the house of manouk | test drive meme

[groundrules]

Hello, hello! Our latest event — doubling as a test drive meme and stretching until 12 August — is a one-off incursion in an uncharted time pocket dimension — the House of Manouk.

Anyone can hit up the test drive meme, but you will need an invite from an existing player to apply on 5 August. Have fun!

THE HOUSE OF MANOUK

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THE TERRACE

Old or new, you wake up on a white-stone terrace dominated by a twisting hedge maze that houses great columns, tattered statues, ponds, rivers, gazebos and pergolas — and high looming walls of thickly bound ivy, bloomed roses or thorny vines. Walking the Terrace somehow always brings you deeper into the maze, while a flushed, sunless sky stares down, unblinking.

You experience no thirst, hunger or language barriers here. Old translation & communication pendants can nevertheless be found scattered across the Terrace and Grounds.

New arrivals encounter the sorceress Karsa, who explains you were likely summoned by one of the undead lords who seeks control of Akhuras — and reached, along with the party she leads, a pocket dimension outside of time. Karsa’s associate, the Merchant, instructed to exit the time dimension by finding Ellethian waypoints — typically stone tokens engraved with the carvings of an eye with a sun for a pupil. Karsa may activate them for you to leave this place.

Your mission is to search the House and find the waypoints of Ellethia or of the rival Dawn’s Reach Trade Company without attracting the ire of the local exiled overlord(s).

■ Some of the statues you discover on the Terrace seem crudely carved, gaining the features of your loved ones, the longer you stare at them. Some seek to throttle. Escape them by having someone else stare at them, becoming their new target, or by leading them in a crowd of other statues.

■ Beware getting pricked by thorns: covetous vines can quickly ensnare and pull you into the maze’s green walls, or bind your hand to that of your companion.

■ The maze’s weather often mimics your mood: nice and balmy for contentment, cold for fear, torrential rain for sadness and a heatwave to answer anger. Smile.

■ Every now and then, you hear screams from other parts of the maze. Run, and you might find pairs of steel manacles or rusted chain on bloodied grounds, from where fresh rose bushes quickly rise up. Investigate.

■ Go deeper in the maze, and you find a heap of small stone tablets. Most list names, ages, occupations and include loving remarks, such as the finest husband or she smiled ever bright. Alarmingly, when your companion’s back is turned, you find tablets engraved with your handwriting, saying, don’t turn your back to them, blood reeks strong on them and that’s not their name. There are no waypoint tokens here.

■ Spend enough time in the maze, and you discover an old, red-eyed, white-haired and hunchbacked man with two chainless shackles on his wrists. He ignores you, muttering to himself about how the House must keep moving, moving. The House doesn’t like you. The House is awake. The House should sleep. The old man hits or trips you with his cane, or you might wake to find him hovering very closely over you. Engage him.

■ Now and then, he seems suddenly alert, if not outright fearful, shrieking that he comes and rushing to tinker with pulleys and stone mechanisms hidden within the maze vine walls. The maze’s architecture abruptly changes, with the ground quaking, walls shifting, while old plants wilt and fresh ones rise up within heartbeats. As the House changes, you might spot a long, spiralling staircase at short distance. Go down into…

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THE GROUNDS

The ground level of the House is splintered in dozens of decaying rooms, many locked. There are no windows here, dust thick in every corner, while faint scratches and canine footprints mar the floors — the marks of dozens of great skeletal hounds that haunt the corridors.

The dogs lead, chase or drag you towards a shuttered hall room, where a middle-aged, red-eyed and white-haired man furiously searches through haphazard mounds of tousled tomes. He too wears shackles. His manner is perfunctorily polite, as he calls back his dogs.

”…not from around here, are you? Must have broken time. Hooligan. Well, you’ve travelled centuries to be disappointed. There are no mysteries here, no epiphanies. All the great wells of myth and magic? Some other pigs have drunk them dry. Blame your luck, for bringing you to the shambling hut of — …the fine House of Manouk. Taravast’s greatest necromancer, til his mind turned to slaughter.

I was his disciple. Lisanther. Must’ve come from high on, did you? These cursed shackles… he senses everyone in his House through them. If he feels us on his scent, he works his little screws and wheels and moves the House stairs. Impressed? Don’t be. He’s a wreck, who feasts on time echoes of the anguished. That’s him. Paints a picture, doesn’t he? Stay out of his sights, or you’ll wear his chains soon too. Same as me, same as the dog he keeps in the dungeons. Dragged back every time he wanders.

