2019-11-23 - Veil Cartography 101

The agreed upon time was four o'clock in the afternoon to meet at the edge of the real Gray Harbor pond. Anne was ever-so-punctual; technically, she was here at 3:45, because if you're not fifteen minutes early to something, you're late, but there's no real expectation for anybody else. Today, she's dressed for exploring! Jean leggings, a comfortable sweater, boots and the like, good for the weather and also for going into unexpected places. She has nothing else with her save for one of those wind-up flashlights, which creates a small bulge in her pocket.

The park is otherwise quiet. In the distance is the faint bell-like music from the carousel, but it seems like the chill is keeping people out of the pond area. Wait another month, and this place will be full of kids trying to skate on thin ice. Someone will probably die. Hopefully nobody dies today!

She has tried to prepare for this excursion the best she can. When Isabella arrives at the agreed-upon meeting point, she's dressed in gear - jeggings, hiking boots, fingerless gloves and a long-sleeved shirt tucked within a jacket designed for the outdoors, with zippers on the pockets that contain her phone and a small, cheap but analog cardboard camera just in case, snug and weatherproofed and zipped up over her torso. There's a small pack with her, containing just a portable medkit, a bottled water and a tiny notepad, pulled over her right shoulder. She's also armed and she doesn't hide the fact from her companions - there's a black Glock, ugly but efficient, on the holster securely strapped to her right thigh, and a small flashlight clipped to her belt. There's a wave, and an open smile, towards Anne as she approaches. "Hey, Blue Eyes," she teases. "Thanks again for doing this with me."

August is looking better than he has, but not his absolute best. That self-immolating letter he received is weighing on his mind. First, though, some Veil exploration. Since his last trip into the Veil wound up being a nightmare scenario he's hopeful this will be the real thing.

He shows up right at four on the dot. He's in jeans, a dark red Hoh Rain Forest t-shirt, and work boots, with a black fleece shell over that. Utilitarian-wear, because who knows what they're going to run into. In the inner pockets of that jacket, odds and ends--a Leatherman, a small LED flashlight, some waterproof matches. He gives Anne and Isabella an upnod as he approaches. "Afternoon." He managed a small smile.

"Hey August." Isabella makes quick introductions, gesturing between the man and Anne. "Anne Washburn, City Hall archivist, local history expert and overall awesome gal. Anne, this is Doctor August Roen, botanist, environmentalist and overall awesome dude."

There's a certain brightness that comes over Anne when she spies Isabella, a hand going up to wave eagerly in the air. The 'Blue Eyes' makes Anne giggle, the laughter still on her lips as she extends a hand to August. "Nice to meet you, Doctor Roen. You own the shops on the outskirts of town," it's not really a question, just a statement of fact. "I see your advertisements sometimes." Once the introductions are over, Anne drops a hand to her hip, looking over the two. There's a particular interest to the piece that Isabella's packing, but there's no comment. Instead, she hooks a thumb to the nearby dilapidated port-o-potties that are inconspicuously hidden amongst the trees. It probably stinks in there. "I think that should get us to where we're going. Have either of you been to the pond.. over there?" she's already turning and walking that way. "I've never managed to make it outside of City Hall, so this should be an interesting adventure! And hopefully mostly safe, so long as we don't somehow wander off into a Dream." Which is not foreboding at all!

"Isabella's being way too kind. But, good to meet you formally." August snorts a laugh at 'Dr. Roen'. "Just August is fine," he says, giving Isabella a sidelong glance.

He grimaces at the port-a-potties. "No, just been to the city hall myself. And that business of crossing over and hitting one of their traps just happened to me the other day so hopefully there won't be a repeat performance."

She follows the wake of Anne's thumb towards the port-a-potties, and despite the brief face that Isabella makes, she can't help but laugh. "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here, eh?" she remarks with a grin. "Or all ye who enter through here." She doesn't appear too daunted, though she's already silently hoping that the anti-anxiety medication prescribed for her is working, having swallowed it before arrival. "I've...when I was a child, I've been through the Doors but I was never alone, always with my twin. That was over a decade ago. I haven't ventured out of Veil City Hall myself now that I'm a responsible thinking adult." She winks at her companions and takes a step towards Anne when they start moving, falling at a companionable distance by her side. August's mention of a trap has her furrowing her brows at him. "Was Portland terrible?" she wonders.

