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

photo gothic halloween party_zpshzlnzwra.jpg

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Being forced to tell the truth, eldritch abominations at the door, pissy time machines lighting you on fire -- just the usual." Peter gestures nonchalantly with his half-empty cup at the room around them. "Maybe, maybe this is one of the nice ones, but I wouldn't hold your breath."

He thinks of the hip flask still in his pocket...and thinks of this asshole hitting him with his cane. "You find some, you tell me about it," he says, taking a sip of his own substantially more alcoholic punch.

House suddenly takes a more suspicious look at his drink at the mention of truth-telling. Some sort of serum? And he's run into enough 'monsters' not to be too bothered by 'eldritch abominations.' "Time machines that like people on fire, huh? Probably could use a few of those when I wake up." Not the lighting on fire, but a time machine that could produce fire would be a boon.

"Vhen do these 'effects' and things usually manifest?" House blinks. "When. When do they manifest." What the hell was that? He move to try to pop out the fake teeth he's wearing, but that doesn't go terribly well.

"You wouldn't think that if you'd met her," mutters Peter. Truth be told, he hasn't had any run-ins with the TARDIS in months, and she didn't light him on fire so much as the things around him. Maybe he's being a little too hard on her, he reflects as he takes another sip.

"Vhenever they feel like it," he shrugs, smirking at the mispronunciation. "The better question might be when do we figure out where it's all going."

And the time machine is even a chick. All right. He sneers when Peter imitates the bizarre mispronunciation. Maybe there is alcohol in the punch. House takes another sniff of it, then gulp. It doesn't taste like alcohol. But neither does a long island ice tea, and he's not one to slur his words like that unless it's deliberate or he's drunk.

"These dreams usually have a direction they're heading apart from Crazytown, Bloodbag?" Well, if he doesn't want to be an 'angel.' House moves just a tad closer, feeling the urge to loom a bit at the other man, intimidate him. He bares his long, fake fangs in another grimace to help the intimidation along before catching himself, brows furrowing. What is he even doing? The doctor blinks a few times and shakes his head, moving back from Peter.

"Something is in ze punch."

...Alright, what was that? Peter leans away, hand going to his belt like he's reaching for something only to pat around uselessly in search of a hilt that isn't there. "Get back, foul demon," he hisses, which is enough like what he used to say to fake vampires on stage that it takes him a moment to realize he really meant it for a second.

"...Don't do that," he says, gathering his wits again.

"Dude. Seriously? 'Foul demon?'" Peter will receive the most unimpressed look House is capable of. "Didn't do eet on purpose anyvay. Anyway. It." House rubs his eyes. Well, this is just plain annoying. "Vat, am I supposed to be ze movie vampire now?" The answer yes. It is very much yes. "Christ... this ees just stupid."

"Fuck off, you startled me -- and you're a shit vampire," Peter informs him, though he's already edging away. Shit vampires are still vampires, and if this is one of those transformation dreams he doesn't want to be around when this guy goes full bloodsucker. Does that mean that's the gimmick? Peter doesn't feel much different, though the foul demon thing may be a hint as to where he's headed.

"I'm not a vampire, moron," House sneers, adding an uncharacteristic hiss at the end. He doesn't like this. Screwing with his physical environmental and body is one thing. Screwing with his mind? That's where he draws the line for other people. The only one experimenting on him that way should be himself. The doctor's eyes darken.

"How ze hell do ve vake up?" Clearly, pain isn't the answer. Otherwise Peter should definitely be away after the knock with House's cane.

"We await the dawn," replies Peter. He grimaces -- so it wasn't a one-off. "I don't know," he admits, wrenching his speech back into its normal pattern. "It just happens, same as you wake up from any dream, at least for me. My lord Gabriel might know how to do it but I have not laid eyes upon him in a while."

"Okay, angelcakes. Your 'Lord Gabriel' is actually a person or part of ze get-up? The. Part of the get-up." This is getting to the point of being extremely frustrating. House growls. "If ze punch is ze poison, maybe zere's an antidote in zis place. Have you tried any of ze food?" Unlikely if this is just the dream screwing with them, but this had only gotten worse when they'd been drinking, so it's a place to start.

"He's a friend," snaps Peter, rubbing his eyes irritably. He all but just told this asshole who Gabriel actually is, and there's no call for that. At least he can say it was the punch talking. "And I just got here, alright? You want to solve this little mystery, you can try the food."

House narrows his gaze and - to his everlasting shame - hisses at Peter before turning away and limping over toward the food. Okay. He's not talking to that guy again. Maybe if they both pretend that didn't happen, he won't have to think about it again. Ever.

You know what? Peter doesn't need to chase after some crawling hellspawn. He barely flinches (alright, he gives a big flinch) at the hiss, then stands watching as the arsehole heads for the snack table.

Fine. He can be the lab rat. Peter will just keep an eye out for him as the night goes on, watch and see if he ~~needs smiting~~ gets worse...or better.

"Go fuck thineself!" Peter calls after him.

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

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