peckenpaugh | SO LATE THAT IT'S EARLY

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SO LATE THAT IT'S EARLY

a frigidly cold night

what's up? The unrelenting icy cold sends most everyone inside early tonight. Even with magical heating, it’s hard to keep the chill away, almost like the holler, itself, wants you to stay snug under the covers, safe in your bed.

Sleep comes quickly and heavily tonight, and students dream of singing bugs and dancing birds…

Not a collaborative routine but two performances at odds, each vying tonight for your attention, dear child. The dancing of the birds beckons — follow and find truth and memory — but the buzzing insect song vibrates in your very bones, too: they are home, they are warmth, they are safety. Stay, stay, stay.

You are pulled in two directions in a forest of old maples. Beneath your feet the ground grows warm as vines creep up from strange dark cracks in the ground, climbing over each maple until they are overgrown with ivy leaves that look like fire — that are fire — and the maple seeds that fall from the dying trees as they burn are the singing bugs, their music fading until only one insect’s song remains.

Tonight, four pairs of feet climb from their beds and follow the birds.

Tonight, four different pairs of eyes open at the sight of the burning forest. Merlin Pletcher, Howdy Stoppelbein, Presley Mondragon, and Cicero Cook each wake with a start, each with a feeling of terrible dread.

And from there as more students wake it quickly becomes clear that something is very wrong:

It is late, so late as to almost be early, and Gertrude McGilliguddy, Xenia de Bourgh, Patrice Tang and Atlas Quigley are gone from their beds, nowhere to be found…

how this works! ⬥ Welcome to Peckenpaugh’s second major petition event! The primary winners of this event were Trudy, Xenia, Patrice and Atlas!

⬥ Petition winners please check your email again. we've sent a message to you all with more information. You can then refer to the “SOMEWHERE CLUTTERED” header for post-dreaming details!

⬥ Xenia de Bourgh has lost her journal and can’t find it! As soon as she realizes, Mr. Stirling provides her with a new one. It’ll take about 48 hours to get her properly added to the journal network, so for the next two days any of her journal posts or comments will be signed “UNREGISTERED USER”, rather than with her own name.

⬥ Merlin, Howdy, Presley and Cicero all woke with a start ahead of everyone else in the school. We assume y’all got the word out to staff that students were missing, eventually! Feel free to play these portions out in threads or journals, just put a descriptive timestamp in the subject of your posts.

⬥ There is no magic at work obscuring the location of the four missing students. They should be easy enough to find with the right tracking magic.

⬥ Classes are canceled for Thursday, January 30th, but will resume again on Friday. The scheduled party at Mothgarden is still on — if asked, the staff just doesn’t want the kids to worry too much. Also they have all this cheese and chocolate to deal with.

⬥ For the next few weeks, each House will have a faculty member staying in the chaperone’s room on the first floor over night. This’ll make shenanigans a bit harder, but (hopefully) disappearing kids less likely. The schedule is rotating, though usually it is your Head of House.

⬥ Mr. Purcell and Mr. Stirling can be seen around campus for the next week or so double checking magical locks and wards on all the dorms.

⬥ There is a sense that Peckenpaugh staff is taking this very seriously. Even the most immature faculty members aren’t making jokes about it, and it’s clear that most staffers have been given additional work investigating what’s happened. The four disappeared students can expect regular check-ins from their heads of house, and TAs may find their workloads increased as teachers hand off paper grading and other small tasks to them for the next few weeks...

locations! ⬦ AWAKE ON CAMPUS: After the first four students wake, it doesn’t take long for the rest of campus to start stirring. From there, word quickly spreads that four students are missing. This is a space to thread any on campus scenes before the students are located.

⬦ SOMEWHERE CLUTTERED: Dark and cold and musty. There’s so much junk in here, you can probably guess where you are without too much brain power…

⬦ SO LATE THAT IT'S EARLY: Returned to campus, the four missing students are held in the infirmary overnight, checked for any injuries, any signs of strange enchantment or forbidden curses. Aside from some reddened skin on their backs, there’s nothing. Their parents are informed via owl immediately. You may have slept like the dead earlier in the night, but for the rest of the night sleep proves fleeting for everyone...

⬦ OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!