If you want to make yourself useful, help me. I traded fairly with a caravan of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company. They say they left behind scrolls in these grounds, with the words to free me. They overcharge, but they don’t lie. Help me find them. Break my chains, and I’ll break us out. I can. I swear it. ”

Deeper into the claustrophobic Grounds, you find specters of men and women, chained just like Lisanther — their skin translucent, their gazes lethargic. They feel neither dead nor alive to the magically sensitive. They are either very present in the moment or barely recall their whereabouts. If asked about tokens, they say the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company left scrolls in the Grounds main quarters:

▶ Bathing quarters

At times pristine and delightful, at others blood-marked and torn. The waters abruptly run very hot, cold or silty. The spectre of a wo/man might appear in the tub, staring unblinkingly or murmuring that people do all sorts of wickedness in this bathroom: they have even witnessed stabbings, treasures being hidden beneath tile boards, and even a birthing!

▶ Kitchens

Sprawling and soot-laden, bursting with supplies of stale wheat, eccentric cakes, exotic fruit and spice jars, these kitchens were built for long service. A heavy cauldron bubbles and boils a green broth in a cold fireplace, where ash and stone drown wood. A circle of spectres troubleshoots how to improve the meal — just as the kitchens’ doors slam shut, and they cordially invite you to do the legwork for their recipe. They instruct you to chop, clean and prepare the most unusual ingredients: hair of a dog, salt, moulded thyme, arsenic, one of your finest love stories… they’ll tire of their creation and release you within the hour. Don’t dine, dash.

▶ Sleeping chambers

There’s rest for the wicked in these deserted sleeping quarters, which boast exceptionally well-stuffed cushions and pillows, blankets and ‘reading materials’ — torn pages from books of history and magic. Some speak of the desperate attempts of the rulers of Taravast to flee death. Others talk of using spells, the elements and even mass sacrifice to achieve immortality. Enjoy your rest, only perturbed by occasional distant screams —

…or perhaps by a large, feral white bear that bursts in to briefly chase you, before disappearing. Veteran travellers may recognise him as the creature of Anurr.

Some of the chain-breaking scrolls of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company can be found in each of the main rooms, along with some of the Company’s talismans, marked as waypoints, which should be brought to Karsa. See what your character finds.

Finish up here, or meander down a final stairwell to —

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THE DUNGEONS

Cold, deteriorating, crumbling — difficult to say if this is a tightly bound knot of underground tunnels, or a torturous weave of lost dungeons. Parts of the floor crumble to reveal abyssal depths below — or suddenly appear beneath your feet, to help your progress. Emptied, creaking bookcases abound. Here and there, you see your reflection in shattered wall-length mirrors, moving differently than you, or just slightly older or younger than you are.

■ Revived skeletons patrol the corridors, scantily armed with base blades, stones and torches. They largely ignore you, only blocking your path if you near a magically-locked stone door in the back of the Dungeons, from where you hear… human pleas.

■ Door engravings instruct to speak out the three truths of each day. Nearby, you find a mound of crumbled stone tablets, along with three golden ones raised on pedestals that read:

▶ with morning, my body is a weapon, sun-seeking, righteousness-bound

▶ by midday, my flesh has bent and battered, a shield of justice for young life to come

▶ come evening, I am blood and bone, a humble house to hope eternal

■ Tip bookcases into the narrow corridors to prevent the skeletal guards from reaching you, as you search diligently through the stone debris beneath the golden pedestals. You might even find Ellethian waypoint tokens: palm-wide, marked with a sun pupil. Take them to Karsa immediately… or open the now unlocked dungeon door as a man calls out.

■ Enter, and you discover an dimly lit dungeon alcove, with animate skeletal heads hanging on each wall. They cackle, Mind your step. Heed them and look for holes in the floor tiles — needle-thin spikes emerge from there periodically.

■ Go deeper, and you discover a large bare stone room, scantly livened by torches bearing green fire. A small hole — barely enough to fit a grown man standing and lying down — has been dug into one of the walls and secured. This inhumane prison’s bars crackle and sizzle with magical electricity. A skeletal hound waits by, with a set of keys fastened to its collar.