"I'm sure it's not going to be that bad!" Anne, ever so cheerful, says as she stops in front of a particular port-o-potty. There's a look over her shoulder to August and Isabella .. and then a quick glance around, before she puts her hand on the latch. "And at least we have each other. A first for the lot of us," she's got her brave face on when she pulls the door open - inside looks like a normal port-o-potty, there's a shitter in there and everything. But when Anne steps over the threshold, she blips! out, like she's stepped into some invisible other dimension.

It's a reality-bending sort of experience, going through the door to the other side. Even if they've crossed over a hundred times, the act of stepping into the Veil is mind-and-gut bending. It happens in an instant though; one second, they are standing in front of a port-o-potty and the next they are back at the Pond, their stomachs turning inside out. It's... different here. There's a pond, yes, but it's vast and immeasurable; it seems to expand into the horizon. There's the bridge, but it's made of some sort of squishy material and there's a huge eyeball at the very center, looking this way and that. There's trees, but they seem to be simultaneously dense and thin; there's a clear path through from here to the carousel.

August waggles a hand back and forth, makes a face in response to Isabella's question about Portland. "I'll fill you in later. Parts were really good. And parts were pretty bad. So." He shrugs; what can you do. This is life with magic: somehow crazier and more fucked up than the real thing.

"Here goes nothing," August says, and steps up to follow Anne through. It's just as rough a ride as the last couple of times; he gives himself a second once they're Over There, both for his stomach to settle and to take in their truly bizarre surroundings. Well, Itzhak had warned him it was like this. Now he knows that was no exaggeration. He eyes the...eyeball. "Got to admit that was not something I was expecting."

Concern plays over her brow, but the green-eyed woman nods. "Okay." To August. To the archivist: "...you had to say it," Isabella tells Anne, expression comically flat; good humor remains on her features until she opens the door though, in plain view of the crapper within. She watches as her friend disappears almost immediately, makes a note as to which specific port-a-potty this is, before she follows. She doesn't hesitate, despite the chill of a remembered fear simmering in her gut, blunted handily by the medication and the bullish determination to look after a friend while she's on the other side. So she steps in and is whisked away...

...and lands on her knees when she gets there, palms flattened on the ground and doing everything she can not to wretch embarrassingly in front of the rest, senses swimming from a trip that feels like simultaneously too long, and too short. "...that was different," she wheezes. "This vertigo...wonder why City Hall doesn't..." Her voice trails off, though, when she lifts her eyes and takes a very good look at her surroundings. She gets up, dusts her gloves off the legs of her jeans, and withdraws her cardboard camera, thumb stroking over the wheel of the first shot to take a picture of the tableau, and then one on her smartphone before these items are zipped back up in her pockets. There's also a wary look at the bridge and the eyeball. "...er...does the bridge look...organic to you guys...?" she asks, squinting at the squishy material.

Anne takes a much needed moment, leaning a hand against a tree to stabilize herself. Until she realizes the tree is .. sticky.. and peels her hand off of it with a disgusted crinkling of her nose. "Don't touch the trees," she murmurs to her companions, not-so-casually rubbing her hand off onto her leggings. There's a wide-eyed look to the eye before she takes in a breath, rolling back her shoulders. "Okay, see? This is fine! I've seen way worse things than random giant eyeballs at City Hall," who is she trying to convince? She plasters on that smile and turns to look at Isabella and August, a curious glance given to the camera before she shrugs her shoulders. "Pond first?" It's up to them.

But before they make a decision, the trees around them seem to ripple in and out of focus. There's a brief shudder that rolls through the woods and through them, before a figure appears wandering down the path. Smart suit, well-groomed dark brown hair, and a wide and impeccable smile - they know this guy. It's..

"Byron Thorne?" The surprise is palpable in Anne's voice.

