ArchivedLogs:Someone's Always Watching

Someone's Always Watching
Dramatis Personae Nox, Anole	2013-01-29 The Morlocks gain a new member.
Location <MOR> Below New York
Underground there's no sense of time, or the weather topside. It's always dark down here, always damp, and usually there is always a silence that comes with a weight that presses against the eardrums. Accordingly, it is not often that people roam as deeply as this--the passage here included a number of vertigo-inducing rusting ladders, one four-foot drop into an adjacent tunnel and then a belly crawl. But if one has successfully passed those obstacles, the tunnel here is short and narrow, drier than some with a floor of hard-packed earth and no obvious occupants. Even the chitter of rats and the skitter of claws and tails on the ground are absent. The air is cooler and though it smells musty, there's no stink of sewage. If one were to continue walking directly ahead, they might draw closer to the faintest ambient glow of light--it's just enough illumination that the "horizon" is painted in shades of charcoal rather than black. Of course, that would require walking all of the way there, through puddles of shadow that lie thick as cobwebs along the ground and walls. It requires walking forward as the prickle-at-the-back-of-the-neck sense of being watched increases. The skitter of rats is absent, here, but now there is a sound. Not quite skittering. A faint rustling shift of cloth against concrete. In the darkness, Victor is sticking /close/ to the wall as he makes his way down the tunnel, the frayed sleeve of his ratty old jacket trailing against it to keep him from losing himself. He's focused on that light ahead, curious if uncertain; his pace is tentative, sneakers quiet against the dirt. At the moment he's not much better than a moving shadow himself, usually-green skin faded a shadowy-dirty concrete shade to match the wall he skirts against. Maybe his neck is prickling. He's certainly kind of twitchy-hesitant in the darkness. Being twitchy-hesitant is always a good idea. Who knows what could be sneaking up behind him? Who knows what could be lurking ahead? Or, as a sudden whisper proves, walking along beside? "You aren't supposed to be here." It's a woman's voice, just a murmur. She sounds pleasant enough, more thoughtful than aggressive, though there's no immediate sign of where the voice came -from-. Probably not from the tendril of shadow that rises up before him, darker than the darkness, and wags a pseudo-finger at the boy's nose--fingers don't have mouths. Usually. The sound of the voice prompts an immediate jerk of surprise from the boy. Victor squeaks, a sharp-high burst of sound that comes in time with him darting back. Not into the wall but up it, scrambling up towards the ceiling as easily as he was just walking along the floor; his eyes are abruptly wide, darting one way and then the other up the tunnel. "What -- who -- I didn't mean to --" he stammers nervously. "I mean someone said that -- I mean -- I'm sorry, I can -- where are you." There's a moment of silence before she replies: "Down here." Beneath him, on the ground, the shadows are coming together into a vague woman-shape lying on her back with her fingers laced across her belly. Dark on dark, the only points of light to be seen are dancing in her eyes, reflecting from that distant glow down the tunnel. It's difficult to tell but she might be smiling. "I think you did mean to. Most people turn back before the second ladder. Are you lost, little man? You said that someone said...?" The prompt is a gentle one. "I -- I don't know," Victor admits, still hesitant, still nervous; he's up near the ceiling, now, clinging there with his hands pressed flat against the wall and his head turned downwards. "Maybe? I mean, I don't know if I -- if you -- you said I'm not supposed to be here." He's squinting, now, down towards the woman, trying to pick shadows from shadows in the dim tunnel. "I just -- I met a girl. She said there was a -- that it was safe. Safer. Somewhere down -- but I might be lost. What are you -- uh." He swallows, and it's a little /apologetic/ as he ventures: "-- Did you just. Come out of nowhere?" "Oh no, I've been following you for a little while. We don't like unannounced visitors. But you might understand why." Apology is met with interest, though her tone never raises above that soft hum of sound. "Come on down, now, I don't bite," she goes on and the ground beneath him clears as woman and shadows both slide forward. They collect in a wispy-edged mass that coincidentally blocks the end of the tunnel, both from sight and approach. "Maybe you can tell me more about this girl. What she told you. What she looked like. Who -you- are." "We --" Victor echoes this single word with a quietly hopeful note buried in among the nervousness. Slowly, he scoots himself down the wall, sneakers landing on the ground again shortly, though he stays leaning back up against the cement. "I um. I met her a couple weeks ago out -- in Pennsylvania. She said New York had -- that I should come. Because there were people -- like me. That she lives with most times. And maybe there'd be a place -- if I found them. She was going south for winter though. She uh -- taller. Kind of purple? Sort of -- slug -- y?" In that she had a mucous trail. "I'm -- my name's Victor. I'm not really anybody," he adds, quieter. "Oh, you're