■ A white-haired, red-eyed twenty-something young man sprawls haphazardly in the prison: battered, swathed in rags, shackled and wild. He holds out his blood-tipped hand between the bars, but fails to lure the dog close — and calls out to you, instead:

”You must be mad to come to me. The old man sent you? Finally? Good. How wonderful. I’ll spit on you, and I’ll spit on his grave. He left me here to die. And now he’s remembered me? What does he want? …no. It doesn’t matter. Rip the keys off that mutt and get me out of here. ”

You can engage or release him, if you coax the key from the recalcitrant dog. Or leave him be and see Karsa with your waypoint token.

Image source.

NOTES:

■ There are multiple waypoint tokens to leave the time dimension: the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company talismans, hidden in the Ground rooms, and the Ellethian tokens, found in the dungeons. Bring whichever one you discover to Karsa.

■ You can optionally solve the mystery of Lisanther, the prisoner, Manouk and the spectres.

■ The House’s layout changes periodically, but characters can find the stairs to travel across the three levels every few hours.

■ Mention in your top level if you play an old timer or a test driving tourist. TDMers can make both logs and network prompts here!

■ QUESTIONS & NPC INBOX!

Comments

lucy carlyle — lockwood & co — tourist

[justreckless]

TERRACE & CO

[ [ despite her bemusement, lucy is used to taking in a lot of information while her head is pounding and nerves are crawling up her spine. that's what ghost hunting is, essentially, especially since it is up to Talented youth to expel and remove ghosts. she's sixteen, it shouldn't be up to children to rid the british isles of ghosts and yet she's been an agent since she was eight years old, advancing to her grade three certificate by the time she was eleven.

so far she's not seen lockwood or george and she's not seen a single biscuit, which she may be more desperate for. not because she's hungry, but because she wants something to nibble on from the stress of it all. there is no tea either, so she's really at a disadvantage here.

she frowns, looking around. ]

Are we meant to do this unarmed? Without any supplies? [ she asks no one, thinking aloud. ]

GROUNDS & CO

[ lucy's Sight is poor. (her eyesight is fine, no need for glasses, but sometimes it feels like the ghosts have to be right on top of her or oozing blood from the ceiling to see them so it's best not to say she can see them even if she can. sometimes.)

like now, with blood pooling beneath the tub, drip, drip, dripping over the edge of the porcelain, splattered across the tile and the ripped curtain. it's like the aftermath of the scene in psycho. she doesn't have anything to defend herself; no rapier, no irons, no salt bombs, no lockwood.

just herself and the ghost rising from the tub like she's come right from the drain, hair lank, a type two, a spectre, clear and defined. even if lucy couldn't see her, and she can, she very much can, she can hear the woman when the ghost begins to speak. lucy's Talent is Listening and even as she backs out of the room, knowing better to engage with a ghost on her own, with no weapons, nothing to protect herself, she can't help but Listen. ]

Sorry, you watched someone give birth? [ how is that relevant, ma'am! ]

DUNGEONS & CO

[ lucy doesn't dare go into the dungeons, not properly, not when she can linger at the edge of the corridor, listening. Listening. ]

Oh, I think Flo would be much more suited to this, [ lucy whispers, fingers playing at a delicate necklace with clear nerves. the undead lords should have picked a relic-man over an agent, they have no fear. ]

WILDCARD & CO

( go where your heart takes you, lucy is a nosy, teenager ghost hunter who resents adult supervision but is also very out of her depth! hit me up at plurk (baleinette) or discord (dostoevskyish) if you want something special xoxo )

Terrace & Co

[recklessenough]

Good thing I'm armed then. [ His voice is a lot more casual than should be possible, given the combination of utter delight, and dread, he was internalizing.

He'd stood off to the side, like some sort of creep, and watched her for a bit as he'd struggled to determine whether she was real or another hallucination. He'd just come from a particularly nasty experience with a statue, one that had left him shaken enough to recognize that his mind could still be playing tricks on him.

In addition, he also wasn't sure he wanted her to be real. This world was incredibly screwed up. As dangerous, if not more so, than their own if only because their Talents did not always afford them the edge they were used to having in a fight.
In the end his desire to have his friend here with him, his selfish desire to have Lucy by his side again, overrode any ideas of noble sacrifices.