And it was Byron Thorne indeed! Except.. well, Byron's a pretty good-looking dude, but it looks like someone took Byron's good looks and fired them up to 11. His teeth, visible from his ever-wide smile, have a distinct actual sparkle to them like something from a toothpaste commercial. His clothes are fitted and tailored to his form. There's not a single brown hair out of place; in fact, it looks like they might all be held together with glue, that's how fucking perfect it is. And there's a distinctly.. waxy quality to him. He shines, and not in the Glimmery-happy sort of way, but in the 'just walked off the Byron Thorne Production Line' sort of way.

"Think it might not be a bridge," August murmurs. He coughs a laugh when the eye rolls at Isabella. "Yeah, pretty sure that's not a bridge. Or not just a bridge."

He winces as Anne's hand comes away from the tree with a schlurp. "Might want to wipe that clean." Is he speaking from personal experience? Sadly, yes.

The world distorts, August puts a hand over his stomach. Here's regretting having lunch. He straightens and stares at Byron Thorne v1.0. "Thorne what are you doing here?" His eyes narrow as soon as he's said that. IS this Thorne? He looks...different...

Don't touch the trees. "You heard her, Doctor Roen," Isabella teases August, wiping her mouth with the back of a fingerless glove as she rises on her feet and takes a good look around. She flashes Anne a thumbs-up, though a ripple of something crosses over her features when she has to peel her hand away. She can't help but squint at the tree. "And yeah, I think pond first." There's a curious glance at the pathway that cuts across the park, towards the carousel. "Do a quick run-through and then maybe hit that way, too, if we have the..."

And then not-Byron shows up. "...time..." Her voice trails off, staring at the brilliant, shining, almost idealized version of her friend's good looks, staring at him for a long moment. "...Ronnie? Hey, what are you doing here?" she calls out as she takes a step forward, as if to intercept the approaching figure, but she pauses abruptly in her tracks. Her hand drops, unconsciously, to her holster. She just spoke to Byron last night, he wouldn't be wandering out here - he was spending the entire day cooking with Lilith and his mother.

"That's not Byron," she tells her companions.

Anne is staring at the Byron figure, though she reaches out to put her hand on Isabella's shoulder to calm the woman. "If he was sent by the Archivist.." she offers caution.

August shifts his stance when Isabella declares this isn't Byron. August has no reason to doubt her, and he's immediately wary.

Once the clone is close enough, the uncanny valley of it doesn't ease his concerns. He frowns when it speaks ('projects', really) without moving its face. Well so much for this excursion not being fucked up. He glances at Anne, asks her in a low voice, "Who's the Archivist?"

The shoulder is tense when Anne touches it, Isabella's eyes narrowed into glittering slits and clearly distrustful until the living, speaking effigy identifies himself as a tour guide (The Tour Guide? Their tour guide?) sent by the Archivist. Had he mentioned that someone else had sent him, she would remain unmoving, but considering the fact that the Archivist was mentioned...well, it explains some things. She still remembers the wedding veil it wore the last time Byron had come to see it. And the slow speaking voice confirms the truth, because the inflection is familiar.

The frozen smile, as brilliant and perfect as it is, is absolutely disconcerting, but she slowly, gradually, forces herself to relax under Anne's touch. There's a look cast her way, meant to be reassuring and grateful. August's question earns him a quiet: "It's in charge of people-related records in Veil City Hall. It really likes Byron." When she takes a step forward again, her hand eases away from the gun. "Please send our regards to the Archivist, also, and that we thank it for its consideration in sending you to...guide us. We were intending to visit the Pond, would you lead us there, or do you have another destination in mind?"

"It's like me, but.. well, for the Veil. And not a person," Anne adds helpfully to August about the Archivist. "It's some kind of .. creature.. thing. I don't even know how to explain it." She doesn't let go of Isabella's shoulder until the woman eases away from the gun; and then, she gives Isabella a quick squeeze and a smile. "It's very nice of the Archivist to send us a Guide!" This is, of course, said to Byron. Not Byron. Let's just go with 'Tour Guide'.