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Bugs and birds. Bugs and birds. Even when she shuts her eyes, it's all she sees and hears. Before curfew is even lifted, before the dark has begun to scatter at the horizon, though not by much, Winter slips out of her dorm, through the gardens, bound for central campus. It's easy enough to sneak away. 'Look like you belong or don't be seen at all' works well even at times like this.

By the time she sits on the snowy dead grass on the central green, it's light out. Sleepless students are surely beginning to stir, but here in front of the Surly Stump, everything is still. With the last wizelf dramatically decapitated, the muscheron have started to take down their war blockade but parts of it still stand. Winter sits for a while, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does.

So she fumbles around in her pockets until she finds a rock that looks like a ring, or maybe a hardware nut. She holds the adder stone to her eye, peering through the hole at the tree in the heart of campus, then sighs.

A shadowy figure settles next to Winter. Laszlo stares out into the darkness as Winter works, and can tell by her sigh that the little fairy stone didn't work. Is that what they're called? He reads enough that he's heard them mentioned, but they never pulled him away from his primary interests. Laszlo remains single-minded, as always.

"Have you ever seen something through one of those," he asks, almost a whisper.

Edited 2020-01-30 03:55 (UTC)

"Nah," Winter says, letting her hands and her stone fall into her lap. She shrugs and when she speaks she sounds a little like a child finding loopholes to still believe in something they are increasingly convinced isn't real. "But it's not a real one. I made this. The real ones, that's just stone and water working for a real long time."

Silence follows, again, a short stretch of it, before she tips her attention toward Laszlo in earnest. "Thought I might see the rest of the maples." By now, at least at Mothgarden, word had gotten around that the strange dream she'd had was a shared one with everyone else in her House. It occurs to her that that may not be the case more broadly across campus. "Did you dream about bugs and stuff?"

Laszlo nods, and then whispers: "Yes. And fire."

He's quiet for a second or so too long. Enough to make things strange. He has to force himself to speak again, or Winter might give up on him. That's what he thinks anyway. "Are you scared of this place? I'm not quite scared. Not exactly. But it's different from where I lived before. More alive. Maybe."

Winter nods with growing vigor as Laszlo speaks, agreeing wholeheartedly. She doesn't mind the quiet, but two separate feelings that turn out to be part of the same thread is nice to find, too. Maybe it's that little zing of connection that keeps her talking, stops her from keeping her thoughts to herself. Her gaze moves back to the tree, as though it might help her with words."Not a bad fear. Awe, maybe? Like, in the old sense." She pulls in a breath and adds, "Numinous."

"Not to get all twee with the mystical woo," says the literal witch who used to be the Druidic Arts TA, grinning now like she knows it, "But when I'm walking, sometimes I feel like the valley itself is...like...asking me to stay? Like it's lonely or empty. I don't know. You ever get that?"

Normally, Patrice wouldn't mind the infirmary so much - it's a great place to get fussed over and act like you're putting on a brave face given whatever injury or sickness has befallen you. He's not happy about it right now, though. He just wants to be back in bed with his roommates, where it's warmer and... safer isn't the word he'd use, but it's something like that. He's not afraid. Just wary.

Sitting up in his stupid not-very-big bed, his fingers run a little anxiously over the mask he'd ripped off his face when he'd woken up. Hopefully someone will come see him for a little bit before they banish everyone back to the dorms; even if he doesn't want the fussing, he could use the distraction. Heedless of anyone else present, he lets out a loud, annoyed groan.

Uriah peeks around the door frame, almost guiltily. There's a long moment where he doesn't say anything. He doesn't have any flowers of chocolates, and he definitely doesn't have anything reassuring to say. Still, he has to say something.

"Masks fuckin' suck, huh?" he drawls. "First the photopiano goes screwy, now you're off—like, whatever happened. Some real bullshit. Masks."

There's a clear relaxing of Patrice's shoulders as he catches sight of Uriah, and his expression shifts from thoughtful scowl to affected pout as he watches his roommate. No reason to show he's got anything but annoyance running through him while he's still trying to process this.

"Yeah, masks are stupid. I don't think this one is haunted either." He holds it up in offering to the other boy. "...did you guys see me leave or anything?"

