, two sides of a coin that came up different depending on who was looking. And maybe this was so easy because he wanted to be Death, because he wanted that heady power and the lack of fear which came with the knowledge that he could not die, could not feel, could not be harmed.

He just was.

Garbed in cloth of darkest black, a robe that covered him from head to toe and curved into a hood pulled over his head, obscuring his face or whatever it was that lurked beneath, Death went up. There were no footsteps to indicate that his feet made contact with the wood and his movements were smooth, supple, as though he glided to his destination. In one pale, pale hand, whiter than snow and merely skin shrink-wrapped around bone, he held a scythe. Its blade was sharp and curved, its handle fashioned from blackened bone, and if one looked the right way they might catch glimpses in the silver; gaping mouths, eyes stretched wide, remnants of the souls he'd collected.

He brought with him both the coldness of the grave and the stench of decay and rot, but to some they were welcome things, just as to some he was a friend, a relief, nothing to be feared at all. At the edge of the baths he paused, hood lowering in an indication that he was looking down, into the water. People drowned all the time. People would drown tonight. He was here because there were lives about to end, and if he had to give them a push, a tiny nudge, then so be it.

But he was not cruel, not always. He could, if he chose, make it as painless and simple as slipping into a warm bath and going to sleep. He could. Perhaps he might. He considered it, as the water rippled quietly beneath him.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:13 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:11 am UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:55 am UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:11 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:17 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:52 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:14 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 06:35 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 08:16 pm UTC
Re: first class ; baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:40 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 09:48 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:33 am UTC
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Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 11:11 pm UTC (link)
Ears, soft and velvety black, twitched and perked forward to catch the clink of glasses, and golden eyes reflected solid circles in the low light. The cigar smoke made her nose twitch, but she ventured farther into the smoking room. It was not where she was meant to be, but that did not stop the sueded pads of her bare feet from carrying her forward.

She moved with the grace gifted by her costume, feminine body transformed by the addition of the feline - ears, curving tail, thicker skin upon fingertips and toes, nails that were curved to wicked points, and needleprick teeth behind her smirking lips. While the additions of tail and ears were sleek with midnight fur that matched the hair that spilled over her shoulders in a slick waterfall of black, the rest of her skin remained milk pale and human. It emerged from the tshirt that was nearly transparent with age and along long legs that were barely covered by the shorts she wore, tugged up just far enough to cling to her hips and let her tail curl free from the base of her spine.

Sharp nails trailed along the tops of seats, catching threads of the brocade covered furniture, as she slunk through the smoky shadows, headed for an alcove of bench and cushions. Going to hands and knees, she crawled into the embrace of the close space, tail high as she moved. She finally settled, lounging on one hip as she propped herself up with the cushions. Her eyes glinted again in the light, a feline queen of a small, smoky kingdom.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:44 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:06 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:24 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:38 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:49 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:16 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:36 am UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:19 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:48 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:13 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 02:44 pm UTC
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Third Class ; Dining
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 11:13 pm UTC (link)
As soon as her bare feet touched down upon wood, she panicked.

This was wrong. It was a truth that echoed within her mind and tore at her throat, as fingers curled into claws and she tug, tug, tugged at her hair, the reasons why this was wrong crashing and colliding and getting all tangled up like string. Her dress was long, long, and the hem tripped her as she ran, tears carving trenches in her cheeks and tasting bitter on her tongue when she licked her lips. Like fireworks exploding in tandem she felt things, things she'd never felt before because angels weren't supposed to feel, like statues carved out of marble, and now it was all happening at once and she was on a boat and none of this should have been happening at all. She was good, she was, even if they didn't think so anymore and she'd been cast out, ripped and torn and abandoned like a piece of trash.

Home was up, but her feet blindly led her down, through narrow hallways where the lights flickered over her skin and her sobs seemed impossibly loud to her own ears. She didn't stop until water splashed beneath her feet, until she was wrapped in music that tugged at her soul, which only made her sobs worsen, and she threw herself into a nearby chair without looking up to see if she was alone. Knees drawn up to her chest, her hair spilled over and obscured her face, once bright as spun gold now dull and faded. Once the dress she wore had been pure and untouched but now it was yellowed and stained, the hem damped from ocean water, and it clung to her form almost obscenely. Pale skin was bared and the only indication of what she was, or what she had been, was on her back, where two long, messy scars ran parallel over her shoulder blades, the surrounding flesh bruised black and purple.

