logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DREAMERS)

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DREAMERS)

characters: all characters that signed up as a dreamer for the event.
location: dreamland feat. beacon of the past.
date/time: november 16-29.
content: the dreamers investigate beacon as it once was.
warnings: psychological/existential horror. further cws will arise depending on the location; mods will cw tags appropriately, and you will too!

say your prayers, little one.

Hello, dreamers. Welcome to Beacon.

Below, each group has a toplevel ready and waiting for the investigation to begin. Feel free to tag in however to establish a tag order, and mod responses will begin once each character has tagged in. If you need a refresher on how the event will work, give the OOC info another read!

As for those of you in the ~~sin bin~~ opt out area...

The Beacon of the past isn't all too different from the Beacon of the present, frankly, except for a few notable exceptions. For one, it's far better lit: daylight leaves everything feels a lot brighter and more sensible than eternal night does. Several advertisements for community theater in the Invincible are hung up (Tryouts for the Ice Man Cometh! Cometh try your luck!) and minor lost and found posters are tacked to a community bulletin board nearby. Oh, and a merry little tune is playing on loop from a record player set up outside the Invincible.

It's cheerful, if not a little off-putting. But the signs of life are clear, even if the forest still looks darkly oppressive over yonder.

Additionally, since investigation threads 1) rely on mod responses, and 2) will likely move on the slow side given the nature of the event/size of the groups, if you would like to have your characters "mingle" in their assigned location, please feel free to write your own toplevels! We ask that you post them as separate toplevels not in response to the mod toplevels (so our inboxes don't get super flooded/we don't accidentally miss stuff). Remember that groups may only interact with each other during the event, but you're welcome to assume timey-wimey shenanigans to excuse why your characters are mingling instead of searching for clues—they do have two weeks in this dream, technically, and dreams are not always linear. If your investigation thread has not yet progressed to a point in which you've got enough of a handle on the setting to write a separate mingle starter, ask the mod you're working with! We'll fill you in on some OOC details so you can mingle accordingly while still allowing for characters to discover those details ICly in the investigation thread.

If you're still jonesing for more threading action during the event, we encourage you to check out the TDM!

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Why? Since when has any of this made sense?

[She doesn't recognise the guy, but then she's only spoken to a handful of people so far. At least he's doing something. The kid seems kinda broody. She quickens her pace to catch up with the other guy.]

How did we even get here? [She doesn't feel drugged. But blacking out and waking somewhere else...] It's gotta be drugs, right? Someone roofied us.

[She shivers as she takes the steps up to the doors. It's the wind, just the wind. Not the creeping sense of unease crawling up her spine.]

[Once the three of them are in (assuming Bruce, like, actually catches up with them eventually), the church doors close behind them, cutting off the wind, if not the sound of the bells.

But it's odd, they don't hear the doors close. It's simply as if they've always been closed, and the three of them always inside. It's lovely in here, the stained glass throwing kaleidoscopic patterns across the pews in a way that the Beacon they're used to could never achieve in the deep darkness of night.

There are a few decorative candles around, here and there, but no alter. Nothing to indicate that the building has ever been used for anything more than worship.]

[It's an assessment he's inclined to agree with. There are plenty of things that happen to a person that don't make sense- that can't be justified, that aren't fair. It's compelling, to speculate about a motive, but in his experience it's too soon to try and name one yet. Evidence first.

They continue ahead, Parker and a woman that he doesn't yet know the name of. He speculates that she's one of the newer arrivals, a delivery he hadn't come down to the shore to watch. They don't quite match one another's strides but they line up near enough, taking point and heading up the steps, into the building. It means that Bruce is the last to arrive, but his gait is also slow enough that he's still very near the threshold when it changes. He doesn't hear a creak of hinges or the scuff of wood and stone. There's no gust of wind. The light streams over his shoulders and then it doesn't; when Bruce looks back it's to find the door shut.

He frowns. And without saying anything at all just yet, he reaches for the handle to test it, attempting to open it once more.]

