City of Shadows Mux City of Shadows Mux

Hidden in Hyde
"I'm a peaceful and gentle soul, beloved by all."
Players Solomon, Darwin	Hyde Park 8 September, 2022 Darwin and Solomon take a peek into the Shadow of Hyde Park.
<TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: im at a gate. let me in. <TXT> From Solomon to Darwin: What g--the backyard gate? Why don't you come around to the front door. I'll meet you there. <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: the gate! what door? it's too dark to see the sign <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: your campus is confusing <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: hang on <TXT> From Solomon to Darwin: Oh, you're on campus. Look, let's meet up at the library. It's massive and distinctive. <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: harper? okay <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: wait <TXT> From Solomon to Darwin: Regenstein! <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: gdi <TXT> From Darwin to Solomon: CONFUSING <TXT> From Solomon to Darwin: YOU'RE CONFUSING Darwin does eventually manage to find the CORRECT location, disgruntled and mildly winded when he finally shows up in front of the Regenstein Library. He's got his usual layer of coats on, though his undershirt sports a bright, jaunty color for once, showcasing the cheery cartoon dolphin that is the Whitney Young mascot. "There's too many libraries," he murmurs, then perks a little. "That book is wild. The ant one. Did you know some ants have stingers? All this time I thought it was just bites." Solomon is waiting just inside the lobby, dressed in his work clothes - although it is warm enough that he's taken off his jacket and his tie, with the latter shoved haphazardly in his trouser pocket, where the thick end dangles out like a panting tongue. From his pants. Don't...think about that metaphor too closely, and let's move on. His vaguely disgruntled expression upon seeing Darwin lightens when the man talks about _insects_. "I did know that," the entomologist says, voice dry, "but I'm glad to see you're enjoying it. Did you know that some of them raise aphids in their hills? And some termites appear to deliberately farm certain mushrooms." "Like... little farms of aphids?" Darwin, in spite of himself, is still very much an advocate of /nature/, so when he is able to move past the skeeve factor, his interest in flora and fauna shines through. "Is that in the book? Haven't gotten too deep yet." He glances through the lobby towards the library stacks, then his watch. "There's actually a locus in there. A weak one, but it'll work. We either wait for the place to clear out or... I dunno', wait until closing and sneak back in. You have a fob or something?" Solomon stares at Darwin. "Mmhmm. