[Once he's sure they're following, the cat leads them carefully through the maze of bookshelves. A lot of weird turns that really should not make sense given how the room was laid out when they came in.
But they do come to another door, the one that unlocked earlier. "Archives". Thankfully the worms haven't come near this part of the room. There's a bit of warmth coming from the space under the door, but the cat looks up to them expectantly.
He doesn't have thumbs, okay.
If they do open the door for him, well...
The other side is definitely Archives. If it had been taken and draped in large, colorful swaths of fabric, reds and yellows and oranges, accents of blues to offset the mannequins and wax figures starting to melt in the hot spots of fire flicking at the edges. It gives the room a bit of a swirling, oil painting feeling of implied motion. The speakers in the ceiling alternate playing tinny carnival and calliope music, and bits of scripted audio.
All in Tim's voice.
"You still don't believe us, do you."
"Oh, sorry didn’t mean to disturb you while you were being suspicious."
"Just stop talking, I’m sick of this, I’m sick of you."
It alternates depending on the speaker they walk past. The flames are ever just at the edges, not really in the main walking area. There's debris all over, making the traverse across the room a bit of a walking hazard. There are recorders here and there, and remote detonators laying around. The cat is slowly picking its way through it all, being careful where to step and hopefully showing them the safe passage across.]
no subject
But they do come to another door, the one that unlocked earlier. "Archives". Thankfully the worms haven't come near this part of the room. There's a bit of warmth coming from the space under the door, but the cat looks up to them expectantly.
He doesn't have thumbs, okay.
If they do open the door for him, well...
The other side is definitely Archives. If it had been taken and draped in large, colorful swaths of fabric, reds and yellows and oranges, accents of blues to offset the mannequins and wax figures starting to melt in the hot spots of fire flicking at the edges. It gives the room a bit of a swirling, oil painting feeling of implied motion. The speakers in the ceiling alternate playing tinny carnival and calliope music, and bits of scripted audio.
All in Tim's voice.
"You still don't believe us, do you."
"Oh, sorry didn’t mean to disturb you while you were being suspicious."
"Just stop talking, I’m sick of this, I’m sick of you."
It alternates depending on the speaker they walk past. The flames are ever just at the edges, not really in the main walking area. There's debris all over, making the traverse across the room a bit of a walking hazard. There are recorders here and there, and remote detonators laying around. The cat is slowly picking its way through it all, being careful where to step and hopefully showing them the safe passage across.]