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Post by Yoshimitsu on Nov 12, 2009 16:28:29 GMT -5
OOC - Woo, introducing a new character~ This RP hinges heavily on the support of other people. It also requires you to take a side, but I wont reveal why early on.
The setting is a museum, as you will see, but the museum specializes in magical artifacts so that's potentially a reason for people to be present.
Particularly Charles Tanner and Helen, I'd be willing to bet.
BIC -
"And if you'd like to stop here, this is the artworks exhibit. As you can see..."
The tour came to a halt just past a rather grandiose doorway that looked more suited to a cathedral than a museum. It was a rather mismatched group, some art enthusiasts, some tourists who thought it would make an interesting time, some art students who had to for their chosen course and some who looked like they had wandered in by accident. While they all politely listened to their guide, the differences between the people became very clear. The tourists fidgeted, clearly wanting to move on already. The students furiously made notes. One small child complained loudly to his parents.
One of the people clearly could not care less about the tour guide's words. He stood with his back to the group, looking up and down the corridor slowly with his amethyst eyes. Despite the fact that one eye was hidden underneath a blue and purple fringe, he apparently had no issues with absorbing the details of this section of the museum. After a few seconds, he turned his attention back to the guide. However, he raised his wrist to his mouth and started to whisper.
"No sign of anything yet," he informed his bracelet, his voice almost inaudible. "Though it's hard to tell. There's nothing blatantly obvious at any rate."
Samm lowered his wrist again and fixed his attention on the painting. An expression of extreme boredom had formed on his face, as though he thought the guide's words were the least important thing in the world. As the rest of the group moved on, he stayed in the same position. Apparently no one noticed. No one bothered waiting or calling for him, at any rate. He didn't seem to mind, as the expression on his face changed from bored to curious. The painting in front of him, Van Gogh's 'Starry Night', was apparently enthralling him. His eyes traced the lines in the sky, the violent looking mountain.
Something on him beeped. Raising his wrist, he spoke into his bracelet again.
"Give me a minute. I'm just taking a quick break," he said indifferently. "The Starry Night is more interesting."
~*~*~
In another part of the museum, a similar tour was being conducted. This time, the group was much smaller and much more presentable. It was mostly comprised of middle-aged men and women, dressed in designer and pristine suits in various shades of grey and silver. There seemed to be some competition going on between the group, as they all attempted to look as pretentious as possible. One woman in particular had managed to perfect her aloof sneer, looking both curious and disinterested at the same time. There was dislike spreading between the various people though the guide was apparently oblivious, and so was the youngest person there.
Interestingly, the youngest person there was also not wearing a full suit. He had abandoned the jacket, preferring the waistcoat-and-shirt look with a slim-fit dark purple waistcoat over a white dress shirt. His hair was shaggy, falling just short of his eyes, naturally dark brown and cut shorter at the back. Over one eye, he wore a half-butterfly mask. His pants were dark grey suit pants, and his black shoes were shiny, just polished. The only thing about him that was not smart was his belt. There were four rectangular holders, two on the front and two on the back, made of black leather with a click button each.
This individual was apparently oblivious to the rest of the group. His smiled a genuine smile, as though he was happy to be there, as he examined the artifact within the glass case. It was nothing special, a cracked and broken clay pot that apparently dated to ancient Greek times. The group moved on, and he followed them willingly. However, he spoke when they managed to miss one of the displays.
"Excuse me," his voice clear. It was a calm voice, with an alluring tone to it. "What's in this case?" He gestured to the case in question, where what looked like a plain white button rested on a blue velvet cushion.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mister..?" The guide prompted.
"Call me Antonio," the youth replied.
"Antonio, then. But that case is for VIP tours only," the guide finished, ignoring the scandalized expressions on the tour group's faces.
"Oh, I understand entirely," Antonio replied, his voice soft. He slipped what looked like a wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open, revealing what appeared to be an identification card of some kind. "But I'm required to find out about specific exhibits today. This is one of them."
The tour guide examined the card for no longer than a second before realizing that he was addressing a very important person indeed. He redirected the group back towards the glass case.
"Very well..." The guide started. "The legend behind this button stems back to a fairy tale told in remote locations, and although the exact locations are unknown there are some records that indicate the orient. In the legend, there are other worlds besides this one. A long time ago a great sorceror, seeking to unravel the mysteries of this other world, managed to create a spell that would allow him to travel from world to world. The spell, according to legend, was almost too much for his body so he contained it within a series of buttons. These buttons took whoever used them to a place called the Neitherlands."
