contractuallybinding | (no subject)

"The possibilities are all terrible," this man says, wringing his hands. "We - we don't know where we are. Or how we got here. And I don't know about you, but I can't remember anything." He gulps in a breath. "This can't possibly be a good place."

"Nor can I." Though he doesn't seem put out about it, or even anxious. "The we can only trust each other is fairly dire, indeed. But, I seem to have informed myself that this will ... afford opportunities... and I can't say I disagree."

"Opportunities?" The colourless young man sputters at that, flailing his arms a bit wildly. "What - what opportunities can there possibly be here?"

"Do you know? I have no idea." He breaths in the stale, musty air. Something about this place... there was SOMETHING about this place. "It feels right though."

He looks around at the rough-hewn walls, at the scant lines written on them. Disagreement written all over his face in turn.

"I don't know where you're getting that feeling from," he says, "but I'm pretty sure it's wrong."

"Well. You're probably right. I would say, 'who am I to argue such strong intuition' but we can probably stop right at that first part of the sentence."

And about then is when the third teammate appears.

"Well I can't help you there," the colourless young man snaps back. "I hardly know myself--"

And yes, there's the feral archivist himself. He ... takes a step back for a moment, watching the other two snipe at each other. Feeling - well, very strange, all things considered. Each time they fling a compulsion at each other, he opens his mouth to answer too, caught in the current of it but not quite dragged in. And ... increasingly uncomfortable with their close quarters. He could really use some alone time? Maybe he can take a walk...

This pale young man doesn't get very far before the newcomers 'pleasant' voice goes after him, too. Having decided that the confused tangle of emotions the encounter had inspired in him is irritation, he goes after the weaker target.

"And you. What do you have to say for yourself?" With the compulsion landing like a whip-crack.

Why. Why can they both do this to him? Is he just cursed? Can everyone in this strange cave just tell him to do whatever and he's forced to comply? He's been awake for less than an hour and already hates everything.

He bends his head as the compulsion lands, trying to make himself look as small and unassuming as possible. Difficult, given the contrast between himself and the much smaller man in front of him. "I - I don't know, all right? I don't know anything more than you two do. And the - the message from myself isn't exactly cheerful." He gestures, helplessly, with the bronze tube in his hands.

"Message?" He asks, sharply, but without compulsion. Instead he snatches for the tube.

Obviously this weird scarred man just barreled out of his room without looking at anything in it.

Hm... perhaps it is time to check the other rooms while these two are busy with each other.

[Jon's room is wide open. Everything is in place; Jon went straight out.]

Well then! He is just going to go in and take a look at the message Jon just rushed on past. Shame to have information just laying out like that, unnoted, unrecorded. Isn't he such a good teammate? Picking up the slack.

In the spyglass he'll see Jon, of course. Rage animates him with puppet-like stiffness, his dark eyes burning through this small bubble of time to stare at Elias with personal, incandescent scorn.

His voice is a low, soft growl. "This time, I do this willingly."

It would be like a cat stretching in a sunbeam, if he knew what either of those were right now. But the rage was hot and washed over him, warming him with a simple happiness. Oh, that was a good feeling. He'd have to see if he could get the other Blank to that state again.

In the mean time, what a fine list of questions that drew.

(Martin)'s room has been clearly searched, but also put back neatly after. Everything in a place, just not the place where it started. Clothes sorted and tucked away into what little furniture exists. The little packet of rations he starts out with.

But there is one key difference: this young man's room has a window in it that looks onto the greater cave system. And at that window, a glassy spider peers in.

(Elias) takes his time, walking through the room, trying to imagine what it must be like for this other person. Was it fear or wonder that drove him from bed... he can't see much difference in the room than his own. Did the (Martin) even look?

Curious.

He almost misses the glass spider, catching its stare more by feel than by sight. He strides to the window and peers at the small creature, the first sign of any other life.

The spider just seems to be ... watching? It's not entirely clear if it can see in the window, but it is certainly crouched like it can, focused entirely on the occupant of the room. Which is, currently, (Elias.)

It wriggles its legs briefly, tapping against the glass.

Now that? That is different, and particularly new. First is a quick check around the window pane, looking for ways to open it or remove it... He crouches down to eye level with the small creature.

He taps back, the same pattern, curious to see if it will startle.

Edited 2020-04-02 00:29 (UTC)

Nothing of the sort, of course. It seems to be sealed seamlessly, almost unnaturally so.

The spider, meanwhile, does startle. Can it not see inside? Maybe not in this case. But when (Elias) knocks out a rhythm, it repeats the pattern back, with a curious lilt of its head.