A musty smell hangs in the air, just the scent of an old building finally getting a breeze after months of every window and door being sealed up for the winter. It's dark and dusty here, all shadows except for the triangles of orange-gold light glowing from lamps positioned around the room. It's difficult to say if the house is genuinely this dark, or if that's just how it's being remembered. It's all sort of big, the way everything seems a little big when you're still just a kid, before you've stopped growing completely.
This place is somehow both empty and cluttered, and finding the linchpin is sure to be an ordeal. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are packed full of books, some titles legible — with titles like Devil's Heat and Renegade Yeti Love Affair — others gibberish. Between those there are portraits and art, families and individuals, all of it old and ugly. A massive tapestry hangs on one wall, the design looking a bit like a coat of arms. There's an empty bottle of wine sitting on the low table in the center of the room. Another bottle of merlot, still half-full sits, on a side table along with a gramophone spinning a vinyl. Rhapsody in Blue fills the air.
"Things are about to be very different," says a hawk-like woman grimly. At her words the memory's owner turns his head and stares at the massive orange cat seated beside him on the overstuffed red sofa. "I know it's frightening, but—"
Zedekiah Crockett shoves himself up off that uncomfortable sofa and the old orange cat climbs to its feet and follows after.
"—But we'll all need to adjust."
"You're going to lock him up, aren't you?" Zed protests, turning to face the hawk-like woman, his mother Healer Zipporah Crockett. The more he speaks, the more panic and anger rise in his young voice. "You and dad are going to shut him away and—"
"Of course not. We don't have to. There are advancements in—" his mother tries to explain in that crisp clinical tone of hers. When she speaks, it makes everything seem darker and colder than it is, but Zed's not really listening. He’s scooping up that empty wine bottle. The music swells, and then everything stops.
MEMORY: After An Accident
[CRITERIA: minimum 8 replies]
A musty smell hangs in the air, just the scent of an old building finally getting a breeze after months of every window and door being sealed up for the winter. It's dark and dusty here, all shadows except for the triangles of orange-gold light glowing from lamps positioned around the room. It's difficult to say if the house is genuinely this dark, or if that's just how it's being remembered. It's all sort of big, the way everything seems a little big when you're still just a kid, before you've stopped growing completely.
This place is somehow both empty and cluttered, and finding the linchpin is sure to be an ordeal. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are packed full of books, some titles legible — with titles like Devil's Heat and Renegade Yeti Love Affair — others gibberish. Between those there are portraits and art, families and individuals, all of it old and ugly. A massive tapestry hangs on one wall, the design looking a bit like a coat of arms. There's an empty bottle of wine sitting on the low table in the center of the room. Another bottle of merlot, still half-full sits, on a side table along with a gramophone spinning a vinyl. Rhapsody in Blue fills the air.
"Things are about to be very different," says a hawk-like woman grimly. At her words the memory's owner turns his head and stares at the massive orange cat seated beside him on the overstuffed red sofa. "I know it's frightening, but—"
Zedekiah Crockett shoves himself up off that uncomfortable sofa and the old orange cat climbs to its feet and follows after.
"—But we'll all need to adjust."
"You're going to lock him up, aren't you?" Zed protests, turning to face the hawk-like woman, his mother Healer Zipporah Crockett. The more he speaks, the more panic and anger rise in his young voice. "You and dad are going to shut him away and—"
"Of course not. We don't have to. There are advancements in—" his mother tries to explain in that crisp clinical tone of hers. When she speaks, it makes everything seem darker and colder than it is, but Zed's not really listening. He’s scooping up that empty wine bottle. The music swells, and then everything stops.