Uriah takes it and then tosses it aside like trash. Someone else can analyze that. Someone smart and clever, which is to say not him. The mask bounces and then skitters across the floor. It's probably not damaged, but Uriah's disrespect is clear.

"We woke up and you were off to wherever," he explains and shrugs. It takes a moment but he creeps closer to Patrice. "You freaked everyone out, y'know."

Edited 2020-01-30 05:02 (UTC)

"Hey, don't throw other people's stuff," Patrice complains, but there's no real bite to it. He can't really blame Uriah for just wanting to get away from it, and while his eyes remain on the discarded item for a few moments, he's quick to refocus on his roommate.

Noting the other boy's slow approach, he simply beckons him over while also shifting in bed to make room for him. "Bowling alley basement," he informs, which is stupid and weird the more he thinks about it.

And while something feels good about knowing his friends were worried about him, it feels equally uncomfortable. "I am the best cuddle-buddy in the bed, so I can see why that'd be jarring to wake up without me."

Presley times his visit for as late as he can possibly manage without breaking curfew rules. He's not really sure why he's visiting. The others have assured him that Patrice is back and he's doing fine, which was enough for Presley. Patrice is fine. He trusts the staff to handle things from here.

Even so, he's stepping into the infirmary, and staring at Patrice with the sort of intense, analytical look that says he's cataloging Patrice's wounds (none visible) and signs of his mood (whiny baby, so normal). "The others had better have fussed over you, because you're not about to get it from me," Presley informs him as he approaches the bed.

Though Patrice can tell there are eyes on him, he doesn't look up immediately; instead he sets the mask on the bedside table and fiddles with the bedsheets, trying to pull them up a little more around his seated form. Presley's voice fully draws his attention, though, and he lifts his gaze with an almost relieved smile.

"Awww, but I'm an invalid now, and didn't you miss me?" He wiggles over in the bed so Presley can sit with him, if he wants. "To be honest, though, I'll take food over fussing if you've got any."

Being both a seeker and a former quodpotter, Jupiter numbers among Healer Greatheart's frequent flyers. She's been in here dozens of times for herself and for teammates, but not for her baby brother that she can recall, and certainly never for a reason so strange. All the same, once she's inside, she knows right where to go if not what to expect, and that sick feeling that turns in her stomach with each step isn't helping her come up with a plan of action.

So when she finally finds her brother, her face is scrunched into a scowl and the breath is stalled in her lungs. But he is there, and he is whole, evidently, and so Jupiter remembers to exhale. "Hey squid," she plops down beside him, ruffles his hair a bit too hard, then lets her hand drop to his shoulder. He is still solid. She's not sure why that comes as a relief. "What's the story here?"

Atlas's shoulders fall back where they're supposed to when Jupiter walks in. For the first time in a very strange night, he's pretty sure he's back among the living. This must be reality, because Jup found him. He does a fairly good job of not looking too excited. He smiles. And grumbles, contentedly, like an old dog who doesn't mind being pet, really, when she messes up his hair. He collapses a little further, leaning his shoulder against hers. Now that's safe.

He takes a moment to say anything, though, because he's not sure how to summarize really any of that into a way that seems believable and will also not make her worried. "Would you believe." He begins, with a resigned amusement that can't help peeking through, "You've been missing Elflock Lanes Midnight Bowling for your entire life. And I got to go.."

Her brows go up, and she presses into her brother's leaning form, a couple of knuckleheads staring in silence for a beat. Atlas says Elflock Lanes, and somehow she knows exactly where he wound up, and that gnarl in her stomach pulls a little tighter, knowing Atlas and Xenia and Trudy were all there, with that locked up hatch in the middle of the night.

"Shit, junior, I walked so you could run," Jupiter fires back without heat. Nothing is wrong. He's safe, now. She is here, and they can joke. They certainly don't need to worry that a bowling alley is trying to eat them or something. "Did the damn door stick for you, too?" Another pause. "You're all in one piece? Cuz... mom's gonna kill me if you're missing a thumb or something."

"I'm fine." He is, physically, intact, and he waves a thumb around to prove it. This is good news, and it's to buy time for the weirder stuff. Because god, he wishes the door had just stuck. That would've made sense. He stills, wrinkles his nose, because in the safety of this infirmary, everything there feels far away.

