peckenpaugh | THE UPPER LEVELS

up into the balconies

you climb The breathing boughs of that nightmare tree crowd into the upper balconies of the ruined auditorium. You have to duck and bend to get by them in places, sometimes through spaces that seem to grow smaller as you press through. These branches are warm to the touch, some of them uncomfortably so, pulsing with something that isn't quite life.

You've climbed these stairs more than once in your time here; to take your place after your sorting, to watch new students find their House, or perhaps just for an assembly. This building always seemed so sturdy, so safe. It was a place to go for shows, for celebrations, and hell, to just get out of class. Now, the floorboards creek precariously, split and splintering where vines have crept through. Benches are broken, overturned and tossed aside to make room for the auditorium's new king: the malignant maple. Up here, the glowing blue seeds hanging from branches are close enough to pluck. Those that have ripened litter the floor and railings, filling the balconies with an eerie blue twinkle.

The air is muggy, clogged by falling ash. It stinks of coal and sulfer. But you keep moving, anyway. Keep opening portals and pushing on. Just a little bit higher, and then maybe you'll be able to plunge into the depths.

and you fight By now there's a plan, and with it, a slowly growing brigade of people, of beings, of bugs, who are gathering to push back against inevitability.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Ew." Is her assessment. And, no, that's helpful. Eddy wouldn't be able to wonder what the fuck if he's too hurt. So now Chanel only has to spare a half-glance to make sure she's okay. She tries to jump on the table behind the tentacles, then punches back out at the one that had hit Eddy. No one got to do that.

Edited (I can read I promise) 2020-06-10 23:22 (UTC)

"Yeah," he grunts as he gets back to his feet. This staff is neat and all (literally), but Eddy's used to doing things with his goddamn fists. With a short running start, he throws himself over the upturned table, grabs onto some tentacles and yanks with all of his noodley might.

Edited 2020-06-11 00:06 (UTC)

Eventually, through the magic of RP Time, Burton Bland crumples to the floor, just a pile of dust. The scene rewinds, the man in the tweed suit resuming his place at the booth, as if he never even noticed the two teens eavesdropping on his conversation.

"And what in the Hell is all this shit, man? Looks satanic," Henry shuffles the stack more, flourishing out a collection of handwritten notes. Symbols and diagrams cover the page. Words and phrases like "heart" and "leyline" stand out. "It ain't you, Burt."

"That, Henry," says Burton Bland with a casual flick of his wrist, "Is what's going to dissolve the wall that separates us from them."

THE UPPER LEVELS

MEMORY: Planting A Seed

MEMORY: Planting A Seed

MEMORY: Planting A Seed