"Neitherlands?" One person sneered. "What kind of name is that?"
"The Neitherlands," the guide continued, as though there had been no interruption. "They, or rather it is a world between worlds. A gateway between dimensions, where the gateways to all other worlds were hidden. Stories of the Neitherlands depicted a vast city made up of millions and millions of buildings. The accuracy of the stories is, of course, unreliable. After all, it's just a story."
"You say it's just a story," Antonio interrupted. "But you still show the button here?"
"It is the curator's request. He has an unfortunate fixation on supernatural legends," the guide replied wearily. "Is there anything else..?"
"No, I've seen all of the exhibits that I need to," Antonio admitted, though it was with a distinct undertone of being bored of the group. "Thank you for your assistance."
The brown haired boy promptly turned and walked away from the group, ignoring the puzzled expressions that had met his last words. He had learned more than he thought he would from the guide, much to his relief. For him, it was time to do some investigation and reconaissance. Instead of leaving the museum, he walked to the entrance hall.
"Now, to formulate the best route..." He commented. Without a second thought, he raised his hand and cast an illusion over himself, essentially turning himself invisible. He would have no trouble looking around now.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Nov 12, 2009 16:52:23 GMT -5
OOC: Kickass. Expect me in when I burn through a bit more of my queu.
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Post by Yoshimitsu on Nov 12, 2009 17:14:00 GMT -5
OOC- I wont lie, I think Helen and Antonio should work together with ch00bs' stage magician and Charles Tanner because of a PM Pohatu sent me hinting at such.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 13, 2009 1:23:39 GMT -5
OOC: Oh snap, I didn't realize you wanted to run this so soon. Oh... But, you know what, that's cool. I can do this. Owe you one anyway.
"I drew that one."
Charles Tanner looked to the side, but no one was standing there. Or rather, the person standing there did not fall within his immediate line of sight. He looked down. There was a very small dark-haired boy, perhaps six or seven, standing next to him and staring up at the painting.
Tanner said, "You're not serious."
"Uh-huh," the boy beamed. "I drew it."
"Good gracious." Tanner squinted at the painting. "I... I'm astounded, frankly. Your craftsmanship is impeccable."
A not quite comprehending "Yeah."
"What did you use to draw it?"
"Um..." The boy scratched his nose. "Markers."
"Of course."
"I have a whole bag."
"And yet--" Tanner looped a finger around toward the painting. "--Yet you used so few of them. What a rich scene to evoke with such a limited palette. I especially admire the shapes you created off to the left there. They nearly seem to suggest real objects, yet appear so obscure they might in fact signify nothing at all. There is a real, tangible, shroud that hangs over the morning landscape. Superb."
"I have like fifty. Some of 'em are the same, almost, though."
Tanner bent down, resting his cane on one knee. His voice dropped to a confidential murmur. "And how much money did the museum give you in exchange for this marvelous piece of work?"
The boy blinked, then grinned wider than ever. "A million dollars."
"There's a smart boy," Tanner smiled. "Keen eye for business and aesthetics. You'll go far with those attributes, I'm sure..."
"Jack!" An obvious mother swooped down upon the boy. "Don't you wander off like that... Sorry about that, sir. He likes to tell stories. Come on, now..."
"Not at all," said Tanner. The m. led off the boy, who waved behind him. Tanner tipped the cane in response. That exchange had been a step toward making up for his error. Through some oversight Tanner had made his way into the wrong tour group, surrounded by students and families instead of the would-be aristocrats to which he was accustomed. An uncomfortable foulup, but no matter. Doubtless this group's questions and comments were more interesting than the other's could have been.
He let the eyes linger upon the reproduction of Monet's Impression, Sunrise for another moment before looking toward the next on the wall.
OOC: In case it wasn't clear, Tanner is with Samm's group, not Antonio's. In a valiant effort to fight Tanner's static nature, I decided to put him out of his element.
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Post by ch00beh on Nov 16, 2009 1:06:33 GMT -5
"They, or rather it is a world between worlds. A gateway between dimensions, where the gateways to all other worlds were hidden. Stories of the Neitherlands depicted a vast city made up of millions and millions of buildings. The accuracy of the stories is, of course, unreliable. After all, it's just a story."