Her sobs were strong enough to wrack her entire body, limbs quivering, but soon they lessened, hitched breath and quiet whimpers like delicate glass from salt-stained lips.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-18 11:32 pm UTC
Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:13 am UTC
Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 12:00 pm UTC
Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:32 pm UTC
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Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:58 pm UTC
Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 02:26 am UTC
Re: Third Class ; Dining - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 10:33 am UTC
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Third class, away from the dining room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-18 11:48 pm UTC (link)
This was not his Jaeger. Nor was it the hallways of the dome that he knew, but narrow ways with wood that creaked in ways metal never could beneath his heavy feet. His suit made no sound, too well oiled, moving parts that were meant to stay in action rather than ever fall into the disrepair that this ship had.

Every sound within his helmet was too loud, his world limited by the sound of his breaths, the slight rub of hair against the interior, the faint buzz of an open comm line without another's voice to interrupt it. Without, the world was dimmed, isolating in ways that his world within rarely was. Thickly gloved fingers worked at the back latches until it came free with squelch of rubber seals and a sigh from him. Off it went. The gloves were next, black rubber and metal painted white tossed into helmet he had vacated and tucked between his body and arm.

Was this some kind of hazing? He'd been doing this shit for too long to have this kind of rookie crap pulled on him again. "Assholes," he muttered under his breath, then a little louder in case they could hear him. No muffled laughter greeted his curse as he expected. Fine. His fingers hooked around the rim of head piece as he continued walking. First one of his fellow pilots he saw, he was going to punch. How hard depended on how much he liked them.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 07:52 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:57 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:31 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:58 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:17 am UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 06:55 am UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:53 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:09 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 06:18 pm UTC
Re: Third class, away from the dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 12:43 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 06:33 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 07:12 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 07:39 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 10:04 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 11:06 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 11:11 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 04:55 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-28 08:24 am UTC
promenade ; elevator
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 12:31 am UTC (link)
Boots clicked against the floor as he walked, a confident stride which had only briefly been touched by concern, by doubt, before it had dissolved into obscurity like the ghosts of those who had once tread upon these same floors. He adapted easily, l'assassino, and he did not bat an eye at his surroundings. He knew the rooftops of his home like he knew how to breathe and he could navigate them blind, but here or there he was still an assassin, still part of the Order, and he would hold fast and true to his vows. He would not forsake them.

White and red and silver, the garb of the Brotherhood, his cape slung over one shoulder, pointed hood pulled over his head, and his hidden blades tucked safely away in his gauntlets until he should have need of them. He amused himself by leaping upon the railing, as swift and nimble as a cat, and walked along the edge with perfect balance until he caught sight of the elevator and swung himself down to the ground once more. He had no need of such a contraption but he entered regardless, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for the doors to close and the descent to begin. Whatever he found there, below, he would be prepared for regardless.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:34 am UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:29 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:57 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:46 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:48 am UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:12 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:39 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 02:17 pm UTC
Re: second floor ; smoking - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 06:42 pm UTC
Re: second floor ; smoking - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 09:00 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 10:04 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 05:34 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 07:21 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 04:10 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 05:06 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 03:09 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 03:44 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 05:05 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 06:26 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 01:36 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:06 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 03:18 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 03:57 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 02:04 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 05:06 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 09:59 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 10:39 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-28 02:59 pm UTC
Dining room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 02:11 am UTC (link)
Her heels were the snap of bubblegum on the floors, each one graced by the rustle of flower stem green skirts and stockings the dark pink of orchids. Maybe in another life she might have been a high born lady, stripped in her dressing room to slip and corset, but her hips held too much swagger, pendulum swinging with every step and her gaze was too bold. Not challenging, you couldn't sell wares like hers if you challenged prospective buyers.

Maybe if she was selling what was between her thighs instead of what was on them, she might have tempted those big men with their fat fingers and dumb pricks into some dark dusty corner and let them tear at her lacy panties and grunt in her ear as they did what little they could do. But she was after something else of theirs, something likewise fat, only with crisp green bills instead of clogged arteries and flowing blood.

Those were the one she was after. Young men full of too much liquor and themselves, out to buy a present for their lady friend. Older men buying an apology to their wives with something that sparkled and gleamed like new love. Her gaze assessed, too young, too poor, too goddamn needy, as she worked through the room hips making suggestions few soul ever find out he truth of and finally sat, a few seats in from the main aisle.

And waited.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 03:11 am UTC
Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 08:51 am UTC
Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 04:07 pm UTC
Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:00 pm UTC
Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:16 pm UTC
Re: Dining room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 01:21 am UTC
First class; swimming bath - upper level
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 02:19 am UTC (link)
By the time this particular little adventure was through, she was going to have a very stern word with a certain captain about the joint he was running around these parts. She had only just begun to explore the upper levels (as was just fitting for a lady of her aspiring means, get with the picture ladies and gents, goddamnit), but already her list of mental notes for improvement was about as long as the milk-skinned legs that held her six-foot frame up off the ground. Wrapped in leather that was as soft as warm butter, those legs carried her towards her most inevitable of destinations; the ballroom was her calling in every version of life, darling, haven’t you read the newsletter? (She printed each issue on all those blank pages at the back of the Bible, and they arrived in the mail stinking to high heaven of patchouli and those little gummy candies made in the shape of children.)

