Good morning, sunshine! Jygust 30th MT

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

The bright light of summer morning fiercely cut through the windows in Ophelia's room. Her orbs opened wide and unashamedly to the rays and her eyes contracted sharply from the change of the depths of the slumbering world to the life of the waking. The blonde's body shifted under the light blankets until her bare legs slid outward and planted her feet firmly on the hardwood floor. She wore a long beige chemise that ended not-modestly half-way down her muscled thighs.

Barefoot and uncaring she bounced through the room and snatched up a leather strap to tie her hair in an inelegant bunch on the top of her head. It was losely brought together, and long strands of woven beads and dreads slid between her shoulders and over her collarbone. Rubbing her eyes she danced out of her room humming to herself.

Once into the common room of the house she gathered up her lute and started plucking the strings, picking a melody from her dreamworld where she was a well-known bard of great talent. "Yahhh- dahhh, yaddiy-daah," words would come later, first her fingers needed to find the chorus. "Lahh, lah diy-didy yahhh, ahhh," she carried a melody against the accompaniment of the instrument. Her voice was rough from sleep, but it warmed up the more she dove into deep hums and rose ever higher, incrementally building her tones and stretching her ability.

This had become part of her morning routine, and it was perhaps her favorite part of the day, though generally she went outside the house. Today, after a restless night (one spent anticipating her performance for later that day), she hadn't given any thought to playing in the living room, nor to the apparition that had scared D'arcy away. She was entirely focussed on getting the song from her dream committed to memory.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Ophelia’s lilting melody floated through the air as the warm sunshine bathed the stone room with a warm light. The room was simply furnished with a few chairs, a table and several pictures that hung on the wall, having presumably been left their by the previous owner of the White House. The pictures which were a mixture of landscapes and portraits were faded and it was difficult to decipher more than a vague outline of their subject matter.

As she continued to play the lute, Ophelia was aware of a sudden chill in the air. It was strange, for there were no open windows and it was a sunny morning with no discernible breeze. And yet, the air appeared to stir around one of the paintings, as if some small, misty whirlpool was forming.

From behind the disturbance, the form of the picture began to take on a clearer shape. If Ophelia looked towards the picture, she would see the outline of a long, white dress appearing…

…a quiet moan undulated through the room… ...the temperature was now quite cold…...the room began to darken until it was suddenly quite gloomy….

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia felt the hair on the back of her neck, shoulders and arms raise up. Goosebumps pushed upward from her pale skin starting at her spine and carrying across all the skin she could see. A shiver forced an involuntary movement - a shudder going down her back - which interrupted her play long enough for her to run a hand over her arm and mutter incoherantly to herself. Cold, she thought and placed her fingers over the strings again to continue playing.

But, she'd lost her place. With a sigh she reclined against the cushion and sang quietly to herself, trying to catch up to what part she'd lost in the short ditty. "I'm always where, I need to be - and I always thought, I would end up with you, eventually.. doo, do-do-do doot do doo-" Until she was cut off by an unusual moan. Her sing-song voice caught in her throat abruptly.

The darkness came, and paired with the chill Ophelia couldn't help to think she was witnessing another Day of Dark. Quietly, the blonde stayed in her little nook on the couch. She didn't dare get up, atleast not yet, not while a storm brewed in her living room. Bright blue eyes became glued to the materializing dress and the painting which was taking on a life of it's own.

[Abbott]

OOC: Stepping in and taking over for Guido here. ^_^

As the last soft note was stifled by Ophelia's tightening throat, the moaning noise ringing through the home halted just as quickly as it had begun. The room brightened slightly as well. Lighting had not returned to the previous cheerfully-bright level, but it was no longer nearing pitch black as it had been only flickers before. It was if there was a massive storm cloud sitting gloomily in the sun's path, taunting the clear summer day with its ominous watery payload and dimming the land below it.

