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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 2, 2009 19:58:27 GMT -5
Note: This is a closed RP between myself and Fable. Anyone who wants to join is welcome... there are four cells and only two are filled right now. Just let me know first. I'll be playing Fowler, Dylan, and possibly Wendy through Jonathan, Ian, and Natalie's accounts, respectively. Fable will be playing Fable's son.
Mental institutions were supposed to be dark. At least, to the outside world, they were. What normal people didn't understand was that they were often the exact opposite - the walls and doors were a brilliant white. The rooms were actually quite comfortable, and the patients were treated well. It was not a scary place at all, unless the individual saw it as such.
Greenhaven Mental Institution was no different than any other institution. It was clean, well kept, and actually quite eye-pleasing. At least, the main part of the building was. There was one wing, a small wing, containing only four cells and what could be described as an interview room, a small room with a table and four chairs, two with restraints and two without. This was the secure wing of Greenhaven Mental Institution, and very few people were allowed down to this wing. In this wing were kept patients that were, as the warden put it, not dangerous, but beyond recovery by normal means. Very few people on planet earth had access to the secure wing.
Doctor Ben Fowler was one of those people. The nurse who led him down to the secure wing didn't have clearance to go beyond the door, so she showed him down and left him. He walked down the hallway, a bit unnerved - compared to the rest of the institution, the secure wing was almost silent. The warden greeted him at the end of the hall, shaking his hand intently.
"Thank you for coming, Dr. Fowler." He said quickly. "I know you worked on the Caldwell boy before. We thought it was best for you to help with both our... patients."
Doctor Fowler nodded. "Of course. I'm familiar with both cases. What I don't understand is why you need me for this."
"Because of your connection to..." The warden looked around and dropped his voice. "...places beyond our understanding. Places I don't even know about."
"Right." Doctor Fowler stepped past the warden. "Are they both in there?"
The warden shook his head. "One is. The other we'll be bringing in in a moment. His mother will be coming to see him shortly. I'd advise you be... gone... before she arrives."
"Show me in, then." Doctor Fowler said simply. His hand clutched the files in his hand tightly, and once again, he cursed his connections to the world of the supernatural. Taking a deep breath, he indicated that the warden open the door to the interview room.
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 2, 2009 20:26:32 GMT -5
Caleb rocked back and forth in his chair, a slow, soft movement that made the restraints on his arms creak rhythmically. He chewed on his lower lip, watching the reflections the rest of the room cast about onto the well-polished table. There was a face there, one not his own, not the warden's, not the boy's, not god's. He felt a sharp tingle crawl up the back of his skull, behind one ear, and jerked his head violently to the side a few times to try to buck off the itch.
"Damn buggies," he muttered, puffing out his cheeks before his lips gave out and the air escaped in with a soft popping noise. He knew the little creatures liked to frolic in his hair-- the salt-and-pepper fuzz that covered his scalp was their playground, like an open field of silver. Of course, Caleb's "buggies" weren't bugs-- not even the hallucination of bugs. They were tiny specs of light, all in white and pink and aquamarine, that danced around his head and kept him awake at night. They told him stories, and played games with him, and made him the most delicious food- banquets, tables piled high with pork and potatoes and cake and the hands of human infants and lion hearts and minotaur snouts. They sang songs and made magic happen.
"Who?" he asked the buggies of the face on the table. "Who? Father?" No, father was made of stone. Father was overgrown with moss and vines and brick and crystals. Father put the monster in the closet to shame. "No. Me? Not me. Not Caleb." The itch came again. Caleb flung his head from side to side and pouted out his lower lip from where it sunk in a little, filling the space left behind by missing teeth on his lower jaw. "Not the woman. No, no woman. Hello, face. Who? Who is the face? Hello, face."
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 2, 2009 20:38:10 GMT -5
Dr. Fowler stepped through the door and sat in a chair across from the restrained man. He set his files down on the table and opened one of them up. The name "JONES, CALEB" glared at him from off the top page. There was a lot in the file. Caleb Jones had been a resident of Greenhaven since it was first established.
"Good evening, Caleb." Fowler said politely. "My name is Doctor Fowler. I'm from Andrews Memorial Hospital in California. I wanted to ask you a few questions. The warden is concerned about events in the outside world affecting you. Do you mind speaking to me?"
He did not really like this job sometimes, Dr. Fowler decided. Especially when magical things or people came into play. But it was his choice to become involved in these sorts of things, and he stuck by it, even down in the secure wing of Greenhaven Mental Institution.
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 2, 2009 20:53:38 GMT -5
Caleb sat stock-still to watch the face in the table speak. The table hadn't spoken before... But it was such a polite face.
He felt a whispering in his ear canals, little beads of comprehension tainted by the skewed filters in his consciousness. It was his buggies speaking, asking if he wanted to speak with the face.