As soon as the tour guide began discrediting the Neitherlands as a story, Julia took a cheap pen and a small pad of paper from her purse and began jotting down notes in short-hand. White button passage to alternate world - Neitherlands. That particular note was scrawled in messy but legible script in one of the few remaining spaces on the sheet. Similar quick descriptions of other museum pieces with alleged paranormal function filled up most of the space.
Julia looked up from her pad to examine the artifact once more when she noticed the young man who had asked about it in the first place. Her eyes immediately settled on his mask. A normal person would be curious or judgmental about such an odd accessory. Julia instead had a small panic attack. She blinked and looked away, doing a double-take as the man walked away, before checking for a certain object in her purse. When her hand felt its smooth features, she relaxed somewhat.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Dec 11, 2009 4:13:29 GMT -5
A figure, seemingly unattached to either group, was meandering about, exhibit to exhibit. She typically only glanced at the pieces, occasionally pausing a short while longer at the more well known artists and the pieces that were in brighter, more distracting colors.
"Can't say I have a taste for these..." She muttered to herself, brushing a lock of eggplant-colored hair out of her face. Indeed, her hair was quite possibly the most notable attribute to her appearance, a thick, well cared for mane that ran farther down than her cocktail dress. But hey, if it helps me perfect my act, that's enough reason to be here. I gotta get out of the rut.
She lingered at a painting with various orange at yellow blocks, scattered seemingly at random.
What is it that seperates art and spectacle? I try and make everything I do look as spectacular as possible. That's vital. But to be derided as "A talentless hack, bereft of any depth, symbolism, or wit to her performance-
She clenched her calloused hands into fists. Despite otherwise being dolled up, her nails were trimmed short and she was lacking any polish to match the shade of her lips. She had tried going on a European tour, but it seemed that their critique was quite a bit harsher. In a world where powers were less common, using actual magic for a stage performance was seen as cheating.
Her rhymes, normally servicable enough, were derided as derivative bits of juvenile fluff. Indeed, the only complements seen were for her personality itself...
So here she was, today. She had spent six hours last night, reading the dictionary, playing wordgames, browsing various classical works of poetry. And now, she was working on the other half of the equation. Depth...
Which brings me back to the start of this train of thought... She put a hand to her temple.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 3, 2010 14:42:25 GMT -5
OOC: El, please don't let this one die. This plot has tons of potential.
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Post by Yoshimitsu on Jan 6, 2010 9:48:57 GMT -5
OOC- Sorry, been in Florida with no internet access. Will draft a reply this weekend
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 6, 2010 16:01:47 GMT -5
OOC: Man, El, glad to seeya back! Hope you had a good trip!
(Now that we have El, Summoner Style shall return! BB, ready thyself!)
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Post by Yoshimitsu on Jan 7, 2010 12:01:32 GMT -5
"Miss Mercury," Antonio breathed, his illusion flickering out of existence and his figure melting into plain view. There was no doubt about it, the woman stood in front of him had to be Helen Mercury. Completely unashamed, he approached Helen.
"Miss Mercury, it's an honor," he said calmly, seriously with a touch of awe in his voice. "I've followed your work for a while and may I say, you're fantastic. The simplicity of your talent mixed with the presentation, it's simply wonderful. I've always aimed to follow in your footsteps."
Antonio smiled a warm smile, but it quickly turned into an expression of curiosity.
"May I ask, why would such a talented person come to a dive like this?"
~*~*~
"Possible suspect confirmed," Samm muttered into his wristband. "Getting a visual."
Samm's eyes fell on the slightly older gentleman in the group. He immediately wondered why this individual had not registered as suspicious when he first joined the tour group. The man certainly looked out of place, a much cleaner appearance Samm would associate with a lord or businessman. Not wanting to attract the attention of the man, Samm glanced away at the painting on the wall and listened to the exchange between the man and child.
"Humoring a kid. Clever, if you're trying to conceal something," Samm muttered to himself, his eyes flickering back to the man. "Now, who are you..."
Samm followed the group again, his eyes darting back to the person in question as he awaited further orders.
OOC- Yep, need Lee to post... typically. >.> Hopefully it only requires a short post, then the plot can advance.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 24, 2010 0:19:05 GMT -5
"Say... What?" Helen tensed, balling her heands into fists. The young man appeared unarmed, but... Just coming out of nowhere like that? He had to be some kind of Power. He could be more dangerous than most normal people were when armed. A few sparks of violet light danced across the backs of her hands.
Her tension disappeared almost instantly as he spoke again.