The spinning mist slowed slightly and began to clear, leaving behind only a hazy, shimmering fog. The painting behind said anomaly was not the same painting that had been hanging on the wall only a moment ago. It appeared to be much newer and less neglected than the bleached-out old portraits that filled the rest of the wall. Ophelia's transfixed vision could see the dress more clearly now... and within it a lithe female form staring out of the frame.

From her location on the couch, however, the woman could not make out any details other than those.

High-pitched tones sprinkled out from the puzzling vortex. It was speech to Ophelia's ears, yet entirely undecipherable all the same.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

OOC: Welcome!

The northern blond remained as frozen as her ancestral homeland while watching with dumbfounded interest as if she weren't connected to the scene before her. Her brows drew together and stared intently as the room cleared and returned to a brighter state. Fingers that had hung over the strings of her instrument, rather than plucking, wrapped possessively around it's neck and clung to it's body with need.

Quickly, quickly enough for her to question whether it was happening, the room returned to a more normal color, though the fog lingered and there was a new clear draw to the hanging picture. Without quite realizing her intention, she started again.

"I'm allllways where, I neeeeeed to be," she choraled out, though through warbled tonation that was far shakier and much more quiet than her first foray in her morning burst of inspiration. It was a test, meant to determine how much she was causing the interesting phenomenon. Otherwise, her body remained fairly well glued to the cushion she'd planted her bottom onto.

[Abbott]

You know the funny thing about tests? A person may think they want to know something. That curiosity-fueled desire will then often lead them to do things that bring about decidedly unwelcome results.

As Ophelia resumed her playing, the moaning returned in full-force with an impassioned, pleading drone. As the sly bard may have presumed, the room once again darkened.

Chilled air rushed over Ophelia's fingertips, cooling her fair skin to the bone. This made the playing of some specific chords to be quite painful due to variations in hand positioning. While she was no stranger to the cold and it was in her robust genes to be resistant to such pains, this was different.

This was not an icy mountain breeze slicing beneath her thick arctic furs. No, this was a deathly cold. A lack of warmth. A lack of life.

As she strummed and continued to sing in spite of the strange goings-on, Miss Ophy began to notice another peculiarity. In some sort of coordination with her music, the lighting in the room pulsated. Brighter and darker depending on which chord she fingered.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia swallowed as the room ambiance shifted from the warm morning light to something much more dismal - all at the command of her long lithe fingers. Ever-aware of the chords and notes she played she saw that there was a difference from one to another. The depth of the cold cut into her bones as she plucked the strings, until she finally stopped. Her bare legs shivered against one another and she grasped at the edge of a throw blanket that had been on the back of the couch. The blonde draped it over her toned legs and pulled the lute back into her lap with great anticipation.

"And I allllways thought, I would end up with you, eventually..." her voice was squeaky and lack-luster, but her chords were spot on. She used the second set of verse to figure on what notes made the room become darker (be they just the lower or higher notes) and which made it bright with light (be it rests or specific chords) and tested out pushing for the illumination, and in turn, she hoped, some warmth. Her fingers, meanwhile, ached and were becoming more and more stiff in the unusual weather change within her home. She wondered if Sam were about - or Luca, and if they could feel the chill.

[Abbott]

Much to Ophelia's chagrin... it was not nearly as simple as she had hoped. High notes, low notes; the musical scale and luminance were not related in such a linear fashion.

The woman's head began to hurt. Strobing lights, unstable temperatures, and the continued piercing sensation of Death's grip wrapping its way about her knuckles all worked together to create a very unpleasant experience. Not to mention the fact that the omnipresent echoing objections from the lady in the picture were beginning to afflict the bard with a constant ringing in her ears. The melodies that were being emitted from the highly decorated rose of the instrument were no competition for the mind-numbing cacophony that surrounded the musician. In the confusion, Sam slipped into the room unnoticed as if the bard had summoned him by sheer will.