He didn't run over and hug her. That wasn't his way. But to someone who knew him -as well as Lucy and George knew him- there were signs of his utter relief and delight at seeing her, in the way he sauntered towards her. ]

Supplies may prove to be a bit of a problem, if only because I haven't found any tea. [ Typical Lockwood, he kept his tone bright and upbeat, doing his best to project positivity. Never mind that he probably looks more than a little rough around the edges; cheekbones more prominent than usual, eyes more shadowed. ]

We've broken time, you see, and are in a bit of a 'time-out'. [ Look how quippy he is! ]

[justreckless]

[ so quippy! he must feel really uncomfortable, lucy guesses. he's always a bit more clever and debonair when he is shaken, like how she goes quiet, but lucy decides she doesn't much care for that right now. he may not be one for dramatic reunions, but lucy's heart is trying to claw its way up her throat and her stomach feels impossibly knotted and she flings herself at lockwood. it's not a hug so much as a collision, hands clutching at his sleeves, tangible proof that lockwood is here and lockwood is real and lucy isn't alone.

the dark circles beneath his eyes look bruised into his skin, exhaustion carved into him. ]

No tea? [ tea is important. tea makes her feel like she's not falling apart because the ritual is always the same. boil the water, put the bag in the cup, steep, sneak in a splash of milk before it's done steeping, add the sugar, add a bit more sugar if it's been a particularly terrible day, chuck the tea bag in the sink. it doesn't even have to be pitkins (but it should be.)

tea is the important bit of all he's said anyway, lockwood just likes to talk and lucy takes comfort in that familiarity. ]

[recklessenough]

[ Oh. Uhm. Hugging.

He always goes awkward turtle when she is hugging him. Sometimes it's for a valid reason, like when she was possessed by Annabelle, but sometimes he's just a clumsy seventeen year old who is trying to pretend he doesn't care. When he actually cares quite a bit.

Lockwood's a little better about things this time. He's not in the middle of a panic attack and she's not in the middle of being possessed. Brings his hands up, he gently returns the grip on her biceps, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Confirming that's he's real, while also reassuring himself that she is, likewise, really there. ]

No tea. [ He confirms, sticking to their unspoken convention of covering a conversation within a conversation. It is done through tone of voice. His deep, posh accent softened in the way he uses when he's trying to be comforting, even if his words are flippant and don't seem to address the severity of their situation. ]

But you're here, and I'm here and between us we'll absolutely get it all sorted, yeah? We may be in a time pocket jail, but that doesn't mean it has to be uncivilized.

[ He manages the flippancy for those last couple of sentences, before he sobers. One of those rare moments where his dark eyes soften, allowing her to see past the brilliant, mirrored facades he usually maintains. ] I'm glad you're here, Luce. And I also wish you weren't here, Luce.

[justreckless]

I'm glad I'm here and wish I weren't here too, [ lucy answers, somewhat nonsensically, the emotional equivalent to her unicorn pyjamas. she nods absently, looking slightly dazed the way she goes when she's trying to sort something out. no tea, time pocket jail because lockwood says they're in time out, no tea probably means no toast or biscuits and what is she meant to do without nibbles, doesn't this place know she can stress eat a loaf of bread if given the chance? her fingers curl and uncurl against his arms like she's trying to let go but can't, physically can't.

she does lean back though, forehead crinkling in confusion. ]

Sorry, wait, did you say you've broken time?

[ if anyone could do it, she trusts anthony lockwood could it, but also what a ridiculous sentence to say aloud. ]

[recklessenough]

[ She is welcome to stand and hold his arms as long as she needs too. He certainly isn't making any move to let her go, so they can both stand there it will be just ... normal.

Especially since he is forced to give her that slightly crooked grin he often flashes when he's gone and done something he knows he shouldn't but did anyway. Like the time he smuggled the flare bomb into Combe Carey Hall. ]

To be fair, I had help! [ Not that his ego wouldn't have owned breaking time, they both know that, but in this case? He'll share the credit. ] It's a complicated story, but basically we were trying to help a village in it's struggle against an undead liege, who was attacking the village with the dead. To combat the destruction, a group of witches harnessed the power of the moon and kept moving the village back and forth through time.

We stopped the Huntress, and convinced the witches to stop their ritual, but by doing so, we broke time and ended up here.

[ GRIN! ]

dungeons & co

[downswing]

( Dungeons, shivered, dark like a womb but for the rare, guttered lights of flickering green fire. Danger coats his skin like lamp oil, spreading thickened and distinct on skin, biting his limbs warm.

Seek out the waypoints. Scant luck, on the first two levels. He has wrenched himself from one unto the next, in an efficient, prodigious intrusion. And now, sword glistened with stubborn white heat, he stares down the dungeon's mouth, barely descended, arrested on the stairwell's last step.

