Lock-in Hufflepuff Gryffindor Event Closed

Still interacting with-

Leslez Skoris wrote:Chuu chuu~

"Yep. It's me."

Before she could say anything else to further acknowledge his presence, the voice decided to continue on, and cackled,

"Oh-ho-ho! Another one, smart... SMART! Gotta ask you two crazy kids something. Okay, okay... here it is. When a knight in armour was killed in battle, what sign did they put on his grave?"
Pause
"Rust in peace!"

Okay, so that one wasn't as good as the last joke, but Ami laughed politely, as opposed to Leslez's sigh. Seriously, these were the exact definitions of dad jokes, and Ami just couldn't help but laugh along.

"Ami, any ideas on how to get out of here?"

Ami sighed, mentally scratching her chin and rubbing her nose. "Honestly? Not really, no. We both got here via the silly dancer, I'm guessing, and..." Ami hesitated, unsure of whether she would sound batty or not. "And we copied her words and actions. Now, a disembodied voice is cracking dad jokes. Do you think we have to make a joke, too?"

If that were the case, Ami sincerely hoped that Leslez had some good jokes up his sleeve, because Ami didn't know any. If Sherlock, Benedict Cumberbatch version, were to be believed, all of her memory storage and space was filled with music sheet, music transcriptions, an assortment of constellations, and too much Flavia de Luce trivia. Dad jokes would have no place in her mind palace.

Moving her hand slightly, her fingers brushed over the mysterious item around her neck once more. "I also have a, uh, thing around my neck," she added helpfully, not knowing if it was important or not. "Just thought you should know. I think it's a pendant? But I can't see, we're too tight in this box."

Also, to be fair, if worst came to worst, Ami could always resort to the physical option. She could, of course, attempt to kick the cover of the box away, but she felt that Professor Lear wasn't a physical person, that all of these puzzles would be magical, intellectual.

ACTIONS

Speech: Converse with Leslez
Action: None
Spell: Still praying her lumos doesn't extinguish, or dim
Inventory: Necklace (personal), Mysterious/Unknown Neckles, Wand (lumos), robes, pants, socks, Doc Martens.

Responding to Eris Fawley, Dorian Gray, Rosie Parker

Max hated the professors.

Had he said it before? Had he thought it during his starry-eyed admiration of their authority and spell knowledge? Maybe not, but now it was a fact that any adult who thought it was funny to humiliate children in such a manner was on his rapidly growing list of hated people. When he grew older - when he got enough power to humiliate them back times ten - Why, they'd better just wait for that. He didn't forgive this sort of thing and he sure as hell wouldn't forget; he doubted anyone would let him even if he tried, anyhow.

All sense of foreboding and terror forgotten in his cloud of annoyance, and he crossed his arms over his chest and stared straight ahead in an attempt not to look down. Oh, he knew what he'd find if he glanced down - he already had for a second with a sense of dawning horror to see the ugliest pair of women's shoes in existence. He just wanted to deny it to himself for as long as they continued to exist, unwanted and beyond ridiculous, pinching his feet.

Instead, with his bottom lip sucked in and pinched between his teeth in an expression of flat lack of amusement, he chose to focus on the other damage the professors' jokes had done around him. Rosie was the first person - person? was she truly a person anymore? - that he caught a glimpse of, and his eyes went wide as his own predicament was momentarily forgotten. "What the bloody f- " He was unable to say anymore, his thoughts lost in shock as Rosie started meowing. Almost unconsciously, a loud of snort of laughter fell out of his mouth that he tried to cup and shove back into his throat with one hand.

Eris caught his attention next, calling out for Dorian, and suddenly the laughter burst through his fingers even as his brows furrowed in apparent distress. Why did she have a - a beard - and monocle - and - ? It wasn't something he'd ever pictured and now that he was seeing it he realized it wasn't something he'd ever wanted to picture. Or see. Or think about. Various other kids around the room were also in predicaments... one in manacles, one kid seemed to be hissing at the ceiling like he'd gone bonkers, and Alan was wearing a mask.