'Tour Guide' turns to August, and in spite of Anne and Isabella both answering him, the Guide launches into a response: "The Archivist is the keeper of All Records at City Hall," helpful Tour Guide is Helpful. At least his speech is starting to pick up the pace, even if his voice is still impossibly deep. He turns to Isabella next, addressing only her question. It blinks once, twice. It would look confused, but it can't seem to make its face do anything except smiiiile. "I do not understand your request." Pause. "Hello, I am Tour Guide. The Archivist sends its regards."

August nods at the description of the Archivist, gives Anne a sidelong look of curiosity, like he's considering her in a new light. Tour Guide's repetitive addendum has him blinking. He surveys the clone, says, "Likes him, huh," under his breath.

Isabella's offer of an alternate destination has him wincing, and yet, Tour Guide just gets confused. Tilting his head, August says, "I think he'll only respond to direct requests."

The warm squeeze from Anne mollifies her further, her smile returned. "Saving me from myself," Isabella teases quietly. The Tour Guide's way about him is familiar and interest flares in her eyes, patterns asserting themselves in front of her and a nod to August at his observation. She can't help but try and get a closer look at the Tour Guide, though her skin crawls little at that absolutely perfect and frozen smile, which lingers. She swallows a knot that is suddenly there at the back of her throat. "Programmed responses, you think?" she asks Anne and August quietly. So she tries again and asks a question: "Would you guide us to the underwater caves in Gray Pond?"

The sound of cracking ice has the archaeologist turning in that direction, and she slowly, absently, tugs on Anne's and August's sleeves to try and get them to look at the bodies in the water, lips parted faintly as she stares. She's heard the stories but she never thought... "Those fish..." she murmurs.

"We all need a little help from ourselves sometimes," Anne replies to Isabella quietly, before her attention wanders over to the pond. There's a concerned purse to her lips as she squints at the halo'd fishies, but concern turns to subtle horror as a body is pulled out of the pond. "Oh.. oh gosh," she murmurs under her breath, "Are you sure.. I thought that we were going to.." she doesn't finish the sentence.

But Anne's inability to finish is mostly due to Tour Guide, who gives a stiff nod to Isabella's more direct question. "Absolutely. This way, please!" he announces cheerfully and walks in a straight line towards the pond. He is not stopping. It looks like he has every intention of walking straight into the body-filled water.

August's mouth flattens as he studies the fish going about their sisyphean task, more so for the part where they're trying to drag corpses out of the lake. Well, that explains that. Poor Tom--how had he even survived this? ...he's starting to think they don't _want_to see these caves. Maybe just get a nice description.

There goes Tour Guide, right at that water. Well there's no way August is just following. He asides to Anne, "You thought we were what?" eyes never leaving the Tour Guide.

She is suddenly so tempted to put a tracker in the effigy when it turns, and it's even more disturbing because once his back is turned, the Tour Guide does look like Byron in a suit, ready to wade into the deadly depths teeming with corpses. For a moment, just a moment, Isabella forgets it's not him and a hand lifts on instinct in an attempt to stay him, spurred by Anne's warning and her eyes wide as dinner plates. "Wait! No! Don't do that. Don't..." Bad Tour Guide, and bad her for not being more specific!!

Something twists within her, suddenly missing Alexander, a gut-wrenching sensation that threatens to take her breath away. He wouldn't have made that mistake, he's always so precise.

There's a glance at the archivist and then to August. "Would you guide us to a way to the underwater caves in Gray Pond through land?"

"I thought we were trying to find another way!" Anne insists to August as she watches the Tour Guide marching straight for the icy pond; she was on the move a second later, though Isabella was a faster thinker. Isabella's able to get her hand on the Tour Guide's shoulder, at which point she can absolutely feel that his suit - and whatever's underneath the suit - is entirely a waxy substance; in fact, it's not even the best wax, considering the body heat from her fingers melts the wax a little bit and leaves finger dents in Not Byron's shoulder. But he stops. Mostly because of the next question. "Absolutely. This way, please!" and he takes a sharp and sudden turn to the left, undisturbed by the angel fish that tries to get him.