"Miss Ophelia!" The shouted phrase could only just be heard over the aural onslaught. Sam stared, terrified, as he watched a blue haze settle over the couch, completely enveloping its occupant. "Wat's going on, Miss Ophelia? Wat's 'appening!"

But the blond-haired adventurer could no longer hear the cries of the street rat-turned-roommate. Her vision was flooded immediately and totally with cobalt gray static. Flickers later, the fuzziness left her vision mostly, leaving her seeing her surroundings now with only a slightly blue tinge to her vision. Stilling sitting beneath her throw on the couch, Ophelia quickly became aware that she was no longer being exposed to frigid pangs of frozen air.

The sunshine was once again bright and cheery. The moaning had stopped- having been replace by the sweet sound of a flute drifting this way and that through the room. The room! Although it had not changed in size, it was absolutely different. For one, it was now decorated lavishly. Thick animal-fur rugs lay about the floor. A beautiful piano sat in one corner.

Positioned atop a stool before a large open window was the source of the warm tune. It was a complex yet somehow light snippet of music. Periodically the woman would halt her playing to write notes on a scroll which sat before her on the sill.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia's eyes darted over as Sam appeared. "Get out-" She shouted toward the young boy she'd saved from his street life of King's Court. Whole lot of good it was doing him! Now he was trapped in some creep-show house. Really, it was the whole town that was ghostlike in nature. Ophy had been hearing so many rumors she couldn't keep track. It was with this in mind that she'd been experimenting, and it had been going well enough, well... until everything went all fuzzy and like she had been hit hard on the head while sparring with her brother.

Blinking furiously she tried to 'shake' the dissolving light filtered through the darkness. As she came through it she felt as though she'd been transported through some sort of mebrane. Like the portal? No, this was a very different sensation. It was... still her living room, but it was different.

Ophy's mind struggled to keep pace as her bright blue eyes grew in size and curiosity. She took in the new surroundings and it's sumptuous furnishings with mild jealousy. Sure, it's not like this now. It was that very thought which gave her clue. What if this isn't now? What if it's then? Where the nether am I? The bard did her best to hold onto the feeling of the melody the woman was working with. "Hello?" She whispered airily, then cleared her throat to call some attention to herself.

[Abbott]

The musician continued, either unaware of her guest or just not overly concerned with her presence. The melody was light and bubbly but it boasted sharp drops in tone and mood as well. It was very much like a bird call of sorts. It was also a piece which was clearly meant to be played in an ensemble with other instruments. The woman stood and began to walk slowly towards her piano while at once bringing to life her current measure repeatedly and developing a furrowed brow. Ophelia could see that the flautist was working intently on her music... painstakingly contemplating every single note as she went.

The couch on which Ophelia sat was not her own. Nor was the throw. This sofa was made of some sort of thick, cured animal hide and dyed a dark maroon. There were what appeared to be golden upholstery tacks securing the hide in place. As she pondered her whereabouts, there was a sharp rattling knock at the front door.

KNOCK.... KNOCK, KNOCK

It was the kind of solid pounding noise that could only be created by a thick metal door-knocker. This sound shattered the respective concentration of both women, even causing the woman in the white gown to flinch visibly. The flautist rose from the piano bench and moved to walk off down the hallway, leaving her instrument on the window sill as she rushed past.

Only then did Ophelia take a moment to realize that Sam had not been brought with her to this strange place.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

The young woman was tempted to continue playing her instrument, to try to fill in the gaps of the other composer's work as it was nearly begging for it. In her mind she could feel the harmony, and the complementing tones that would bolster the high notes of the narrow wind instrument, grounding them with her earthen instrument.

Just as she lay her fingers over the strings to start to play a new chord there was a violent knock, shocking in it's sudden presence. Her first thought was to protecting Sam. Sam! She'd lost him somewhere in the transition. She hoped that meant he was just back 'home' safe. Though, she wondered if she was totally gone or if just the dreaming part of her had left.

