abardacttofollow | QUIET MOUNDS

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QUIET MOUNDS - STEF HEART

You find yourself in a stone room that looks like some sort of medieval dungeon. There are (thankfully), no torture instruments, but there is a man strung up here. One large manacle is around his neck, chaining him stiffly to the door. His hands are free, but each foot is manacled to the matching bottom corner of the doorframe. There is a visible lock on each of the three manacles.

It's Stefen, and there's a knife in his chest. Despite that, he's alive, apparently alert, and doesn't look to be in pain, perhaps due to the lulling, sense-dulling music that seems to be coming from nowhere at all—in fact, if you were in pain before you entered, it's gone here. His wound is bleeding, but only a little, and he smiles his usual bright smile at you.

Behind him, but in front of the closed door he's bound to, you can see three double sets of strings running vertically. Where they meet the floor, they are fastened, and then each runs across the floor to the three doors on the opposite wall, then under them.

There is nothing else in this room.

((OOC: Here's how this will work! Since we're doing individual runs, rather than me putting up individual top levels for areas, just jump the post itself, and I'll run everything for you within your one thread. If you're wanting to do a run with someone else, just stay in the same thread together.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You get paid for the child you delivered.

[THANKS NARRATION. returns to the main room then :'|!!!]

:This is the first--?:

The first of three! That'll do my left foot. Er. If that's... not too awkward. If it is, leave it with me and I'll see what I can manage.

:I'll leave it with you for now, my dear. If you can't reach, I'll try again when I return.:

[keys are hard when you're a horse]

:Which is the next room--?:

Well, no real order, but Performance is sort of. Chronologically next? As far as the metaphor is chronological.

:That was what I meant; thank you.:

[Performance next it is!!]

You find yourself in a medieval classroom in some sort of large, palace-like environment (something like this), with stained glass in the windows and old desks all lined up, slates on each. All of the desks have a different boy or girl wearing brown sitting in it—mostly boys— except for one desk in the very middle, which is empty. All the boys are whispering to each other, a soft, background susurration. The cord runs through the middle of the room and under the locked door behind the teacher's lectern.

The teacher is a handsome young man in red, who is checking a mark on his candle to confirm the time and is sighing. "Well, it looks like Stefen's got himself tied up—" there are titters from the classroom. "—So let's begin. He won't like what it does to his marks, I promise you that. If his work isn't done…"

He doesn't finish whatever threat or promise he's thinking of, just clears his throat and begins to teach a lesson on compositional theory.

The door behind the lectern is closed and locked, and there is a scale set next to it, clearly attached to the door in some way.

A sign on the door reads: "What is the weight of security?"

[pricks her ears in interest. a repeating theme, is it...

wanders over carefully to examine that empty middle spot, not interrupting]

There is some class notes in the desk, as well as a finished composition with Stefen's name on top. It is (sassily?) titled, "Ode to Boys".

[do the class notes look like they're up to date with today's lecture?]

They do not, Stef has definitely missed today's.

[oops.

takes the manuscript instead to go put it on the weight platform; she doesn't feel like listening to this pompous bully]

Click! The door unlocks.

['loudly']

:Excuse me, class, but a teacher who would shame a student publicly is hardly worth listening to. I'll be going.:

[steps on through!]

Edited 2017-08-07 00:15 (UTC)

He starts to go as red as his shirt.

The next is a shared dorm room, small and cozy, with something like corking up all over the walls. It makes it not the prettiest room, but it's very quiet. Even that background music that won't stop is muffled here.

There are two twin beds crammed in, with a small desk beside each. Both desks are absolute messes of writing utensils and musical instruments and parchment. One bed is made up like it hasn't been slept in, while the other is all rucked up and has a sweet, but slightly sweaty, scent coming from it.

A young man is here—a much younger Medren, brown hair at an awkward length and his shoulders just a little too big for his current form. He's maybe twelve or thirteen at most. He's plinking away at a song on a gittern and laughing about it, the sound warm.

As before, the cord runs through the room and under a locked door with some sort of weighted platform next to it.

A sign on the door reads: "What is the weight of family? What of love?"

:--Medren!:

[HE'S SO SMALL? DELIGHTED]

"M'lady Yfandes!" He seems equally delighted.

[oh, that's right, Medren would've met her...]

:Thank the Havens, you see me properly.:

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you're difficult to miss."

:What are you saying?:

[laughing; doesn't seem to expect an answer to the joke]

:And what are you playing, in fact? I heard something lovely as I came into the room.:

He blushes a little. "I'm just playing around. I was thinking of a lyrical puzzle thing, some kind of call and response."

:Care to try a few lines on me? Or is it too new, still?:

"Um! Sure, I guess." He strums out the same melody he was giving before and sings a few lines at you.

[are the lyrics anything in particular to note?]

Not terribly! It also definitely sounds like a work in progress.

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