Unfortunately, Anne is not undisturbed by the angel fish. She starts to back up as the fish comes 'swimming' towards her, lifting a hand defensively. "Uhmmm, August.. Isabella..." her voice lifts into a concerned sort of wavering, and then there's a panicky little yelp as a fistful of hair is sucked into the O-Mouth of the fish. At least Tour Guide has the decency to stop, even if he doesn't do anything at all. Maybe he's programmed to only go so far from the group.

"I suspect we gotta be specific with this guy," August says, wry. He's pleased when that seems to work, except now there's these fish. Angelic fish. He sobers, trying to duck out of the way of them as they come for his...hair? It's mostly just irritating, until there's more of them surging out of the lake. A lot more.

"Shit. Thorne. Guide. Get these things off us." And despite the fact that he's asked for help, August swats at the fish swallowing his hair. Let go! This hair's virtue belongs to Eleanor!

Wax has her fingers sliding off the jacket and a ripple of something more indescribable enters Isabella's face. She keeps her hair tied back, and that might be the reason why the fish are struggling to get a grip on the strands. "Ow, hey!" Her hand comes up in an attempt to swipe the angelfish from the air and bat it away, but there's a flurry from the pond and more of them are coming.

"Ah, shit," she mutters. August is heavier, almost head and shoulders taller than the women he is accompanying. Anne is petite, and judging from what they were trying to do earlier, they might be trying to drag them to the water. Instinct moves her body, and the first thing she attempts to do is grab onto Anne, to combine their weight to make any overtures on that more difficult and angles her body in an attempt to shield her from the onslaught. With August still on the ground? Her other hand reaches out in an attempt to grab his nearest arm in an attempt to anchor her. "RUN! Away from the water!" She nods to where the Tour Guide is headed, veering off to the left and away. The rules are different here, she knows, but they were still fish and she's hoping that they would have to come back to it eventually.

August might've asked for help, but did he really ask? The Tour Guide doesn't seem to think he did, which is why the Tour Guide continues to watch passively as the angelfish latches onto his little tour group. He does, at least, walk a few more steps away from the pond. Like, a lot more steps. But he'll wait over here until they're done, thanks.

Anne is having a bit of a day. She lets out a little yell as her feet are suddenly picked up off the ground, flailing helplessly as she's lifted into the air. "Get off, GET OFF!" she yells, frantically smacking her hands at the angelfish in her hair while she kicks her feet in the air.

The Tour Guide stands there, unmoved and unmoving. August wonders if it's because he doesn't have real hair. Well now he can't mock anyone witha shaven head ever again.

"Alright, that's it." Since August is heavy enough to not be airborne, he focuses on the fish carrying off Anne. He reaches out with a hand, and a stick jumps into it. Er, no, this is a femur. A human femur--

Whatever. He flings it, backing its speed and accuracy with his matter Gift. "Let. Go."

She drops from the attempt to carry her off, stumbling a little when she lands, but Anne falls from a more considerable height. Isabella twigs to it, a shout of warning, but she harnesses her atrophied abilities too late, and she's unable to catch her friend on time.

Instead, she rushes over to her, though she doesn't touch her yet. "Anne, are you alright?" she breathes, taking a knee and attempting to gauge her condition. Eyes tick upward to where the Tour Guide is waiting, but her focus goes back to her friend.

Anne is, in fact, a truly horrible person. That's why the fall from the considerable distance of three whole feet sends her sprawling to the ground with her ankle twisting uncomfortably beneath her. There's a gasp of pain and it's gonna take her a minute before she sits up, her hair all a wreck and her hands going to her ankle. "I'm good, I'm okay," she promises, but she's breathing in that sort of way that suggests everything is not fine. "I think I just.." swallow. "Twisted my ankle. It's okay, I can put weight on it," mostly. She's just gonna be over here, using Isabella to help herself back up, and definitely favoring that foot. But you know what? They were on a mission, and dammit, the mission must be successful! "We just need to get out of here before the fish come back. Uhm, Ahhm, Tour Guide!" She winces. "Would you show us how to get to the underwater caves without going into the pond?"

Tour Guide looks up! He's still smiling. "Absolutely! Right this way," and he starts walking away from the pond. "Come on," she tells Isabella and August, but she's definitely going to be leaning on the former to keep up with the Guide.