She recorded the woman's reaction, and as she moved across the room toward the intruding sound, Ophy rose as well. She discarded the draped throw so that her legs were bare up to her muscled thighs where the chemise hung without modesty. Really, you all invaded my house... not my fault if I'm not dressed properly, O followed the stranger from the living room toward the hall, but hung about at the threshold for a flicker to take in the next enviroment.

[Abbott]

Once again Ophelia saw that this home was just not quite the same building as the one that she had just left. Although she recognized the stony portion of the White House as being similar to the interior of her new location, there were many layout differences. This hallway was simply not the same as the corresponding length of walkway in her home. It had one less room branching from it, and none of the rooms were in the correct place.

Following the lady in white, Ophy realized that she was absolutely the same woman who was in the portrait on her wall at home. The same lithe figure. The same white dress. She was short. Very short by a Northerner's standards. She had yet to get a good view, but she had a feeling that the woman was adhiel.

The door was opened and a man wearing a smart black tunic and a woolly surcoat was ushered into the foyer. The pair showed obvious signs of recognition, yet those gestures were teamed up with the just-as-noticeable signs of a strained relationship. He took the lady's hand awkwardly and bowed to a shallow degree before speaking to her in tones too low to hear from the far end of the hallway.

Sounds of carts rolling through the street and other elements of the daily hustle and bustle swam in through the now-open front door. With the sounds came also a certain familiar scent. Some sort of plant smell. Though i was not the scent of freshly-reaped summer stalks... or the odor of blossoming vegetation. It was thicker. Dryer.

The man pulled the door shut behind him as he addressed the lady in white.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

The blonde surveyed the expanse around her, and took in the minute differences from the house she was renting in Pax. Ophelia felt a moment's modesty as the man stepped into the hallway. She pressed her body against the wall of the music room with her heart beating like wild, thinking of how embarassing it was to be found with so little on, but then she listened, and didn't hear any suggestion that she'd been spotted. I... don't think they can see me, she thought and then peeked her head around the corner again to watch the couple.

Their relation seemed terse, but curteous. Ophelia slinked through the doorway and made her way into the hallway, listening quietly as her bare feet made silent contact with the floor beneath them. Her nose took in the scents from outdoors, but they felt out of place for the season. Or... the season she had been in, anyway. Fall? She sniffed, but kept moving. "Hello there!" She announced with melodic clarity, seeing if they reacted to her voice.

[Abbott]

The conversation degraded from tense to heated as Ophelia crept down the stony hall. The couple spoke in the same (totally foreign) language with which the lady in white had used to try to communicate while talking through the painting earlier. The man dominated the conversation, obviously either attacking the woman or posing very sharp questions to which she had no satisfying reply. His deep tones resonated through the rock of the walls. The tongue rolled often when the dialect was being uttered. Many of the consonant sounds were formed with back-of-the-throat manipulations that are uncommon to most languages of Tazlure. It did not, however, require the abilities of a linguist to know that he was displeased.

The woman slowly began to pace backwards, raising her arms in an attempt to halt the man as he set off charging steadily down the hallway towards the confused nightwear-garbed blond.

When Ophelia spoke, there was no reaction from either figure.

The man blew right through Ophelia as if she were not even there. Yes. He physically walked across the same space that Ophelia was occupying before entering the room that the women had been in previously. The cold deathly chill that the lute player had felt before while strumming whilst seated on her couch returned for a flicker as they briefly became one. Only this time, it encompassed her entire body.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

As the man berated the woman in the foreign tongue, Ophelia tried to follow, but found it harsh to her ears. There was a quality to the language that intrigued her - sort of how Orcish had been described to her. Were these people orcs? They certainly didn't look like how she imagined orcs. She had always thought they were a much larger and more angry race - and green! These persons definitely weren't green.

She made a guess that meant they weren't orcs, either. It made the speaking all the more curious, but Ophy's strong point had never been linguistics, even if she could handle her common. Her hello resonated through the hallway, but didn't seem to register. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?!" She bellowed as the gentleman approached, but then he did a very queer thing.