"Oh, well- Uh, I'm not quite that great," Helen tried to suppress blushing. Applause was one thing. That was a bunch of anonymous people expressing their collective appreciation. A lone fan, though... She still had a bit of trouble dealing with them.
"There's always room for improvement, you know? I've only been doing this professionally for a few years now. I'm still kinda green, really." Helen took a deep breath, the blush fading from her cheeks.
"Still, I'm really glad to hear that you liked my performances. I... Did you read the paper? I got blasted pretty bad by a local entertainment critic. It's, well, it's really good to have somebody say that I'm not the stage magic equivalent of anthrax," Helen turned to face the paintings again.
"That's why I'm here. I'm trying to take my performance to the next level. More beauty, more intensity, more wit. I want to learn the best in everything."
"I've always been good enough to keep up in the Archipelago. There, I'm a household name. But I'm still not world class. Compared to those people that are known, everywhere they go? I'm just a nobody. I may as well just be a... hell, I may as well just be some rank amateur."
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jul 8, 2010 18:30:59 GMT -5
OOC: Aw SNAP. I'm telling you resurrections like this are UNREAL they don't even HAPPEN.
Most of the time.
Speaking of time, this post sets the clock back a little to Elliot's first post. Also, since this RP is pre-Ish, I guess this is actually now our chronological introduction to a pair of dear friends of mine. The respectively second and third youngest people in the otherwise almost unanimously middle-aged upscale group were a twentysomething round-faced woman with cheek-length red hair and a twentysomethingplusabit man with shaggy blond hair whose mass was primarily concentrated in his upper body. Plainly out of their depth in this environment, they were shuffling along behind the designer-suited sneerers in casual clothing that set them well below the group's unspoken dress code. Against all odds this was not an attempt to be snarky or flippant. It was, in fact, the result of a minor but troublesome mixup. "Any questions before we move on? Yes..." The tour guide gestured to a woman with an especially complex and richly developed pout, who promptly started in with a curious yet disinterested question which the man with shaggy blond hair ignored because he was too busy posing muttered questions of his own to the woman with cheek-length red hair. "Are we idiots? Is this the proof? Are we all a bunch'f idiots?" "Hugh there's a difference between makin' a mistake and being a mistake." The young woman, whom I might as well dub Flo right away to save the trouble of shoehorning her name into Hugh's speech, was dogearing one page of the brochure, back and forth, with two red-nailed fingers. "Today, mistakes were made." "Yeh, but how d'you even screw this up?" Hugh insisted. "The eleven o'clock tour was ours. The twenty past was his. So how is it when we get here, 'e's already stompin' off with the common rabble and leavin' us to wait around for this lot?" "Maybe he couldn't help 'imself. Maybe he couldn't go another twenty minutes without feasting his eyes on these fabulous splendors." "Sure," said Hugh. "Or maybe 'is bloody watch's fast." "Oh don't say that about Charlie." "There you go again!" Hugh exclaimed. They promptly turned away from the group to confer on this matter with more privacy. "Wot's this with you callin' 'im Charlie like he's your effin' mutt? No one else calls him Charlie. How's it you get to?" Flo sent a sweet smile up in his direction and patted the brochure against her cheek for secrecy. "Must be cos he likes me," she whispered. "Must be cos he thinks I'm cute. And I am pretty sure you feel the same way so it's very confusing why you're givin' me such lip." She took his muscular arm and steered them back around toward the impeccably-dressed codgers, who were moving on to the next wing. "Now let's bear ourselves with a little dignity, huh?" "Excuse me," said a clear and calm voice which Flo might conceivably have described as carrying an alluring tone although Hugh sure as hell would not have. "What's in this case?" The speaker was the youngest person in the group, a youth who'd hung back to inspect a glass display containing a white button or possible bottlecap on top of a blue velvet cushion. By the look of him, he was still a teenager. He might also have been making the single boldest fashion statement possible in an art gallery. This was not his lack of jacket or rock climber's belt but the half butterfly mask concealing one side of his face. The guide addressed him. Hugh rolled his eyes. "Wonder why they haven't thrown 'im out on his arse," he said to Flo under his breath. "Must be their first wannabe Butterfly." "Give 'em a few more and there'll be a big red sign in the lobby," Hugh muttered. "These bleedin' kids, I don't understand it -- skippin' down the street in the stupid mask as if they cud so much's pinch the keys off a blind doorman. What're they teaching them now? Choosin' a life of crime is an adult decision, innit?" The punk was flashing his wallet at the tour guide. Apparently the guide was sufficiently impressed to launch into an explanation of the significance of the white button. Flo frowned, scrutinizing the half butterfly mask. "It's tacky," she declared softly after a moment. "Look't those sequins. Pick this out of the gutter after Mardi Gras, did 'e? The real Butterfly wouldn't be caught dead wearin'... What're they saying?" "Some rot about the Netherlands," Hugh summarized. "On we go." The group was moving out of the wing. The punk, however, had turned to march off in the opposite direction, back toward the museum entrance. "C'mon," Flo said instead, tugging Hugh's arm. "Want to see if 'e tries anything stupid." Once they arrived in the entrance hall, however, the punk was nowhere to be seen. No doors were swinging shut. The Butterfly wannabe had disappeared more abruptly than one could have reasonably expected. Or, as Hugh put it: "Bloody hell is he?" OOC: Do UKers even say "huh"? "Eh" sounded too Canadian and "yeah" too Zaphod Beeblebrox...