somebody, Victor." This quiet disagreement is followed by the woman herself emerging from the wall o' shadow, materializing before him with hand extended. This time she's less shadowy--features are visible, and a proper hand, and a stronger body shape, though all of the modest bits remain blurred out. Portable censorship. And she -is- smiling. "You're somebody who went alone into the tunnels. Somebody who can climb walls and make spikes look adorable," she tells him. "I'm Nox. Would you like to come with me? It's a little farther but if you were told to come here, then you belong here." Victor's own smile in return is hesitant, small, but warm. "Oh -- oh. Really?" He takes a step closer to the woman, squinting up at her face curiously. "Nox. That's --" This time his smile spreads more easily. "-- Suits. I can really be here? Cuz I've been on my own since Illinois and it's -- been --" There's a host of things that flicker, conflicted, through his expression, but he settles in the end on a simple, "Cold. Are there really more of us down here? I wandered a lot. I mostly found rats." "Really." Nox glides a step backwards, playing the negative will o' th'wisp to guide him along. The barrier she'd set up parts and rolls around her to either side, sliding back down the tunnel and away. The distant light can be seen again, outlining her. "You can stay as long as you'd like. It is cold. But I have blankets, if you'd like them. A thermos with coffee. Even a flashlight, if you need one. They're just ahead, you almost found the sentry tower. Beyond that, there are others. Just like me, and just like you. And lots of rats." Her head tilts, sending her hair floating around her shoulders. "Do you mind rats?" "I ate some of them," Victor confesses, a little bashfully. "Is that allowed?" He is trotting along in Nox's wake, hitching his jacket more around him, hitching his backpack further up onto his shoulders. "Have you been here long? What's -- I mean, who are you?" It's a quietly curious question, paired with his quietly curious gaze skittering around the tunnel and down towards the light distant. "More than allowed. Some eat them, some just catch them. Pest control. It's a good thing, they bite and steal our food. But you should be careful of the ones you find deeper down, they aren't always what they seem." Nox drifts ahead--or sometimes beside--wisping along into the light. "I'm one of the Morlocks. We all do what we're best at, to help the rest of the group. Have you ever read H. G. Wells? I have a copy of The Time Machine, you can borrow it if you like. Once we get you settled...so much to do, so much to see. Did you want a blanket?" The tunnel resolves into a small chamber, barely large enough to hold a pair of milk crates. On top of one is an old-fashioned oil lamp with its wick turned low, on top of the other a stack of blankets acting as a nest for a stainless steel thermos. Nox keeps clear of the light thrown from the sooty glass--it's her turn to remain close to the wall--but she gestures to the blankets and thermos. "Morlocks like the Time --" Victor is saying, already, at the name Morlocks, though he stops with a quick smile as Nox continues. "I'd love a blanket. I'm not really good at being warm." Which is maybe why his eyes light at the sight of blankets and thermos, pouncing on them to pick up the thermos and a pair of the blankets. "What are you best at? Finding people?" He watches as she moves closer to the wall, glancing between the woman and the lamp. "Is that bad for you?" "You've read it." Nox sounds delighted. She darts over to flicker-dance in the corner behind the crates, phasing in and out according to the dictates of the tiny flame in the lamp. "Take what you need. There's coffee in the thermos. No sugar, no cream, but it should still be warm. And I watch out for people. People like you, or people who shouldn't be here," she confides with a flicker of humor. As she speaks, she extends her arm over the top of the lamp, where the light is strongest. Her forearm disappears in that glow, though her fingers wiggle at him before they dissipate too. "I do better where it's dark." "I've read it. I've read a lot of things. Are there books down here? Sometimes I go to the library but sometimes they kick me out." Victor opens the coffee, drawing a deep breath in from it and then taking a large gulp. "Woooah," he says, as her arm disappears. "I mean woah. Is that -- but what happens if you go outside? Like in the sun?" His eyes are a little wide but his smile oddly delighted at this disappearing act. "Do people come down here much? I mean like. The ones who /shouldn't/ be here." "I keep a lot of books for those who want to read. Not everyone does. Some can't. Some bring me books from the library to read for them, then I tell the stories." The woman fades out but the shadows leap on the wall, curling into shapes--the time silhouette of the time machine, a shadow-man inside of it with streaks whirling around him occasionally shaping the numbers of years flying forward. When Nox appears again, she does it by stepping from the wall. All available darkness is pulled into that creation until she's standing beside him, appearing solid, with a tangible smile. "I have to concentrate," she explains. "If I forget, whoosh--" And poof, away she goes again. "Sometimes people come. City workers, the homeless, people running from something or something. I