Regardless, her search for a stage was just about as utterly pointless as nipples on a straight man – that is to say, laughably futile and nearly offensive in their pink, puckered existence. The place was darker than any dive bar and smelled only marginally better, since it was the tang of briny water that pricked at her nose rather than the aromatic bouquet of dried semen and vomit. No band in sight, either – just that ridiculous excuse for music, with the Stradivarius strings and the ho-hum horns and the fucking flutes that couldn’t sound any more queer even if they were made of actual cocks and shot minor scales across every face in their audience.

She tipped her head to the side as she listened at the door of the ballroom, curls the color of a peeled banana falling across her face and clinging to the gloss painted on her lips. (Lovely. One more sticky substance to clean out of her wig when the first fingers of dawn clawed their way over the horizon and she finally managed to stagger home in her tap-tapping sequined stilettos.) The music rose, and swelled, and rose some more, filling the room with an all-encompassing cry of haunting sorrow. “Well, that’s just fucking depressing,” she muttered under her breath as she backed out of the room, clucking her tongue. The whole thing left a bad taste in her mouth, and not even an orgasm to show for it.

And so she went, onwards and inwards to the place that echoed with lilting laughter and the soft lap of water against tile. The door to the baths was thick and heavy against her palms – like all pleasurable things in life and love and interior design – and its hinges sang as she pushed it open, a hum that echoed across the surface of the pool. Now that - talk about music to her ears, darling. But she did not descend the steps to the cool surface of the water, not just yet. No, she was the sort of dame that liked to climb, get up on top before she sank down, down, down to the delicious bottom where she thrived. No, it was up the steps that she directed her dainty little heels, click-clacking on the tile, all the way up to the level that overlooked the bathing area. Each echo struck some chord inside her chest, and she could do naught but answer in a deep, throaty purr of a voice – more hum than snarl, for once in her goddamned life. It was an oldie, but a goodie if ever such a thing existed.

“Gimme danger little stranger, and I feel with you at ease,”

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: First class; swimming bath - upper level - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 03:06 am UTC
Re: First class; swimming bath - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:54 pm UTC
Re: First class; swimming bath - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:41 am UTC
Re: First class; swimming bath - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:19 pm UTC
Re: First class; swimming bath - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 06:22 pm UTC
The Deck, toward the Bridge
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 03:02 am UTC (link)
The jungle was a better forge than any to be found in a civilized village, and it made Tarzan of the Apes a thing of fearsome beauty and dreadful intensity. The young man's brown skin was pressed smooth by a tangled torrent of muscle, so many lean muscles that it could not be doubted that they were anything but necessary. He used them to move, every stride a tug and a pull of tendon and flesh, and after discovering the long curve of the Deck, he hung down over the ship's long railing to stare out over the Cimmerian water. The edge of every limb seemed hardened as if by repeated blows, and he felt no strain in arm or fingers as he looked out into the nothing night with a bleak, unblinking stare that went on forever.

Tarzan grunted with dislike. There was no sight of the coast, and though he felt no fear of the long drop and icy mist, he lifted one calloused hand after another and pulled himself back onto the deck of the ship, landing heavily on knuckles and shoulders. His weight made the salt-stained deck creak with impact, and he tucked his head down, tangled black hair confused at the crown of his prominent forehead. He tested the deck with his thick toes. When it did not creak again he progressed forward once more, a contorted shadow sliding moving much as muscles might, expanding and contracting as Tarzan swung his feet forward under his hips.

He huffed dusty air through his sharp nose and turned his tangled head this way and that, trying to sniff out the inhabitants of the ship, thinking thoughts of hunger and curiosity and caution. He heard voices, but they were distant, and he had not yet decided whether he could find them quicker by going left or right. He sucked his last meal from between his teeth as he considered, damp fingers itching at the line of his loin cloth on one hip.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 01:18 pm UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 06:06 pm UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:03 pm UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 02:32 am UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 10:58 am UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 09:41 pm UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 10:14 am UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 04:43 pm UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 01:24 am UTC
Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 02:37 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 02:10 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 12:41 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 03:14 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 05:59 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 08:33 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 11:55 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 03:14 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 07:38 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 10:45 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 01:01 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 10:20 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 12:27 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 03:01 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 12:22 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 03:34 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-28 12:16 am UTC
Elevator: Inside
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 12:10 pm UTC (link)
Never in his life had he been on a ship, nor had it been something he had any desire to do, and the moment his feet touched the deck, panic set in. He could feel his heart pound a little faster, breath coming in shorter, more panicked pulls. Looking out at the dark sea that stretched on farther than he could see, he knew he needed to be somewhere else.