[ since when has any of this made sense she asks, and peter slows, glancing up just for a moment.

pretty much nothing in his life makes a whole lot of sense, so he's used to rolling with it and seeing what happens. he can't say 'well, i have this super handy, kind of limited form of precognition that warns me of impending danger to myself, and everything currently seems fine so that's part of the why', so instead he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder towards her as she continues speaking. ]

If this place made sense, sure: drugs, [ he answers, shooting her a sidelong glance. but it doesn't, which means it could have been anything — teleportation makes about as much sense as anything, but it's not a suggestion he's going to float right now.

peter doesn't go to church very often — it's not that he's not religious, he is, vaguely and loosely — it's more of an ill-defined belief in a god (and a subsequent very complicated relationship) than prescription to any particular belief system; and he hasn't yet ('yet') died in beacon, still—. he notices the lack of the candles — it's hard not to, even in the daylight, and he wonders, briefly, about the trapdoor — about whether they'd be able to get it open. ]

—It's not the same, [ he starts to say, turning to look back towards bruce. anything else he'd been going to add is interrupted by the sight of the closed doors and bruce's back turned towards him and villanelle, trying to pull the door back open. a flicker of discomfort crosses his features and he glances towards the windows. they're beautiful, and he'd feel bad, but if worse came to worst, he thinks that he'd be able to break them for a way out.

a breath of a pause, and: ] I was hoping we'd moved past the clichés and I realise this is the start of every bad horror movie from the early 2000s, but I'm going to see if there's a way up to the bell tower.

[ he's used, almost entirely, to working alone, so he doesn't bother to ask if anyone wants to come with. there's the immediate thought that for his own sake, it'd be easier if they didn't, because — hey, he can't exactly indulge in any spider related acrobatic if he's got company, but—. ]

Edited 2019-11-18 08:01 (UTC)

[He has a point, if nothing here makes sense, it doesn't have to be drugs. Anything could have brought them from wherever they were before to here; inside the church. There's a fleeting sense of disconnect, weren't they somewhere else a moment ago? The thought slips away from her. In the manner of dreams, only the present counts.

She drifts past the pews, running her fingers over the smooth wooden backs. Its beautiful in here, beautiful and peaceful and very, very boring. She looks back to see the kid trying the doors.]

Any luck?

[She's speaking English, but her faint Russian accent colours the words. For a second she feels like that's wrong, like she should be speaking differently, disguising her accent. But why would that be? The thought drifts, and like the memory of being outside, gradually fades away. She turns back to the other guy, and yeah, calling him 'guy' is going to get annoying, introductions need to happen now. Maybe he has the right idea, someone's gotta be ringing the bells, right?]

I'm Villanelle, by the way.

[The name slips out, totally unintentional and totally honest. She doesn't even realise her mistake.]

Let's try the bell tower then.

[Anything better than this empty, pretty space. She's never been a fan of this kind of grandeur. Except as a murder setting. She tilts her head, imagines it. Something religiously iconographic. Splashy.]

Edited 2019-11-18 14:06 (UTC)

[When Bruce tries the doors...well, they open just fine. The outside is just as it was a moment ago. Nothing stops him from coming and going. If Peter tries the doors, he'll find one that hides a staircase: it must be to the bell tower.]

It sounds more like the end of Vertigo to me.

[Bruce Wayne is supposed to be easy going and that's why the reply is conversational, even if he hasn't yet left the entrance. The woman, Villanelle, looks back at him when she asks her question, and it's the reason he nods in her direction while the door is open and the sun outside comes streaming in. He's not expecting to be unable to open them, but that doesn't keep the strange sense of relief from washing over him all the same. Bruce looks outside, at where they've come from. Then gives the door an experimental back and forth, checking for noise- a creak of hinges, a betrayal of movement. He closes them quietly once more.

It leaves his mind space to go back to her introduction, Villanelle. A unique name to be sure. Perhaps her parents were poets. Perhaps they traveled- because the name is French and the verse form is French and her accent is subtle- but it is not.]

I'm Bruce. [His head tips.] That's Peter.

I'm going to stay here, heights always make my hands sweaty.
Please try not to fall off the top.

[It's probably unnecessary to say it- to say both things really, but then that too is cultivated. He doesn't move to follow them, or even to join them- so the decision to remain in the church's atrium is clear before any official announcement is made. Perhaps it's one of many distinct differences between he and Peter. Where one wants to go up, the other wants to go down. His intention is to look for the perpetually closed trapdoor.]

[ there's a second where peter tries to work out what vertigo has to do with anything, before realising that bruce means the movie. he lifts a hand in a loose wave when bruce introduces him, his attention resting on villanelle for a beat before sliding away and back to the church. he's been called flighty and disinterested before, and prone to distraction, and if it occurs to him that he could be a little more personable, a little less gung-ho about rushing off, it—

well, it absolutely doesn't occur to him. ]

I always thought Beacon was a bit more Stephen King, [ he comments, hand resting on the handle of a door. villanelle had implied she's going to come with him, and there's a moment where peter internally groans as he pushes open the door — if he got up to the bell tower, he'd want to climb up and out, want to look across beacon and see if there's anything visible in the landscape that's different to usual, anything they haven't discovered yet thanks of the darkness and a lack of visibility.

at the sight of a set of stairs, peter glances back over his shoulder. he shoots bruce a quick grin. ] Don't worry, I've got good balance. [ a beat. ] But it's on you to yell if you see anyone emerge from the trapdoor.