And Dorian... He'd just seemed to disappear. One moment there, the next gone so fast that Max was left questioning if the spell that made them all odd had sped up time. He was fairly certain Dorian had gone west, and he let out a loud exhale of frustration as he shot another glance at the heels he was wearing. Eris's question had him glancing back at her, wondering if he should say something or not. Was it polite to tell a girl that they had a beard drawn on their face? It certainly wasn't an etiquette rule he'd ever been taught. He realized he'd been staring too long and quickly looked away, forcing a casual shrug. "I don't know if I'd touch eggs that might belong to a monster or something," he said as calmly as he could, though his voice still shook a little with the effort not to laugh. It was kind of funny. Stupid profs.

As Eris turned her attention to Rosie, Max uncrossed his arms and quickly bent down to start working on the shoes, face paling when he realized they weren't coming off. "Are you bloody kidding," he muttered under his breath when he found them practically glued to his feet. This was the worst situation ever. His previous shoes had been picked for comfort and travelling - these things that he'd only ever seen people like his mother wear were the most uncomfortable deathtraps in the world.

Straightening up with his ears glowing a healthy red, he made the resigned decision that he'd just have to go on wearing them and pray for the best. People were so caught up in their own situations that they'd presumably not be inclined to see his. "I'm going to make sure Dorian's alright," he informed Eris, keeping his stare straight ahead as he started walking.

Click. Click. Click.

With each step, his ears grew redder and his mouth more dry. It was a struggle to stay standing, and a couple of times he had to wheel his arms to remain upright. So much for being unnoticeable. He knew it had been a bad idea to come on this stupid lock-in. Drawing his wand as he moved away from the light of other people's wands, he gave it a small flick and muttered, "Lumos" again, hoping it would work this time. Even though these things were all pranks, he was still a little worried that maybe something had happened to Dorian that wasn't a prank. He needed to find his friend to ensure they were both okay - it wouldn't do to have one of his partner-in-crime's hurt already.

"Dorian?" he called as he approached the west room to check it out, wand held out in front of him as he got further away from the rest of the group. "Are you there? Are you alright?"

ACTIONS:
-Attempt to cast Lumos
-Walk 10 squares left [West]
-Perception Check in west room

John’s voice led the Huffrindors off down the rickety path. He seemed oddly confident and Anatole valued it. There must be some optimism in this dismal stone. Anatole’s ankles were shaking a little as his heels were raised over his toes. It felt weird, certainly. He grew hurried and the soft click of his shoes picked up in tempo. ”Wait up! I’ve got the torch!” As the other two narrowly dashed down, Anatole was having a little bit of a...struggle. He held the torch low as the flicker of the flame illuminated the first step. Cautiously, Anatole scooted toward the edge, looking down as he lifted his right foot. He was like a tightrope walker without a pole, shaky and off balance. Before he knew it, his ankle fell in on him and it hurt as he fell forward. He was plummeting off the stairs with a frail girlish scream, scraping his poor face on the tough gravel beneath him. Thankfully, the towel protected the bulk of the injury where it was possibly needed. The wind was knocked out of him and he swore he felt a bit of blood on his face from where it cut.

Slowly, the torch rolled away. Everything else around him was cloaked in a frightening darkness. He caught his breath as he let out a whisper for his teammates. ”Ama...Amadea? John…?” His voice was weak, yet he attempted to raise it. ”Amadea? John?” The boy called again, tossing his injured right ankle in front of him. He knew that he couldn’t reach for the torch if he didn’t tend to his ankle first. He latched his hand onto the towel which was totally not used for banana hammock enlarging purposes and removed it from his pants, rolling up his right pant leg. Some pressure oughta do it some good.

