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[just_cant_lose]

 
Well, this is new. And that's OK! New is good. Unexpected is not, particularly, and that's why this particular young man's surprise at finding himself wandering strange corridors has quickly melted to suspicion, and then anger. 

He schools himself out of it by the time he finds the stairs. He waits at the bottom of them, perfectly still apart from large, dark eyes that flit over the whole place, taking it all in with no expression on his face. Only the Window gets a second look, and when he's finished his surveillance he walks over to it and stands there, staring in mute wonder, one hand pressed to the glass. 

He can investigate the room later. This is more interesting for now.


[OOC: Open all weekend! <3]

Comments

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin keeps smoothing his hair down, he hates how fluffy it is and comes over to the Window, its beautiful and strange.

When he sees the other boy, he asks, "Do you know where that is?"

[just_cant_lose]

James contemplates this question in silence, without looking at the person who asked it.

How hard is it to say I don't know? Very hard, even at age ten. He glances to the boy then, takes him in, and decides friendly is the way to go.

'I think everything's blowing up.'

He's dressed in neat stonewashed jeans, worn black Adidas trainers with normal laces - none of that weird fluorescent yellow and orange trend so prevalent in the 80s - and a red Liverpool T-shirt that he chose this morning because he wanted into his brother's good books. His accent is Irish, but refined. Not rough, not thick, almost English in some lights.

'Have you not been here before?'

[heatherandsteel]

He's dressed in vaguely medieval clothing; a nice linen shirt, loose hose and leather boots. At his answer, Quentin comes closer, its never good when anything blows up, that worries his parents a lot no matter where it is, but he can't see anyone out there.

Also no one's looked at him as if they want something from him, his accent is Canadian with a slight French lilt, "No, I know where all the doors go."

[just_cant_lose]

'The ones upstairs?'

There were a lot of doors upstairs. He'd be impressed if they all went to different places, and even more if another boy his age knew about it. He looks him over again with a little more interest.

[heatherandsteel]

"No, I don't know these doors, but I will. I know how to find the secret passages,"

Its best if people don't pay too much attention to him, that's safer and so he's really good at hiding and investigating. He might not know this knowe but he'll figure it out.

[just_cant_lose]

And now a little more interest.

'What secret passages?'

James likes secrets. Other people's especially. They're so useful when you want extra pocket money, or to get a lift somewhere, or all the chores done at home.

[heatherandsteel]

"There are always secret passages," Quentin looks up the stairs and into the kitchen. "I bet we can find them."

[tu_vas_triompher]

That window is fascinating, isn't it? Not long after James gets there, another boy joins him, also staring.

[just_cant_lose]

He doesn't look at him, not for a long time. When he does, he leaves his hand on the glass.

'Hello,' he says, because that's the sort of thing you have to say.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Hello," he answers readily enough. And now that they're acknowledging each other's presence, he's going to indulge in staring a bit, because what is that boy wearing?

(A pang of self-consciousness, of course: his own clothes are ragged, his feet bare, and everything is more or less splashed with paint. But there's nothing he can do about it, so.)

"Do you live here?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Yeah.'

Of course he does! Because...why not!

He's wearing stonewashed jeans straight out of the 80s, worn black Adidas trainers and a red Liverpool T-shirt, chosen to curry favour with his brother for the day. Perfectly normal, thank you. This kid, on the other hand, looks like he crawled out of a Dickens novel.

'Who're you? What're you doing here?'

His accent is Irish, but refined. Not rough, almost English on certain words.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"I'm called Jeannot," he says, after a cautious pause. "And I'm looking at this, same as you." A light tap on the glass. "But I don't--I haven't been here before. Are there many inns like this in Lyon?"

[just_cant_lose]

'This isn't Lyon.'

Where could it be? He's pretty damn sure it isn't Dublin either, and it's definitely not London, which is where he lives at the moment. But James learned to lie convincingly a looooong time ago, so it's really just a matter of picking a place.

'It's not a proper pub either. Have you got permission to come in?'

[have_no_mercy]

A tall girl, probably a bit younger than him, finds the Window, too, and she stands fascinated by it.

"Do you know what it is?" She whispers, Louisiana accent on full showcase.

[just_cant_lose]

'No.'

He doesn't look at her. Why would he want to look at anything but this?.

She's taller than him. He's small, skinny, pale, and his brown eyes are almost too big for his face. His accent is Irish. Refined, not rough. Almost English on some words, because the Dublin lilt can be funny like that.

'Not what it's called. But everything's ending.'

[have_no_mercy]

Skinny and pale they have in common. If he does look at her, he'll notice her clothes are too small and she's got a dirty face from being outside at home.

She has no idea what kind of accent he has, but it sounds nice.

"We're not," she points out softly.

[just_cant_lose]

'We will though.'

He sounds confident about it.

'Everyone dies.'

He does look at her then, a glance to check her reaction.

[have_no_mercy]

She shrugs, nodding a little.

"Mama died." Not that she could actually prove that if she had to. It's more that Mama just went away and no one talks about it. "And gators kill all sorts." She loses many a fox kit that way.

[just_cant_lose]

'You live in a swamp.'

Near a swamp. One or the other. He knows that accent, or something like it. He's seen Live and Let Die.

'Have you seen an alligator kill anyone?'

[margolotta]

"Pretty colours, isn't it?"

This from a very pale little girl with long black braids who silently turns up beside him.

[just_cant_lose]

'Yes.'

This from a very pale young boy, with eyes too big for his face.

'But the colours don't matter.'

[margolotta]

"The pattern and the movement does," she nods. "And the way things explode. Are they stars?"

[just_cant_lose]

The destruction is what matters to him. The satisfaction of finality. Closure is something he instinctively relates to.

'Some of them. But there are planets as well, and asteroids. And everything else.'

The end of everything, he's sure of it. And it's a heck of a show.

[margolotta]

"Have you seen any star-turtles?" she asks.

Because that is what her world rides on.

[just_cant_lose]

'Of course not. There's no such thing.'

His does not, so of course there isn't.