Not here. Not so exposed.

He was a thing dressed in pure white, the stark white a contrast against his darker, olive-toned skin, feet and hands bare. Slashes in the back of his shirt made room for the delicate, paper-like wings that sprung from his shoulders, quivering with the fear and panic he was experiencing. Quick footsteps carried him from the deck to the promenade, the soles of his feat remaining clean despite the dirty floor beneath them. An elevator. HE knew elevators, trusted them, and trusted them even more to carry him away from here. A breeze rustled his wings, their delicate material threatening to tear, and his fear doubled, choking him.

He reached out to punch the button of the elevator, willing it to arrive, for the doors to open, and when they finally did, he let out a sound that was relief and thanks bundled in one. Stepping inside, a button was punched, any button, he didn't care, his heart threatening to pound itself out of his chest as he waited now for those same doors to close.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 04:47 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 07:14 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 08:22 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 08:31 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:00 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:10 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:25 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:32 pm UTC
Re: Elevator: Inside [Increasing violence] - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:00 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:09 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:48 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:07 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:30 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:37 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:19 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:31 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:59 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:25 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 02:04 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 03:42 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:11 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 09:06 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 10:19 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:12 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:31 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 12:30 pm UTC
Second Class: Smoking Room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 01:45 pm UTC (link)
There was no other logical place for her upon this iron island in the night, no other place that begged for a wraith and creamwhite cheeks and the pale ivory column of her neck above the neatly-pressed collar, all peter pan and whimsical in the places that she would never be, and deadly woe to the man who dared to believe any different in his throbbing ignorance. She was grown and lanky with her years, so the frock did not quite fit her as in the days of her youth, so her bare and narrow thighs shone like fragile eggshells even in the dimness of the smoking room, so the seashell buttons at the neck cut into her skin until she reached up and popped them open with the crook of a skeleton finger. And so and so and so, she was all lithe limbs and narrow little wrists and stained-red lips that she wetted, and they glistened around the clove cigarette clamped tight in her jaw.

The room was nearly empty, though it would be hard to tell with the curtains of hazy smoke that hung about so heavily and filtered out all but the rarest traces of light. Every now and then a wisp of something that played at a breeze lifted the stagnant stillness of the air, and stirred the deep ebony of her hair where it hung in two shiny braids that framed hollow cheeks. And in those moments she could have sworn that she saw the shifting shadows of strangers at the edges of her vision, blessed by a demon and plotting something sinister. The child that lived within her heart found an intoxicating beauty in this poison possibility, this threat that might hold the saccharine edge of a blade to her fragile larynx, but it was the adult of her person that warmed to liquid and melted and pooled beneath the hem of her dress. This grown up version, she could imagine the taste of Danger on the back of her tongue and she longed for the salt in His bite, something to sting as it lathed her tight little wounds and threatened to make her something so filthy and whole.

All those miles between certain corruption and tantalizing sin, the length of her legs spanned them as they stretched out into the thickened air, the curve of her calf and her bare ankles an obscene sight to behold, like the ends of a mermaid’s tail sliced open and maybe she wanted someone to hold her head beneath all that heavy saltwater. Maybe she just wanted to be begging and thrashing under a deadly man’s grip, and maybe she would come up grinning and snapping those pearly teeth. Maybe she would make him pay so dearly, and he would love her for it.

And she did turn into some sort of venomous sea creature as she curled her legs beneath her in one of those plush armchairs, when the gaping collar of her dress slipped off one knifesharp shoulder and it shone so bright in the gray light; a beacon in deep water. Not even shivering when she was bare to the depths and the sick, sullen gazes of men from afar. Not even afraid for a moment with the taste of copper and cloves in her mouth, as she blew a perfect ‘O’ of smoke into the air above her head, where it hovered like a bull’s eye in need of a single, well-aimed arrow.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Second Class: Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:21 pm UTC
Re: Second Class: Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 03:58 pm UTC
Second Class: Smoking Room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 12:27 am UTC
Thid class, dining.
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 02:13 pm UTC (link)
The mime did not like being a mime. She'd been a mime for five whole minutes, and she was sure she hated it more than nearly anything. Okay, maybe she was exaggerating, but she really didn't like it at all. The black and white striped shirt she wore was soft, but that was the only good thing about any of it. She hated the little black hat that rested atop her black hair, and she hated the black pants, and she really couldn't stand the suspenders. The white paint on her face made her want to itch, and she blamed all of it on the downturned smile that extended just past her bowed lips.

At first, the mime was so busy hating on being a mime, that she didn't even notice that she was on a ship. She was trying to get her perennially white gloves dirty (fingers fruitlessly dragged along the dusty railing), when the ship tilted.