In case it isn't clear, what I was trying to imply was that rumors of the Butterfly have inspired rebellious youngsters to bedeck themselves in half butterfly masks and pretend to be him in an effort to scare museum owners and the like. I couldn't think of any other reason why Antonio would be able to get away with wearing the damned mask in public and not get arrested on the spot. Hiding in plain sight, in a way.
Now Flo and Hugh are in the lobby. But also in case it isn't clear, Antonio should have already skirted invisibly past them back into the museum and found Helen. So they're pretty much just there I guess until Samm's/Tanner's group comes back out. That's the progress I've made in this post! So much progress.
Finally, I'm worried that Burgled Boullogne may have made me terrified of dialogue-heavy and movement-low posts. I'm PRETTY sure this isn't a shit post, but it looks that way to me.
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Post by Yoshimitsu on Sept 4, 2010 22:47:00 GMT -5
"Excuse me, miss," Samm said clearly, his voice cutting over the rabble like a knife. There was an alarming amount of authority in his voice, for someone who looked barely older than eighteen. He had just noticed something very unusual. "Would you mind explaining this item to me?" "Oh, I'm sorry, Mister..?" The tour guide replied, fluttering her over-long eyelashes. "Samm," the boy replied, casually flipping his hair from his eyes. "Mister... Samm," the guide faltered slightly. "This one's only for VIP tours, and it's the quickest way through the museum, so..." Samm pulled a card from his pocket, showing his picture and some basic information. Though not immediately revealing, the insignia in the bottom left corner should send alarm bells ringing in any professional's head. A hand, with a shooting star swirling around it. Overly ornate and easily identified due to the way it apparently shifted on the card. Difficult, nearly impossible to replicate without the right tools. "VIP enough?" He asked, his expression slightly bored. The girl's expression slipped slightly, and her hand instinctively went to the walkie-talkie at her waist. The exact same walkie-talkie Samm had seen her speaking into only minutes ago. "The button?" "Oh, you're the second person with one of those cards today..." Samm's eyes locked on to the guide's. ~*~*~ "I don't believe anyone could consider you an amateur, Miss Mercury," Antonio disagreed, slipping subtle tones of adoration into his speech. It was important to quickly establish himself as innocent, if naive, in case it would later become an issue regarding character analysis. Contradictory views from eyewitnesses could be the difference between guilty and innocent. Not that Antonio had ever been caught, but he was nothing if not thorough. "I applaud you on your initiative, seeking out ways to improve and better yourself. Truly a standard all should aspire to," he continued, a warm smile on his face. Adoring fan all the way. The conversation had to be cut short now, however. He cast a quick illusion over his wrist, creating a watch there which he promptly checked. "I'm sorry, I must be taking up all your time. If you'll excuse me..." He bowed quickly, then walked away. Helen Mercury being present could throw any suspicion off him, if he played his cards right. And if there was one thing Antonio could do, it was play cards. Bluhh bluhh, gotta get back into the characters' mindsets. Come on Elliot, focus!