He walked through her.

Ophelia's whole body shuddered with the cold. "I'm dead," she said with sudden panic and pressed her hands over her body, putting her palms against herself as if to prove she wasn't dead. "This is what my uncle said happens to ghosts. They get all stuck," her eyes grew in size and she waved her arms like a mock windmill. Nothing. Her shoulders slumped, but she went after the fighting couple.

"Flute!" The blonde popped over to the windowsill where the white-dressed woman had put it down and attempted to pick it up and bring it to her lips for a test.

[Abbott]

As her calloused fretting fingers came to rest on the flute, Ophelia experienced an unfamiliar sensation. The flute was immobile. She could touch it and feel its metallic smoothness. She could see it and enjoy its incredibly ornate hand-inlaid embellishments. But she could not budge it.

If she attempted such an act, pulling on the flute or tugging on it would yield no results. It did not feel heavy or somehow glued to the sill. It simply would not accept her hand as a deliverer of kinetic energy. Meaning- it would not move, but it also somehow gave no noticeable resistance to Ophelia's push. It was as if she were trying to move a cloud through which her hand could not pass... Like throwing an object under water and watching it go nowhere.

A quick movement on the far outside of Ophelia's peripheral vision flashed as the loud man (who had grown even louder still) began turning the room, in search of something. Flickers later, his eyes came across the sheet music on which the lady in white had been recording her melodies. With a glint of destructive intent in his eyes, the man spoke a final phrase with what sounded to be a smug or sarcastic intonation before scooping up the papers and resuming his charge, only this time the front door was his target. The lady grasped at him fearfully with large oblong tears welling from her striking azure eyes which seemed to cry out for her without the use of words.

The man escaped with the fruit of the woman's labor. She collapsed near the entrance to the long hallway, sobbing deeply.

A warmth began to spread across Ophelia's outermost extremities in a slow but steady manner. If she were to look down at her hands or bare feet, she would notice the creeping return of the bluish mist.

[Graves]

(( OOC: Posting with permission of the very sexy Abbott. ))

D'arcy sighs as she looks up at the white house, not sure if what she feels is more accurately termed trepidation or anticipation. Ultimately, though, she rubs her arms thoughtfully in the morning air, and decides that it doesn't matter. She is home, where she should have stayed all those months ago.

She affixes a smile on her face and takes one last deep exhalation as she ascends the stairway to the house. If finishing school had taught her nothing else, it was how to appear unfazed in the face of adversity. Her clothing looks a little worse for the wear, even the blacks having faded to extremely dark gray, but she knows that is not something Ophelia will notice.

More of import is the question: Will her dear friend forgive Miss Graves sudden departure and sudden return?

With a small cough, D'arcy opens the door, not wanting to disturb anything occuring within, and silently hoping that the interior decorating hasn't changed too drastically. Unless, that is, they incorporated more pink... she thinks dreamily as she forces her eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior of the living room.

At the moment, her countenance is silver and exact, containing no preconceptions as to what she might find-- only her characteristic paleness and seeming lack of chiaroscuro.

[Abbott]

D'Acry was immediately stormed by a charging Sam.

"Help! Help her!" The boy threw himself at the wispy woman and clung to her in a rough manner, sobbing loudly. His tone was that of someone experiencing serious trauma. "Fir.... Firs tha light- it was bein' all weird," Sam sniffed and tried to take a breath- now combating tears and nervous hiccups. "an an and then. And then Miss Ophelia. She wen' away."

At this, two large pools became epic waterfalls of saline sea as gigantic tears streamed down Sam's face with resumed gusto.

He choked, "Gobbled right up, she was." Obviously petrified, the boy burried his face back into D'Arcy's clothing and resumed his sobbing.