"Out... side...?" Caleb let his head drift slowly down until his chin rested on his once-broad, now sallow chest. He looked up suddenly, dark green eyes watching the Doctor with a disturbing blip of clearness. "Oh, that little tv in my room with the bars on it. Never commercials. Shame. Commercials are my favorite. The buggies like them. They like the man with the beard. He and his magic--" Caleb froze, took a slow breath, then nodded. "Hush buggies. Caleb is talking."
The itch came again. Caleb frowned and twisted his neck, managing to massage it away with his shoulder. "Yes, questions." He returned his focus to Doctor Fowler's reflection on the table. "Yes, yes. Doctor Face wants to ask. He may a-- Buggies, Caleb is talking!-- ask. I will answer. Provided the face says please."
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 2, 2009 21:03:14 GMT -5
Doctor Fowler nodded. "Please, then." He said, and moved on. "The warden is bringing another patient in... a Dylan Caldwell." Fowler didn't need to check his files. He had been working the late shift when Dylan had been brought into Andrews. He knew what had happened to him. "Do you know who this person is, Caleb? And do you mind if I call you Caleb?"
He wanted to make sure Caleb was okay with Dylan being in the room... these kinds of people could clash if forced together. And there was no security down in the secure wing... it was all electronic. No one could help him if Caleb or Dylan broke from their restraints. The warden would have retreated to the safety of the institution proper. Doctor Fowler was all alone.
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 2, 2009 21:21:10 GMT -5
Caleb opened his mouth and leaned his head back slightly in an Ah. "Daboi! Yes, yes, Daboi is nice. Buggies enjoy him. We like Daboi." Daboi was obviously "the boy," but Caleb treated it like a name. "Doctor Face knows my name. You know it, sir. You may u-- Buggies, I am warning you!-- use it. Oh, and Daboi's too. Daboi's is a--" he froze again, staring at the table, mouth still open in the formation of a word. He performed a perfect rewind of his last few actions, then proceeded again. "--use it. Oh, and Daboi's too. Daboi's is a good name. Good for humans. Buggies don't have names. They have toes. Toes and no feet. And they don't trim their toenails. Do you?" he asked the empty space by his ear accusingly. Of course they didn't. Always scratching at poor Caleb's head, using his short hairs for their little mandolin strings and shoelaces. Which was ridiculous, really, seeing as a shoe would never fit on just toes.
Silly Buggies.
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 2, 2009 21:32:06 GMT -5
"I see." Doctor Fowler sat back in his chair. "Before I bring Dylan in, I would like to ask you a question about your father. A Mr..." He checked the file. "Barthoulemus Jones. Also known as 'Fable'. I need to know if you have had any contact with him since your admittance to Greenhaven. You or the..." he mentally slapped himself for taking this job. "...'buggies'."
As he spoke, he tapped a few keys on a remote next to him. There was no cell phone signal down in the secure wing, and no walkie talkies, so Doctor Fowler had to press a button on the remote when he needed something. The button he had pressed activated a yellow light outside - it meant that the warden was to bring Dylan Caldwell into the room.
Doctor Fowler wondered to himself if Dylan had changed in his time in Greenhaven. If he had improved. But he doubted it. What had happened to the boy was, to Doctor Fowler's knowledge, irreversible...
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 2, 2009 22:00:27 GMT -5
Caleb tipped his head to one side, as if listening. "Nooooo," he said slowly. "Father is dead. He's a statue. Put in a castle and crumbling away with the ghost." He smiled. "The buggies say that. I haven't seen him. I haven't seen the statue, and I haven't seen him. Or the ghost. The ghost gets to see him, but Caleb doesn't. Caleb hasn't seen father since he was little-- Caleb, not his father. The buggies have seen him, though. He's a statue. Put in a castle and crumbling away with the ghost. He's a very nice ghost. Always telling stories to keep the statue company-- the one in the castle. But that's just what the Buggies say."
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 2, 2009 22:51:29 GMT -5
That was interesting. Doctor Fowler furrowed his eyebrows together. "So the Buggies tell you things from outside?" He leaned forward. "They tell you about your father's castle?" This little trip could prove more interesting and insightful than Doctor Fowler had first thought.
The conversation was interrupted by the door opening. The warden entered again, this time with a red-haired young man. Doctor Fowler didn't even need to look up to know who the boy was.
"Hello, Dylan. How are you?"
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Post by ianharris on Oct 2, 2009 23:17:07 GMT -5
Snakes.
They were everywhere. They were on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. They were crawling onto his shirt, slithering into his mouth, worming their way under his skin. He was drowning, drowning in serpents and vipers. He could not scream. They were in his throat. He was choking, gagging. The snakes were inside his brain. They were showing him his future. A door opened before him, and a hand seized him. It lifted him from the snakes and they fell from him like dead skin, curling up on the floor, their forked tongues silenced. The hand floated along, guiding him down the hall.
