thechanged | The Day the Music Died

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The Day the Music Died | Day 11 Evening

[Scenario A - Only one person, please!]

The black flowers in the garden had been strange, and they left her feeling on edge. Incredibly on edge. About to break something on edge. Brimstone balls her hands into fists as she stalks through the house looking for Vinyl. She hasn't seen him since they'd woken from the vines, and that worries her. It's also frustrating. She had wanted to tell him what had happened to Huo with the potions and herbs from the secret room. He should know. He would want to know. But where is he?

She starts in the lounge, a sensible place - there's no music coming from it - and then begins to scour the rest of the house, asking anyone she passes - snarling at them, really - if they've seen a man with red wire hair. No. No. The answer unanimously is no. When she returns to the lounge, Brimstone stalks over to the record player.

"You gone back to sleep, Vinyl?" she asks, voice quiet, deadly. She picks out a record and sets it on the player, tries to turn it on, and gets nothing. She tries to turn it manually for the needle to read the record. Nothing. Not a sound. The music is dead. She draws in a sharp breath, ripping the record off the base and chucking it at the wall. It shatters.

In a fit of pique she can't explain, Brimstone grabs record after record, teeth bared. She looks for anyone nearby and aims the next disc at their head. Practicing her aim with improvised weapons couldn't hurt. Watching them bleed would be satisfying, as well.

[Scenario B - Open!]

She's on the prowl again, through the gardens looking for those gorram flowers, but there are blooms everywhere now. A riot of color that just seems to incense her. The branches from some of the red and gray flowers catches on her holster and she swipes at it the plants to free herself. A moment later, an overwhelming sense of affection for her allies here overwhelms her. On its heels comes the sense that they're in danger. Of course they are. They're in a house that's tried to put them all back to sleep. That likely wants them all dead. Mason. He's the real enemy, but there are some who would side with him. Some who should be put down.

Brimstone pulls her gun from her holster and goes in search of friends and enemies alike. She will not tolerate something happening to them, and she knows it's coming.

[B.1]
Her first instinct on encountering a friendly face is to grab them and start herding them toward her base in the library. "Ain't safe roamin' the halls. Let's go." She can guard them there. And they'll damn well stay there.

[B.2]
Unfriendly faces are met with bristling hostility. She levels her rifle at them. "Gimme one good reason not to put you down."

[B.3]
Unfamiliar faces are also met with verbal hostility and a raised gun. "You on the Keeper's side?"

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"I--w-what?"

This guy hasn't been in the gardens yet, and the idea to go check them out is starting to look like a bad one, given that the trip's been interrupted with a gun threat.

He's not entirely sure how to answer her question--he hasn't been 'awake' as long as she has and doesn't know the right answer.

"I don't know..."

Edited (Sorry, I can't brain tonight) 2013-09-28 07:09 (UTC)

She is not amused or moved in the slightest by his confusion. Brimstone's rifle is now poking his chest... or denting it? Why is it crinkling like that? "Pick a side, zhǐ rén. You lookin' to crawl back to him? You spyin' for him?"

That would be because he's made of paper, rifle lady. There is a slight dent in his chest, surrounded by crinkled skin, but that's it.

He wasn't hoping to achieve anything from being confused--he's simply confused, though the confusion turns to panic when he gun is pressed against his chest, then slight annoyance when she speaks.

"I'm not spying for anyone. And I'm not on his side. Is he even here still? I thought he left."

"You leave spies behind to report when you ain't somewhere," she replies as if this is the most obvious course of action available. Her anger shifts to something slightly less vicious, but her suspicion remains. "Remember anything about him?" she asks. "What are you?" That crinkly quality has her guessing a book. Maybe he'll have some kind of information she can use.

"No one told me I was supposed to be spying on anyone. And I'd know if anyone was using me to keep track of anything."

So many questions. But as long as neither of him gets damaged, he'll tolerate the questions for a while.

"I'm a journal. What are you?"

Edited (html failure) 2013-09-30 00:12 (UTC)

She gives him a look, drops her eyes to the rifle poking him in the chest, then returns her gaze to his with raised brows. If that isn't answer enough, she's not going to waste her breath explaining. Paranoia is still tracking through her mind in a powerful way, though.

"What about before you were awake? Keeper write anything down on you?" Her eyes sweep over his body, looking for writing. It would seem he isn't like the book woman she knows, though. Not exactly, anyway.

"Oh." Guess it did make sense to carry oneself around if one could.

He has to think for a few seconds before answering the next set of questions. Mentally going over his contents turns up nothing, and he shakes his head.

"...No. Nothing."

Useless, then, but maybe not an enemy? Unless he's lying. She glares at him, trying to figure out if he's telling the truth. The rational part of her says he has no reason to lie. They've never met, and he doesn't even seem familiar like Stripe and Spots had. But then, it isn't the rational part of her willing out lately.

The fear that he knows something he isn't saying very suddenly overwhelms her, and she presses in on his chest harder with here gun. "Let me see your pages. Prove you ain't got nothin' writ down."

If she hangs around long enough, she'll find out he's a terrible liar. And also less likely to work with people who aren't pointing weapons at him, but that's something for later. Right now, he does have a weapon pointed at him, or nearly in him, if she presses it any further into his skin. His left hand goes up briefly, like he's going to try to grab the gun barrel or push it away, though it stops short of actually doing either of those things.

