TDM 1 ⬡ The Oval Portrait

[liburuzaina]

	Casting Call The Oval Portrait Edgar Allan Poe »» "Long — long I read — and devoutly, devotedly I gazed." Name: The Aristocrat Casting Call: Characters with a Birthday from September through December Physical Notes: Desperately wounded, to the point of being bedridden, but not losing consciousness. Personality Notes: Curious, and prone to becoming enraptured by the pursuit of learning about whatever has caught their curiosity. Mildly delirious due to injury. Compulsions: To learn about their surroundings, whether through study of the portraits in the chateau apartment, conversation with a companion, or ill-advised exploration. «« »» "We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments." Name: The Valet Casting Call: Characters with an Unknown Birthday Physical Notes: Older than The Aristocrat by ≥ 5 years. Personality Notes: Willing and able (by force or by cleverness) to break in to a home for the well-being of their employer. A caretaker by nature. Compulsions: To see that The Aristocrat is comfortable for the night and their wounds are tended to, and to get some rest themselves once their duty is complete. In the absence of The Aristocrat, The Valet is free to act as they please. «« »» "She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee." Name: The Maiden Casting Call: Characters with a birthday from May through August Physical Notes: Young, aged from 15-20. Personality Notes: All smiles, loving and cherishing of all things, hating only The Painter's art, for they deprive them of their lover. Compulsions: To live life to the fullest, to love, to be happy... But also to make their husband, The Painter happy, by being a good and willing subject for his portraiture, should he ask. ⬡ Will slowly waste away and die, should they sit and allow themselves to be painted. «« »» "And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter." Name: The Painter Casting Call: Characters with a birthday from January through April Physical Notes: Older than the maiden by ≥ 10 years. Personality Notes: Passionate, studious, austere, wild, moody. More in love with his art than his wife. Compulsions: To paint. To paint, and paint, and paint some more. To ask their lovely wife to be the subject for their next piece, and to throw themselves into the completion of it. ⬡ Unaware they are doing harm with their painting, until it is complete. «« code @ efryndiel The Chateau ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Chateau are The Aristocrat and The Valet ⬡ Literary Description "To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque." ⬡ For Your Exploration Characters may attempt to explore the Chateau, but it will be shrouded in darkness, and every room they enter will bring them back to the apartment chosen by The Valet. What decorations may be seen are dark and victorian in design, and the room and halls may be lit by candlelight. The Maiden's portrait is on the wall, and will initially be cloaked in shadow for The Aristocrat to find. It appears remarkably lifelike, almost as though it is a window instead of a portrait. The other paintings on the walls will contain figures that are almost familiar to The Aristocrat and The Valet - as though they could be someone they know, but only if they squint. There is no electricity. Characters will not have access to any powers. The Artist's Tower ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Artist's Tower are The Maiden and The Painter ⬡ Literary Description "But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day." ⬡ For Your Exploration Should characters leave the Painter's studio, they will immediately be transported outside, to a sprawling field of wildflowers. There won't seem to be anything else around, but there will be a light breeze and the sound of the sea in the distance. Inside the studio, the air is stale and musty, smelling of oil paints and turpentine. It's dim, lit only by a skylight. There is a stool for the subject and an easel with canvas sitting in the light, but everything else - art materials, more canvases, both empty and with the beginnings of paintings, and props - are all pushed to the sides of the room and cloaked in shadow. Like The Chateau, there is no electricity, and characters will not have access to their powers. The Library ⬡ Welcome! Free from their roles, through either death, completion of the Story, or from not being pulled into the tale in the first place, characters will find themselves in the gardens outside of the Library itself. As always, it will look and feel like a temperate, autumn afternoon. As this setting is part of the Library itself, characters will have full access to all their powers. ⬡ Grand Opening Coming Soon! The front door will, unfortunately, be locked, and a sign will be taped on the doors, detailing how the Library will be opening soon, but in the meantime to please enjoy the grounds and the pizza party in the courtyard. ⬡ Pizza party? Pizza party! In the courtyard, there will be tables set up that will be absolutely covered in stacks of paper plates, 2-liter bottles of any soda one could dream of, and stacks and stacks of pizza boxes, containing any flavor combination that could be desired. Opening a random box will provide a random, but popular, flavor. Opening a box with an Intent and a Desire for something specific will provide exactly that. Enjoy! It won't run out. navigation • premise • reserves • faq

Comments

felassan | dragon age | valet

[sidenote]

I. valet

+aristocrat
[As far as Valets go, one could do worse than Felassan. Credit him this: despite his quirks and his insistence on needling, on offering unsolicited "advice" at the most inconvenient of times, he is... diligent. Diligent in his dedication to his employer and laissez-faire with regards to just about everything else, which explains among other things his surprisingly casual and upbeat attitude about breaking into this chateau.