Hands reached from the wall to grab him, but a bright light shone from below, and the hands did not dare approach, but he could see them, waiting for him to step outside the light. He tried to move, tried to struggle, tried to go back. Snakes were better than hands. Or spiders. And now he saw spiders, great recluses and tarantulas, inching towards him on two legs... or four legs... or was it ten? He could not tell - he could not focus.
Before him he saw a mirror, showing him his face. Who was he? What was his name? He could no longer remember. He had been in shadow so long he had forgotten the taste of light. What was his name? The hand led him through a window, and he was inside a room. A dark room with no lights, but yet he could see. Bound to a chair before him was a man - he knew the man. The man was a friend. What was a friend? A friend was this man. Who was this man? He no longer knew.
Another man sat there... a new man, a strange man. A man with the moon for hair. Why did the man have the moon for hair? The moon should be in the sky. It did not belong on the man's head. And then the man spoke, and Dylan - for that was to be his name, he decided, opened his mouth to force out the words in his liver.
"I don't know you." he spilled a little water on himself. His mouth was leaking. He didn't know why. "Why is the moon on your head?" He turned back to the friend. "Why is the moon on his head? There are rats on the moon. They'll eat his head."
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 3, 2009 11:46:34 GMT -5
Caleb nodded. "The moon is only there--" he indicated Doctor Fowler with his head-- "but Doctor Face has a cloud. Clouds are softer, right Daboi? Clouds are softer and they have no rats. Only faces and little stars. There's a face here. Doctor Face. Doctor Face knows names and questions and has a cloud on his head. Clouds are softer, right? Right? Even the buggies say so. They--" he stopped again, froze as before, but did not rewind his actions. Instead, his head sank to one side a little, and he remained stationary for almost a full minute before he blinked and sat upright as if nothing had happened.
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 3, 2009 12:12:36 GMT -5
The warden fled the room as soon as he had restrained Dylan to the chair next to Caleb. Something truly terrifying must be about to happen that the warden didn't want to be any part of. Doctor Fowler wasn't entirely sure he should be in this room anymore. But he had a job, and the job must be done. No one else was going to do it.
"I assure you, I have neither a cloud nor the moon on my head." He said. Then he opened the files and pulled out a few pictures. They had been sent to him a few hours previously, with no return address and only a short note to explain them, but Doctor Fowler knew where they had come from. He slid them across the table so Caleb and Dylan could both see them.
The pictures showed various rooms and doors in a building. Each was vandalized in some way, and strange symbols were painted on many of the surfaces in the pictures. Doctor Fowler pointed to the pictures. "My first question is if either of you recognize the symbols in these pictures."
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Oct 3, 2009 12:40:29 GMT -5
Caleb furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, listening for the buggies' opinions. None came. The silence was disturbing to him-- he had not experienced silence since...
He tried to push away from the table with his feet. No go. The chair legs were bolted to the floor.
"Buggies don't know," he asserted. "Buggies don't know and they didn't do it my buggies don't know if they did it they don't know--" again came that violent sideways jerk of his head. The spasm passed after a moment or two. "Caleb doesn't know. He sees them and he knows, but he doesn't know. They show up. Caleb knows. But he doesn't know."
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Post by ianharris on Oct 3, 2009 12:49:16 GMT -5
The pictures were flat. They had to be flat. They must be flat. But they rose from the table. They grew tentacles. The tentacles wrapped around Dylan, not squeezing, but enveloping him in a sea of red and paint and blood. He squirmed in his chair. The paint was growing eyes. The paint could see him. The red had hands. The blood would eat his soul!
"NO!" He howled. "It's my soul! You can't have it! You can't have it, it's mine! Red blood can't have my soul!" He stopped squirming and twisted his head as far to the left as it would go. "I know nothing of those shapes. Shapes and lines and twisted people. Twisted minds are all we have. We all have twisted minds." Dylan smiled broadly. "Open the door to see the reaper," He said in a sing-song voice. "grinning a grin from ear to ear, and know your soul has found it's keeper, and know your death is finally near..."
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Post by jonathanharris on Oct 3, 2009 12:53:11 GMT -5
Doctor Fowler moved the pictures away from the two. It was clear neither of them knew anything about the mysterious symbols. That was expected. Doctor Fowler hadn't expected to get a straight answer from them about that. He placed the pictures back into the folder. Now for the good parts.
"My second question for you." He said calmly. "Is if either of you know of a vampire named Conall, and if you know anything about either his life before coming to Dunehelden Academy or while at the castle."
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Post by Barthoulemus “Fable” Jones on Nov 1, 2009 9:29:01 GMT -5
Caleb sucked his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it with his remaining teeth. His head sank to one side as it had done before, and once again his eyes took on that rather upsetting look of clarity.
"The buggies know, but they don't know," he said, as if this were a simple fact of which the doctor should surely be aware. "They tell Caleb stories. Stories about what they don't know. They don't know about bagpipes or poison or mint. They like mint. It smells nice. But my buggies don't know that."
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