The gaping maws of the underground quarters unhinge wide before him. The girl speaks.

And Lan Wangji, trickled from shadows, intercedes beside her. )

You need not advance. ( Children do not suit warfare. ) It is not expected.

[justreckless]

Maybe not by you.

[ oh, short, that was short. lucy would apologise, but adults are fairly useless where she's from and they often get in the way so she isn't actually very apologetic. she's having a very terrible day and hasn't had any tea. (which might explain the headache pressing at the base of her skull but she figures it is actually all the ghosts and not quite ghosts here, too many spirits all talking at the same time.)

lockwood would have been nicer, his bright, disarming smile is its own weapon. lucy doesn't have that. ]

Ghosts are my job.

[downswing]

Spirits — ( Courtesy thick on his tongue, tar-like and trickling. Ghosts are mere traces, white noise, debris. Insults, carried by common tongues, only assigned a wretched shape post-mortem.

Spirits were of the body, once. Spirits live even past flesh. He nods gently, once, where the dungeon's dark hints at the cluttered home of hundreds of waiting things, alive or suspended. )

— are their own. ( Singular, dignified, possessing identity and purpose. Never merely another's duty, or a third person's assignment. ) We may transgress. Better, when invited.

( ...forgive him the assumption that an invitation to cross is not soon for the coming. )

[justreckless]

[ lucy rolls her eyes. ghosts, spirits, who cares! same thing! unlike lockwood, lucy doesn't have a natural affinity for meeting people, she's too expressive so her judgement is clear on her face and she can't hide when she's cranky with lack of sleep, which she is... most of the time. for a world plagued with ghosts that haunt the darkness, it hasn't exactly adopted a nocturnal rhythm (probably because it's only children who have Talents.) she still has to be awake during the day.

this is why she and george leave all the talking to lockwood! ]

I'd love to be permanently out of work, actually, but it's still my job.

[ all of her friends didn't die right in front of her only for someone to tell her that ghosts aren't her job. ]

[downswing]

( She persists.

He, son of same stubbornness, likewise, hand adrift on the mouth's rim, a door vast and unfriendly. It will bite, he knows, if they linger long.

And they are two, for all his faults and her innocent hesitations. Better he, her shield, than she alone to walk the possibility of danger. )

Perform your duty, then. ( In the yawn of the dungeon's silence, his voice is shrapnel, shrill. He straightens and starts his step, unbidden. ) You have no reason to decline company.

( But then, he knows the way of absurdly determined children. ) Protect my advance.

( Says the unperturbed man, sword-bearing. )

grounds & co

[weifinder]

( The ghost continues muttering on, not appearing to respond to Lucy's comment, at least not right away. Wei Wuxian pauses in the hall beyond the door, lifting his eyebrows at the sight of the young woman backing out of the bathing room. )

Miss? Is there a problem?

( In this whole haunted and skeleton infested sprawling estate, problem has a flexible understanding. He can only recognise her as a newer face, part of the number tumbled in with the activation of the gateway, likewise thrust into this pocket dimension, sprawled around with Karsa in the moments where they'd all been gathering their wits in the aftermath of arriving. )

[justreckless]

[ her fingers flex by her side but there's no rapier there to use as a security blanket. ]

TMI off a Type Two for a start. [ her mouth slants down in a peevish moue. she knows ghosts can be hungry for human contact, sometimes just to talk, but sometimes very physical contact. it's what makes spectres so bloody dangerous; much like band-aid's 2014 remake of "do they know it's christmas": spectres do want to reach out and touch you. ]

We shouldn't go in there.

[weifinder]

( His brows lift, and he leans enough to the side to properly see past her. )

You're talking about the one in the tub?

( The way she's talking reminds him of one of the youths around... it takes him a moment before he asks, seemingly unperturbed by the ghost in the tub he'd nonchalantly identified: )

Don't worry, they haven't left any of their tubs, and few have been energised enough to interact with physical objects. You say Type Two. Any chance you'd know a young man by the family name of Lockwood?

( Did Lockwood get lucky, or unlucky? Hard for him to say, but the terminology is the kind he's only heard out of one other person pulled into this place, and that'd be him. )

[justreckless]

Yeah, Lockwood is... my employer.

