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Intro Log: November & Event: Nothing to Be Drone About It
I. ARRIVAL
A moment later, you feel a tug, and you find yourself stumbling into a dark, musty room. Behind you, a mirror stands ornately decorated with reminders of home wrought in brass and wood: the faces of people you know, and symbols important to you; all things that send a pang through your chest with the desire to return to them. Touching the mirror's surface does nothing but leave the stain of your fingerprints. When you turn to survey the room, you find there are hundreds of other mirrors. None of them are as decorated as yours - they're plain and dusty, speckled with age. Then you realize a second thing: You're not alone. Distantly, the ringing bell of a clocktower can be heard. But no matter its distance, the time is clear to make out: it chimes three times, stark, resonating like a pulse of something in this mirrored hall that you and others have found yourselves in, along with... several items, perhaps even creatures scattered across the floor around other mirrors? For those familiar with magic, they might feel the power of the witching hour upon them, though it will feel different from what they're used to - in fact, everything does. You're certainly not the only ones here, however. On the first floor, with the doors wide open behind them in the foyer, is a small group headed by two individuals. As people begin to arrive, to come from the higher floor, they're waiting - and they're waiting for you, and your questions. Explore the rest of the mirrored halls you've now found yourselves in, or proceed to the foyer? Leaving the Looking-Glass House makes it obvious that the clock striking three was for 3 AM - the night sky is faintly cloudy, but the stars are dim in the face of two moons. The Looking-Glass House is rather nondescript two-story cottage made of grey brick, sitting at the edge of The Coven's courtyard; stones which glow as you step on them mark the path to and from the two buildings. While fairly small and plain on the outside, the inside has been enchanted to be the size of a large library, with hundreds upon hundreds of mirrors hanging, standing, and resting inside its walls. Some are broken, some are cracked, and some seem completely uninjured - but all of them are just as plain as the cottage itself, showing age in the silver beneath their glass and in the greening of their metals... Well, all except a character's personal mirror; to characters, one mirror - the one they came through - will be decorated lavishly with metal-and-wood-wrought reminders of home, and the surface will be as clear as a brand-new mirror. |
II. THE WELCOME PARTY
"Just a few of you this month, hm? Don't mind the junk across the floor where you came out, someone is sorting that!" The woman sets her hands on her hips, with her Bonded casting a glance at those looking confused - newly arrived - and those who may have followed them in to talk to the newest addition of their mirrorbound bunch. "About time for introductions though- this here's Mhairi Ainsley, ambassador to the Parliament and my Bonded, and I'm Nerissa Bell, Head Witch of the Coven - but you can just call me Miss Nessie, you can," she adds, winking. "The lot of you must be as tired and confused as the last batch - hullo to those who've joined us, too! - so just a moment, dearests, I'll set all you right up—" With nothing more than a wave of her hand, rows of seats are summoned; despite their wooden nature, they're all sturdy and comfortable, filling the foyer and spreading out a ways into the lawn behind them, making room for all of the new arrivals as well as the previous batch. After all, they'll find this just as interesting. The Witches and Monsters that accompanied Nessie and Mhairi move to make room, and some disperse into the building itself to see if there's anyone who needs tending to. Mhairi steps forward as the chairs materialize. "Please, those who are able, join us for a moment. There are many questions that I'm sure you have - we will do our utmost best to answer them, and you may take any that we can't as a promise to find some sort of solution or answer." NOTE: If you wish to interact with Nessie and Mhairi, please comment here for a handwaved, summarized answer to your character's burning questions. For those that'd like a more player-based interaction, Aefenglom has its own Welcome Wagon! These are players who've volunteered for the role, and those that didn't sign up may assist as well if they'd feel their character would -- have fun, and make friends. Additionally, those with notable injuries or sickness will be attended to ASAP by Coven-based witches, and should anyone be curious about what they are - if they have magic potential, or if they swing a different way - then this can be done during this and the general hour or so the new arrivals are within the Coven's grounds. There are ongoing classes on magic, monsters, and Bonding as well, though they take place more during the day than at night - feel free to have your characters attend them at any time! |
III. THE HAVEN