The mime knew that land did not tilt unless she was drunk. The mime was not drunk.

Gloved fingers closed around the railing, and the mime looked dooooown.

The mime didn't like this newest development any more than she liked being a mime. She tried to take her horrible little hat and toss it into the choppy sea, but it wouldn't budge, and she sighed as she turned back around and slid down to sit in a dejected pile on the deck.

If the mime could talk, she would ask why me? But the mime could not talk, and the mime could not ask. The mime sat.

And sat.
And sat.
And sat.

And then the mime was done with that, and she jumped up to her feet with new determination. Feeling sorry for herself was for out there. She didn't understand about inhibition, because she was a simple little mime, but she knew what she felt. She felt angry. She felt like she wanted to hurt someone. She wanted to scream.

She opened her mouth, and she tipped her head back to the night sky, and she screaaaaaaamed.

Silence.
Silence.
More silence.

With a huff of displeasure, the mime hung her head. It took herculean effort for her to move her feet in a lugubrious shuffle, but she made her way inside. The mime didn't like being inside, but she was hunched shoulders and small steps all the way to the stairs and down.

Down, down, down.
Until the stairs
stopped.

Frustratingly clean white-gloved hands on the walls of the thin hallway, she shuffled toward the music in the dining room.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Thid class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 07:34 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 08:44 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 09:14 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:13 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 10:22 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:40 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 10:55 am UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:01 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining. - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 05:30 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 07:30 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:54 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 02:37 am UTC
Aft of the deck
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 02:13 pm UTC (link)
A shiver of bells at her ankle and the sway of coins over the diaphanous silk that permitted the peeping of caramel-colored calves, the leisurely line of ankle to knee. Old coins, strung low until they dipped below the southern hemisphere line of her belly, like fairy-lights strung from the jut of one hip to the next until she was music with each step of her foot, but the genie strode like a choice made in the middle of a storm, like the blade of a knife is certain and quick. She stood at the back of the boat with her hands wrapped over the railing and the churn of the white-whipped waves cast up froth and spray. There were plenty of people stood at the fore, at the world before they whistled through it but she could feel the heavy weight of the lamp hung like a promise at her hip and she chose the back of the boat, the emptiness of spray-soaked deck to admire the world the boat had cut through, the weight of it guttering the water.

The wind was biting at her bare arms and the salt-bleached boards were slippery beneath the soft slippers on her feet but her toes curled and the genie let the filmy veil flit, like a blush on night sky, slip free from the back of her head with a laugh that was brined thick and pleased. The spilled-ink of a night sky was broad expanse above her head, and she didn’t know if they sailed West or East, North or South, there was no compass to spin drunkenly in circles, confounded by the magic of a boat. It didn’t matter, she knew she was a fantasy of a hot, perfumed night, scented with sandalwood and oiled with unctions and there was no perfume in the air here but the bloom of a storm, ozone and salt and that was different, it ran hot beneath the skin, warm enough to withstand the wick of night over the drenching spray.

She gripped the railings with wind-chilled hands, and she kicked off the sandals with quick glee, one-two, careless where they fell across the deck. She tested her weight experimentally against the rails and she hooked one foot and then another against the lower rungs, until it felt like falling free without any thought of landing and the boat and its people at her back, forgotten.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:46 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 08:58 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 09:31 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:06 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 09:31 pm UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:29 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 04:29 am UTC
Re: Aft of the deck - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 09:54 am UTC
Elevator to First Class
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 02:46 pm UTC (link)
No. This was not meant to be. She was not meant to be in a place such as this. There were very urgent and specific things that should have kept her from this. There were rules and decrees, things even she must hold fast to. But those proclamations fell as easily to the side as dry autumn leaves, leaving the icy pit of concern to fill with the warmth of her spirit. For all princesses held within themselves a well of spirit, and she was no different.

Her dress was fit for a party - for a ball - layers of silk and satin, tailored and embroidered to every weave and weft of the material. Beads of crystal winked and waned as she moved, a learned grace to her steps, spine straight and chin high. Carry yourself as a princess, and everyone shall know that is what you are.

The armor was wrought to be delicate but strong, to complement the dress that fell in fabric waves toward the floor, though there were signs of hits and strikes into the steel that someone had attempted to buff away from sight. The metal covered one arm, her chest over the heart, high toward her neck, and it would act as a shield, were she to need it. The straps that held it on well-worn and soft with use - not just costume. The sword strapped to her side was nearly hidden in the volume of her skirt, but the hilt could come easily to hand if needed. Carry yourself as a warrior, and they shall know that as well.

