Rock? A branch, perhaps? The texture seemed wrong for either, it was not metal, it was not rock, it was not wood, it was not leather-
Sesshoumaru's face tightened slightly in frustration as he pushed himself further up, so that he did not need his arm to support himself, and pulled whatever it was out from under the cushion. It was black, and heavy, with an odd rough texture that smelled like nothing he'd smelled before - upon which he realized that some degree of focus seemed to raise his senses from the pathetic state they were in otherwise. He briefly focused on the rest of the room, but there was almost nothing familiar, and the sharp scents almost hurt his nose. There was linen under the sharp, stinging smells, and paper, and ink, and a thousand unfamiliar things. His eyes narrowed. He returned to the item he was holding, some sort of cylinder with a bulb at the end, it smelled of things unfamiliar and glass and metal, and it seemed to be made of pieces. There was one piece that sat on top of the rest, and seemed designed to move. He'd flicked it, and then pulled back in surprise- light.
Some form of magic, then. Why would a sorcerer leave such an item in such a place?
He realized that, after having been distracted by the smell, he could once again hardly smell anything - the sharp scents remained, and the smell of soap from his bedding, but only a few of the nuances layered under it. For now he let it be, as the smells did not cut at his senses so much.
Sesshoumaru growled, deep and low and very softly. More and more - especially with this enchanted item he had been left - it seemed that someone was trying to use him. Naraku again? Perhaps. But to what end? It seemed unlike him. The pathetic half-breed did not seem as though he would set up such elaborate methods; his goals tended to be simple enough. Complete the jewel, kill his half brother, and make use of his, Sesshoumaru's, strength. This setup seemed designed to accomplish none of those goals.
He didn't know what was going on, and he did not like it.
Sesshoumaru slid off the mattress (and almost stumbled in getting up - the drop from the bed to the floor was unexpected, and the darkness blurred the distances from one place to another unless he focused on seeing it) and flicked the hair that had spilled forwards back behind his shoulders, tucking it around his ears-
They were rounded. Human ears. Sesshoumaru snarled briefly, and wondered if this had something to do with his hearing being as dull as his smell. It also made what had happened more obvious; it was clearly a spell of some sort, some fool who was arrogant enough to think they could contain and control Sesshoumaru in some kind of an illusion, who thought that they could contain his powers as they were clearly attempting. Perhaps the magic cylinder had something to do with it. Sesshoumaru turned and tossed it back on top of the mattress, before reaching up again. There was something on his head, some form of cloth, he could feel it pressing against him, and had felt the fabric when he'd reached up to his ears. He pulled the beret off unceremoniously, given it a contemptuous glance, and summoned a flare of poison to melt the thing out of existence.
Or he had tried.
The feeling was at least familiar, a hot burst as the poison glands in his palms began to pump their toxin, but as with the rest of his reactions it seemed slower than it aught, and the hat barely seemed affected. Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed in something of an outraged glare, and after several moments, he dropped it on the floor in disgust. The sweet, caustic scent of his poison was there, but it hardly seemed to be doing much.
Behind him, the hat began to slowly dissolve.
He was barefoot, and he was wearing bizarre clothing that did not move as it ought or display his station. The Chinese armor collected some hundred years ago, the heavy silk kimono with its embroidered crests and hakama, which he had begun wearing some centuries before that, the pelt that was another symbol of his status. These new garments did not let him move as he desired, they were uncomfortable, they were not appropriate. He glared around the room for a few seconds, and found a stand with several drawers and three doors.
There was nothing useful in the drawers - more bizarre clothing of the sort that he was wearing, pairs of what resembled tabi but clearly were not, as the toes were not separated. The two doors closest to their walls appeared to be closets, though they were too dark for him to properly investigate without retrieving the cylinder. Its function had not changed in the minutes since he had set it down, and it proved somewhat useful, though the sudden brightness made him narrow his eyes to slits and almost hiss.
The closets contained nothing. Shoes of some sort, with some form of tie trailing from them, presumably to fasten them, and more clothing of the type he was wearing now. There was little else in the room - two objects on the raised desks (as tall as the beds; bizarre), some kind of chair instead of a cushion - though given the height of the desks a cushion would have been impractical. There was only one thing left. The third door - if, indeed, that was what it was.
The style seemed to fit, a square set in a frame, but it did not slide, and pushing it seemed to do nothing. There was a handle of sorts on it, but it didn't seem to do anything, it served no purpose. Perhaps it was locked? Because it would not move. The mere fact that if things were as they normally should be Sesshoumaru would have been able to reduce the door to a pile of toxic sludge in seconds, or rip it apart, or slice through it, and now it appeared that he could not even open it, was enough to make him snarl-
Until his hand went to the handle, to attempt to pull it, and the handle turned, and the door swung silently open. He stood still for a moment, examining the door, examining the hallway - as dark as the room he was standing in, and full of nothing but more strange smells and an infuriating lack of answers. But finally, as there was nothing to do but move forward or stay here, he decided to move forward. His fingertips twitched slightly as he took his first step forward - someone appeared to be trying to control him, and this was likely what they wanted. It was almost enough to make him refuse to move, but either way they would have won. At least in moving he might be able to find out more of what was going on.