try to scare them away before others find them. Have you been running long, Victor?" "Woah," Victor says again, soft and impressed as he watches the shadows leap on the wall. One hand reaches towards those shadows, pressing his hand onto the wall where they dance. "I mean, /woah/. That's like. Is everyone down here awesome?" His head turns, when she appears, when she disappears again. "I met people further up. Like people-people. Homeless people. That must've been back over by Midtown somewhere. They kinda freaked when they saw me. I guess this --" His hand gestures towards where the shadows had been on the wall. "Could be scary if you're not expecting it." Could be, like he hadn't literally scaled the wall when she first spoke to him. The question makes him shrug, a little too stiff to be /quite/ as nonchalant as he's aiming for. "Little while, I guess. Is everyone down here running from something?" Nox hums in lieu of a chuckle--a possible side effect of being incorporeal at the moment. "Each of us wilder and more wonderful than the last. We all have our own pasts. But you'll be safe here, Victor. You won't scare anyone and no one will scare you, if you decide to stay. Will you turn the lamp down, please? We're going up." The shadows thicken overhead, where an unobtrusive hatch is set into the ceiling. With a push and a whistle of air, it opens and an aluminum escape ladder rattles down to almost brush the floor. She calls down to him, "You can bring the thermos with you." Victor moves over to the lamp, frowning at the oil lamp with a long moment of puzzlement before poking at it. Whatever looks knobby. It takes a moment before he finds the right dial to turn, brightening the lamp in a quick flare for a moment before turning the other way to dim it. "Oops! Sorry," he says hastily, glancing up towards the shadows above. He gulps at the coffee again, recapping the thermos and then heading up the ladder with the coffee tucked into the front of his jacket. "/I'm/ not very scary. Maybe if you're a rat. Were you always Nox?" "You missed me," she claims, and it's true--there are no lurking clouds of shadow up above when he glances. But a vaguely head-like shape reappears as he climbs. "You're still small. But one day," Nox singsongs in a storytelling murmur, "when you grow up to be a big, strong Victor, with huge spikes and a ferocious roar, all of the other rat-eaters will run from you." When he clears the top of the ladder, he will find himself facing still another tunnel but this one is much shorter. It ends in an archway and beyond there, is the drip of water, the murmur of voices and a sense of open space. It's there that Nox is leading him. "Nox is eternal...and so is home. We're here." Wider and more spacious than many of the surrounding nooks and niches, this chill cavern is the central hub of the Morlock's underground network. With tunnels branching off in many directions, it takes a while to learn to /navigate/ from here to where you want to go, but there's generally plenty of more experienced people around to teach newcomers the ins and outs of the pathways. Here, though, is a safe place to come and relax, for what value of relaxation can be found among moss-covered walls and the occasional stagnant puddles on the floor. There's been furniture brought in, a mismatched assortment of crates, mattresses with busted springs, a few broken and subsequently repaired chairs, a folding table in a corner. Shelves along a wall hold entertainment; books, a smattering of board and card games, sometimes snacks. There's even electricity, wiring none too safe and visible in places where the wall has been broken open; the naked light bulbs flicker often and the lone outlet has had so many power strips attached it is undoubtedly a fire hazard. The cavern is chilly but someone has built a fire in an old, battered oil drum. Above, there are comings and going through the network of tunnels but here below, a handful of people are resting, or eating, or conversing quietly. There's a young woman who flickers like a lightning bug--she has antennae and an insect's faceted eyes--speaking with an older man, grizzled, with purple horns that curl back from his forehead and skin like jagged amethyst. Underfoot, a pack of children are chasing each other--one stripy as a cat and two pursuing him, one normal and the other vaguely hound-like. In the corner, an immensely fat woman is cooking rotisserie over another drum fire and it's not a chicken being turned on the spit. "Eternal? Will you live forever? Are there people who live forever?" Victor perks up, when he reaches the entrance to the cavern, stopping for a long moment to just stare around the room with wide eyes. His skin has faded back to green, by now, losing the dirty-concrete shade of the tunnel below. His eyes skip from one person to the next to the next, his smile creeping wider across his face. "Wow," is a quiet undertone. "This is the best place I've seen all year." He glances around, towards the last place the voice came from. "I'd hug you," he says, shyly, "if I could see you." "Who wants to live forever?" That's Nox, singing the Queen lyric softly as she reappears beside him. What? It's rock opera. It's also brighter in here courtesy of a few shadeless lamps, but with a moment of patience, she becomes solid enough to open her arms to the boy--apparently taking him at his word. She gives a little