He heard something. A faint murmur of footsteps in the gravel, some harsher than others. Yet the odd thing is that the light he held illuminated nothing. Anatole’s breath quickened as he froze in the torchlight, his leg on the towel and his heart thumping faster than he fell. It was frightening to say the least. Petrifying.

And suddenly, it got worse. The innocent child’s voice chimed in his ears as Anatole quickly tied the towel onto his leg, as tight as he could. His bare feet were on the spiny gravel as he rolled down his pant leg to his knee and froze once more. Finally, he made out the tune and words of the song. "Silly dancer turn around...silly dancer touch the ground…"

He was confused as he rose to his feet, scrambling to grab what remained of the fragile torchlight. Anatole’s nimble hand snatched it up as he cringed from the pain. He stayed seated on his knees. ”What the...who are you?” He shifted the torch towards where the sound erupted from, but yet he saw something. A flash of green sparks as the joyful tune perspired. "Silly dancer do the kicks, silly dancer do the splits…"

Anatole agreed there was no way he was dancing when he was injured. The boy was terribly vulnerable, and he decided to voice it to...well, the voice. ”H-Hello? I’m...uh...here, and I kind of can’t...dance or whatever. In serious pain?” He muttered something under his breath before wiping a smidgen of blood from his face and snatching his heels in his other hand, the right, where the torch was not. And still, the tune repeated. "Silly dancer lay down, silly dancer get out of town."

The boy attempted to find his way, but all he saw was mist and the darkness around him. He waved it one way, and suddenly, he saw the girl’s peculiar form. Human with a simple red frock and hair as dark as the mist around him. She was dancing. ”Couldn’t you hear me? I can’t dance!” He finally took note of the object in the girl’s palm...a wand. This could work! Yes! Cautiously still, the tan Gryffindor placed down the high heels, took out his wand and, facing the girl, cast a surprisingly loud ”Incendio!”

And despite the fire, he still heard the song in his head. Had he missed? Who was this...girl?

The last part of her tune was thankfully something Anatole could do. Get out of town...get out of town… Quickly, he swapped the wand to his other hand, snatched the heels once more, and tried to propel himself towards the only meager sign of life: a faint light. ”HELP!” The boy cried, only hobbling a few short steps on one leg before falling and resorting to crawl closer toward the light. It was his hope, the small grasp on faith that he would not have to endure too painful of a visit to the wing when he returned. He wanted to sleep tonight, but yet, he found himself lost.

Crumbled and tired, Anatole clutched his torch and placed the wand back where he had kept it. He sat there, alone and just meters away from the light. But yet, he had no more motivation.

The final beacon of hope in the distance faded.

And Anatole was like the light, slowly deteriorating in the darkness.

He agreed with Ami. Probably should try out her idea before brewing up more of them. He was thinking of cutting off the voice with the joke's answer before it does, but that doesn't seem like it would work. Maybe they should just try not to laugh? That's silly- wait a second he wasn't supposed to be brewing ideas. Welp, too late he supposed.

Leslez hummed, thinking about her question. Did he really know any good jokes? He didn't really know what could be considered a good joke, but hey. Worth a try later. First of all, what was this pendant that Ami was talking about? "A pendant? Does it feel magical or the sort?" Maybe it will give them a hint? Leslez doubted it though. But anything mysterious is worth a look at. For now, they would have to put the pendant matter aside. First, they have to get out of this box! Leslez would try to kick his way out, but he didn't want to hit Ami's face. That's just rude and it probably wouldn't work. For all he knows, the box could be enchanted.

Alright, now back to the joke matter. Maybe... He can think of one... Hm... Probably dead-people related since that's probably the theme going around or something. At least, the joke he heard before was death-related. Alright then, "I'll just... try it out, if you don't mind." He told Ami.

"Hey mysterious voice!" He called. Oh boy, here it goes. "What do skeletons hate the most about wind?" He waited for a little while. Should he let the voice answer? Or not? He doesn't know!

