Rooms

[Locked to Sacha L/Alexander M]

I am sorry for my behaviour as of recently.

[Locked to Adam W]

Are you still here?

[Public]

Bit by bit, I find myself settling into these new surroundings. It's almost becoming normal, I must say.

Word has come down that you're seeking power. Found it yet?

What do you do when you get lonely?

It's amazing to see how a large group of people are affected when a single person is threatened. Are you all that weak? Is it so easy to get under your skin?

[Public]


Is there a way for people who weren't at the pulse to get powers?

[As Isaac F]

Well, this is certainly interesting.

Would anyone like to tell me where New York City went to?

Ever hope that you'll fall asleep and find a sweet dream to never wake up from?

[Public]

[A sketched smaller drawing of this with her pen]

[public, as anon]

Has anyone considered helping the people in the zombie door out? Surely there are loved ones they'd like to get safely back to the hotel.

Has anyone else experienced dreams/nightmares that are more vivid than they normally are?

Are there any other mutants or X-Men about? This is Kurt Wagner.

[Set during this]

Who: Anon & Carol Danvers
What: A dream within a dream
Where: Dream land
When: Current
Warnings/Rating: To be determined

((OOC Note: With moderator approval, this is being done anonymously. Feel free to jump in if the post grabs you! If you decide to grab the post, please post a 'dibs' to avoid confusion or others thinking the post is still open.))

It's hazy. Murky.

The air is thick with humidity, hard to breathe. It hurts to breathe deep, a nagging thought that maybe there's not enough oxygen left in the air. Not enough to breathe. With the humidity, maybe it would be like drowning.

In the middle of all the haze and murk, a small cottage sits. One room, two windows in the front, one on the right side. The plants outside are naked of their leaves and flowers, skeleton branches that had long since been left to die. It's easy to imagine death here with how still the air is, and it's no wonder no one else is around.

Inside and outside, it's miserable and horrible, but someone sits in the yard to the left of the house, lounging against the outer wall, a bookend to the window that resides on the other side of the house. Legs stretched out, they're a listless thing, concentrating only on the steady in and out of humid air, each deep pull not quite enough to satisfy the ache for oxygen left behind in the cage of their chest.

There's illness here. A sickness that pervades through all the haze and murk.

Whoever has been fussing with the weather in Marvel, I'd like a word.

[Public]
No sooner spoken than broken.

[Loki.]
Black and white without skin, teeth but no mouth. Looking for something from you, Lord of Lies.

[As Carmine Z in dark red.]

Find what you're looking for?

Not being trusted is more lonely than you'd think.

[Strong, loose hand, in confident black ink. Lines of sentences are very straight, almost ruler-like, on the page.]

Which Doors are the most fun?