The house itself looked very much how she left it. A quick glance would reveal that the stone portions of the building had grown to encompass a larger amount of the building. But even that change was only minor. The interior was bright and sunny and the Jygust warmth was beginning to penetrate the thick walls of the building, heating the home.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

"No!" Ophelia yelled as the angry man stole the woman's musical masterpiece. "Stop! You come back here!" Ever the crusader for persons in need she strode forward confidently, beckoning his return unanswered, and followed the sobbing composer as she collapsed. A hand hovered over the upset woman's shoulder steadily. "It'll be ok, it'll be ok.." She repeated, both to console herself and the other.

Warmth was returning to her extremities in slow waves. Ophy rubbed her hands together and then looked down at her bare legs which were covered in a bluish haze. Wha? "Listen to me.. who was he? Can you hear me?" She leaned down close to the woman's ear, hoping to catch her attention, even if slightly. "Please.. what can I do to help you?" Her hand was held aloft over the stranger's back.

[Graves]

D'arcy blinks slowly and looks down at the little creature that has seemingly attached itself to her body. With all the patience of a woman who has spent months in a state of penitent meditation, she tries her best to assemble the boy's rather confusing story into a coherent whole.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," she begins, her words cool and calm; as draining of color and vibrance as her physical form seems to be. "Calm down, I'm sure Miss Ophelia will be back straight away!" The confidence in her voice is half-feigned, of course, for despite the months that now separate D'arcy from her close encounter with the house's spirit she still feels that familiar chill as if those months were only flickers. Her eyes encompass the scene as quickly as they can, trying to devour all of the scenery at once, seeking clues as to where Ophelia might have gone.

Of course, she isn't sure how much changed during her recent peregrination in the forest, nor is she sure that the source of Sammy's sobbing isn't supernatural. She hopes that Ophelia simply wandered out to retrieve a lantern or something (hadn't the boy mentioned the light being weird?) and Sam simply hadn't noticed. The logical explanation, however, lacks any real resonance with D'arcy.

She just hopes not to experience a repeat of three months ago. She's not sure her clothes would last another stint in the woods, no matter how many phantasmal stags are protecting her.

"Where did you last see her? Did she say anything about going anywhere?" The words, despite her desire to calm the boy, are filled with a transparent sort of dread. If possible, her face has turned even paler since she arrived.

[Abbott]

As she spoke during the slip, Ophelia became aware of a startled reaction from the crying woman. She had been heard. If she had been understood was a question that she would not find an answer for. Not now at least. The warm feeling continued to spread- deeper and deeper into the core of her slender body.

The blue mist then obscured the majority of her vision. Were she to look closely, she could just hardly make out the world around her slipping away. Flickers later, she could hear a boy crying and the soothing voice of a woman trying to console him.

D'Arcy saw more than she probably wanted to see during her observation of her surroundings. Directly next to the couple, by the front door, the tell-tale azure fog began to roll in. It was so thick that only a flicker's time allowed it to cover and nearly blot out her feet to her own eyes. This was quite an accomplishment, considering the still-open door and the bright sunshine flooding in through the threshold.

And then the shape of a woman appeared as naught but a shadow in the mist.

"Miss Oh--Feeliah!" The half-stopped and then resumed greeting was more a sequel of terror than a salutation. Sam jumped back from the two women and hit the ground hard in doing so. A resounding thud and a subsequent collapse into a pile were the only clues that the poor boy had knocked himself unconscious against the cool stone wall as he fell.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia saw and realized the implications of the woman's reaction. She'd seen her, or felt her, or something. She'd done something. There was a supreme sensation of accomplishment that followed, plastered on the young woman's features with the restraint of the town idiot.

As soon as it had come, it was going. O could feel a strange knot in her stomach as she was pulled forward through something she didn't have the insight to understand. In the blue haze she saw figures and glimpses of lives between that of the first musician and the one now. There was what she could only describe as "the gap" later, where there wasn't much of anything at all, but then there was a great flurry of something right before the cloud cleared and she found herself in the White House again, by this time, sobbing much like Sam.