The person orchestrating this spell, whether the walls were solid or not, would find that Sesshoumaru was not so easy to control as they seemed to assume.
Sesshoumaru's face tightened slightly in frustration as he pushed himself further up, so that he did not need his arm to support himself, and pulled whatever it was out from under the cushion. It was black, and heavy, with an odd rough texture that smelled like nothing he'd smelled before - upon which he realized that some degree of focus seemed to raise his senses from the pathetic state they were in otherwise. He briefly focused on the rest of the room, but there was almost nothing familiar, and the sharp scents almost hurt his nose. There was linen under the sharp, stinging smells, and paper, and ink, and a thousand unfamiliar things. His eyes narrowed. He returned to the item he was holding, some sort of cylinder with a bulb at the end, it smelled of things unfamiliar and glass and metal, and it seemed to be made of pieces. There was one piece that sat on top of the rest, and seemed designed to move. He'd flicked it, and then pulled back in surprise- light.
Some form of magic, then. Why would a sorcerer leave such an item in such a place?
He realized that, after having been distracted by the smell, he could once again hardly smell anything - the sharp scents remained, and the smell of soap from his bedding, but only a few of the nuances layered under it. For now he let it be, as the smells did not cut at his senses so much.
Sesshoumaru growled, deep and low and very softly. More and more - especially with this enchanted item he had been left - it seemed that someone was trying to use him. Naraku again? Perhaps. But to what end? It seemed unlike him. The pathetic half-breed did not seem as though he would set up such elaborate methods; his goals tended to be simple enough. Complete the jewel, kill his half brother, and make use of his, Sesshoumaru's, strength. This setup seemed designed to accomplish none of those goals.
He didn't know what was going on, and he did not like it.
Sesshoumaru slid off the mattress (and almost stumbled in getting up - the drop from the bed to the floor was unexpected, and the darkness blurred the distances from one place to another unless he focused on seeing it) and flicked the hair that had spilled forwards back behind his shoulders, tucking it around his ears-
They were rounded. Human ears. Sesshoumaru snarled briefly, and wondered if this had something to do with his hearing being as dull as his smell. It also made what had happened more obvious; it was clearly a spell of some sort, some fool who was arrogant enough to think they could contain and control Sesshoumaru in some kind of an illusion, who thought that they could contain his powers as they were clearly attempting. Perhaps the magic cylinder had something to do with it. Sesshoumaru turned and tossed it back on top of the mattress, before reaching up again. There was something on his head, some form of cloth, he could feel it pressing against him, and had felt the fabric when he'd reached up to his ears. He pulled the beret off unceremoniously, given it a contemptuous glance, and summoned a flare of poison to melt the thing out of existence.
Or he had tried.
The feeling was at least familiar, a hot burst as the poison glands in his palms began to pump their toxin, but as with the rest of his reactions it seemed slower than it aught, and the hat barely seemed affected. Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed in something of an outraged glare, and after several moments, he dropped it on the floor in disgust. The sweet, caustic scent of his poison was there, but it hardly seemed to be doing much.
Behind him, the hat began to slowly dissolve.
He was barefoot, and he was wearing bizarre clothing that did not move as it ought or display his station. The Chinese armor collected some hundred years ago, the heavy silk kimono with its embroidered crests and hakama, which he had begun wearing some centuries before that, the pelt that was another symbol of his status. These new garments did not let him move as he desired, they were uncomfortable, they were not appropriate. He glared around the room for a few seconds, and found a stand with several drawers and three doors.
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The closets contained nothing. Shoes of some sort, with some form of tie trailing from them, presumably to fasten them, and more clothing of the type he was wearing now. There was little else in the room - two objects on the raised desks (as tall as the beds; bizarre), some kind of chair instead of a cushion - though given the height of the desks a cushion would have been impractical. There was only one thing left. The third door - if, indeed, that was what it was.
The style seemed to fit, a square set in a frame, but it did not slide, and pushing it seemed to do nothing. There was a handle of sorts on it, but it didn't seem to do anything, it served no purpose. Perhaps it was locked? Because it would not move. The mere fact that if things were as they normally should be Sesshoumaru would have been able to reduce the door to a pile of toxic sludge in seconds, or rip it apart, or slice through it, and now it appeared that he could not even open it, was enough to make him snarl-
Until his hand went to the handle, to attempt to pull it, and the handle turned, and the door swung silently open. He stood still for a moment, examining the door, examining the hallway - as dark as the room he was standing in, and full of nothing but more strange smells and an infuriating lack of answers. But finally, as there was nothing to do but move forward or stay here, he decided to move forward. His fingertips twitched slightly as he took his first step forward - someone appeared to be trying to control him, and this was likely what they wanted. It was almost enough to make him refuse to move, but either way they would have won. At least in moving he might be able to find out more of what was going on.
The person orchestrating this spell, whether the walls were solid or not, would find that Sesshoumaru was not so easy to control as they seemed to assume.
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