Perhaps it is something of a comfort, to have a valet so attentive and yet so seemingly unconcerned with the possibility of permanent damage from these wounds. Or perhaps it is simply annoying, the way he wanders the room and touches this and that, humming occasionally and leaving things out of place, the way he shakes out his heavy cloak more than once before he leaves it draped over a chair. Despite his attitude he is keenly aware of the door, in case of intruders-- further intruders, details-- and his concern is earnest when he tends to the wounds and then, leaning over the bed, says:]

Shall I whistle you a little tune? Or can you sleep without needing to be told twice?

[He's helping.]


+whoever in storyland
[Or: Felassan is quite content to settle in an armchair, put his feet up, and not move for the rest of the evening. Really, he is. So it's someone else's persistent wandering in and out of this apartment that he's watching idly, fiddling with some knicknack or other he's picked up from somewhere in the room. The whims of the Chateau are pretty much immediately obvious the first time he looks up in surprise at the same person who'd just left coming back in just as surprised as he is, so-- well, you know, he's content to just loiter. Just loitering sounds pretty fantastic.

He wiggles his little trinket at his wandering pseudo-companion, the next time they come in the door.]

That makes four. [He has been doing this every time, yes.] Will you listen to reason and pull up a chair, now, or will I have to see how many tours it takes before you wear a hole in the carpeting?

[He might also say this while not sitting around like a lazybones but instead squinting at the vague portraits, because at least that mystery doesn't involve running in circles. Hmm!]

II. pizza party

[What is a pizza. He doesn't know, and looking at said pizzas for as long as he has been (several minutes) has not helped him to find out. Who puts food into boxes like this? What is a "Surge soda"?

It's all a little much, but Felassan can be encountered anywhere milling arond this pizza party, very possibly at the precise moment that he stoops to pick a dandelion, flicks a bit of dirt off of it, and sticks the stem in his mouth for a little nibble.

It's a mistake. It's a horrible mistake, but the look he gives whoever has witnessed this suggests that perhaps this particular dandelion is just as good as whatever a pizza is, at least until he spits it out.]

Just trying to see how much of this is actually happening.

[this is a pro strat, don't question him.]

How did you do in... [he gestures vaguely, with the dandelion,] all that? I must admit to being impressed, though I would not go so far as to say that I am pleased.

III. misc

[The Wildcard (tm)... hit me with whatcha got. He's a very elfy elf who doesn't wear shoes because Dragon Age, for reference.]

II

[bluemackerel]

[Osamu watches as this man tries to eat a dandelion. Huh. And then he's informed that he's trying to see how much of this is actually happening, and nods slowly. He understands. Truly a pro strat. He gets you.

He shrugs at the next question.]

I died. But I suppose I didn't actually die, because I'm here. Unless this is the afterlife, but I highly doubt it. There wasn't much for me to do, really. I just had to pose for a portrait. That's all. Somehow, that killed me.

I'm impressed, but not really pleased, either. That's a good way to put it.

[sidenote]

[Thanks for not questioning his pro strats, he's going for a speedrun and every question is seconds he cannot spare. You a real one, stranger.

That said, hmm, if you die in the story do you die in real life... he doesn't want to think about being dead in real life, all things considered, so!]

Died sitting for a portrait? How unlucky. I broke into a house... I suppose it was worth it not to face uncertain death.

[It's his turn to shrug; perhaps, here, crime does indeed pay?? Who knows.]

For what it's worth, you look alive to me.

[bluemackerel]

[No prob, my guy. We all be tryin' to speedrun the game of life here.]

