The House was Awake with Shadows and Monsters [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

This might not be the first time a given dreamer has found themselves at a fancy party in a large mansion, and dressed in something they wouldn't typically wear. If the architecture is more gothic than usual, well, that could just be a coincidence… but it's probably no coincidence that the dreamers are all wearing Halloween costumes that they decidedly did not pick themselves. 'Tis the season! They might look fancy, they might look slapdash; either way, it shouldn't be too difficult for the dreamers to figure out who - or what - they're supposed to be.

The evening's festivities are centered around a grand ballroom. Music is emanating from somewhere or other, and numerous chandeliers are aglow with warm candlelight. Tables line the perimeter, and they're piled with seasonal snacks and bowls of punch. If dancing isn't your thing, there's a whole mansion and extensive grounds to explore.

Those who venture forth will notice that the farther they wander from the party, the less friendly things seem. Tidy rooms with fires in the hearths will give way to dark, dusty corridors and neglected spaces. Manicured lawns grow into tangled hedges. As the music fades out of earshot, the house's settling groans and the hiss of the wind through the ivy will be impossible to ignore.

(It was just the house, wasn't it? Sure it was. It was probably your own footsteps that made that floorboard creak, too. And that rustle on the other side of the hedge was just a rabbit.)

All things considered, it might be more comfortable to just stay in the ballroom, where it's warm and cheerful and there are plenty of snacks. A note about the snacks, though: the dreamers will find that the more punch they consume, the more their own identities seem to fade away in favor of a persona more in line with their costumes. A dreamer dressed as a tiger might find themselves inclined to hide behind a curtain and pounce on passersby. A dreamer dressed as a mummy might adopt a stiff-legged gait and dole out a curse or two. A dreamer dressed as a robot might start speaking binary.

At least no one will actually turn into anything. That would just be embarrassing.

The good news is that eating any of the available food will counteract the punch's effects, so it's possible to have a fine time and still keep ahold of yourself. But what's the fun in that?


[ooc: the usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Any punch-drinking dreamers will take on the personality characteristics - and potentially the magical/supernatural capabilities - of whatever or whoever they're dressed as, though their physical appearance will remain the same.]

Comments

[grabme]

It's not his fault the table was there, now, is it? No point in letting all that food go to waste once it's gone and been splattered everywhere.

Wheatley looks up from his untidy sprawl and with a certain degree of kicking and flailing and the windmilling of arms and slipping of bits over spilled drink, he manages to get himself into some kind semi-upright position in which he can safely glower.

"Didn't see you helping," is just about the only retort he can think to rap out in the given time window. "Been there long, have you? Saw someone like me coming right along and instead of thinking, 'oh, might be he'll appreciate a shout or a warning about that big bloody table in the way,' you just sat back and watched, did you?"

He tches and crosses his arms over his chest, content in that he made a very good point indeed.

[whofrownedthisface]

It was a valid question, the Doctor was trying to be respectfulish, but it seems like he just isn't having it. Floor snacks must not have been worth it. Perhaps Iron Man can build an invention for dialing it back a bit. "I haven't been here long at all, actually. Just passing through, investigating this collective dream." As you do. Completely of your own volition and not at all because of the rift. "Not exactly the criminal table-trap mastermind you're painting a picture of." He considers offering the glowery robot man a hand up, and congratulates himself for the consideration, but opts to leave out the follow-through. "I'm the Doctor, by the way. Not actually a magician."

[grabme]

"Dream? What dream? Did anyone say this was a dream? I was not informed of this, no sir."

He twists and turns for a moment, as if reaffirming the reality (or lack thereof) of his surroundings and decides there's no solid difference between a dream or not a dream, and it wouldn't matter very much anyhow, as he's still being judged by this...human? Probably. Humans have that judgmental tendency, don't they?

"No?" says Wheatley. "Funny, that. Look an awful lot like one. Wouldn't make much sense, it's like you're walking around deliberately misleading people. Not very nice, is it? 'Hey, there, I'm a doctor, don't mind the lack of any kind of doctor...paraphernalia...or any of those...associated...things doctors have.' What is it doctors have or do, exactly?"

He's genuinely curious. Aperture Science had its fair share of doctors, but none of them ever stopped to inform him over what the whole meaning of their doctoring was.

[whofrownedthisface]

This person is almost incoherent enough to be a comic book superhero for real. Maybe he hit his head on the way down. Yeah, that's pretty believable. Though are concussed people so chatty? The Doctor can't quite remember, and anyway some corrections are in order. "The Doctor. Definite article. And the answer to your question is 'whatever they feel like.' You're really very high and mighty for someone who eats off the floor. I can't blame you though, it is a dream. It is. Now you've been informed." The Doctor is doing a relatively stellar job of not getting fractious, minus the one quick snipe--getting to knowledgeably explain about the communal dreaming is pacifying.

"Specifically, a telepathically shared dream. One in which we apparently get to wear fancy dress, possibly a murder mystery party. That might be wishful thinking," he grudgingly admits, though what does floor-snack-man know, he can't prove anything. "Still, try to avoid people who look like they might be named after colours, just in case."

[grabme]

"Right, right, yeah," says Wheatley, nodding as if he understands more than about half of the words the Doctor is saying. Absolutely! He understands perfectly! He's - he's smart enough, he's quick enough on the uptake, he absolutely definitely gets it! "Makes perfect sense!"

The smile he flashes might be less than convincing, too strained by his own uncertainty. What's a telepathically shared dream mean for him, exactly? It doesn't sound like anything Science might have concocted.

"What, um, not that you have to explain it to me, or anything like that, but, ah," he says carefully, shifting nervously from foot to foot, "just to be certain that we're all on the same page, here, d'you mind reaffirming the whole 'people named after colors' bit? Know exactly what you're on about, let's make no mistake there, absolute - absolutely, see. Just need to be sure our general understanding of the thing align, you know."

[whofrownedthisface]

With dawning horror the Doctor realises that he's stumbled into a talker. What a lot of circuitous vocal ambling, just to get to the point. How does anyone stand it. (Standard caveat applies--he will probably have 'It's different when I do it' carved on his tombstone. The Doctor is a delight.)

Not that the Doctor has any business grading others on their knowledge of pop culture, but Clue shouldn't be beyond anyone. His humour is endlessly wasted on the human species. As is basically everything else he does, come to think of it. "Just avoid anyone who looks particularly bludgeony or stabby. Stay out of overspecialised rooms. You know, just common sense. Seriously, telepathically communal dreams, that's not even worth commenting on?" There's more to this person than there seems to be, if all he had in response was 'makes sense.' Or else he's just an idiot. Why can it always go either way. "Who are you, anyway?"

[grabme]

That just leaves Wheatley even more hopelessly confused. What's he going on about? Stay out of overspecialized rooms? But isn't that Science?

What's he talking about? No, definitely take that advice, on second thought, because he's got no interest in Science whatsoever, zip, zero, absolutely through with Science for the time being and in all foreseeable futures. Too many tears have been shed where that possibility's concerned.

"I already got the, um, the, the dream orientation," says Wheatley in his best authoritative voice, which is not very authoritative or even very certain at all. "From what's-her-name - Daine, is it? I," he continues with a bit more of a grandiose flair than is required or deserved, "am the Wheatley core. Er, just plain old 'Wheatley' now, I suppose. All human-made, you know."