[ his attention shifts to villanelle. there's a question in his look and he thinks, quite suddenly, of the time that norah had asked him to help her with an exposé — it's not that anything here is similar, not really, although for perhaps only the second or third time in the months that he's been here, he finds himself wishing he had a camera.

he lingers just for a second before turning and heading up the stairs — villanelle can follow if she wants or she can stay with bruce. for his part, peter moves quickly and quietly, a lifetime of habit and proportional creepy grace of a spider lending itself to his movements. he doesn't know what he's expecting to find at the top — a spirit, maybe? certainly not a person, although he equally wouldn't be entirely surprised if there's nothing there. ]

[Both references go right over Villanelle's head. She had a strange childhood. She doesn't get the reference to the trapdoor either, except to note a possible exit. She hasn't found out about Beacon's death quirk yet.]

If this is a horror movie, splitting up is maybe a bad idea?

[She figures saying it is enough of a performance. She doesn't actually care if either of them were to be hurt, but she's just remembered she ought not to be showing said lack of care too obviously. Still, despite Peter's comments, nothing here seems dangerous. It's all so quiet, welcoming.

She follows behind Peter, she doesn't have his spidey speed and she's not rushing in any case. The church is peaceful, the sunlight hazy, even the insistent ringing isn't enough to break her from her dreamy pace. If there are other doors or openings along the staircase, she'll peek in on her way up.]

[Except...strangely, when Bruce goes to find the trap door, he'll find nothing but smooth wood. There's no handle, no loose boards...nothing to indicate there's ever been a trap door at all.

Meanwhile, Peter and Villanelle find it an easy enough trip up the steps to the top of the belltower. There aren't any other doors or exits: it's a one way trip upward, and it feels long. Longer than it likely should be. Far longer than the tower appeared to be from the outside. If they look back, they'll find they can still see the door. It would almost seem as if they haven't actually been making any progress, if the sound of the bells weren't getting louder and louder until they're practically on top of the pair.

And then they reach the top, abruptly.]

[His fingers follow the wood, tracing the edges to search for any gaps between or beneath them, the suggestion that something is not an original and thus doesn't belong. But when he comes up empty, Bruce pushes back to his feet. It's a strange discovery, the absence of the trap door, but not a distressing one. Additions are made to homes all the time- as the adage goes, necessity is the mother of invention. After all, hadn't Bruce done the same thing? Created a space underground once he had something to hide?

He moves towards the door to the stairs, left open behind his companions, and calls up to them-] No trapdoor.

Can you see the rest of the town?

[He isn't ready yet, to leap to conjecture, and Bruce's gaze returns to the room he stands in. The pews and the sunlight filtering through the windows, throwing colors and patterns across the floor. It's strange, but he can't even say that it reminds him of home. Gotham has always seemed perpetually grey; in this way, Beacon's unending night was more familiar.

Bruce frowns thoughtfully and tugs at the fabric around each elbow, pulling his long sleeves up just an inch or two. Alright. There's no trap door. There are candles in places along the atrium but there's no altar lined with them- which suggests that those two details are specific to Beacon as they know it. And then, because he's alone and perhaps also because this is who he is- Bruce begins checking the pews for false boards or personal belongings. Begins checking the walls for gaps and begins searching the adjacent rooms.]

[ that the journey up the stairs feels like it takes far longer than it has any right to doesn't escape peter's notice and he periodically looks back over his shoulder. at first, it had been to see if villanelle was following; then, to see if she'd caught him up; then it had been to try and work out how many steps they'd walked up, to try and work out how far from the ground floor they really were.

the answer seemed to consistently be not a lot, and his expression had settled into a perplexed, irritated frown right before he found himself at the top.

