THE UPPER LEVELS

[peckishmods]

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.

and you never give up

TO ELSEWHERE
| TO THE BASE OF THE TREE | TO OUTSIDE | TO THE SORTING PATH |

IN THIS HUB
| THE SECOND FLOOR | OUT ON THE BOUGHS | THE THIRD FLOOR |

OOC POSTS
| OOC ACTION HUB | OOC CHATTER - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS |

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MEMORY: Caleb Leapt

[peckishmods]

The glasses don't glow, but the scene moves along eventually.

“How are you doing, dearheart?” Healer Crockett asks with a great deal more softness than has been seen of her outside of patient care.

Pocket’s head swivels and she meets the Head of Thorntrail’s concern with a wide, peaceful smile. “I’m doing exactly what I’m meant to do.”

That doesn’t seem quite like an answer, but Zipporah isn’t sure if that’s intentional or not. The magimagicicada are often like that. The healer quirks her head to the side, about to say that she doesn’t understand, but it seems Pocket already knows.

“I’m going to help heal the hurt,” she confides to Zipporah and Ebenezer. That smile she holds falters, twitching down flat. “It’s the least I can do. It’s what I have to do. For my brothers and sisters. For El, for Cal, for everyone hurt, and everyone still living. I’m glad that I can do it.”

Before either Head of House can remark on Pocket’s words, Caleb Qualls stands. “It’s done.”

His words suck the air out of the room.

Kettleburn is the first to stand, always willing to set an example when everyone else is at a loss, even if he, himself, isn’t sure what to do. “It’s done,” he echoes. “One more step.”

The time to question Caleb’s decision has long since passed, but Zipporah still has to resist the urge to ask him one more time: are you sure? What about Marilynn? What about Bryce? The same questions he’s surely been asked a hundred thousand times by now.

One more excruciating second ticks by, and then Kettleburn steps forward to pull Mr. Qualls into a hug. “An honor and a pleasure, y’stubborn cabbage.” And before he can pull away, Pocket’s fluttered over to join the hug, too.

As Zipporah Crockett’s eyes blur with tears, she tilts her chin up. Just beyond the three of them is that awful hole, that wound in the very earth. The light inside it changes, not an ember but the dim blue of Peckenpaugh’s auditorium. Time to take a leap.