Carry yourself as both, and people will turn to stare, draw away, uncertain if they should bow or flee. So easily and well did the armor match the tailoring of the dress that it was impossible to tell what was her and what was costume. They merged together into the seamless royal whole that stalked herself through the space, losing the concern that would keep her from the levels below. The elevator shook and jolted in a way that should have left her clinging to the sides, but she simply folded her hands together and waited for it to release her to First Class. Stepping forward, she wandered the space, uncertain what, exactly she was searching for.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 04:19 am UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 02:57 pm UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 12:16 am UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:04 am UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 04:14 am UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 09:43 am UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:37 pm UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:51 pm UTC
Re: Elevator to First Class - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 05:50 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 10:42 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 05:56 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 01:57 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 09:44 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 10:08 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 09:22 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 09:49 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 01:33 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 01:44 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:05 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:36 pm UTC
Second Class; outside the theater
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 06:42 pm UTC (link)
Well this was just unexpected. Sarcasm not included. To Willy Wonka, this was the most fantabulous fantastical fanterrific thing that could ever happen, and his enthusiasm was easy to catch. Never mind that this wasn't the right body or the right gender or anything right at all. He had a sense of foreboding within, but with most unhappy senses, he ignored it altogether. This was curious and brilliant and bizarre and like nothing he could imagine, and that was saying a great deal, when stuck within the body of the most inventive man in fiction. Or one of them. The grandiose feelings were part of the dramatic flair.

Instead of concern he smiled broadly and strode around with confidence, amazed and fascinated. If he was placed in this situation, at least he should find out the secrets and see what was in store. With his bright purple coat and beige bow over a colorful pink shirt, he stood out. The orange top hat added to it on top of wispy golden hair. Why there could be excellent music to go with this, could there not? He would ordinarily never sing in public, but this was not there, that was far far away, perhaps a dream there or a dream here or a dream everywhere.

He was drawn, naturally, to the theater first, but it was dark and quiet, and that didn't suit his needs in the least. With an annoyed sound he huffed out, only glancing briefly at the screen ... and then again he did peek back in again. With the door firmly shut Willy twirled his cane and thought of where to go next. Front row seats meant nothing when there wasn't much to see. If only there was a program on this strange journey of theirs. At this point nothing would surprise him anymore. He straightened out his hat and looked around for something to amuse him.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Second Class; outside the theater - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 03:48 pm UTC
Re: Second Class; outside the theater - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 01:14 am UTC
Third class, dining area
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 07:00 pm UTC (link)
This was exactly the worst place for him. Claustrophobia leading to creaks and noises intended to sent chills up his spine, but they didn't. Instead, he was grumpy. He was tired. He was wondering how many more times crazy shit was going to happen to him, and if this was going to be the introduction to a new chapter in his life. It could be a lot worse, and on the whole he was leaning more toward amused than upset. There was something undeniably entertaining about the whole thing. The problem started with the fact he was a giant Rubik's Cube. Ha ha ha. At first it made him huff, the closest thing he had to a laugh most days, but then he tried to walk around and took a very, very ungraceful slip down the stairs. It would've been fine if the hard edges of the box didn't click hard against the stair and give him the sense that any more pressure and he'd fall down into who knew where underneath the wood.

Maybe that would be preferable at this point. Because stumbling and shuffling was sure to get a few stares, and he didn't want anyone to stare at him. It was the first step to a second step to a third step that never went well. After struggling over to a chair, he tried to sit, and that was laughably complicated. But he wasn't exactly wearing anything under it, not something he was new to, so he sighed and did his best to stay out of the way.

Pressing his thumbs into his eyes, he thought about what was happening and why, and he was heading toward no exact conclusion. The real question was why was the most annoying part of all this that the Rubik's Cube he wore wasn't solved? Was there a way to slide it around him. No. It was definitely glued together to make that impossible. He could try and focus on other things, but in the back of his mind was the constant irritation that he was unsolved. Sighing, he let the soulful and intimate music take away some of the dangerous feelings whirling around him, and took calming breaths. This was fine. This was hardy the worst thing that could've happened. He never drank, but this was the perfect time to start.

The gears of the engine room were begging to be fixed, and again. Unsolved. Unfixable. "Check please," he mumbled to himself and did his best to slouch in the costume. At least he could look around and let the music settle in. It was eerily beautiful, in a way. He was starting to like it.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:35 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:57 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 02:22 am UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:47 am UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 04:37 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 06:34 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 12:38 am UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 06:39 pm UTC
Re: Third class, dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 12:36 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 06:48 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 01:17 am UTC
Second Class-Theater, Aisle Near Entrance
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 07:52 pm UTC (link)
This event was not what she would have chosen normally to do to pass her time on such a traditional night of costume and festivities, but she found herself in attendance almost regardless of her own personal wishes. She couldn't explain what had brought her to this place. Perhaps it was a personal wish. Perhaps it was something internal, something urging her forward, something whispering welcomed words of promise, and yet of horror. She felt something shift the moment that she set foot upon the edges of the ship. It was as though the universe tilted on its side, sliding her straight through from what was expected and wanted to an ethereal world of uncertainty and the unknown.