As you're leaving with a few Bonded for guides, peculiar-looking devices - watches, the native Witches explain, compliments of Parliament - are passed around to all the new arrivals; they're given a quick rundown on their functions and bid to test them out when they can. They can even do it as they make their way out of the Coven's courtyard and to the Haven. Formerly part of the Aristocratic District, The Haven is just as well-kept and brightly-lit as the district it hails from. The houses err on the tall and ornamental-side, large enough to fit several families (or, according to the upper class, their one family, several dozen servants, and guests), especially closest to the Aristocratic District. They become a little more modest and smaller as one gets away from the realm of high society and nearer to the Residential District proper. Newcomers are shuffled here and invited to find somewhere to live - the Coven is currently handling expenses for the houses themselves in a program implemented by the Parliament, though if your character wishes to have anything extra - like maids, chefs, and so on - they'll have to pay for them themselves with their own earned money. Much of the landscape and fixtures are the same as in the Aristocratic Districts, though it lacks formal emergency services due to its roots as part of a district that already did. Much of the housing already has furnishing due to the speed at which homeowners were relocated; they were given enough time to collect their valuables, but standard furniture such as kitchenware, couches, beds, etc. were left behind for those moving in. Other houses appear the same, but the dust on the floors suggest these houses were left before the new arrivals even showed up - a reminder that the Cwyld can strike just about anyone, regardless of standing. Another portion of this district has been opened up to the new arrivals: the barracks, the row of buildings pressed against the very edge of the Bright Wall. As the city's military force no longer has the same presence it previously did, the barracks have gone into disuse, and a cleanup effort has been in place since before the new arrivals came through the Looking-Glass House. For those who desire something a little less opulent, the barracks might just be the answer. The barracks can also be used for business, for a welcome center, a communal space, for anything that the residents of the Haven see fit to use it for - so long as the legality isn't questionable, on the surface. To help with filling up the larger houses - and even some of the smaller ones, and the shared rooms in the barracks - the Witches put together a little roommate finding service, on a smaller scale from the grand opening of the Haven. For those who aren't entirely sure who they want to shack up with, they have a small survey for them to fill out and post on the board they've magicked up in the center of The Haven. The board also very helpfully reads aloud each form for everyone to hear in a cheerful, monotone voice. It isn't able to be shut up, nor is it easy to ignore, being imbued with a kind of amplification magic. It reads simply the information you've offered up yourself, or that someone might have written up for you, should that be their idea of fun. |
IV. Nothing to Be Drone About ItWhile a handful of mirrors in the Looking Glass House at 3 am on the 15th spat out people - new Mirrorbound or perhaps returned Mirrorbound - many other mirrors poured forth items or small creatures, all on their own. The night cleaner resigns himself to a long night as he has to deal with mess and confused folk, but he isn't terribly surprised. It was around this time last year that something similar happened with the mirrors. They may not understand it, but it looks like it may be a pattern, relics of the Mirrorbound's lives reaching out to them from home as gift or curse. The night cleaner fetches Miss Nessie to handle the arrival of a handful of new Mirrorbound, and then returns to start tidying up everything else. Luckily, she assigns him some help in the form of a young Witch named Emmelie, eager to prove herself. Not wanting to crowd the Looking Glass House, in the ensuing hours, she turns to an invention of hers to sort out the stuff littering the room with the mirrors. The goal, of course, is to get each item back to its rightful owner, and she firmly believes in better living through magic innovation! Unfortunately, it becomes clear fairly soon that Emmelie's brass flying saucers, which she had hoped would effortlessly deliver each item based on magical signature matching, could use a little... fine-tuning. The big saucers complete with six segmented mechanical 'arms' to hold the cargo in place are persistent as they zip around the city, often trying to take the shortest path to their programmed destination - whether it means they bump endlessly into barriers such as walls, get stuck on rooftops or in the River Temese, or knock over people, natives and Mirrorbound alike, who happen to be in their flight path. Some of them end up at the wrong Mirrorbound, and bump incessantly into them until they take the offered item, uncaring if they're who it belongs to or not. Of course, some deliveries go smoothly, exactly as they are intended to, but... they're in the minority. By the early afternoon, Emmelie is sending out a voice message that can be heard by Mirrorbound anywhere in the city, her young voice panicked as she explains what happened with her inventions and your mementos of home, adding at the end: "Ahh, it's such a mess! Look, you've got to help me, and please don't tell Miss Nessie, she'll never trust me with anything important ever again! I'll owe all of you so much if you'll just help find and return everything to where it needs to go!" |
Welcome to November's combo Intro Log and event! While mingling on the log itself is highly encouraged, feel free to make your own logs. The network system is free to use once characters have their watches as well; information on that can be found at the bottom of the Setting page, while any extra questions about it can be found in the FAQ index. Quests can be picked up as well right over here at November's Quest Pickup thread. Finally, if your character is getting into any Shenanigans, let the mods know and if you have any questions about the log, ask them here!