August reaches out his hand, reclaiming the dull gray femur from where it flew. "You have one chance to let go, big guy," he says, holding his improvised club up at it in a clear threat. He lowers the weapon when Anne falls, but since she seems to be mobile on that ankle refrains from healing it. For the moment. He starts following them, mindful of the fish he's going to need to play baseball with.

"Are you sure? We can take you back to the other side if you-- " But she's determined, and Isabella understands it. She would do the same thing. So as she gently helps Anne up, she hunches over so she could assist her friend, her other arm coming around to grip her securely at the waist. There's a look over at August, concern in her eyes, but there's a smile there - steady as always. "Got our six?" she asks the botanist - with her supporting Anne, she'd be unable to use her gun. Not without shoving Anne away first anyway.

As they follow the Tour Guide, she tries to take on as much of her friend's weight as much as she can. "Once we're closer to our destination and once we can catch a breath..." And once they're away from the water. "...I can take a look at it and put a Salonpas patch on it," she murmurs to the blue-eyed historian as they go.

"I'm okay, I promise. We just need to figure this out and then we'll go home and I'll ice it," Anne reassures Isabella; there's no doubt that she's determined to see this out until the end. In fact, it sounds like she has something to prove. So she does her best not to be a burden, limping along as the Tour Guide leads them to their destination. The Not-Byron moves at an easy stride, passing over the grass - and as they get further from the pond, it's obvious the angelfish have some kind of invisible boundary; they don't give chase, at least. The carousel stays in their peripheral, always at the same distance no matter how far they walk. "What were those things, anyway?" she asks no one in particular.

"Angelfish are denizens of the Gray Harbor pond. They work to protect pond-dwellers from the devilfish," remarks the Tour Guide matter-of-factly. He leads them past the park and out onto the street; here, it is some kind of bizzaro version of Elm Street in the real Gray Harbor. The streets are twisted and constantly shifting, the sidewalks are squishy and weirdly colored, and some of the trees are growing miniature eyeballs like blossoms. Tour Guide stops at the edge of one of the streets beside a sewer drain that looks more than big enough to fit people. Steam is billowing out of it. Their Tour Guide does not stop in his mission; he's already getting down on the ground and easing himself into the sewer drain. At least no clowns or red balloons float out.

August scowls at the fish which was harassing his hair one last time. Well, if too much was bitten and damaged he might have to give in and get that fauxhawk Ully and Iggy are always going on about. He's not convinced it's a good look, but what does he know. He opts to keep the femur. He'll just ditch it before they cross back.

Though his curiosity is piqued by all the strange plants, he doesn't interrogate the tour guide about them. Maybe he can ask the Archivist if there's a plant guide for the Veil...

He wrinkles his nose at the grate. Ugh. The sewers. Naturally. "So, Thorne--what all lives in these sewers?"

She looks uncertain, but only for a moment before she nods. "Okay, but let me know if it hurts too much?" Guilt is irrational under these circumstances, but Isabella feels it anyway and it's plainly evident in her expression. She pulled Anne into this - it's just a sprained ankle, but for reasons of her own, injuries accumulated here especially in one of her excursions are something she takes somewhat hard. Her grip shifts into a more protective one as they move, green-gold eyes drawn to her periphery and the carousel that stands at a distance.

There's a pause when they get to the sewer drain in Elm Street - or this stranger version of Elm Street, if not just to take a couple of pictures on her analog camera and her phone, as if she's actually on tour. She eyeballs it before she slowly releases Anne, because she needs both hands to climb down the drain - and once she hits the ground there, she waits at the bottom, in case Anne needs assistance.

"Does the carousel have a purpose?" she asks the Tour Guide. She has noticed its seemingly equidistant state.

It's at least not a far drop from the grate to the floor of the sewer, so Anne only has a bit of difficulty getting down. But once inside, it seems .. impossible that this place exists. They can still see the outside from the drain's opening, but the sewers seem endlessly tall; they can't see the top of them. It would be realistically too tall to fit in relation to the sidewalks, but nothing really makes sense in the Veil. It's immediate that this place is a labyrinth, impossible to navigate if there's no guide - which makes them very lucky that they have Tour Guide, who makes a sharp right and starts down a tunnel.

