House Log 001: Find me way out there; there's no road that will lead us back

[payingfordeliverance]

Who: The Pandoras + various assorted acquaintances, perhaps
What: Catchall log for the PH cast, for our various non-event needs!
When: October + November
Where: Pandora House, which needs a cooler name, and perhaps elsewhere

Content Warnings: No specifics as of yet but there will probably be ghosts, PTSD, depression and grief, and also literally everyone in this cast is dead oops.

Comments

we're doing great

[payingfordeliverance]

Break jumps so hard he bonks his omen's head on the underside of the table when his knee jerks; Baltus gives a little honk of protest. Feeling his irritation, Break doesn't seem to know where to turn to first.

"I -- Elliot? What are you -- ah, Baltus, I'm so sorry, come here --"

He seems haggard enough that it seems weird that the drink he was clutching was a teacup rather than a whiskey glass, and when he draws his grumbling omen in for an apology cuddle, it looks to be as much for Break's benefit as it is for Baltus's. He's forgotten to add any polite modifier's to Elliot's name, too -- and he's certainly unaware of Sheryl Rainsworth, who sits unmoving through the whole exchange.

[greatestfall]

Elliot practically bristles like a cat at the reaction. What did he expect to happen? Clearly not that. The tension in the air is like that of electricity, between the two of them and their panic and alarm.

Elliot takes the confusion as a chance to catch his breath. His eyes stay trained on the apparition at the table while he finds his voice again.

"You don't- Of course not, bloody hell."

Sometimes even he forgets that Xerxes Break is literally fucking blind. Anyway, it is far too late for whatever seems to be going on and Elliot's voice is probably shakier than he meant it to be. He moves to the counter while not breaking eye contact with Sheryl before he paws around for the tea kettle.

[payingfordeliverance]

Now that Break is giving him attention, Baltus takes the opportunity to deposit his entire noodley self in Break's lap, climbing on up whether he likes it or not and draping his neck over Break's shoulder so that he is extra huggable. His long tail still drags on the floor, and one back leg sticks out haphazardly. He is entirely too big to be a lap dog but is as stubborn as Break is, so he's not going to make himself smaller and Break will just have to deal with it.

Make use of your emotional support omen, moron. B(

-- but the omen's tangible, solid presence does help, and if it's under the guise of making it up to him for offending Baltus with the head bonk, Break can perhaps indulge in the comfort of affectionate contact without looking quite as pathetic as he's feeling. He's too far into his nerves for this to pull him out entirely, but Baltus has a weight to him that's deliberate, a choice he makes when he could be smoke instead. He has soft, curly fur. He's muttering to himself doggishly behind Break's head, the sound pleasantly cranky.

"...what are you doing up?" Break asks after a few long moments, while Elliot is messing around at the stove.

[greatestfall]

The clattering at the counter stops for a very potent moment while Elliot tries to sort out the answer to that question. Tries to decide how much he wants to say.

"Trouble sleeping. The house is playing its tricks."

And then, as he returns his gaze to Sheryl, regarding the apparition with more suspicion now than apprehension:

"You?"

[payingfordeliverance]

"Something like that."

It's not anything the house is doing that's troubling him now. This isn't the first time he's had a night like this, where he can't slow his thoughts down or breathe properly or relax his shoulders, and it certainly won't be the last. And, just now, it's too early in the month for him to realize that the influence of Trench itself is making it worse for him when he otherwise might have sorted himself out tonight. After all, these worries have been on his mind a few weeks now, and with the stress of realizing how badly this place may treat them all, of course it would all come together in an explosion like so.

Sheryl sits serene and dead, her placid smile frozen on her face.

"One of those tins is chamomile," he offers, correctly interpreting the noises Elliot is making. "Second from the left."