"I have to get back... I have to fix it," Ophy stared around wildly until she registered the youthful scamp and the woman to which he was attached.
"D'Arcy?" As soon as it'd happened, though, Sam was backing away from her - throwing himself away from her. "No! Sam it's ohh-" she winced as his head hit the wall with a resounding, though dull, thunk. "Ice Queen gone netherbound!" She fell to her knees, and felt a surge quite like that which she felt after travelling through the portal for the first time. You... will not.. vomit...

Clutching at her stomach under the loose chemise she fought back the urge to empty the contents of her stomach on her own hallway floor, and instead propelled herself out the still-open door into the great, wide world beyond, where she subsequently heaved into some shrubbery aside the walkway leading to the entrance.

[Graves]

Blink.

D is suddenly exposed to a startling panoply of sensations that she wasn't even aware could be felt all at once. Her eyes begin to water, her legs quivering and bending inward, her knees feel week. Her mouth falls into a small circle of surprise, her hands raise to clutch at her platinum hair, grasping for sense and reason in the madness that is now unfolding.

"Oh. Dear. Sweet. Dominicus," she manages to spurt out, each word requiring a veritable army of force to push through the sea of tears and fear in her throat. She too falls to her knees, the world around her spinning with horror and shock.

This cannot be happening, this simply cannot be happening. If I blink a few more times, this'll all be over. Don't run away, you silly girl. Just try to be calm. Not that, in her present state, D'arcy is capable of either lucidity or running-- mere moments after entering the home she already finds herself confronted with the reason she left.

"What happened are you... are... are you alright?" She manages to stammer, wiping the tears from her eyes without allowing her hands to leave her skull, staring intently at Ophelia (although pointedly avoiding looking at the vomit), wondering if the spirit or darkness or whatever in the name of the Nether has occured has damaged her former companion. "You aren't.... hurt? Where did you come from? How did... where did..."

D'arcy trails off and wrings her hands, as the world begins to spin once again. She forces herself to stare at the floor, using it to center herself. She tries to remember what she learned of meditation and calming her nerves, although it's of little use-- her mind is a cacophony. Concern, terror, empathy, sorrow, all of it is hitting at once, pounding at the flood gates of her sanity.

All of the sobbing seems to be getting to her, as well, and she forces herself not to imagine thoughts of her dead mother's hands cold and clasping at her wrists. She tries not to imagine that at some point, it could be her hurtling through the mists; that if she wants to pursue her past, she might be vomiting in the bushes and not just an idle bystander to the madness.

[Abbott]

Ophelia, although still quite nauseous, was able to reclaim control of her stomach for the time being. Should she attempt to stand, she would feel herself facing much difficulty, but she would be able to succeed with effort.

D'Arcy, too was capable of mastering her distress. Frightened as she were, the deep serenity of the forest which had just so recently been her home had set her nerves to a decidedly somnolent state. The two extremes in tension brought her to somewhat of a medium as she attempted to calm herself.

Sam lay silently in the foyer, still motionless.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia's palm pressed against the whiteboard of the exterior of the White House, and there was comfort in it's strength. D'arcy's words caught the edges of her reality, but it was so distant. Her stomach churned. No... Don't. She gagged, but managed to contain her innerds, atleast for the time being. Using the clapboard as support she righted herself, though her companion's words had meant little to nothing to her, and left her staring dully at her pale skin.

"Is Sam ok?" The back of her hand wiped across her mouth in hopes of removing any remnants from her involuntary expulsion. Her world still reeled, but there was a sense of protection instilled in her over the young scamp.

The blonde moved through the doorway only to kneel at Sam's side. "Sam? Sam?.. Hey," she gave him a nudge and then looked up to D'arcy with tear-filled eyes which she didn't dare blink for fear of losing control of their rivulets. "He's not waking up!" Her voice was hoarse from the vomitting, but it's melodic nature could be heard beneath the fear.