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But then why would the drones have a notebook with only one page? She didn't get it.
Luckily for Mettaton, she's snapped out of thinking by Tater yipping. Giving his leash a small tug now he's realised he knows that person. So the book is snapped shut and held loosely in the fae's hand as she walked up to her still friend.
Mettaton?
You okay there Mettaton?
She didn't feel like using up some of the magic in her earrings, so she just reaches up to bop the top of his head with the book. Earth to Mtt...]
1/2
His vision swims. He's having a greater reaction than he should be having by virtue of being a Puca, succumbing to fear and freezing to death in his spot. His relationship with Mikasa... How would it change? Could he convince her to believe that the writing in that notebook was about somebody else? Or maybe that it belonged to... somebody he knew once. He contemplates the lies.
He knows Mikasa doesn't like being lied to, but what's he supposed to do?
But once she bops him on the head, Mettaton is activated. He leaps into the air in an impressive hop as though his legs are springs, and he lands in a graceful stumble on the street a few steps to the side with a pronounced thud.]
2/2
You... Ahaha. That's... It's, it belongs to me...
[He gets that far, pointing a black claw toward the red notebook.]
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Oh wait he's coming back down, and Tater. Tater the poor pup was freaking out, he wasn't even barking just curling up in a little ball as Mikasa took pity on the little guy and scooped him to cuddle while she waited for Mettaton to work out his words. A rare occurrence for him to struggle.]
Oh. I guess that's why that thing dropped it if you was so close.
[And she just hands it over. So casually like everything else about her. No biggie. If anything, Mettaton's awkward about the notebook as more curious than the book it's self.
Because while Mikasa wasn't great at reading people. She could read them better than that book... But being Mikasa, she takes the reason for his stumbling for something else.]
I didn't know you were a writer... [It made sense. If he liked that theater stuff.]
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But the very next thing she says, a suggestion about him being a writer... Which of his diaries was this, anyway? Which one had she been reading?! As he replies (trying to play it cool), Mettaton steals a glance at the pages.]
A writer... Yes. Entirely fictitious.
[And oh, how terrible. Mettaton's awful at hiding his expression in this moment, his ears facing back in his distress. "Blooky asked me if I was going to try to become corporeal, too." This one...
The worst. Mettaton swallows; his mouth feels dry.]
That means... It's not about me. At all.
[Mettaton the writer, who writes fiction that takes up one whole page of a notebook.]
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I didn't think you'd be able to stay still for something like that. [Then her voice lowers, her eyes moving to the ground. To watch Tater sniff at Mettaton or maybe in embarrassment. It was a mystery.] I can't.
[She could write for notes and messages. But writing stories wasn't... It was like reading them for her. Too much energy to be sat still for long, it was why she'd hobbled so much when she'd been on crutches.]
Especially in this place. I think even those children are better at letters than me... [Okay, that part got a slight self-depreciating sigh. It really was something, being asked by a group of children to read a story. Only to obtain headpats as the child that had climbed on to her lap read the book.]
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(That Mikasa just admitted to being poor at letters would take him a moment. He'd also remember the strange font Eren wrote in that Mikasa was capable of deciphering, but he still needs that moment to continue running his mouth while he acts like he's keeping his shambling self-image together.)
He had a very good reason for staying in one place back when he wrote these, largely relegated to his finely appointed room. There wasn't much for him in that world beyond those walls, and he grips the book in both hands hard enough for his nails to tap their surface, laden with memories Mikasa isn't actually privy to at all.]
Well. I have to generate my ideas for shows SOMEwhere. A little time spent writing down my thoughts...
[That wasn't entirely false. A lot of his ideas that he'd carried to the screen came from before he'd become a robot, dreams and ideas he batted around... He rarely ever had a moment to himself after he started his career as Mettaton, obnoxiously on-air nearly 24/7.