Her feet drifted effortlessly across the surfaces beneath her feet, moving and pushing her forward to the point where she was sliding forward. She made her way onward, past the first class, past the elevator. The second floor. This is where she felt most at home. However, that off, strange feeling filtered through her senses, wafting through reality and warping the visions in front of her. She was a young woman, and her blond hair was tied back nicely into pigtails. She dressed strangely, far too strangely to what she normally would have worn. She appeared a young woman who preferred dark clothing rather than not, choosing to wear a black leather skirt, a black long sleeve shirt, lacy tights, and high-heeled black boots to top off the entire outfit and appearance. She walked, her feet pressing down upon the floor beneath her. And as she walked, she noticed that shift in reality that she'd sense before, that change that made everything appear differently.

She could see them. Numbers. Above the heads of everyone. But what are they? What did they mean? She could see words, too, words that appeared as if they were names. It was...it was overwhelming! What was this? What madness was this? What power...what power would give her this strange ability? And why would she need to see those numbers? She found herself staring far too intently at those she passed, attempting to make sense of the numbers that she saw. What did they mean?

(Reply to this)

First Class: The Turkish Baths
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 08:57 pm UTC (link)
She wasn't a princess in the traditional sense. Exiled from the kingdom, she was more apt to hide than to reign, but when it came down to it, she was perfectly fine with that. Some people were made to rule, others made to follow, and then there were people like her who lived on the fringe and did neither. Living took enough out of her, after all, without ruling or following to make it more complicated.

But just because she wasn't a princess who flaunted her title didn't mean she didn't occasionally enjoy being treated like one. So bare feet, dirtied from the forest, carried her to the first class floor, the smell of the water pulling her closer, step by step. The sounds of laughter surrounded her, pulling a smile from her, the soft lights, flickering and dancing, calming in their own way.

So the princess made of snow and the good things in the world took a seat at the edge of one of the baths. Her skirt was hoisted up, revealing a pale expanse of creamy flesh, and without regard to what anyone else might think (something far removed from her normally), she swung her legs over and into the bath, warm water closing over them, sweeping away some of the aches and pains the world offered up to people.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:08 pm UTC
Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:19 pm UTC
Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:37 pm UTC
Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-19 11:49 pm UTC
Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 12:06 am UTC
Re: First Class: The Turkish Baths - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 04:02 pm UTC
promenade ; elevator
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 09:43 pm UTC (link)
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

He knelt upon the deck, hands clasped in prayer and lips moving soundlessly beneath the hood of his cloak. Perhaps he prayed for those souls lost, the priest, or perhaps he prayed for those aboard now, those who had not found salvation and walked the path of the damned. No one knew and he would not tell, as the ship swayed and rocked he remained steady until he had finished conversing with his God and rose, the beads of the rosary wound between his fingers clacking together. He stood on feet which men and women had thrown themselves at, begging for forgiveness, for absolution, and he had blessed them and kissed them and bestowed upon them what they deserved. The world was full of sinners and he would see to those gathered here tonight; he closed his eyes and threw back his hood and listened, listened to the screams and moans of damnation, of sin, and the priest brought his rosary to his lips and let his cloak fall as he stepped forward.

Round his neck he wore a heavy cross of wood, the white in his collar a stark contrast to the blackness of his robe and marking him as a holy man. His face seemed perpetually in shadow despite the angle, features difficult to discern; he was old, he was young, he had hair and he had none, his eyes were milky white and black as coal. Where he tread the priest brought with him the mournful clang of church bells, the smell of candle smoke and age of old churches across the sea, a cacophony of voices singing songs in tongues that rose and fell with the wind.

The elevator's doors beckoned, and the priest entered. Down, he would venture down, a pilgrim along a path of brimstone and hellfire, and he would seek out the sinners and deliver them.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 01:31 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 07:40 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:08 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 02:24 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 05:34 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 07:42 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 06:33 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 12:49 pm UTC
Re: promenade ; elevator - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 12:32 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 03:26 am UTC
second class smoking room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-19 10:51 pm UTC (link)
Hephaestus was man-not-man, a snarl of old muscle and powerful shoulders above the heavy torso of forges and the rancid heat of the sulfuric snap of the molten, the lugubrious gliding of the glassy core upward, torn from center to surface, tempered and tampered and twisted into baubles or steel to kill a king. He was grounded in earth. He knew who he was and what he was, old things that refuse to die long after the stone cascades to nothing and the priests die blind-eyed and the blood no longer spills. He knew he was wrong and he knew he was out of place and the salt on his lips and in his nose had nothing of the earth to give him a god’s strength. There was stone, the polished marble of a staircase that sloped like an Appian Way, a processional toward the depths. There was stone but it was dead and he could feel it like the pump of arterial blood as it slows to sacrificial nothing poured out on parched ground and he knew he shouldn’t feel it at all.

