untamedantinous | open: don't let the wine go to your brains

It shouldn’t be this hard to prepare for a meeting. He’s done it countless times before. However, this time, it somehow is difficult. He’s never really had to set things up at times like this; and he knows as well as anyone else that he is not the best at social niceties. Granted, this meeting is in a much more well-appointed cafe than any he had ever been accustomed to holding space in in Paris. At least they have the benefit of a larger space. Consequently, Enjolras has spent much of the day of the eighth of Menestheus preparing, a little uncertain of how to plan a social gathering that is not immediately centered around planning a revolution. He is trying his best, at least.

Most of the tables and chairs have been pushed a bit more to the center of the room; the couch is arranged off to the opposite side. There are even various pillows scattered about, should anyone choose to sit on the floor. Arranged on a few of the larger tables and the counter there is a modest spread of food: of course, some of Laertes and Galahad’s pastries; but Enjolras has also procured what amounts to a few charcuterie platters: sliced sausages and meats, a selection of (mostly French) cheese, and various sliced loaves of bread and crackers are laid out for perusal, and spreads to go along with them. In an effort to provide multiple options of entertainment, Grantaire has set up a table somewhat near the food, with an assortment of wines and liqueurs. Off to one side, there are a few pots of brewed coffee, cream, sugar, and whatever else anyone might like to add to their beverage of choice. If anyone is drawn to the liquor cabinet, they will find three cups filled with various pieces of paper sitting atop it.

Enjolras himself is lingering on the couch with a glass of wine and some bread. He’s not sure how many people were even informed about this gathering, though he had done his best to advertise. If no one arrives then perhaps he will try again another time; but at least a few in attendance other than himself and Grantaire would certainly be welcome.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

forgethertoo

"If we're speaking hypothetically, that would be the most hypothetical situation," Aornis replies, tone quite dry. "Unless there's someone else you'd like to depose?"

From:

wickedwit

“No, no, I’m liking this turn. Your first move was to assess your opponent’s abilities, correct? We know the mansion’s abilities rather well. It can endlessly generate objects — whether that’s ex nihilo or out of other worlds is unclear. Sometimes, in a mischievous mood, it leaves out items with enchantments on them: books that foretell possible futures, precious trinkets from childhood that transform you to a child once more. Or the house itself bears the enchantment, as it did the day when passing through any given doorway could compel you to tell the truth. It can conjure beings from fictional worlds, of course, either one by one or en masse, like that horde of movie monsters. More mysteriously, it can recreate fictional situations. The body swapping from the film Freaky Friday, for example. At the same time, it makes fictional characters forget that we’re fictional, gives us memories outside of our canon that feel entirely real. It tries to hide that from us by keeping out the books we came from.” Smiling and spreading a hand, he says, “When it’s all laid out, it’s the ideal challenge for you, don’t you think? How would you take it on?”

From:

forgethertoo

Aornis looks at Claudius for a long moment, then pauses for another moment to consider his words carefully. "I suppose this does fall under my jurisdiction," she finally says dryly, making a small joke out of her job title¹. "Considering this place provides us with food, shelter, and entertainment, I'd first make sure we were well-stocked on all of the above before taking on anything. If we were to approach this from a Jurisdiction perspective, it would take months. Perhaps years. Legislation and regulations move slowly. If we were to go under the table and approach it from a more basic literary route, though, more options are open to us. Since this is hypothetical, I'll assume we can import items from my world, in which case we could destroy this place from the foundation with Grammasites or a Mispeling Vyrus -- but that would destabilize the living situation here as well. We could also make it unreadable and uninteresting; too many of one type of character, boring scenarios and interactions, or taking away all potential plot routes. If we're assuming that we've all been pulled here because we're interesting literary characters, then we take away the interest. After all of this is completed, we'd of course have to have some sort of protection against retribution or backlash. Maybe even ensure there's a backdoor or a way out."

She pauses, thoughtful. "When we say depose, are we talking about abandonment by the forces that govern this place or destruction of them?"

¹Citation needed.

From:

wickedwit

"Oh, you know my favorite way to do things is under the table." He considers an off-color joke here, but decides against it. He has standards. "And I admit, were I at the helm, I would be content to send them into exile -- it's more civilized. I want to keep more options open. But I'd like to hear how you'd utterly destroy them."

From:

forgethertoo

“Claudius,” Aornis says, affecting mild shock, “are you essentially asking me how I would kill a god?”

From:

wickedwit

"Why, yes," Claudius replies with a sharp-edged smile. "I believe I am."

From:

forgethertoo

"Everything has a weakness, even so-called gods. Since this is all hypothetical, my answer is that hypothetically, the weakness of these... gods? Shall we call them that? -- is us." Aornis already knows what she would do to take down these gods or spirits, but unfortunately (or fortunately), it's nothing she can speak out loud to Claudius. That isn't what she wants, after all. She'd much prefer their full cooperation.

From:

wickedwit

"Oh, that is fascinating," Claudius says in full appreciation. "How so? Hypothetically."

From:

forgethertoo

"Please," she says, with a brittle smile. "You're intelligent enough. You can extrapolate."

From:

wickedwit

Claudius thinks in silence through his own theories, the ones first fomented with Crowley. He’s gone along with the idea that the mansion is a tyrant — a gaoler, certainly, holding the key to worlds beyond — but it’s not a danger to those inside it. They’re all someone’s favorite character. The challenges the mansion sends them are meant to be overcome, like the waves of zombies which were never a threat, but a chance for every fighter to combine their strength and cunning against a common foe. The stuff of stories, for distant spirits to watch and applaud. Despite all his desperate curses that day, Claudius is convinced now they wouldn’t let him die.

But if he held the knife to his own throat, threatened to end his story here, and rob them of their entertainments, what would they do then? What if he didn’t wait for an answer? They’d lose one of their favorites.

If you want to strike at someone’s heart, strike someone dear to them. “I see,” Claudius says. “No need to elaborate. You said it clearly. We are their weakness.”

From:

forgethertoo

Aornis can pinpoint the moment he has the realization and she arches an eyebrow at his response. "Precisely. Now are you going to tell me why we're going through this thought exercise?" It's all hypothetical, of course. But hypothetically, she has seen enough to believe that the gods or spirits of this place may be behind her. Up until a point. She's willing to test what that point might be.

From:

wickedwit

“Well, you know how I would deal with a despot. Poison him in the garden for his estate. I’d like to know as much about you as you do about me. But if you asked me why I’d like to …” He smiles. “I’d say it’s because you fascinate me.”

From:

forgethertoo

"Surely there's nothing fascinating about an average British woman with a corporate job who spends her weekends partying in Paris and Mallorca," Aornis says, quite dryly. "I'm quite typical, I assure you. If there was a book written about me, I'd be a fraction of the celebrity that you are."

From:

wickedwit

"You're biased by the narrative. I wasn't always a poisoner king -- I was a prototypically Danish diplomat, attending masques in Illyria and Navarre. You could be so much more, or," with a provocative headtilt, "perhaps you always have been."

From:

forgethertoo

Aornis gives him a mild smile, though she knows that he saw a slightly different side of her in this conversation, one that she surprisingly isn't going to take away. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."