Otherwise, he was really energetic. She knows that much about him. The Puca tucks the book against his metal-banded waist.]
And what a great thing to read! Something so short, then. Ha, ha...
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While she had gotten more used to talking. Others still had a lot more to say, it was what made seeing Eren so awkward now, they were both too silent. Neither being good at small talk to get a conversation going. But Mettaton? Mettaton could talk for a whole table of people, he was even able to keep the conversation going when she smashed it with her blunt sledgehammer that she called social skills.
And yet, he wasn't saying much. There was no bombastic gushing about this thing he'd written. Even if it was less than a page, she thought he might of talked about his grand ideas. So after the lull, she tilted her head.]
...So you were writing about a farm?
[Oh god, she was not made to prod conversations along. Even if she knew farms.]
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not at all full of farms.
His ears rise in alertness once again, eye flashing in panic. The robot tries to control his emotive display, but it's difficult to contain with those ears that have lives of their own. As if he needed more evidence that she'd read it... Mettaton curses himself for leaving his entries so short and easy to read.
Lips part; there's no sound. He tries again for words. Mettaton still just assumes Mikasa read it all, short as it is.]
—Yes. Sort of. I was writing about... a ghost, who lived on a farm.
[He could extrapolate on the farm itself, but even that chills him to his core to talk to a human about. Humans have farms for vegetables and stuff... But the more troubling aspect of it all was those mentions of pining for bodies and corporealization.]
They had big, impossible dreams, you could say. [A beat; a nervous glance to the side so quick that it could be missed, but his ears are facing back.] Anyway. Not very exciting!!! Definitely not worthy of screen time!!!
[His diaries were never meant to be scripts. Mettaton dislikes that he's spiraling further into lies but they just come to him the more he talks...]
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It didn't though.
Her head tilted, chin jutting out in a small nod. She's here, she's listening. But then he fidgets and Mikasa's head turns, looking where he'd looked. Mettaton? No one was...well, people were there, but none were watching the duo. With one more glance at him, her hand was reaching up. The chitin plated limb patting at his shoulder, the only indicator that there something odd about this being the slight glow of her earrings. The magic in them preventing her from being burned by him.]
Mettaton? What is it?
[Just staring up at him, in earnest.]
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She pats his shoulder, a rare moment contact at all from her, and it manages to catch Mettaton off-guard. He barely gets that from her, and intensity in a more vulnerable direction dances like fear in his eyes. He swallows his startle down, and doesn't flinch away from her. But his ears stand alert, pointing straight up.
She's unfortunately perceptive. Those dark eyes only enhance the feeling of being seen through. And while Mettaton's usually good at acting, he's less so when it comes to this particular subject. He glances away again, evasive.]
It's nothing, darling. Just like the contents of this book.
[He flips open to an empty page. Part of the driest punchline.]
Well, thank you for returning it to me! [And it's closed again, tucked near the robot's body.] I have a few more of these to track down, before it's too late. Who likes the thought of their diaries being picked up by other people?? Nothing strange about that!
[Mettaton, the WORST liar. Apparently his scripts ideas are diaries now.]
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Granted her dark eyes made it hard to tell where she was looking. Or how focused she was, even if she was frowning. She was... a weird case, perceptive enough to spot odd things, not enough to understand them.
Though she does tilt her head, fingers clenching to hold as if he was about to dart off.]
Diaries? You write stories in them... I thought they were for something else?
[Weren't diaries thoughts and plans, was he making use of the paprt for multiple things?]
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[Mettaton's expression goes... blank. Then, smoothly,]
Yes. Diaries about... stories.
[Nailed it. One whole page written on, an extensive story written in a diary... Mettaton's chastising himself inside.
2/2
Well, I must be off! So much to do, so little time... Thanks again, Mikasa, darling. Toodles!!
[And on speedy Puca legs, the robot bounds off, just like that. The least suspicious thing ever.
And as he departs, he thinks to himself that if Mikasa were to recount this encounter with anyone else, they might figure him out... Hell, even she might connect some dots! He feels increasingly like he should tell her the dreaded truth, but maybe another day.]
no subject
That few seconds of her looking away was all it took for Mettaton to be well out of sight by the time she's turned back.]
Huh..?