contractuallybinding | (no subject)

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.

An intelligent creature then? Interesting.

(If it couldn't see through, what was it reacting to before?.. Something they couldn't see from the inside?)

He taps another pattern, briefly, a bit more complicated.

A good question that clearly requires more investigating. The spider attempts to replicate the pattern again, but - well, it seems to have trouble. There is a limit to its intelligence, it seems.

It absolutely is worth investigating. He gives the window pane two hard, sudden taps, and then returns to the common room, humming a bit tunelessly to himself. Another thing on the agenda. Now, who to box into the little errand...

The spider taps back; it seems to be waiting patiently.

And meanwhile, (Martin) has finished with (Jon), at least for now. Not feeling especially charitable towards either of them really - especially when he catches (Elias) coming out of his room. "What - what the hell are you doing in there! That's my room."

"Is it? I was looking for our other teammate. Ah, but you are distressed..." (Elias) closes the door behind him. "Mine is that one over there, if you'd like to return the favor. In fact, I insist." There's no compulsion, this time, but he opens the door almost as if it's an apology.

No compulsion, no, but ... well. Martin doesn't take the olive branch as much as he decides he might as well go along with it. For now. Given a lack of better options. "Well - well fine, then. I will look, thank you," he huffs, and moves to do exactly that.

And in what is most likely the most unwelcome move yet, (Elias) follows after. "Quite welcome." Elias's room is much the same as Martin's. Everything has been inspected but so precisely returned it's hard to tell anything was rifled through. The bed is even made.

There's no window in this room.

Though the spyglass is sitting, perfectly placed upon the bed.

"I suppose with three of us, me and you will not suffice. We'll have to be finding a name."

That was exactly what (Martin) didn't want, it's true. But what can he do to protest? It ... is the other man's room, even if it seems just as boring and nondescript as his own. Except...

(Huh. There isn't a window, is there? That's odd. He makes a mental note to check the layout vs. the outside later.)

He flinches towards the spyglass for a moment before turning back to the other man. "Oh, I. I suppose so. I really hadn't thought of it yet." He can't even recall what sort of name would feel right? But he mentally flips through some names he thinks might be nice. "Something sturdy, maybe? You know, a nice strong sort of name, given how dangerous this place might be."

"Sturdy, hm. Good feedback, I suppose. But it just doesn't seem quite right, does it? Slipping here and there like a ghost." (Elias) leans back, watching the young man with an almost bored affect, but the eyes, the eyes are predatory. "No, I think we can come up with something... fitting. After all, it is your name, it should suit."

(Elias') eyes are green, aren't they? Arrestingly green and luminous. In fact, it's hard to do much else than look at them. (Martin's) arms and legs feel distant, and while he can hardly do much but listen... he's acutely aware that something is very wrong right now.

Something is very wrong right now. And yet - (Martin) can only feel like it's his own fault somehow? Clearly he should have known not to look into those vibrant green eyes - shouldn't have made eye contact. Now that he has, well. (Elias) can't be held accountable for whatever happens after that.

He trembles, dimly, not even aware that he's doing it. "Doesn't - doesn't that seem morbid?" he says, and feels a dim sense of panic at the fact that he can't summon up a stronger objection. Surely a no would be enough? And yet. He finds it difficult to approach the subject head on. "If you call me something - something ghostlike, then that's what I'll turn out to be, right?"

The worst part is... a no would stop it, wouldn't it? Martin feels almost certain that if he objected, it would be over.

But this is the truth, isn't it?

"Oh, it's hardly predictive, I'm sure. Here, I'll prove it, if you don't mind?" And there it is, an opportunity to yell out, to deny, to change what's about to happen.

Edited 2020-04-02 12:46 (UTC)

He can hear it. Feel it with all of his being - that if he doesn't speak up now he will lose his chance, and whatever this man names him will cling to his soul more powerfully than anything else he has at the moment. Perhaps more than anything that he ever gets back too.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his mouth is dry. The words he wants won't come. Instead, he finds himself shaking his head softly - clearly, an "I don't mind at all" rather than a "please don't."

He gives Martin a fatherly smile. "There's a good sport."

"Then without any further ado," his hand lifts like a conductor, and presses a single finger to Martin's forehead, over 'the third eye'.

"Your name is Wisp." His voice goes low, almost a hiss at each of those four, damning words. It wraps around his mind like a lover, sinking into his soul and taking root there violently. The Knowledge opens up in his mind like a starburst, drowning anything and everything else he could have been. Will-o-the-Wisp, Wisp for short. It's who he WAS and there was nothing he could do to be anything else ever again. He Knows it, now.

Oh god. Oh god. He trembles in truth as that terrible compulsion takes root deep inside of him. Hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he shivers from the searing light that scours his brain for any hint of whatever dim instincts might recognise his own name when he does encounter it.

(Martin) - ~~Martin~~ - Martin -

Wisp blinks hard, fighting back those few rogue tears, and gulps in air for a moment. He knows what was done to him - knows his name is gone - but he can't do anything about it. Can't say anything either, because how could he? Clearly Wisp is his name and there's nothing else anyone could possibly call him. It would be like telling people that his hair isn't red, or they aren't currently living in a cave.

(His hands fade out slightly; they look distinctly wispier than they did a moment before.)

"Why," he says after, his voice a whisper. It's the only thing he can manage after having what little remains of his identity burned clean.

Edited 2020-04-02 15:06 (UTC)

"Hm. It seems you were right." (Elias) watches Wisp's hands soften gently, becoming even more ... questionable. What a fascinating effect. "Well, what's done is done. Good on you for your stirring initiative on the matter. I'll have to consider my own carefully."

Not even a thought towards trying to undo it? Wisp grits his teeth unhappily, but even with this short amount of time in the man's presence, he's certain that protesting won't do him the slightest bit of good. Or it would saddle him with a name that's somehow worse.

Even so. He tucks the misted hands under his arms, forcing himself to tremble less and glare more. It's ... somewhat successful. "I could certainly think of a few things to call you."

"Really?" There's something in the way he says it that draws it out with a certain loving menace. "Lets hear them. Only fair, I say."

Ugh, there's that compulsion tugging at him again. Even a mild pull is enough to tug him along ... as is his profound unhappiness. What good does it do to call this man ugly names? None at all. And yet.

"You're a right arse, for - for starters," he stammers out. "Bastard. Complete wanker."

He pushes at his nose, as if readjusting glasses. Finding nothing there seems to ... vaguely startle him in a way he can't quite put a finger on.

"Well, the foremost and lattermost are right out. Two word pejoratives just don't have the same ring. Bastard, though. Well, I'll have to put that to our other little member."

He makes a pleased sound. "I do think I might like that."

Seriously? Seriously? Wisp stares at him, all the more unhappily for this - well - Bastard apparently taking the suggestions seriously. Why does literally everything he do backfire?

"Bastard it is then," he says, his voice cutting off in a snap. "I don't think our other teammate will mind much. Especially when I tell him what you've done to me."

His voice wavers on that last bit, though. What exactly is he going to say? That Bastard named him? Their other teammate isn't going to see anything but Wisp when he looks at Wisp now.

"Gave you a name?" Bastard purrs, knowing exactly what Wisp seems to be thinking, already. "And you gave me one. I don't think it's too bad, all in all."

Wisp chokes a little at that, glowering at their feet. "Yours is so much worse," he says, though again his tone is just ... despairing. Literally no one is going to look at Wisp and Bastard and assume that Bastard is the victim here. He's been outplayed by himself.