Above was damp drizzle, a starless night and a dredge of tempered boards, dead wood carved up and slated out for men to walk on, to parse the seas with hubristic eye for horizons not yet their own. Above was nothing but to find the water spread out all around him and gods made of the molten, forged from cast-offs had nothing of interest in water. The boat slanted, the floor rocked and Hephaestus stumbled, withered leg and the palm of a burned-thickened hand grazed the nearest wall and the music trickled like poison, like the fickle promises of Greeks long dead to draw him along. His progress was halting, the ponderous pace of a man unused to injury and fitting movement around it. The leg dragged at first, like the dead limb of a tree cast low, and then the walk roiled forward, the unambiguity of adaptation and the lurch of the boat made large.

Smoke. He sought smoke, sweetly seeping from the deadened door and a room where warmth crept like a friend over his shoulders, welcomed him like a prodigal returned. Smoke that soaked his wrists, warmed copper-dark skin as he stood without certainty of whether if he sat he would rise again.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:21 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 10:14 am UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 11:38 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:57 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:06 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 02:51 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 11:56 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 02:24 pm UTC
Re: second class smoking room - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 11:20 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 06:31 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 11:43 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:11 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 05:46 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 06:46 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 12:38 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 12:59 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-28 12:00 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-28 02:10 am UTC
Top Deck, away from the bridge
[info]doorsween
2013-10-20 12:47 am UTC (link)
After she ran from the Gunslinger, she needed somewhere else to go. The easy disregard made her ache, though she was unsurprised, expecting from the start that he would move away in favor of other (possibly better) things. She wanted to go someplace with purpose, since she suspected that there were few other things to aim for at this point for her. Instead of traveling down, into the darker levels of the ship, she headed up, hoping for escape or a new place to hide. Somewhere that the night's darkness would cover more than just velvety ears and tail. She longed for her home, to where she and found a place to fit.

Instead, she found the deck and its railings that overlooked nothing but flat, dark water. The stars were dim enough that she felt secure in the gloom, and she climbed up to perch on the railing, her feet dangling free. Her tail curled loose and back down toward the ship's deck. It curled and twitched occasionally as she looked up at the sky.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:14 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 11:36 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 06:18 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 06:29 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 08:13 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 08:26 pm UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 12:56 am UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 01:16 am UTC
Re: Top Deck, away from the bridge - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 10:22 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 10:35 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:14 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:34 am UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 04:37 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 04:51 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 07:19 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 11:08 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 02:20 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 02:50 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-23 05:52 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 03:44 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 07:22 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-24 07:50 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 02:44 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 03:24 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 08:24 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-25 11:55 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 04:41 pm UTC
... - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-27 01:00 pm UTC
dining area
[info]doorsween
2013-10-20 03:20 am UTC (link)
Once upon a time, there was a boy who did not belong. The fact that he was not even truly a boy didn't register quite yet. Oh, he knew that he was different. There was a broken window in the attic that he called home, and its view offered perspicacity on the lonely subject of his overwhelming otherness. The attic wasn't even a bedroom, but rather a workspace with conveyor belts and egg beaters. In all the time he'd spent up there, there'd never been a television or a book. No means of likening himself to the monsters hidden away in the tops of French cathedrals or Frankenstein basements. No means of understanding just how rebarbative and aberrant he really was.

The people down there had tidy little box houses in a panoply of candy colors, whereas the attic was chalkboard black. His memories of the old manse at the top of the hill were vivid, even if they were not quite his memories. Conceived, but never born.. he could recall his assembly in the way that none of the people down there would ever recall their births. He understood this, these were some of the things that his father had imparted on him before passing. He also understood that his father was not his father. The product of a dying man's imagination and ambition, he was not like the people down there. He would not belong, he knew this, but the attic had been dark and lonely for years now, and the concept of a party felt as unusual as he was himself.

So the boy with the frosted cookie for a heart boarded the sailing apparition out of fretful curiosity. Razorwire fingers twitch-twitching, gleaming anxiously while buckled leather soughed with movement. Chalk dust pale and scarred like a saint, he followed the haunted groans of the engine room until gentle strains of music steered him toward the dining area instead. His scissors clicked and scratched like the scuttling of punk rock crustacean claws in a mosh pit sea.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-20 06:51 pm UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 01:57 am UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-21 02:22 am UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 05:44 pm UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-22 10:22 pm UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:13 am UTC
Re: dining area - [info]doorsween, 2013-10-26 02:36 am UTC

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