_{*answer to joke is below*}

-if the voice doesn't answer or tells him to carry on or something-

"Nothing! Goes right through em." He gave the answer after a little bit of waiting. If this didn't work, well... no harm in trying again.

Actions:
- Respond to Ami.
- Try telling a joke to the voice.

"Silly dancer get out of town."

Howie performed the final move of the dance. He laid on his side, one hand tucked under his head as a mock pillow, the other held his lit wand to his chest. The gravel stuck into his hand and poked through his clothes. It was uncomfortable, but he knew it would only be for a moment, whatever was going to happen would happen now. The image on the young girl vanished. Then Howie blinked. 


The next moment seemed impossible. Howie had been laying on his side, the cold rocky floor pressing against him, a white mist clouding his vision. Now he was flat on his back, arms crossed, a cushioned fabric underneath him. Everything was red. His mind was temporarily stunned. How had this come to be? He hadn’t felt his body move. Surely even if he was teleported somewhere he would have felt something. But no, Howie had blinked and it was as if he had just shifted into a new perception. The effect was dizzying. He clenched his eyes closed and breathed deeply, waiting for it to pass.

After a few moments he opened them, everything was still a sea of red. Velvet it looked like. It was in this moment that Howie realized just how close all the fabric was. He went to move his arms, but his elbows met the sides of whatever he was in. Pushing out with his legs they met a wall of velvet as well, the top of this mysterious container was only a couple feet above him. Howie wanted to lift his head, but something was around his neck. Something heavy, and bulky, it felt cool against his skin. He reached up to touch it, it felt like a lock, held around his neck by a chain. 

Howie’s breathe quickened. This wasn’t fun anymore. He was chained down in some sort of container barely able to move around. The claustrophobia was quickly setting in. He squirmed against this trap, pushing out with all of his strength. Nothing budged. Fear was bubbling up from his belly, clouding his mind. He couldn’t breathe, it felt as if there was no oxygen left in this small prison. His chest felt tight, his mind swimming as the panic attack took hold of him. Howie opened his mouth to yell, but he had no air to make any noise, only a sad whimper escaped his lips. He closed his eyes again, trembling from head to foot, surely this would be how he died. 

Then a memory pierced through the panic that clouded his mind. He had felt this before. His mother was sitting beside him, one hand rubbing his back, the other placed over his chest. Just breathe sweetie. It’s ok, it’ll pass. Try to focus you’re mind on one thing and breathe in deep, now exhale. That’s right, let it all out. Keep going honey...deep breathe in...deep breathe out... Howie held tight to the image of his mother. Her deep blue eyes the same as his. He focused on her voice, following her instructions. Howie slowed his breathing taking big gulps in and exhaling completely. The effect was slow, but after a minute or so, the panic was subsiding, his mind becoming more clear. He still felt shaky but he braved another peak at his surroundings. 

His hands traveled back to his neck, it definitely felt like a lock. How the hell was he supposed to get this thing off? Just then the silence was broken by a voice. 

"Silent as a grave, right?"

The voice sounded as if it was from a woman. She stated it very matter of factly, as if she was bored. A grave? Then it dawned on Howie. That’s where he was. In a coffin, buried in a grave. A new wave of panic threatened to overcome him again, but steadied his nerves and fought it off. He would have to call out, he needed help to get out, for there was no way of doing it on his own. Howie beat against the top of the coffin with his free hand, “HELP! HELP! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME! DIG ME OUT!” He yelled as loud as he could. 

Action:

Spell- Try and maintain Lumos.

Movement- None.

Speech- Screams for help.

Conversing with Leslez Skoris

"A pendant? Does it feel magical or the sort?"

Rubbing her fingers over the object on her neck once more, Ami couldn't really tell if it was magical or not, and said so. "I can't tell, to be honest. I just feel something there, y'know? Like, I can feel it on my skin and stuff." She wanted nothing more than to take it off to examine it, to use her eyes to observe it, but she couldn't, not when she was trapped in this box. And if she tried to take it off while in the box, she didn't think that her arm would reach that far around her neck. Well, maybe it would? It certainly didn't hurt to try, did it?


