OPENING MINGLE LOG: THE LOUNGE

[yourkeepers]

	THE LOUNGE

Once used for the Keeper's extravagant, personal parties, the Lounge seems just slightly larger than average in scale, making the many cushions and couches more than enough to rest on. The lighting shifts between shades of purple and blue. Living trees grow from the floor in decorative intervals, and flickering candles light the various tables. The roof appears to be a vibrant night sky, displaying alien constellations and nebulas that shift over the day.

Comments

[ironspirit]

He shoots the typewriter a glare, definitely minding the whole nudging thing. He picks his pieces up and moves them to his other side. The melted piece of hilt is handled with extra care.

"No, the furnace stole me and then—" He starts to explain, but cuts himself off suddenly to turn to the other. "There are dragons here? How many?" He can't quite remember if that's a good or a bad thing, but dragons are something to be surprised about. It's something he wants to know about, either way.

He doesn't take much notice of the new arrival just yet, his attention still on the typewriter.

[nosentimentalist]

"Yes, there are dragons here, though I'm afraid to say I haven't had the chance to meet them face to face. They're definitely here though, but I don't know how many." Plus, if what the house said was any inclination, at least one of them was running around and causing havoc it shouldn't.

"And what would the furnace want to do with you...?" He pauses. That noise- he turns his head towards the open door, eyebrows furrowing. That didn't sound good.

"Hello? Who's there?"

*PURPLING INTENSIFIES*

[manelesscatking]

A short boy with flaming red hair and glowing purple eyes enters through the main door of the lounge. He wields a parasol in one hand, and a dispassionate look on his face.

Drawing up to the sword and the typewriter at a near dash, he drops to one knee in front of Sword Arms. The bright purple light in his eyes dims, and his hair settles down to as unwavering a state as could be considered normal around here. He looks up and blinks in confusion.

[ironspirit]

He's about to answer the man's question when he notices the approaching noise. The sword leans forward, trying to get a look at the door as well from a slightly awkward angle. Fortunately, the source of the noise comes charging straight towards him, so he doesn't have to struggle to see it for long.

He's not really used to people practically kneeling in front of him, and he has no idea who the hell this person is yet. Something rings vaguely familiar about him, like the forge did, but no strong feelings come to mind like last time. Considering how things ended with the forge that might be a good thing. He stares awkwardly.

"... Uh, can I help you?"

no actually I'm really sorry I was gonna wait but Crystal said hi adkdbsdg

[manelesscatking]

"...probably. Where am I and who are you guys? This sort of thing just keeps happening, sorry."

The page draws himself up to full height (which isn't that impressive), and inspects the Damascus-steel hilt of the parasol in his hands.

"Also, sorry if I interrupted anything," he inclines his head at the typewriter, "this is the first time I've seen more than one person at a time."

[nosentimentalist]

Hmmm. Well, okay, he can live with the extra company. He puts his hands in his pockets, shrugging at the page's question.

"You're in the..." The typewriter glances around. "The lounge, I believe?" Don't know if there is a name for it. I'm a typewriter, and he's a sword in pieces for some unknown and possibly stupid reason involving a furnace. What are you?"

[ironspirit]

He cocks his head to the side. "What sort of thing is that?" he asks. "You just run up to people randomly sometimes? That's weird. Are you some kind of magic compass?" That seems like the kind of thing that would randomly seek people out, if anything would.

He scowls in the typewriter's direction again, folding his arms in a huff. "It's not a stupid reason! I was stolen, that wasn't even my fault!"

[manelesscatking]

"Oh! The lounge! Okay then. I'm..." The page pokes his arms and runs his hands through his hair.

"I'm me, I guess. I am - was? - am a page for the Master. The kind that fetches weapons and waits on knights while they eat, not the kind you write on.

"Speaking of which, a typewriter? Is that the key-smashing thing I would hear guests writing on sometimes?"

He turns his attention from Key Smasher to Sword Arms, leaving an ear pointed at the typewriter. "The thing where I wake up and someone's looking at me funny. This is the first time I've done it without them touching me, though! Also I'm holding an umbrella made of nice metal. Uh. Do you want it?"

[nosentimentalist]

Ah, so this is a page. He hadn't seen one before, but now it makes sense. He shrugs at the question.

"Yes, that would be me. Though I would hate it if they smashed my keys, I don't think that would feel nice at all."

He turns to the sword. "Got stolen...? For what reason? Did someone have the urge to go murder someone else with you, or what?"

And now the page is offering him and the other possession an umbrella made of...metal? He holds up a hand as he shakes his head. "Don't think I have any need for it, no. Maybe you could give it to our friend here for a crutch to walk around with instead of lying here in pieces?"