[ yikes. she reaches up to touch the necklace at her throat, the necklace lockwood gave her and she never returned (and won't until he asks for it back.) technically, lockwood is lucy and george's employer but they're also friends, portland row is her family. an unfortunate course correction in an attempt to disguise her crush on lockwood, but lucy is so stubborn that she isn't about to back down from what she has said.

teenagers, amirite? ]

[weifinder]

( Teenagers and their stubbornness and also near limitless potential. Gotta appreciate how the two often enough go hand in hand, and not necessarily in complimentary ways.

Regardless, he doesn't say anything about the pause before the definition of labels in a relationship: lifts his brows a touch, but it is what it is, and he's not so nosy as to say he cares when there's more important, pressing matters.

Mostly of ghostly botherings, and this is one of the more suprising, and less invasive (somehow) of the kinds lurking around the estate. )

He'll be happy for the familiar face. He's been here for a few months, though the ghosts in bathing chambers might be new enough for all of us.

( He lifts a hand, waving to the ghost, who doesn't see or seem to understand anything is happening outside of its own haunted world. Far less aware than many ghosts he's dealt with. Usually, an indication of it being weaker. )

Hello, ghost! You don't seem to see or hear us, do you? ( Aside, to Lucy: ) Some of them can, even in these bathing rooms, but most haven't. The ones in the kitchen are much more demanding! With no recipe sense at all.

Terrace

[makemeasong]

Yep!

[ Maybe Clara says that too cheerfully, so she clears her throat and starts over. She did learn a lesson after Adriann, and she means to stick to it. She's been resting from exploring, her mood reflecting nice and sunshine-y weather. ]

I know it can be overwhelming. But the best thing to do is find a buddy who has weapons or magic, and you're good to go. It happens pretty fast, usually, because most of us look out for one another.

[ On second look, this girl looks student age, which always concerns Clara. She may be about the same height (or shorter), but she's still a teacher, still an adult, and still worries. ]

Take me for example, I'm pretty ordinary in the sense that a lot of people here have some sort of unique ability to protect themselves or help others. I'm just a girl from Blackpool, though I am pretty awesome. Don't need magic for that.

[ She smiles and tries to be reassuring, her expression warm. ]

[justreckless]

[ all lucy knows about blackpool is the lights and she's from the north, though the carlyles lived about as rural as could be outside of farm living. the lights run all autumn and winter, almost like artificial sunshine to keep the ghosts at bay. she's seen pictures and the blackpool illuminations are the prettiest ghost-lights she's seen, loads better than london's umbrella-shaped lights. which is to say, blackpool lady seems cool based on that alone.

lucy digs into the pocket of her shorts, brings out a sprig of lavender. that's all she's got to fight bloody ghosts and she looks as disappointed as she feels. ]

I'm a Listener. I can hear ghosts. [ so presumably! she would be useful! except: ] Haven't got anything to deal with them once they're done talkin' though.

[makemeasong]

[ Different versions indeed, Clara's fascinated already. ]

I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds excellent. You said a lot of things that I'm intensely curious about. But I think it might only be fair to introduce myself first? I'm Clara.

[ She smiles and holds out a hand, though she wouldn't be offended if it wasn't taken. ]

[justreckless]

Oh, I'm Lucy.

[ she shakes, but there's an awkwardness to it. she's clearly not great at meeting people. though, when she met george she threatened to beat him up so she's doing better this time! ]

Nice to meet you.

[ yeah, she's killing it actually. ]

[makemeasong]

Same, Lucy.

[ Luckily, Clara is a fantastic talker, and she's a teacher so, she's used to doing the heavy lifting. ]

You sound like you live not that far from where I do. At leat adjacent-too. This might be a weird question—actually, it is a weird question—but what planet are you from?

grounds & co

[rumorate]

[Allison rounds the corner at the sound of someone's voice and takes in the sight of a young girl backing away from the bathroom. Given the number of ghosts that have been floating around - again, where is Klaus when you need him - this could mean any number of things, but then she responds to the ghost(?) and it stops her in her tracks.]

Sorry, you saw what?

[justreckless]

I didn't see it!

[ probably lucy would be this frazzled in the face of a real birth right in front of her though; she was the last of the seven carlyle sisters she doesn't know piss about babies and birthing. ]

Apparently bathrooms have loads of gossip.

[rumorate]

Oh, that doesn't surprise me. Bathrooms are always where the best gossip happens.

[At least in her personal experience. She then turns and peers into the bathroom.]

But not usually gossip like that.

[justreckless]

Is that why girls go to the loo in little flocks?

[ lucy, you literally are a girl. you heard it here first, allison, the rumblings of an "i'm not like other girls" girl. ]