dramatispersonae | AMETHYST

[The Ring tilts under your feet, and with a sudden, gut-wrenching twist you're falling. A sense of how someone might have come to be in this position wraps around you as you fall; you (no, not you, but someone) could have leapt from a cliff to avoid something chasing them, and in the sick vertigo of freefall thought only that this could not possibly be as bad as what was behind them catching up--

You land with a thump. That phantom hunted feeling stays with you, leaving your hands shaky and your mouth dry.

You're in a perfectly circular and thoroughly strange workroom. The floor is made of polished rosewood and the walls are clear glass, but they're both hard to see because of how packed and active the space is - a clear brook bubbles incongruously over stones through the center, while shelves and tables crowd the walls and books and clock-or-wirework projects crowd the shelves and tables. Unfinished clockwork dummies stand here and there with a faintly gloomy air. A brand-new pottery wheel is turning slowly in the corner, its movement driven by the current of the water through the room.

Despite the cheerful clutter, the feeling of dread is still very strong here - papers have been rifled through frantically and left in heaps, and a few of the little mechanical toys have been broken, as though they were handled with too much haste and not enough care.

When you look around to identify the source of your unease, you see that the one broad uncovered section of glass shows a mirror hanging on the white wall beyond, out of reach beyond the glass. An indistinct dark shape lurks in it, and when you approach it you can hear whispers:

it's been summoned
did you say its name three times?
it's coming.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[No sooner have you taken in the mirror's clearly concerning nature than the room pivots entirely, revealing a different section of wall beyond your glassed-in space and cutting the water supply off in the brook. Your sense of unease grows. There's writing on the revealed wall...]

What do you do when you feel fear?

((Please submit a verbal answer -- you may answer together or individually as you please. What you describe can be anything: do you make cathartic voodoo dolls of your fears? Do you suck your thumb and cry to make yourself feel better? Do you face the fears down in mortal combat? Anything goes.))

[There's a click and the room pivots again. A lump of wet clay drops onto the pottery wheel with a thump; where did that come from? The shift unblocks the water channel, and wheel starts to spin much faster than before. Your breath is coming a little faster too. Does it feel cramped in here?

There's a new question:]

How do you find the means to perform that action?

((Describe verbally how you would you go about making -- for example -- cathartic voodoo dolls if that was your answer in the last section. Do you need to acquire wood and pins first, or do you prefer to use something else? Where do you find the stuff to build them? Please address physical logistics and actions as much as possible. Again, you may answer together or individually.))

[One of the clockwork dummies extends its hands and begins to shape the clay on the pottery wheel. With each word you speak, the creation grows, until it's a strong free-standing vessel. Though its shape is abstracted, looking at it reminds you strongly of the answers you’ve just given...]

[As the room pivots again, it brings you back to the mirror side of the room - at least, you think it's the same mirror? It's hard to say. The dark ominous shape in it is much closer.

As the room clicks into place a stone smashes through the glass ceiling above the pottery wheel, crushing your wet pot and the wheel itself entirely. The clockwork dummy's hands jerk, snapped off at the wrists. With their destruction the sense of panic rises in your throat, clogging it. There’s a wave of heat through the room. The final revealed question appears burned and distorted . . .]

W̠͞h̡̙̠a̡̬͔̞͍̗t͓̩̰̻ ̠̳w̖̳̮͘o͡u͏̞͖̬̱̹̮l͚̙̝̦d̲̪̤͇̦͚ ̸̹̼̬y͉̻͝o͚͚̘̮͕u̧̪͖̼̦̯̻̳ ̬̭d̙̝̜ͅo̵͇̜̞͎̯͔ ̖͈̼i̲͖̭̼͙̪̯f̧̣̩̺͕̪̦ ͕̙t͚͘h̢̙̻̥a̴̺͔̩͎t̨̩͕ ̗f̱̱̳̗a̫i̶̝͎̳̻̲l̯̲̞̣̺͜ͅe̤̥͙͇̟̜͈d͟?̲͇͟

((Please answer individually as you please; answers can be verbal or you can do something more creative if you please. Characters are ICly aware answering this will not affect their score either way (so they’re not obligated to answer) but that it’s important to the gamerunner to know.))

[WELL HOLY SHIT after finishing yelling he's just kind of taking things in for a bit before he lets out an explosive breath]

F-fear, huh...

Now? Right now? Are you kidding me . . .

[slumping against the wall, bracing himself heavily on one arm—there is a heavy scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke on his clothes]

...Ka -- Ashes-san, have you been drinking?

Maybe . . . a li'l . . .

[I guess we don't have to ask how you deal with fear, huh...]

I see. I'm sorry. But, even under the circumstances, let's do our best, since it sounds as if it's something that can affect this person's life.