[open] Prince Philip, Heir of Redwood Empire, Ruler of all Wing-Rats

[admirabnorm]

Who? Spiders. Zombie dogs. Worms. Bigger worms. The usual.
Where? An abandoned mine in Greenland. *cough* A virtually abandoned mine in Greenland.
Why? Why not~

Comments

[dashboardlite]

For reasons best left undisclosed, there is a tunnel. Dean is standing at the entrance to this tunnel. It's dark and damp and smells like wet socks and a whole bunch of other crap that he'd rather keep a mystery, because he's got a few ideas about the source of the stench and it sure as Hell isn't a bouquet of roses.

He's glad he had the foresight to bring a flashlight.

And a knife.

And a gun-

Let's just say he brought his standard duffel, all right? Shutting the door to Philip's "room" behind him - it creaks ominously, because it probably knows no other way to creak - Dean switches his light on and takes a few steps in.

"Phil?"

He glances over at the nearest wall, adorned with some rather interesting graffiti. Movie quotes, science-y things, all written disjointedly. It creeps him the fuck out. Dean presses on down the tunnel.

"Phil!"

[admirabnorm]

When you've been alone for so long you tend to forget that you've been alone for so long that you no longer trust anyone other than yourself... and even that is a stretch.

And the thought that somebody found a way in when he could never find a way out is both upsetting and exciting. Only the name, the name troubles him, because that is not what he's called, that's close, so close, yet no cigar, no cigar anywhere in the mines, oh no.

"Who goes there?"

There's an echo to his voice, the kind that comes from a narrow enclosure, the kind that wants to stay out of sight.

"Watch the skies, everywhere! Keep looking! Keep watching the skies!"

[dashboardlite]

He whips around, recognizing the accent, but not the tone of voice. It's different. Dean would like to used the word "crazed," but he's not sure how applicable it will be to the situation whenever he finds Philip. Needless to say, it's familiar and off at the same time.

"It's Dean!"

He has to be down one of the narrower tunnels. Why he's hiding doesn't exactly make sense, but it's Dean's responsibility to drag his friends from their shadowy dreams and back into the light. The consequences of staying aren't pretty.

Dean looks up, "watching the skies," and frowns at the thick beams above his head. This must be the mine.

This must be Greenland.

No wonder it's fucking freezing. Tightening his leather jacket, Dean switches his flashlight off to keep from giving his position away.

"I'm here to help you, dude!"

[admirabnorm]

"The dean of which department? I've handed them in, I've handed them all in, even the last one, every last one; I was always on time!"

The voice neither approaches nor fades into the distance, it merely shifts, as if circling its prey guest prey guest.

"Modulation of like-charge attraction by lipid and protein functionalized silica microparticles, Host stellar population properties and the observational selection function of type Ia supernovae, Structural and electronic properties of hydrogenated--"

Above. It's above now.

"Of hydrogenated nanocrystalline silicon employed in thin film photovoltaics but I handed in my resignation!"

A metal beam falls from the sky, smashing down loudly on the floor behind Dean.

[libraritology]

She changed clothes for this. Skirts aren't sensible for running about in strangers' thoughts, least of all people she knows, and despite the desire to make good impressions on those she has yet to meet it is somewhat superseded by the need for practicality.

So Evelyn is wearing trousers.

Wearing trousers, and slowly opening Philip's door to check on him. Everyone she's paid visit to so far has seemed perfectly happy in their respective oases, but this-

"...oh my God."

-this appears to be a step down from mansion life. A standing lamp against one wall illuminates chalked scribbles in what can only be Philip's handwriting. Debris is scattered across the floor: wooden planks, bricks, boxes, a pickaxe. She edges towards it carefully and calls out into the darkness.

"Hello?"

It echoes for what feels like forever.

[admirabnorm]

The first answer is silence.

The second answer is a rustling somewhere distantly close and quite closely distant, although the difference is frightfully hard to tell in these caves.

A rock falls, nobody dies. It was a small rock, granted, but perhaps an indication of something. Something behind her now.

And then there's a third answer and the third time's always the charm, although not always charming, mind you.

"Shall we ask this baggage to sit down or shall we just throw her out of the window?"

The rustling repeats itself. The voice does not.

Suddenly something smashes and out of the darkness rolls something green that stops at Evelyn's feet, casting terrible silhouettes against the walls.

[libraritology]

Something moves. A small rodent, perhaps, would be the first assumption, but with this cold there are few creatures that could survive. Evelyn can say without any trace of shame that she can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears; it's a marvel she registers anything else.

A clatter, for example, the gritty rolling of a stone, and a voice in the dark.

An audible crack - at which she shrieks - and then everything is green. Pressed against the nearest wall, which provides little comfort despite the solidity, Evelyn takes quick, shallow breaths of air.

The eerie shadows aren't helping.

"Who's...wh-who's there?"

[admirabnorm]

"We do not just grant an audience to anyone!"

First the voice, then the echo, then silence. Then yet another vague noise at a vague distance which soon turns into the very clear shuffling of footsteps that is very clearly nearby.

And then, at last, a shadow appears in front of Evelyn, the corresponding figure only taking moments to emerge with it. The green glowstick is quite efficient in the dark, perhaps even enough to provide Evelyn with some familiarity.

Granted, the frame of wiry hair is new and there is a beard which might suit the face, if only it wasn't such a dishevelled mess of knots and dirt. The clothes? One or two layers used to do, rather than the mess of rags hanging from its lean frame now.

Slowly the figure approaches, gait strangely strained, as if no longer being used to walking upright at a normal pace. It-- He, the man, a man who, even under better lighting condition would look so much older than he really is, steps closer to Evelyn

[blimeyjamwalls]

A wrong turn in the vast castle. That's all this must be, surely. He and Alexander have moved forward so quickly with the latter's plans that Daniel sometimes forgets how short a time he's actually been at Brennenburg to learn it's twists and turns.

The earth walls and wooden support beams are unfamiliar, certainly; but then, this is not the only part of the castle which goes underground and is the worse for lack repair. Perhaps this wing was abandoned in the construction, or never intended to be as grand as other corridors.

It's bloody cold, whatever it is.

Daniel raises his lantern to chase away the shadows.

[admirabnorm]

If footsteps could rustle curiously all on their own then that's what they would do now, somewhere just out of the light's reach where the new arrival is still being examined.

"Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson. I hear they are quite good on this ship," a voice enunciates in the darkness.

"The best I've seen, ma'am. Hardly any rats," another voice proclaims, being curiously similar to the first.

[blimeyjamwalls]

Sadly, Daniel is unfamiliar with the wealth of movies about ships whose parents never told them not to trust icebergs. The impressiveness of the whole display is lost on him, in favor of its being baffling and fairly creepy.

He puts his hand on his sword hilt and looks up, stepping back a pace or two, expecting... He has no idea what he is expecting.

"Who is there?"

[admirabnorm]

"Hardly any rats," a third voice (ever so close to the other two) repeats reassuringly.

But if the water rises, and it will, according to the well-rehearsed movie script, then higher places are the ones best sought out and so the next noise comes from above Daniel's head.

...As does some loose gravel, so apologies in advance for the dust and dirt.