Unlucky indeed. I tried to convince my husband...a man who I thought was my husband, at least, into dying alongside me, but he turned out to be the one that ended me. A real tragedy, that.

Breaking-in is a bit less dangerous. Oddly enough. But none of that feels like it was real, so I suppose...no consequences.

It's a shame, overall. But I suppose it's all worth it to die alongside someone in a more fantastical way later. You win some, you lose some. And to find out exactly what's going on here. I've not the faintest idea. I wouldn't imagine you would, either?

[sidenote]

[Oh, his new companion is a talker, huh. That's fine, that's fine, Felassan has plenty of experience with Talkers; he's content to wait and let this fellow talk himself around to a conclusion, so the fact that he stops at just a question has Felassan waiting just a few seconds too long for him to keep going before he responds. Humans don't often stop and ask for his take on, ah, anything at all, so.]

Ahh... no, I can't say that I do. Perhaps it's some kind of dream.

[It's Definitely Not, he's sure he'd be able to discern that much, but a little pointless "speculation" isn't going to hurt anybody.]

Wouldn't that be something?

I +home intruder painter okuni

[osuni]

[She's going to run this entire carpet ragged just for that, Felassan!!! Okuni looks purely mutinous for two and half more seconds, then flops into the closest chair with a loud huff.]

I'm not interested in reason. I have a painting to finish!

[art won't just finish by itself!! Her eyes dart around the room once more, resting on Felassan and the Painting he's looking at, before narrowing.]

One painting. I'm not in the mood to take any more commissions of stuffy nobles.

[JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE!!! She assumes that it's some kind of stuffy noble in the painting anyway, what else do rich people hang up on their walls]

[sidenote]

[Rich people in this house hang up confusing paintings of elf-shaped people, don't worry about it... Is there a wolfsona in these portraits somewhere? Untapped creative energy, Okuni, take notes.

Or: Felassan spares her a glance over his shoulder that is not at all withering, but has the perfect ratio of raised eyebrow to knowing smirk to imply that he-told-her-so. You know, about sitting down.]

Doesn't paint take some time to dry? [do not art lecture him please] You will have plenty of time to charge back to your canvas.

[Anyway back to this mysterious painting... Hmm!]

This isn't your house, is that right?

[osuni]

[Okuni takes in that perfect ratio of eyebrow to smirk and flashes him a Cool Look of her own... That she promptly ruins by swinging her legs over the arm of the couch she's on, so now she's just draped over it like an ailing................ painter.]

Time I'm not willing to spare...!

[don't mind okuni grumbling audibly in the background, fefe. She peeks out from behind the hand she's dramatically draped over her face. IS there a wolfsona? Felassan's blocking her view, and she's feeling too lazy to lean over...]

I'm not a gloomy shut-in who likes to live in the shadows. [please... she does not Own this Cave-Chateau!]

I - aristocrat

[royalboar]

[His wound is truly the worst kind of injury — the one that keeps one figuratively chained to the bed and utterly useless, skirting the line of delirium on occasion. But one thing is undeniably true: delirium adds a dash of curiosity, turns the world into a hazy yet infinitely interesting place, and Dimitri strains to sit up in his bed to meet the intruder — whom he does not choose to view as an intruder, but a figure of invariably dubious nosiness worth questioning who belongs here nonetheless.

Propping himself up with a palm pressed flat into the mattress, Dimitri peers through strands of hair fallen into his face as the valet is the first to lob a question his way.]

I do not wish to sleep. The back of my eyelids is a sight that will drive me mad for how much one insists I view them.

[Here comes an attempt to banish his covers with a toss of an arm, and a weaker one to swing his legs over the side of the bed.]

Let us take a tour of the chateau.

[sidenote]

[Felassan straightens up as his charge - apparently? Hm - sits up into his space; dedicated he may be, but not dedicated enough to like, get all up close and personal. In fact he steps back completely, to lean his elbow on the nearby dresser and watch his much too injured employer try to sit up and make demands about Going Places.

Hmm. Good plan, sir. So good.]

I have toured it already. [He hasn't, but still? He has a vague notion of breaking into this place, but the details are questionable at best; it doesn't seem important at the moment.] I assure you it's as disappointing as your eyelids, and about as dark.