"The denizens of the sewers include but are not limited to: brown blobs, yellow blobs, green blobs. Giant rats. The Lost Alligator," replies Byron to August, before he looks to Isabella and smiles. But also blinks. "I don't understand. What is 'purpose'?"

He continues on. Left tunnel, right tunnel, straight tunnel, curvy tunnel. It's starting to get hot in here, uncomfortably so. In fact, some of the wax is starting to melt on Byron, dripping down his cheeks and suit jacket like little balls, dribbling into the wet of the sewer.

August clambers down the ladder last, pausing long enough to take in two things--the impossibly high ceilings and the labrynthine nature of the place. He fishes out his grease pencil, starts writing down their path on one arm.

When Tour Guide starts to melt, August attempts to hold him together, but the wax isn't having it. Well, it was worth a shot, anyways. He sighs. "Rats, alligators...no evil books, though, right? I could do without the evil books."

They enter a labyrinth and despite her wariness, Isabella can't help but be excited. Interest and unwavering curiosity gleams in her eyes when she takes in the absurdly high walls. "Check out this place," she murmurs, her voice low and hushed with awe, blunted, but only very slightly by the mention of what lurks here in the sewers. "...the Lost Alligator." A statement, not a question, her expression indescribable.

At the disconcerting (and now melting!) smile, Isabella smiles back, because it's still Byron's face, even though drops of him continue to roll from his body. "I mean, what does the carousel do?"

Mention of the evil books earns August a look. "Sounds like a story," she says, though she's eyeing the way the wax is melting. "Though we probably shouldn't stay here for very long..."

"I don't understand," says the Tour Guide to August. "What is 'evil books'?" Then n he goes, melting away. At least it's just a few drips for right now. What does the carousel do, Isabella asks? "The Carousel is an operated device which rotates clockwise. Except on Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, the Carousel rotates counter-clockwise." And on the Tour Guide goes.

"At least this is better than swimming through bodies," Anne chirps positively as she limps away. But gosh, it's getting hotter. She's starting to sweat. Up ahead, the tunnel seems to go on forever; it's just endlessly straight. But in the distance, the heat is making it hazy. The poor Tour Guide's starting to ooze. His feet are sticking to the floor and bits of wax peel away as he continues to walk, leaving waxy footprints in his wake.

And the further they go, they start to notice a certain scent in the air. Like floral perfume.

"It's a story alright. Kind of a long one," August says of the evil book, wiping sweat off on his other arm. The heat's sure a thing. He watches the Tour Guide continue to disintegrate. "Okay, maybe this isn't going to work. How pissed off will the Archivist be if he just melts?" What if this one was unique? What if the Archivist was just that attached to their things?

On the subject of the carousel, August supplies, "It also clones people and kills them."

"Why does the carousel change direction on Tuesdays?" For variety? The question is an idle one, because it's the first follow up she thinks to ask as her party of three continues on. The waxy footprints will help find their way out - hopefully. Isabella makes note of the drops that ooze from the guide, before they continue on straight into...

...the...

"...I don't feel so well. Do you both smell that? Like flowers..." Her hand reaches out for a wall, to brace herself against it. A headache starts to blossom at the back of her head. "Chances are, it'll probably just make another one." Though at the last remark, she blinks at August. She heard about the clones and the worms incident at the carousal, but not the fact that the carousel caused it.

"Undeterminable," is the Tour Guide's question to both Isabella and August. He does not know why the carousel changes direction on Tuesday. He also doesn't know how pissed off the archivist will be. But he does supply: "The Carousel does not have the ability to clone." But the Tour Guide is definitely going to melt. He's getting smaller and smaller as it gets hotter and hotter.

"I don't think he's going to make it," Anne notes, "Where are we?" It's a bizarre question, but she does a little half-limp, half turn. "Did we come from this way? Or that way?" she seems very confused. The scent of the perfume is getting stronger here, and in the distance, there are sprays of fire coming out of the wall in intervals, blocking the path forward. But here, they can see there are several other tunnels, all with various NOTICEABLE traps. One is filled with a moat of what looks like water, for example. The other one is clearly blocked by lasers. There's at least a dozen offshoots.