Then, not long after, Leslez proceeded to attempt a joke about dead people, and Ami couldn't help but cringe from the absolute awkwardness of it. "What do skeletons hate most about the wind?" Ami herself didn't know the answer, but it was already cracking up to be a pretty lame joke. Maybe it was the just-right amount of lame they needed to carry them out of this box, because boy oh boy, it was getting really tight in there.

Shifting against the tight box, Ami waited with bated breath for the voice's response.

ACTIONS

Speech: Converses with Leslez

Action: Attempt to take off Mysterious Necklace

Spell: Still praying her lumos doesn't extinguish or dim

Inventory: Necklace (personal), Mysterious/Unknown Neckles, Wand (lumos), robes, pants, socks, Doc Martens.

“Huffrindors are best…friend…dors?”

As John descended into the darkness of the hall, everything that was once around him had disappeared. The torchlight that Anatole carried had disappeared. The clicking of his odd choice of footwear had softened into nothingness. John never heard the rest of Amadea’s inquiry on what to look for. All there was darkness. Darkness and an interloper on John’s musical adventure.

Over and over again, John was hearing what sounded like a little girl spewing out mad rhymes in some sort of makeshift moonlight. She sang until a cloud of green sparks signaled the end of the song. Then, the song would repeat. To the boy, this must have been one of his fellow campers, someone who heard his song and was trying to outdo him. Or perhaps this was one of the first puzzles in this quest for fortune. He couldn’t tell who it was, even in the dim light. What he did know was that the girl was providing lines and choreography.

This was no trick. It was a contest of rhyme and dance moves. He didn’t need to get out. He needed to get down. Get down with his bad self. After a few repetitions of the girl’s song, he waited for the green spark to signal the beginning of the next repetition. From there, John proceeded to strut his stuff, walking in a cat walk next to where the girl seemed to be, based on her voice.

"Silly dancer turn around,

“Turn around, you tell that frown,” John sung back as he spun around in a pirouette.

silly dancer touch the ground,

“Is this the place where treasure’s found,” said his next line, his hand attempting to grasp at something on the ground. Alas, only the gravel met his fingers. Still, he took a handful of the stuff and made it rain over him as he continued to walk.

silly dancer do the kicks,

“Whatever you say, if that’s your fix.” Upon saying his mad rhymes, John gave a front kick in victory. Still he kept pace with his imaginary dancing rival

silly dancer do the splits,

“I bend my knee, so don’t throw fits,” John sang back at his attempt at splits. He was not gifted with the flexibility of a gymnast: his right leg was bent at the knee, while his left was straight as an arrow.

silly dancer lay down,

“Going down, for your crown,” John fell backwards from his split, lying upon his back. He would win this contest!

silly dancer get out of town.

“And how do I do that lying down?”

“down”

“down”

“down”

John’s voice echoed through the darkness as he waited on the ground for her next move or an epic beat to drop.

Action:
John engages ghost girl in dance combat, waits for verdict.

Frost fell to her knees when she reached the top of the stairs. She rubbed her face with her hands and choked in small gulps of air.

Huffing, she groaned. Climbing stairs that seemed to go on forever, not to mention in the dark, was much easier said than done.

The Ginger’s head snapped up when she heard muffled voices up ahead. She could see some light further up.

Frost sighed.

Reassuring signs that the group she searched for were close.

Still a bit out of breath, the girl got up from her knees and continued sprinting toward the light and soft voices.

As the light got closer and the voices louder, the bigger the grin on Frost’s reddened face.

They could probably guess someone was coming to them. The sound of the girl’s running footsteps were loud in the quiet tunnel.

But she decided to yell just in case.

“Wait!”

The word came out between her heaving breaths.