(geez.)

he stops abruptly. he thinks he hears bruce's voice from below, indistinct and unclear compared to the sheer noise of the bell; before stepping forward into the room, he turns back to villanelle, lips quirking into a wry smile. ] Hey, so in Vertigo, the main character has acrophobia, which is what most people refer to as vertigo — a fear of heights — but vertigo's more a sypmtom of the phobia... [ he continues, conversationally. ] At the end of the movie, he tries to confront his fear — there's a church, a bell tower, and— [ peter gestures vaguely, not bothering to finish the remark. (it is a little morbid, alright, and he'd rather not tempt fate.)

he doesn't step immediately towards the bell; instead, he circles around the room, peering out of the windows and looking out across beacon, searching for differences and for buildings that have become far more familiar than he'd ever wanted them to become — the general store, the invincible, the square. he doesn't say anything else, features settling back into a frown. there's still no tingling at the base of his skull that says something's wrong, and yet—

it is, isn't it? they shouldn't be here, wherever and whatever this is.

(ugh.)

and more than anything, the question is how were the bells being rung? ]

[Being a little behind Peter, she catches Bruce's shout. No exit that way then, but the doors had opened easily under his hands, she's not concerned. The stretch of time and constriction of distance bothers her more. The appearance of the bell room is almost shocking. For a moment there, she'd thought they'd be trapped on the stairs, going up and up and never getting anywhere at all.

Perhaps because of this, she doesn't bother looking out the windows. She doesn't know Night Time Beacon well enough to compare it to this Daylight one. Instead she goes directly to the bells. This close, their tolling resonates right through her bones, jarring her thoughts and filling her mind until it's hard to think.

Peter's monologue on Vertigo - a film, of course - doesn't help in that respect. Maybe he's scared of heights or something?]

There's got to be a way to stop them.

[She has to shout to make herself heard. Of course she could simply have walked away from the church, the noise would have lessened the further she got. For some reason, that solution doesn't occur to her.]

[And then, all at once...the noise stops.

It's similar to what happened with the church's door. It's not that the bell stops ringing. It's that it just isn't ringing.

In fact, how it was ringing in the first place is a good question, because it isn't attached to anything, isn't hanging like it should be. It sits, dusty and forgotten, on its side, on the floor, large and heavy and covered in dried, rusted fingerprints.

Outside, the windows show everything as it should be. Well, as the peaceful daytime Beacon apparently should be. Except, it's a bit darker now. The sky glows a lovely orange-and-pink sunset.

Back in the main area of the church, Bruce, at first, finds nothing of particular note. At least until he finds a note, folded and peeking out from one of the many unremarkable bibles.]

[It's a task that requires patience and perhaps that's why Bruce is unbothered by it. There was a time, when he smaller, when loss was fresher, that he'd hungered for solutions. That pain and anger had whittled his yearning to a fine point, and when Bruce had found himself ready to accept any solution, so long as it meant the end.

If he's honest with himself, those days don't feel completely behind him. He's learned to choose differently, to wait, but it's not really the same. He wouldn't call it 'easier.'

Walls clear, Bruce makes his way through the pews, slipping two fingers inside the small shelf behind each one, opening and thumbing through bibles, returning them to their places. It's a methodical process, but Bruce's deliberate nature ensures that each item is left as he found it. And then, quite suddenly, he's aware that the bells have stopped. He pauses and his head lifts, turned in the direction of the stairs, and Bruce finds that against the ringing that had echoed in his ears, he's not sure when, precisely, it ended.

His brows pinch and Bruce nearly turns, intending to make his way to the foot of the stairs and call after them again. But he's stopped before he ever gets that far by a small piece of paper. He makes a mental note of the pages between which it was placed, and unfolds it.]

[ there's got to be a way to stop them villanelle says just before the noise does stop, and peter pulls a face that says he's not entirely surprised to have had his commentary on vertigo and acrophobia ignored. instead of answering, then, he squats to one side of the bell.

day-to-day, he makes an effort to make his movements as natural as he can — a little less fluid and a little more clumsy; a little slower than any movements he makes without thinking about it. balancing in unnatural positions is easy and left entirely to his own devices, he quite often ends up perched halfway up walls or on ceilings. sometimes, when he's caught unaware or by surprise; when his spider-sense warns him of a threat entirely suddenly, he forgets.

now is somewhere in-between, and he rests his weight on the balls of his feet; he looks comfortable and at ease, and he reaches out and runs a finger through the dust. (gross, what was he really expecting, right?) he wonders, briefly, if there's anything beneath the upturned bell, but he supposes that it's too heavy for puny ol' peter parker to move out the way.

