Day 59: Sun Room

[witchdetective]

Erika stood back to survey her work, and she had no idea why no one seemed to care.

By 'no one', she was referring to the soldiers who were on guard, who should be looking particularly anxious due to the atmosphere of this place. It didn't make sense in her mind. Someone who just took up a large chunk of the middle of the Sun Room to build a

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[lovecrafty]

Rose had been casting longing looks in the direction of the Sun Room for the duration of her captivity in that den of filth that had once called itself a cafeteria. As soon as the doors opened, she absconded to fresh air and architectural critique. The fort wasn't too bad. For a nine year old with a distinct lack of style. Rose removed an entirely superfluous cushion, freeing it up to place atop an inverted chair.

She hoped Lily had seen her bulletin conversation with Badd; everyone else seemed to remember their traumatizing experiences. Shock-induced memory loss was a possibility, but Lily had seemed more afraid than broken.

Hmm. The tables underneath provided a firm, but short, foundation. Maybe she would have a better idea how to improve this structure from the interior. She got down on her hands and knees and crawled in.

[free!]

[lovecrafty]

"A noble sentiment." There wasn't really much more Rose could say to that.

Except that she was Rose Lalonde, and she always had something more to say. "Hand me that cushion." There. That was about as vertical as this creation was going to get, with a soft cushy cushiondais for a Seer's lookout.

"Do you think we're supposed to be here? Part of some ineffable plan, whether for good or for the profoundest evil?" Her assumption might have been a little evident in that statement. Just a smidge.

[mirthfulness]

The cushion was handed over obediently, because clearly Rose was the master of this particular part of the fort structure. He was just there to help out. This wasn't to say he wasn't enjoying himself just as much.

"Man, that's kind of a question of the deepest sort, you know? No motherfucker can say why they are where they is or why there's an existence of theirs among all the other existences being. That's like pondering on a level of cosmic meaning. Like shit. Why do we exist?" He held his hands out at his side, having baffled even himself with his own questions. "You don't up and ask that sort of thing, sis. Might make you seem all ungrateful to that what made you, and I'm all upon the belief that the Mirthful Messiahs will let a brother know when it needs knowing, dig? We're each our own little miracle."

He stopped, glassy eyed at all this wonderful creation talk. If that wasn't exactly the sort of question she was asking, he didn't seem to care.

[lovecrafty]

Rendering Rose Lalonde speechless was a bit of a miracle, and Gamzee had managed it.

Such optimism.

Such faith.

Such complete and utter hogwash.

Saying that out loud would be like kicking puppies, and, all rumors to the contrary, just because Rose preferred felines among small household mammals, she didn't actually want to kick a puppy. John, sometimes, because he kind of reminded her of one, but no animal abuse.

So, instead, she continued her skyward journey in silence.

"Oops." Well, mostly. Her skills at balancing atop the structure were better than her eye for mechanical stability, which meant that she was still aloft, but some of the cushions were not.

"Did you ever reach the final gate? In the game, I mean." Not whatever metaphysical world he had been babbling about, unless the two were one and the same. She wasn't entirely certain.