Frost’s l harbored a stinging burn in her calves. Jeez she should’ve caught her breath completely before continuing her chase.

Three figures stood not too far from her. A small giggle bubbled from her lips.

Frost stopped abruptly so she wouldn’t bump into one of them. Her wavy mess of orangey hair came up and smacked her from the momentum of running.

Removing strands of hair from her face, she checked too see if her wand had fallen out of her leather boot when she was running.

She sighed. Her slender wand lay in her boot, a little loose from the impact of the floor meeting her foot.

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as she looked at the three people in front of her.

Two girls and one boy. Their yellow and black robes served as proof for them being Hufflepuff.

Using the hair tie on her wrist, she tied her finger hair into a ponytail.

She cleared her throat and fiddled with the strap of her leather knapsack.

“Hi. Can... can I join... you guys?”

Her question was broken up as she gulped in small bits of air.

“I’m... im Frost... by the way.”

The short girl beamed at them at hoped they would let her stay. Or she would be angry for running up those stairs for no reason.

Rosie shook her wand with annoyance as her wand lights, but immediately goes out. "Go to Hogwarts," they said. "Learn magic," they said. All she wanted right now was to be far away in the retaliative safety of the muggle world. She would have been happy had she just had a flashlight! Even as she thought it she knew Lear would lose it if he could read her thoughts. No muggle devices. No, there was no going back.

She listened for the voice she had heard just a moment ago. There is was again, she focused on just the voice. She walked forward just a bit and then stopped. She closed her eyes, and calmed herself. The panic from a moment ago seemed to vanish. This is a puzzle. I just need to figure it out. The only problem was, there was a reason she wasn't a Ravenclaw. The rhyme and the voice reminded her of her own sister, three years her junior. Amanda loved rhymes and games. But she had never heard this particular rhyme. She didn't do the dance. That was too easy. It couldn't be the answer.

But than something occurred to her. Could this child, for the voice sounded young, need help? The way the song ended and then continued, though, made her think this wasn't real. Or at least, not here. She began to hum after a few times of listening, eyes still closed. "Are you trying to guide us out?" Maybe if she followed the voice? She continued forward towards where the voice was coming from. As she walked, she decided to give lumos another try. She made the correct gesture. "Lumos!" Regardless of whether or not it worked, she would keep moving.

All of a sudden, Alan could feel his head grow heavy, a weight pressing onto his shoulders. He tried to say something in surprise or just voice out something but found himself unable to part his lips more than a few millimeters. Something could and smooth pressed against his face, throat and shoulder – something that made a shiver run down his spine as he raised his hand towards his face. Panic filled his eyes when he indeed felt something on him, when he felt around his masked face, his fingers brushed against a lock that was placed on the mask, keeping it bound to his head.
It was not only this, but he could feel a fog settling in his mind, slowly but surely. Only after a second he remembered the Locksmith’s knife in his pocket that he quickly pulled out and pushed it inside the lock – he had done this many times in the past as he often forgot his keys; since he got this knife it was nearly impossible to fail opening a lock, as it was supposed to open any lock. He finally heard a soft noise, and tried if he would be able to take of the mask now – if he successfully opened the lock to a mask that hid his beautiful mask; surely he wouldn’t want to look at Alan as long as he was wearing this ugly mask. It needed to be gone.

His mind started to get occupied as he began to think of someone. Thoughts about that someone invaded his mind, fogging whatever rational thought he had been thinking as he pocketed his knife, feeling it safely in the pocket of his pants. Soft clicking sound reached his ears, the sound of him walking… Who was him? Was that even important? Alan couldn’t risk being separated by him and his feet began moving on his own, apparently he was walking left. Did he notice? Well a little bit, but he wasn’t actually thinking about it. He was occupied thinking about him.

Action
Trying to unlock/taking of the mask with the help of his Locksmith’s Knife.
Slowly losing his rationality, if he ever had it.
Following Max Avery 10 squares left [West]