(the perils of a secret identity.)

with a sigh then, he stands back up. ]

So much for answers. [ he glances at villanelle out of the corner of his eyes. ] You know, I wish I could say I was shocked and surprised by [ he gestures vaguely at the bell ], but given everything... [ mostly the waking up in a version of beacon that's not shrouded in darkness, he means.

he wipes his hand on his trousers, and looks back towards the entrance. exit. way back downstairs. ] We should see how Bruce is getting on.

[Is he a dancer? The thought flits across her mind. There's a weightlessness to his movements that she recognises. Though with her it's usually less musical and more martial. She rubs her ears, which are, well, fine, but she feels like they ought to be popping or aching at the sudden absence of noise. She follows Peter over, chooses not to trail her fingers in grime.]

Why's it covered in dust? Are we in the same time as before?

[Could time have changed? It sounds made up, but then, all of this seems made up. Still, she feels a little foolish asking. She looks up at the windows, reddening light creeps along the walls, day fading into night. Should she be worried about that? Or is that a sign it things are returning to normal? Some kind of normal. She circles round the bell to try and get a look in the hollow, maybe just to check if there's even a clapper inside.]

Was there a point to leading us here? Maybe someone wanted to separate us.

[The thought that Bruce might have met a sticky end is intriguing and she perks up a bit at that.]

You're right. We should go and check.

[Her wide eyes may not accurately portray concern as oppose to excitement.]

[Aside from the bell being abandoned, dusty with disuse, it doesn't seem to hold any further secrets. But as the two turn back to the stairs, they'll notice that they seem much older, now. Not falling apart, really, but there's a worn-down feel about the passageway. Like many, many feet have come up and down...

...and up, and down...

Every step creaks. The walls are covered in fingernail scratches.

Downstairs, Bruce unfolds his note. It says:]

we're all going to die

[Is it a premonition, an expression of anxiety, a warning? Or simply a statement of fact? Memento mori isn't entirely out of place inside a church, though now that he holds this slip of paper in his hand he wonders once again why there isn't a graveyard. He wonders where the people who once lived here buried their dead. Remember Man that you are dust and unto dust you shall return seems less ominous in the absence of tombstones and monuments and though Bruce has never spent much time in church, his understanding of the place has always been a joining of the concerns of both heaven and earth. Actions and consequences.

Beacon is, in this too, uneven.

He looks back at the place where it was found and then, because he is only human, checks the rest of the pages for anything else. Holds the paper up to the light to see if any words might have been written and then erased. The sun is beginning to sink and it changes the aesthetic within the chapel- the color from each piece of stained glass is beginning to wane, to shorten it's slide across the floor. He folds the note back up and tucks it into his pocket- resumes inspecting the church until he's satisfied that he hasn't missed anything else that appears to be left behind.]

I'm going to say no. [ peter answers villanelle as she circles the bell; there's little hesitation in his answer — it wouldn't have been the first time he'd have time travelled — once or twice had been outside of his specific timeline, and once or twice had been to his past, to an alternate present and to an alternate future. it wouldn't, in all honesty, hit top ten strangest events — maybe it'd struggle to hit top fifteen.

he looks up and over at her. ] There's a possibility we're in Beacon's past or its future. [ beat; concession. ] There's even a possibility we're in its present, but it's an alternate timeline — one where different decisions were made, maybe one where the World Eaters are less of a threat. [ breath of a pause. ] There's really no way of knowing.

[ not for the first time, he finds himself wishing bleecker street was just down the road and he'd be able to get doc strange a call. he'd have some idea of what this was and how to fix it — as it stands, all peter's got is guesses, and the majority of the answers (quote unquote) that they've been given seem to rely on "magic!" as rationale; and it's not that he dislikes magic, it's just that—

okay, it's that he dislikes magic. he does, he really does. couldn't it just be something nice and simple and scientific? god, it's like when ezekiel decided to tell him that he'd been chosen by the spider and — yeah, okay, so spiders don't actually have a spider-sense, but it's a metaphor, right?

regardless, if he notices the slight offness of villanelle's expression, it's not reflected in his expression or his manner. he hesitates for a moment at the top of the stairs, a sudden lack of surety flashing across his features. had the stairs looked like that on the way up? had he just been distracted by how unending they'd seemed to notice?

several steps, then— ] Uh, —Villanelle, right? I don't want to seem jumpy, but— [ are those fingernail scratches? (he remembers, suddenly, waking up buried beneath the earth, crawling back to the surface with only the thought of mj to spur him on.) a stair creaks.]

—does this seem different to you?