[Go the Fuck to Sleep, chapter one. It's odd; he feels very much like this is exactly what he should be doing, while some distant corner of his mind itches in protest, to hover around taking orders from this... person. But like the vagaries of memory, it seems less pressing to focus on, for now.]

[royalboar]

[A mild stubbornness flares in his gut, inherent in Dimitri no matter what unknowing role he’s playing in a tale surely not his own. It paints his features into a frown, coupled with a shake of his head as he extends a forearm out — that would be a distinct disregard for your Go the Fuck to Sleep initiative, good sir, and instead the expectation for his valet to help him up. Roaming whims are worth the effort.]

Then you have not toured it well enough. Or have you not taken note of the paintings hung on the wall?

[The curiosity needles at him. Memory of the images still swirling in a mind added by pain or delirium.]

Come. View them with me. One way or another, I will see them; the question is simply whether or not you will accompany me in doing so.

za! za! za!

[brothered]

[Felix is not trying this pizza? Felix would rather die—and yet as he mills about this table, eyeing the options containing the most meat, that sure is a familiar face he spots! An unfortunately familiar face. Ah. From somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a voice echoes: So WhEn ArE yOu GoInG tO sTaRt ThE pOrTrAiT...

...I really committed to the bit there, but anyway: only one rude individual is allowed to exist at any given point, and thus Felix makes his way to this stranger's side, determined to pay him back in full. This place is weird; putting this guy in his place will surely make Felix feel a bit better. Hey! Hi! Puffed-up idiot, coming through.]

You—

[You! But whatever (not-at-all-)clever thing Felix was planning to say dies on Felix's lips as this man turns toward him—and pops that dandelion into his mouth like it ain't no thing. Ah. Well, forget being pissy; it's almost as though Felix deflates the slightest bit, especially as he watches his enemy... spit out the chewed-up plant. Fffflatly, after a solid second of silence:]

What is wrong with you?

[He's just askin'.]

za boyz

[sidenote]

[The bit: committed and appreciated, know this. Felassan is busy putting plants into his face like the weirdo that he is, so when he looks at Felix immediately after... just spitting... he takes a second to connect the dots.

Ah, the little painter who cannot paint for beans!! (But can paint beans?) Yes, he remembers.]

Nothing at all! It's efficient, wouldn't you say?

[Do not say Anything, actually. He considers holding out the rest of the dandelion stem in offering, but no, that's too many bits to commit to... He flicks it down at his feet, instead, wiping his hand on the side of his leg while he gives Felix a perfectly reasonable look.]

What can I do for you, then?

[Is it... nothing!!]

[brothered]

[Efficient. Goddess above, but it most certainly is not? Eating whole-ass weeds is, like, a very Dimitri™ thing to do—and thus Felix releases a long, slow breath, just. Wondering why the world is full of absolute weirdos. Anyway, what can this particular weirdo do for Felix—]

Nothing. Obviously.

[He saw an opportunity and he took it, because he is just Like That.]

...If you're going to eat anything here, eat the—food. [Food, he says, so dubiously, and yet:] You're being ridiculous.

[Felix might be reluctant to eat greasy cheese-bread, at the moment, but he's lived through five years of war; he's eaten far worse things, so.]

i- aristocrat here

[wadoichimonji]

Whistle all you want, I am not staying here.

[Zoro is ready to leave, he has one foot on the ground and his bandages seem nice and tight, which is perfect really, but yeah, he's not staying in bed.]

Move.

[sidenote]

[Felassan does not move out of the way, but nor does he make any particular other movements to get his esteemed employer to lie down again. Surely, the whistling will do the trick, if he must...]

And how would you like to be dragged back to bed when your injury opens up again? By the armpits? The ankles?

[This is... professional concern? Nobody said he had to be good at this imaginary bedside manner.]

[wadoichimonji]

...Ankles.

[He's serious, here. He really wants to leave whatever this place is, and no one is going to stop him!

Except the floor is not a person.

Zoro lands face first onto the floor and groans.]

[bottomless_bowl]

[He might think he's absolutely gotten away with it. No one in sight, or at least not close enough to make eye contact with. Definitely. This is fine. He's gotten away with it.

Claude can almost let him think that too, but the shit eating grin on his face when he finally drops gracefully out of a nearby tree makes it quite clear that he saw everything.]