"No, it was...weird. I woke up there. I had a dream...but I'm not sure it was all a dream. Because when I woke up, I was in this mask, and there were these people standing around in hoods. And the floor got really hot. And then we were alone again."

As evidence that he's not completely making this up or completely insane, he reaches for the mask souvenir he took from this and holds it out for her inspection. "...So maybe don't tell mom all of it anyway." He doesn't think his mother would wish his presence upon herself in a way that means he has to go back, and he isn't sure what the school's going to say. But. Just in case.

Jupiter takes the mask in both hands and examines it with an expression so tautly pulled to neutrality that it does not look neutral at all. This mask is not exactly the same, but she recognizes it instantly. She'd worn one herself, for that secret poetry meeting.

She runs her fingers over the keyhole and the silence that settles over them feels almost oppressive. She doesn't know what this means at all, doesn't trust herself or her brain enough to make sense of it. Jupiter Quigley's just a jock who likes to make donuts, not a mystery solver. Still, she resolves to ask Lionel about it. She also resolves something else.

"Ah, man, I won't tattle," she says, low and breathy, her warm demeanor breaking that icy quiet that held them. Though she doesn't really want to, she offers the mask back to Atlas, jostling him with her shoulder. "Glad you're okay, squid." And because Quigleys are fearless, and because they are a pack of wolves, she adds, "We'll figure out who we need to fight for dragging us into bowling alley basements and we'll kick their asses, huh?"

That silence weighs about three metric tons of lead sitting dead on his chest. He isn’t used to it. Especially not from his invincible older sister, who is always the source of noise, of light, and reassurance. The moment you realize your idols are human is never easy. This one isn’t either, and he’s grateful when she breaks it with something familiar. Tattling and going to the source of this with violence. Yes. He can wrap his head around that. He puts the mask to the side. To be dealt with later.

“Sooo, how do you feel about beating up little boys.” He turns his eyes up, grinning in a way that suggests maybe this is just an average bully that they have to round up the rest of the pack to defeat. “Alternately, freeing him from a basement.”

"I'll punch anyone," Jupiter boasts with too much bravado to be taken seriously, jabbing her thumb to her chest. Letting whatever it is out, though, that gives her pause. She drapes her arm over Atlas's shoulder and pats the other side, with a loud, thoughtful hum and a breath exhaled through her nose. Jupiter Quigley is fearless—that's her brand—but fearlessness is not the same as foolishness, no matter how much she strives to make it seem that way at times. Eventually, she settles on a shrug. "Let's learn a bit more about Mr. Kidnapper before we go throwing his door open, huh?"

Edited 2020-01-31 03:02 (UTC)

Although there's something weird, still, about Jupiter pausing at this, he doesn't press it. He's relieved, actually. Which feels like cowardice. There's something in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel he should find the boy. But he's scared of what he'll find. So there's no protest. He shrugs, even. "He didn't seem much fun at parties."

He sits up a little, reaching his arm around her shoulders too. Lest she mistake this as sweet, though, he reaches into her thicket of hair and yanks. Gently. Kind of. "And I have other stuff to do anyway."

Jupiter knocks her chin up and exhales a huff of air through her nose. "What kinda nerd stuff do you got lined up, huh?" she asks, a bit too soft and fond to sound all that bullying. Always, she is careful to stay on just this side of unserious. So long as she's still joking, it's all fine, right? It's all fine.

"Hey," she pauses, lips pursing, and lifts her brow. "No secrets?"

"Oh, y'know." He drags out, trying desperately now to remember his hobbies, or anything else that happened before tonight. "Quod brackets, a new sax arrangement that you're gonna hate..." And she really is gonna hate it, but his grin looks maybe more tired than annoying, right now.

He stills for a second, after that, weighing whether this is a promise he can really make. But there's really only one answer. "No secrets." He nods, and then looks up, sharper. "You, either."

He's younger. But that doesn't mean she can go off on some weird revenge thing without him.

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SO LATE THAT IT'S EARLY

SO LATE THAT IT'S EARLY

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Winter Watches, Laszlo Interrupts

Winter Watches, Laszlo Interrupts

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