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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: 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.

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Re: Second Class: Smoking Room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-20 05:21 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor had no idea how he ended up in this place, but that didn't matter a bit, because that was an ordinary day for him. The stranger the better, really, and there was nothing worse than popping out into a new world and all you got was a people minding their business, wandering about the grocery aisles. He spent two hours in a grocery store once, trying to catch a metamorphosed mutant rat with a chip on its shoulder, literally a chip that contained enough condensed atomic particles to cause a reasonably sized boom. That wasn't the point, the point was this ship was rather brilliant, not as brilliant as the Titanic, although that wasn't really all that nice outside of the fact it was extraordinary circumstances. He felt a bit bad after that, thinking as much, but then he wandered into the smoking room.

Smoke, terrible stuff, got right into the lungs, not that he had them the same way humans did. No second hand smoke here. He did have a warm place for cigars, now those were good here and there. The Doctor saw his way around the boat - ship was the right term, not a boat or a barge but he should stop correcting himself he hated that - with his long trenchcoat and skinny suit, amused and intrigued by the sounds coming everywhere. Well this was a proper haunted house now wasn't it? Haunted ship, he kept forgetting the right word. Anyhow, whatever brought him there would show itself eventually, so might as well enjoy the view and see what this was all about.

By the time he ended up in the smoking room, he'd only been on the third and now the second class. First would have to be next. Had to explore everything. He pulled his thick frame glasses from his pocket and took a closer look at the girl spread out on the armchair. "Oi, you there, aren't you a bit young for a place like this?" She seemed an expert at the smoke blowing, good on her, that seemed like a fun talent to have. Even if he wasn't a fan of the smoke. Really he didn't care too much about a something or other enjoying it, but he'd been around enough humans that inborn bias was coming up.

Then again maybe she only looked young. The Doctor missed out on clues like that. Humans mostly looked around the same age, anywhere from fifteen to forty, didn't they? He knew his companions wouldn't be all that happy with the comparison, especially not Donna. Oh well then, he'd have to focus on this one now that he asked, although he kept moving around. "What's holding this together, seems like a timelock, is it, maybe space, can't call the TARDIS," he was muttering to himself at this point. "Love a good ghost story."

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Re: Second Class: Smoking Room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-22 03:58 pm UTC (link)
'Oi'? What, was that supposed to be aimed at her? Onyx eyes snapped around to observe the stranger’s entrance, a figure entirely at odds with the morbid luxuriousness of the smoking parlor in his trendy suit and its sharp angles. The fluid lines of her mouth pursed in something that resembled distrust or disapproval, something that made good use of the dis- prefix and cast silent aspersions all over this man’s character. A cocked head gave the look of a curious animal, white canines just barely contained behind the slope of her smile as she ashed onto the Persian carpets below, thumb flicking against the filter of her cigarette as if she were crushing the life out of some tiny heartbeat.

“A place like this?” She echoed, slender brows furrowing pensively as she unfurled her lissome limbs from the armchair and rose to her feet, standing taller than an observer might have expected; she was good at playing quiet and small, this predator with her several inches of bare thigh that flirted dangerously beneath the faded hem of her tatty frock. Temptation set like a baited trap, but who was this man with his dogged curiosities? Something immune to her insidious guile? Only one way to find out, but plenty of tricks up her darkfilament sleeves.

“You mean a ghost ship? Please,” she said with a dismissive wave of the fingers that clutched at her stick of clove and smoke, sounding bored stiff and whirling on the spot to follow his flitting movements with her eyes. “I’ve seen worse. That is to say, better. More fun.” The hand that didn’t hold her cigarette was hanging at her side, wrapped around a sunbleached skull like it was a childhood teddy. Long black nails clicked against hollow bone, a racket like teeth strung up on a rosary. Maybe soon she would pray to something, someone murky and under the filth that lined the bottom of the deep. Maybe she would be struck down to her knees for it, and she would find some other icon to worship.

Still the man skipped around the room at breakneck speed, light on his feet like Fred Astaire or her daddy’s ghost (rest his soul, buried deep down where bones belonged – all but his skull, which she held to her chest now), and the young woman met each step with one of her own. They moved in a waltz with plush chairs and mahogany sidetables between them, and still she edged closer to narrow the leisurely distance from her swinging hips to a foreigner’s maw.

“It’s not space,” she eyed him with a withering expression, reaching up and holding the skull against the hollow under her jawline. Her words were calculated and she was the iron hook, pricking at the man’s gills with an insolent smile in her heart. Her gaze was cold like a southwestern wind, something that tore through the lining of his clothes and chapped at all the exposed parts of his skin. “We’re on the ocean. Feel like a dip? I’m sure I can prove it until you’re thoroughly… satisfied.”

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Second Class: Smoking Room
[info]doorsween
2013-10-23 12:27 am UTC (link)
The Doctor knew a thing or two about dark, he knew about violence, he knew about an endless list of things he tried to sneak away in a chamber. An entire section of the TARDIS was filled with all of his secrets, and it was never going to be seen by one of the others. Sometimes they came close, but she wasn't the first person who tried to dance around him, or he danced with in the same way. An ageless alien with a checkered past of death and betrayal? His eyes when she looked at him were old and amused at the same time.

He smiled cheerily, the exact opposite of the story his eyes told, and there he was, rude and active and hating boring. This wasn't boring. She wasn't boring. He loved a good surprise. "No, I see now, this place is a playground to you, isn't it? Well to each their own. Least you're not a ghost yourself, I've had a few rough run-ins with ghosts, they're a bit too clingy for my taste. A soul to rest, that's a worthwhile endeavor, yeah? Buuuuuut." The Doctor looked about and shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "Doesn't seem like this place is interested in a rest. Too awake for that."

He swung and moved around the smoking room, looking at the walls, the books, inspecting the corners and details. "It's all a little fantastic, isn't it?" If her skull or mannerisms bothered him, it didn't show, and it really didn't. Aliens had all types of customs and looks, and he didn't know by a quick look what she was. Human, most like. Humans were tough nuts to crack, he'd learned that the hard and lovely way. "I usually end up in a place for a reason. Or not, it can be random. No real way of telling. One time I ended up in Paris in the most boring of years, nothing to say for it outside of an excellent pond to feed the ducks in."

He rambled. He talked as if it was straight from his mind, as if he filtered nothing. But he did. It was practiced nonchalance, Gallifreyan minds worked thrice as fast as anyone else. "Oh, the ocean doesn't always mean it's not space. We're all in space somewhere, planet moves, oceans around the edges of land." The Doctor looked surprised at her and curious. "A dip? No, no, this coat takes a long time to dry."

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