more to touch than a fleshy body would--it's a little like trying to hold onto an armful of slippery velvet--but she'll return whatever hug is offered. Victor grins, bright and broad, as Nox reappears. He is prompt in his huggery, a tight quick squeeze that comes with a blink at the not-as-solid-as-expected form. "/I/ do," he says, when he steps back. "Who wouldn't want to? The world's so full of awesome." "It is." It's impossible to argue with someone grinning like that, so Nox just smile down at him. Her attempt at ruffling his hair fails too, her fingers wisping over spikes, there and gone again with barely a whisper of touch. "Would you like to eat something? Or look for a room? You must be tired. If you want time to settle in first..." Or, she gestures to the room proper, where the others are sitting. The firefly is still chattering to the older man but he's turned his head to direct a grave nod at the boy at her side and the children--when they run a circuit close to the pair--giggle what could be hellos. Victor is smiling, still, bright at the older man, bright at the children. "I haven't, uh. It's been a while since I slept, I tried but people -- are there places I can sleep? Can I find one? Do you sleep?" Here in this room, watching the others, the last vestiges of his nervousness are fading away into a brighter sort of curiosity. "Are there rules? Do I need to -- I don't really have much. Things. Money. Anything." "I sleep if I'm sleepy. I am, sometimes. This way." Nox offers her hand to him--here in the light, she keeps that mostly tangible form--and begins a slow circle around the edges of the chamber, towards a wall honeycombed with tunnel entrances. "Down there are the store rooms. Since you're new, you can take whatever you need. Eventually, you'll be expected to give back what you can. The only other rule is don't explore until you know where you're going. For now though, let's find you a nest. You'll need something dry, and that means up. Do you see that tunnel, Victor?" She's pointing high, to a large hole with no walkway attached. "Can you get there?" "I'm good at finding things. I can find --" Victor shrugs, glancing at the entrances to the store rooms. His hand stays in hers, its shade shifting slightly to match her colouring. His head cranes back when she points high up, and here his grin returns. He tucks his blankets against his chest. "I can get most places. I --" He's already reaching towards the wall, not bothering to search for handholds but just pulling himself up with fingers pressed to it. "Hey, I, um. Thanks. I kinda thought maybe this was made-up, you know? Like someone was just messing with me." "Like fairy tales? Maybe those were true too. Maybe they were us, until normal people stopped believing." Now both the firefly and the mountain troll are watching, both with benign interest. Nox waves to them before she steps close to the wall too. With another flicker of good humor, she murmurs, "You're going to do so well here, Victor. I'll race you." It's a challenge she doesn't intend to win--partly because he begins before she does and partly due to the shadows not falling in an unbroken line up the entire wall. They are here, they are there, and though she slips easily between them, it is not a linear path up to that nook she'd pointed out. The mouth is lined in old, crumbling bricks that might have belonged to a wall. Once inside, it's dark and less cool, but dry, for a cave tunneled into earth. "Oh, god, I hope not. At least not some of them, most fairytales are terrifying. Then again, I guess we're terrifying to normal people." At the word /race/, though, Victor's eyes widen. His grin broadens, and he pulls himself up fast, speeding swift against the wall to yank himself into the mouth of the nook and then look back. "I don't know which fairy tale we'd all be though." Even as he's looking, Nox is flowing over and around him, into the little den. She's all but invisible here, just a glint of eyes occasionally visible and multiple dark hands reaching out to take the blankets from the boy. Many hands make light the work and here she can generate many, many of them to create a nest of wool and knitted acrylic. Several of them hold the topmost up so Victor can fit himself under them. "From here, I feel like the princess in the tower. I can see everyone and now you'll be able to as well." "I'll need to work on growing my hair out." Victor rubs a hand over the hard spiked shell atop his head. For a moment he stands at the brink of the hole, looking out at the room below. Just a moment, and then he turns, dropping his backpack on the far side of the blanket nest and nestling himself down into the blankets. "S'good though. That someone's watching." He says this stifled through a yawn, his clothes and skin shifting already to match themselves to the blankets. It makes it harder to tell when his eyes have closed, but he's relaxing, tucked in small and comfortable. It's an interesting effect, patchwork blankets and patchwork skin. There's another smile in Nox's voice as she reassures, "Someone will always be watching. You're safe here. Sleep, little man." Not-quite-hands brush over his head and tuck the blankets in around him. There's a humming in the background, like a woman's voice several rooms away, singing a wordless lullaby. True to her word, she stays to watch him until relaxation turns until true slumber.