SLEEPING BEAUTIES: VINE LOG

[yourkeepers]

[General purpose event log for those fighting the vines! Please put the time of the day and location in your header. The breakdown of vine movement will go like this:

Morning: Garden will be completely filled with large quantities of vines spilling out into the Grand Hall.

Afternoon: Vines will have found their way to the other rooms, and will be fighting for dominance of the areas. At this point, everywhere will be infected, at least partially.

Night: Do or die time. Heavy saturation of vines will have moved into every room, will be blocking exits, and will start penetrating less obvious areas that people might be hiding.

Of course, the counter efforts will effect this to some degree, but ultimately the vines will be coming on pretty fast.

You can also make as many private or public logs as you want on your own - this is just for if you don't feel like it warrants its own post/for general mingling.]

Comments

[subtleserenity]

Brimstone is, likewise, unsuited for sheering and pruning. Leave that to something more delicate than a gun. After escaping the lounge earlier, she'd returned to the library only to have that overrun. She doesn't like the vines. They're much too close, and so she moves up. Thankfully, leaping from one shelf to another isn't too much effort. At least until she hits a wall.

She sees the other man before that happens, though. "Your Highness!" It's a mad thing to call him, but she doesn't have anything better and it's distinct at the moment. "Can you move? Don't let yourself get cornered."

[ovidscholar]

"I'm not so proud as that, am I?"

He swings one leg over the shelf; now he's sitting on the ledge, dandling his feet like a child on a riverbank.

"It's too wide to jump," he says. "You can walk the shelf-tops, if you're careful. I'm worried about the books!"

[subtleserenity]

"Proud enough for an ambassador," she returns, nearing him as she walks, indeed carefully, along the top of the shelf she's on. "And worryin' over the subjects won't get you far if you're caught by those things." She's just going to avoid mentioning that she's already taken the liberty of throwing some volumes at the vines to flatten them. "Books can mind themselves if they got a mind of their own to be worryin' over. You know where anything we can fight those things with might be in here?"

She doesn't specifically mention lantern oil and matches, but she's thinking it very hard.

[ovidscholar]

"Shears," he says. "Razors. Awls. No fire--" he stresses this "-- there are individuals on these shelves and I won't see them hurt."

He minces back towards the wall.

"What do they do?"

[subtleserenity]

"Take some of those if you got 'em, Highness," she replies, unmoved. Individuals who are asleep aren't doing them much good as they are. His question makes her tighten her jaw thinking of the changelings in the lounge she'd seen.

"They tangle you up and make you go still as death, near as I can tell. Don't know if folk are actually dead or poisoned, but you don't want to touch 'em."

[ovidscholar]

"Dead or poisoned, neither is preferable!" He wobbles and peers down. There's a library table with a drawer full of tools, but he can't recall its location. He can't see a way out, either, stranded on his island of paper, cloth, and wood.

"Tell me-- am I coming down from here at all?"

[subtleserenity]

"Eventually. Gravity only works one way." The comment is fact as much as a small bit of her own sense of humor to lighten the tense situation. Whether or not he'll be coming down alive and/or conscious remains to be seen. "You could try tippin' the shelf over from up there and running across it. It'll send your subjects tumblin'."