I dunno if you make a hobby of eating weeds but an awful lot of them are poisonous. You... might want to be careful with that.

[So kind, not even going to call him out. Please don't be like Dimitri, though.]

[sidenote]

[Felassan looks up from the rest of the dandelion with an expression like Claude has just walked up to him like a normal person and not dropped out of a tree. What's this, then...]

I didn't ask. There are plenty of common plants that can be used as nourishment in a pinch.

[For emphasis, he just chomps the rest of the flower. Just goes for it, chews it for a solid couple seconds, then leans politely in the other direction to spit it out.]

Not if you have anything like taste, however.

pizza

[summonere]

[ The person he's addressing pauses with a piece of pizza in his hand. He considers for a moment, then throws the piece of pizza at a very large bird (?) perched in a nearby tree before dusting off his hands and paying attention fully. The bird says nothing, but catches the piece of pizza and all but swallows it whole. ]

Impressed with what?

[ V had been a maiden and died a slow death at the hands of someone he was meant to love. So. He's neither impressed nor pleased. ]

[sidenote]

[Hold on, he's briefly looking away to watch this bird deep throat a slice of pizza, possibly the only thing so far today that's earnestly surprised him. That's an incident he just witnessed, for sure.

Hmm! Alright!]

Ah— the magic, what else?

[He cannot say he particularly enjoyed, in hindsight, being the token subservient character, but objectively: fascinating magic, indeed.]

[summonere]

[ His lips purse and he makes a faint noise of discontent. Only after a moment does he begrudgingly agree, ]

Yes, I suppose so. It's certainly beyond my means to conjure any of this.

[ He would have a lot less problems on his mind if he did. ]

whoever in storyland

[anbu]

[The restlessness is difficult to stem. As one typically possessed of a stony, cold, and apathetic disposition, he recognizes it as unlike himself. Yet this knowledge does nothing to assuage the feeling as he passes through the next doorway, stops in a dim and dusty corridor, then turns around and paces back the way he came, retracing identical steps with a furrowed and tightly lined brow.

That there's someone else in here is obvious, because Itachi sees them on each loop he makes through the Chateau, but it doesn't seem important. It's not who he's looking for. Still, when he's addressed, something in his newly changed demeanor—a need to be polite, maybe—has him turning to answer.]

I need to find my husband. [Flat, deathly toneless compared to the strain in his expression. Black eyes fix on pointed ears briefly; if he were himself, he might wonder at that.] Will you help me look? I'm afraid it may be urgent.

[That Itachi is the painted maiden in the portrait down the hall... well, it might explain the crossed wires.]

[sidenote]

[Nothing in him compels Felassan to help this stranger, whoever he is; he is not Felassan's esteemed employer, therefore he's on his own in finding his husband. That's certainly why Felassan hasn't bothered to speak up until now, several wandering loops of the Chateau in, and for a moment he's prepared to casually refuse and go back to sitting around in this room. Lost husbands are not his problem!

But-- now that he looks up, properly, and can place the the profile of the stranger with one of the portraits... well, intrigued would be an exaggeration, but Felassan might consider himself mildly curious? That's enough. He considers for a long moment before he sighs and stands, shrugging.]

If it will keep you from disturbing this room any further, why not.

[This room that he broke into in what is most definitely this wayward wanderer's house, but details! Leave it in peace! He gestures for the door.]

Go. I'll follow.

[anbu]

[Motivations aside, the aid is appreciated. Itachi hasn't yet lost his civility streak, and so comes a quietly murmured:] Thank you, [before the urgency returns to him like a prickling sting across his nerves. He needs to find his husband. He should not be here.

He should not be here—a thought that sticks longer in his mind than absolutely necessary, before Itachi cards it away. Everything else has become secondary to the driving need to find his husband, whoever that actually happens to be.]

This way. [In silence, Itachi leads the valet through the door and into the next room, then the next one—until they're swarmed in shadow and walking back into the main entryway beside the place Felassan had just been sitting idly as though they'd never left.] ... It continues by this pattern, no matter which route I choose. It seems to be a loop. My husband, he's... [Who? The blanks are slow to fill.] A painter. He has a studio, somewhere.

Are you here with anyone else?