theresnodoor | OOM - The Labyrinth Part I

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OOM - The Labyrinth Part I

There is boredom. There is restlessness. There is anxiety. And there is recklessness. Stages of reactions following the common phrase of There's nothing to do. If left alone for too long, this condition can result in conversation, conflict, experimentation, explosions, discovery, and death.

Among others.

But sometimes, Fate steps in. Someone looks down and notices the ever-increasing stages and says, Hey. That looks kind of dull. Let me help you out there.

The common reaction to such politeness is gratitude.

Well into the stages of boredom, Rachel opens her eyes and finds herself not in her bedroom, her apartment, or even the Bar's couch. Instead of soft fabric, there are hard, rough stones beneath her back. Instead of open space, the walls are close and dingy and the ceiling is low. And when she sits up, sharp and sudden, she is staring out of an archway that leads into the darkest of dark hallways, despite the flickering torch on the wall.

Blue eyes dart in every direction and not a single one of them makes sense - including the other person, crumpled on the stones nearby.

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It's starts with swallowing. Wanting water.
Then the sound of shifting. The crackle of fire.
Neither of which should have been in her room here.

Both send Jo Harvelle up suddenly. Hands going for the knife she keeps under her pillow even in Milliways. Fingers tips grinding against hard stones instead of stiff sheets. Stones. Bricks. Torches.

"What the fucking hell?"

Edited 2011-04-09 22:08 (UTC)

Rachel jumps when the woman moves, up on her feet and moving until her back is up against the wall. Because she'd noticed the other person there but hadn't been expecting such a sharp movement from someone who was unconscious a moment ago.

And she still doesn't know where she is or why or how anyone could have gotten her here without her knowing about it.

So it takes a few moments. A few moments of glaring at the woman with fingers twitching near the hem of her t-shirt, though if necessary, she'll simply morph through it.

Then, "You?"

It's a good a thing she doesn't have that knife.
(It's an even better one that somehow she has pants.)

Her hands had started to ball. But her eyebrows furrowed.

"Rachel?" The dead kid, with the issues, from the bar?

Rachel's hands don't relax and she hasn't stopped glaring. It takes a moment to remember the name, which is a point all its own - she doesn't know this person.

"Jo."

And they're magically stuck together in a room out of King's Quest.

She's not off scott free. But Jo has bigger problems.
With the crazy surroundings. That aren't her bed.
The one she knows she went to sleep in.

"What the hell is this? Where are we?"

The walls and only one opening.

"It's a small dark room," Rachel snaps back, eyes narrowing, "which, conveniently, also explains where we are."

If her words and tone didn't do it justice, Rachel's expression is also screaming DUH for Jo's benefit.

"I woke up where you did just a minute ago."

God. Is she really stuck here with her?

Jo went to take a step. Tripping and almost falling.
On a rifle. She's sure wasn't there a minute ago.

"I'm really not going to like this."

Rachel is sure that rifle wasn't there a minute ago. She tenses ago, shifting her stance just slightly wider, glancing up at the ceiling. She can hunch over if necessary but it would be nice to know straight-off if the room is tall enough for her grizzly to stand tall.

...if necessary.

"I'm already hating it," Rachel points out helpfully.

Jo doesn't like bait. Especially obvious bait.
Glaring at the gun. She nudged it her her shoe.

"No other doors." And a bystander.

Blue eyes narrow and fix - but Jo doesn't pick up the gun. Rachel doesn't relax exactly, but she's not as tense as she would be if the woman was holding a rifle.

She shakes her head slowly. "Just the arch and the dark creepy hallway."

She lifts her gaze just slightly to see if the torch is removable from the wall. One small blessing, at least.

She hasn't moved away. There are a lot of worse things.
But the idea of going into it weaponless. Still bad.

"And the invitation so kindly extended to us."

Rachel frowns at that. It takes a moment before she understands - waking up in a small room with only one exit, making leaving the room an active choice. Which isn't much of a choice, the only alternative being to sit in the room and starve. Or go mad with boredom and restlessness and anxiety until the recklessness kicks in.

Or she could skip the first three entirely.

"Is this a Milliways thing?" Rachel asks after a moment, looking away from Jo for just a moment, trying to peer into the hallway.

"If that's your subtle way of asking if I've woken up in the set of Dungeons & Dragons before--"

Jo turned shifted her foot. Rolling the gun half an inch.
She hated the answer and the necessity. She rolled it.

Snagged her toe under it and kicked up.
Grabbing it in midair with a frown.

"That's a no."

"Put it down."

Whatever mild friendliness had been in Rachel's tone before is gone now. Her eyes are sharp and she's abandoned any thought of getting out of her outer clothing first. Going through is so much faster.

And she's not walking around a dark freaky hallway with someone she doesn't know who's armed.

"Not on your life."

Brown eyes shifted to the girl.
As she raised it higher, focusing.

(Okay. Maybe on her life.)

(The monetary value of it is considerably low at the moment, its true.)

"Like I'm going to let some random person wander around with a loaded gun?" Rachel hisses. Tense, but not yet moving. Not morphing.

Admittedly, the chances that Jo trapped them in here just to screw around and is planning on shooting her makes... little to no sense. But maybe it isn't Jo. Or maybe Jo is just a little off. The possibilities are endless, really.

Jo rolled her eyes. "I'm hardly random."

"And there's no way I'm going wherever that leads," She pointed with the gun. On purpose. "With just your baby blue eyes to protect me."

"If that's all I had to work with, I would have grabbed the gun first."

Though she's certain it hadn't been there when she woke up. Her point stands.

...as does Jo's. She's not random. Not entirely.

Probably.

Jo doesn't look that impressed or intrigued.
In fact, she's sporting a Grade A Ellen Harvelle look.

"Yes. Well. Someone us in the room would like to still be alive at the end of today, too."

Rachel puts on her very own Intimidating Mother look, made all the more intimidating by how much more frequently Rachel has had to use it than even Naomi has.

"Fine," she says quietly - for lack of anything better to say and a desperate desire to get out of the dim, close-walled room. "Keep the gun. Just watch where you're pointing it."

"Don't turn out to be an evil copy of a patron, and I'll leave your head right where it is," Jo shot back.

Finally advancing on the door and dark hallway.

Rachel frowns and leans a little away from the wall to follow. That is, before some crucial information occurs to her.

"...in that case, I have a newsflash."

Jo turned with the gun pointed.

Her face uncertainly wary.

Rachel makes the same mother-face, distinctly unimpressed. But at least the gun isn't pointed at her, so much as in her direction.

Which is a relatively new experience, actually.

"I'm not an evil copy," she snaps irritably. "I'm trying to tell you why I didn't want the gun so you don't shoot me like an idiot if something attacks."

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