But as they get further in, the perfume scent is all around them. It is unclear where it's coming from, but it's all they can smell. It's getting them turned around; where did they come from? Where are they going? At least they have the Tour Guide ... except that at this instance, he falls forward, collapses,perfect little hearts coming off of him in steamclouds as he melts into the ground.

"Okay. We need to...leave." August rubs at his temples, checks his arm-map. Can he trust it? He's not totally sure. And the Tour Guide is now a puddle. "Anne if you open a door back over down here, where are we going to wind up. The sewers? Solid rock?"

It's getting so hot that it's suffocating. Isabella tries to clear her head, and pulls down her zipper in an effort to cool herself off some, but to no avail. Her senses keep swimming - with her addled, and Anne injured, she attempts to pay attention to what is being said. The Carousel doesn't clone things, and it's unknown why it changes direction every Tuesday. What she doesn't hear is the indeterminable chanting.

At Anne's wondering, she reaches out a hand to try and rest it on her shoulder. "He was melting on the way here, we could follow the wax out of here if Anne can't open a Door. But only if we turn back now, I think, since...there's no wax left." There's a glance on the body and the perfect hearts - as if completely and utterly made of the Archivist's unrequited love for Byron Thorne. If this place wasn't so twisted, it'd be very sweet...and all creepy.

For a moment August pauses, turns to stare down the fire tunnel. He can't be sure of his map, but he marks the location anyways, with a rough diamond drawing and the word 'fire'. "Yeah. Follow the wax. Good idea." And he can try to double-check his map.

"He wasn't melting all the way through, didn't you see all the tunnels? Was it three lefts and a right? Was it seven rights and a left?" Anne was confused. That perfume was awful, and she can hear chanting and there's fire one way and probably toxic muck another way. She limps in a full circle to find the Tour Guide's footprints .. only to see that the only footprints they can find lead right into a wall.

"That's not going to work," she wasn't panicking, you're panicking. "I can just.. I don't know, I don't want to be stuck here!" And so she grabs the nearest wall and yanks like it's a doorknob, opening a slice through the tunnels. They might end up in the real sewers, they might end up trapped in rock. It's anybody's guess, but! "I'll see you on the other side," she promises everyone, and jumps through. LEEEROOOY JENNNKINS.

Why are the footprints leading into a wall? Did the Tour Guide pass through there and she just didn't see? The perfume makes it difficult to think, her senses tumbling in a dizzying, confusing swirl in the back of her head. Was she seeing things, hearing things? But the space suddenly splits, and the feel of it is familiar, tumbling over her skin. "Anne, you-- "

And then she's gone. There's a glance towards August, and the archaeologist follows, leaping through the newly-made doorway. She doesn't even hesitate.

August clears his throat, tries to think straight. He follows the path of the footprints with his eyes as Anne walks them, blinks. Shit.

No objections to the door Anne makes. "If this is solid rock I'm haunting this city until the end of fucking time," he mutters, and follows close on Isabella's heels.

She stumbles out...and keeps stumbling.

Isabella finds empty air when she blindly teteers over the edge of the drain pipe, more familiar colors and places swirling over her addled senses and chilly, cold, fresh air stinging her nose and inundating it with the shock of having so many sights and smells clashing at once. But the water saves her, she lands in a splash, darkness closing about her head for a few moments. It absolutely ruins her smartphone. Hopefully she can save the sim card.

Thankfully that analog camera remains in her pocket. Time to test out a few things.

August skids to a stop, sighs with relief. Didn't wind up in the sewer proper or in solid rock. Sure, it smells like the lowest of tides but he'll take it. "Jesus." He nods at Anne. "Good work." He'd say more, but Isabella has flown past them and wound up in the pond. He winces, starts heading down the ladder to meet her.

As she wades out of the water, a large, rotund, dark shape swims up to Isabella and nibbles experimentally at her pants. It looks like a cat-sized pollywog. It doesn't like what it tastes, apparently, because it swims away a second later.