[ —god, bruce—. he barely waits for an answer before picking up his pace in a rush to the bottom. ]

[This time it's Villanelle who gets left behind as she makes her way across the room and down the stairs. Does it seem different? Yeah different is one word for it. Skipping time, skipping universes, she's not particularly bothered, at least it's something different. She raises her hand to the scratch marks, measuring the space between her fingers. Could it have been them walking up and down over and over, scratching at the walls? She tilts her head. On second thought, that doesn't sound like something any version of herself would do. The boys maybe. Seems strange though. They could just walk right out the doors couldn't they?]

We could just leave.

[Villanelle calls down to Peter and Bruce too if he's still alive.]

[She skips lightly down the stairs, counting steps, waiting to see if it'll stretch just like before. Things are getting strange, she twitches her nose, sneezes at dust. Things are getting interesting. In the absence of fear, she tends to see the funny side of things. Anyway, apparently they're all dead already. What's the worst that can happen?]

[It's clear enough that the scratches couldn't have come from them--at least, their nails seem fine, no chips or damage done. These seem old, deep. Nothing hinders them on their downward path. This time, the stairs, although creaky and worn, don't display any other unnatural effects. They reach the bottom quickly.

And when they do, Bruce will just have noticed a splash of red underneath one of the pews. It's hard to make out what it is, exactly, but there's definitely a marking there. Paint, maybe? It's definitely something else to look into, as the note seemed innocuous enough, no further clues arising upon a deeper inspection of it.]

[It doesn't seem that they've been away for very long, but then, the passage of time itself is questionable. After all, it'd looked like midday when they arrived and now the sun is sinking. Bruce is not alarmed by this outright because there is no reason to believe that Beacon obeys any other rules about day and night or the length of an hour. It's possible that the stairs are long, he hasn't seen them for himself. And the bell has stopped ringing, which means it's possible that they've found the cause. To pursue them in a pique of worry would probably hinder their progress.

He must, against his nature, trust them.

He doesn't hear the drumming of their feet on the stairs but perhaps it's a testament to light-footedness, or the insulation of the church- or distraction. Bruce isn't immediately visible to his companions but that's because he hasn't just paused over the strange streak of color. One hand reaches out and he touches the tip of two fingers to the edge of the mark, testing its wetness but also its texture. Any lingering scent.

Instead of upending the pew to examine it directly, Bruce's tendencies have been shaped by the people around him- who were, in no small number, detectives themselves. Whatever it is he's going to see, he wants to see it in context. So he sinks down onto hands and knees on the floor, lower now than the rows of seats around him, until he's all but laying on the ground- looking for the mark.]

[ that the journey down feels much quicker than the way up is a thought that occurs to peter. he thinks that it could be a quirk of beacon, a mind game not entirely unlike the hallucinations; or it could simply be that it feels quicker in much the same way that the journey to anywhere — like, say, the journey to shea stadium — always feels so much slower than the way back.

bruce's lack of immediate visibility is momentary startling and peter shifts his weight, glancing over the tops of the pews and towards the door. maybe he'd left? unlikely, given what peter had ascertained of his personality from their previous interactions, but not out of the realms of possibility. still, what else? it's unusual, to have nothing from his spider-sense — it's ordinarily a constant, a kind of background noise that warns of him tiny threats that frankly barely deserve recognition; peter had commented once to mj that he could write a book on the many, many dangers of new york city that no-one ever thinks about and the same had seemed to hold true for beacon so far.

peter thinks that, perhaps ironically (and not in the alanis morisette way), it's more unsettling than having it at all. ]

—Bruce? [ beat; a moment of consideration. he continues conversationally: ] There wasn't anyone up there, [ punctuated by a pause, and peter takes several steps forward, scanning the rows of pews one by one ], and the bell looks like it hasn't physically been used in years.

But the stairs do. [She calls from the stairwell.] They're old all of a sudden, creaky. [She bounces on the bottom step.] See?

[She jumps off the bottom step and walks into the church.] Oh, has he gone? [Was Peter talking to an empty room?]

[Bruce already tried the doors, maybe he tried them again while they were upstairs and walked out. Or maybe he's dead, only, there's no sign of struggle. Either way, since the doors have already been looked at, she decides to go in the opposite direction, to where the altar would sit.]

Shouldn't there be more things in here? [Soviet Russia has never been big on religion, so church going didn't feature in her childhood, but she has an idea of what a church should look like and this one seems lacking.] Aren't churches supposed to have those wooden stands for the preacher to go up and tell us we're all going to burn in hell. [She spins on her heel, directing the last to the others, her fingers waggling in the universal 'spooky' gesture.]

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