"Okay, fine," he agrees, changing his mind and dropping his hand. "I'm in the library, so you'll have to let me go or follow me."

Edited 2013-10-02 05:50 (UTC)

She scoffs, though it comes out sounding something like an enraged snort. "Ain't lettin' you outta my sight, Zhǐ Rén. Lead." The gun does come off his chest, but she still has it leveled at him, ready for any sudden movements or attacks. Everything about him screams that he's not a threat, but her senses are betraying her. She knows it! Wide-eyed fear stuffed down deep that he might take advantage of her has Brimstone jerking her chin at him, urging him to move.

Right, right, moving. He's not very happy about being held hostage for no reason or being ordered around, and it shows on his face. He's not making any movements to escape, though, just being silently unhappy.

Fortunately for probably both of them, his other form is on a shelf near the entrance to the library, a white leather-bound journal with a yellow string holding it closed.

"Here."

If she does decide to check inside it, she'll find a couple pages at the front--synopses in his own words about who he's met so far, but blank pages after that. There's one for her as well, but it's unfinished, detailing only how much they've interacted so far.

Her eyes scan the pages, then stop when she reaches her own entry. "Scary gun lady?" For a moment Brimstone's good humor surfaces enough for her to throw a raised brow of amusement at the journal. It's short-lived, though, as roiling emotions within her search for another outlet or focus.

She starts to toss the journal back to him when it strikes her that he's left himself lying around in the library. Anyone could come along and snatch him up, burn him. He's not on the Keeper's side. What if the tiger came along? Or Mason sent out more vines.

The journal remains in her grip, and she clutches it to her chest for protection. "We need to put you somewhere safer. Ain't right leavin' yourself lyin' out. What if the Keeper comes back?" And once more she's angry at him. How could he be so negligent? There are things about the other people in the house in here. The Keeper could use that!

"H-hey, don't make fun of me!"

It's slightly embarrassing for her to be reading his thoughts--he hadn't even realized he was doing that--and moves to take the journal when she starts to toss it back. Only to be left grabbing air when she pulls it to her chest, frowning. That's not hers, she's not allowed to keep it.

"Somewhere safe? Isn't it safe in here? I don't wanna forget where it is."

He hadn't considered that he was being negligent. Well, he's been somewhat enlightened now.

"Anyone could pick you up, steal you, read you." Is he an idiot? She thinks he might be. "You ain't got a lock or a safe. You plannin' on folk feelin' generous?"

Her body language is hostile once more, but now it's defensive for the journal in her arms.

"No, I--" Well, she caught him there. Not that he'll admit that outright, but he'll at least admit defeat for the time being. "It's not like I left it out on a table or something. Where are you planning on hiding me?"

He does want to be able to find his book form, to be able to check for himself whether it's okay. It's extremely unfair to him that she has the advantage--if she didn't have a gun on her, he might've attempted to start a fistfight with her by now.

Her eyes dart around the room, but there isn't really a safe place in here. Anyone might wander by. She'll have to have Lights put the journal up higher than the others can reach. Or Angel. "Somewhere safe. There's a shadow stealin' anyone that ain't nailed down or too heavy to move. Maybe up high..." Or that fort of books. She'd seen it walking by. It looked to be guarded. But the owner might be hostile.

"You got any ideas?" It's more of a challenge than an honest question.

"A shadow?" He sounds skeptical about that, but glances around just the same. Should he not be trusting the shadows? This is an unsettling development.

"And I don't know, I haven't thought about another hiding place. We could put it up high, like you said...or mix it up with some other books."

A huff, and another look around, as well as a couple steps down the bookshelf. He's not leaving, though.

"Or in something?"

She's dubious about how effective hiding it among other books will be. Perhaps on the top of the shelves? No. The shadow is a bird. He'll find it for sure there. Low, then. Under something heavy. And there's a smaller shelf there she thinks she can move.

Without even thinking of the implications of crushing his physical self, the rifle marches over to the shelf, sets the journal down, tips the shelf up with no small effort, and pushes the journal under it with her foot. Then she lets the shelf thud back down. There that would do for the moment.

Brimstone turns back to the paper man with a confident smirk.

So apparently his ideas are getting ignored, okay. That's very rude, Ms. Rifle. And she's not even giving him back. He follows her over to the shelf, hanging back slightly, as he thinks that she's going to put him on the bottom shelf.

Until she tips the bookcase back.

"W-wait what...what are you doing? Not under there, I'll get all dust--oof"

He feels the force of the shelf coming down, and while it doesn't damage his physical self much aside from being somewhat flatter, it knocks the breath out of him. Good thing he wasn't hardcover, or else he probably wouldn't be standing.

"...You could've told me you were going to do that!"

"Said I was puttin' you somewhere safe," she returns simply, not the least bit bothered by the man's admonishment. And now there are other tasks to be about. The journal's physical self is safe. Time to go hunt down the shadow. He's probably after some other unwary object.

Brimstone starts to walk away, then turns to the paper man once more. "You find somewhere safe to be, too."

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The Day the Music Died | Day 11 Evening

B3

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Sorry for latetag

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I'm so sorry for latetag ._.

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I am sorry. If this doesn't work, I can totally edit!

1/2

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