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Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 15, 2010 1:55:05 GMT -5
"Well, everyone," said the woman guiding the eleven o'clock tour, looking away from the young man with the tiresomely-colored hair to the rest of the party, "you're all VIPs today, it seems. Come have a look at this." Tanner moved along with the others toward the glass box the young man had indicated. Why, the only thing inside was a small, perfectly innocuous ivory button resting upon a blue velvet cushion. One supposed one couldn't fault the y. m. for seeking an explanation of such a mundane object as this. Tanner watched the guide stoop to address the boy Jack and the other children in the group. "Do you still like fairy tales, my friend?" she asked. "Or are you too old already?" For a fleeting moment Tanner feared that Jack was about to decry fairy tales and perhaps extol the virtues of video games or some such. His initial response of "Sure!" was difficult to decipher, but in following this up with "Trolls and goblins and stuff? They're cool," Jack clarified that he had affirmed the guide's first question rather than her second. "How about magicians?" asked the g. "Are they cool?" The boy nodded. " Wicked cool." Tanner's eyebrows rose. He drew in a stout breath, then leaned gently against the wall and touched a finger to the earlobe in thought as the guide straightened up and continued: "Well, it happens that this button is allegedly the subject of a fairy tale a few centuries old which you might find pretty neat. According to the story, there was once a powerful magician who lived in a far-off land..." Freezing rain battered the manor of dark red stone, a rain so heavy it nearly threatened to cave in the roof of the other tower, much as that of the tower on one end had long since crumbled away. This would have been simple enough to repair, had the inhabitants not held the belief -- for all their desire otherwise for isolation -- that the building had to contain a flaw, a gap, to permit the ebbing in and out of the world's magical forces. So the western tower stood breached, with only a thin black canvas stretched over the aperture to keep out the baser elements. Great drops of rain rolled down the canvas and dripped onto the stone walls and the windows obscured by dark curtains... Tanner blinked the mental image away. "This magician had learned that there were worlds outside our own, and he wanted nothing more than to travel to those other worlds and learn what they could teach him, to become even mightier than he already was..." He was a boy no older than Jack, younger perhaps, creeping down a shadowy corridor, trusting that the sound of the rain pounding on the glass would obscure the creaks of the floorboards under his feet. A tiny candle was his only source of light, and even this he was prepared to blow out at the faintest sign. Down two more flights of stairs and he would make it to the kitchens. It was close to midnight on Saturday, the day when they made him only one meal in the afternoon; any other nourishment he was expected to produce for himself. And he couldn't get any of it right -- the texture, the flavor, the color, even. All he could manage was an inedible sludge... Tanner was unsure whether he'd been captured and punished on this particular occasion or not. To entertain this completely irrelevant and inexplicable memory further was paying it an undue kindness. "The magician devised a spell that would let him travel to a place between the worlds, a place called the Neitherlands. In most versions of the story, this was an enormous city full of gateways to all the dimensions in the universe. But the magician was getting old, and this ability was too powerful to contain within himself. So he pulled off his coat, and he said a few words, and he imbued the coat with some of his magic. He turned it into a vessel for his sorcery, which would take a lot of the strain off casting spells while he wore it, but without which his abilities would be greatly restricted. Often times, you'll hear this kind of object called a 'sigil'." Tanner froze. Fortunately no one noticed as the knobby knuckles clutching his jewelled cane blanched. "And this button is supposed to have popped off the coat, then?" asked a student. "Exactly," said the guide. "They say all the buttons came off at one point or another. No one knows what became of the coat itself or even if it's still intact, but there are quite a few buttons around the world which people claim to have come from it." She paused for breath (the telling of this story had clearly excited her quite a bit) before concluding, "By the way, I don't know if we have any Narnia fans in the group, but I understand C.S. Lewis evidently used this fairy tale as a basis for the first book in the series, The Magician's Nephew. Although there are a few differences which some of you might -- yes?" For Jack had raised his hand. "They were rings in that book, not buttons." "Right," the g. smiled. "Rings instead of buttons, a forest instead of a city, and I'm pretty sure Lewis never actually used the name 'Neitherlands' at all. Still, otherwise, the idea is just about the same, right down to the cranky old magician who masterminded the whole thing!" Tanner was pleased enough that the boy had read the book that he didn't bother correcting the guide that it was not actually the first in the series at all, but rather the sixth. He couldn't blame her for getting the details wrong, however; she had obviously not been a child when the books were first being published, stealing them one by one off the shelves on her fleeting visits to the bookstore during her rare excursions into the city... But enough. He brought the c. around lightly to hold it behind the legs as he spoke up. "And there is no known way of activating this button to ascertain whether it's genuine? I suppose if it were as simple as turning it over in the palm and murmuring 'Abracadabra', the secret would already have been out, wouldn't it?" OOC: Okay, I guess that'll do for an RP post.
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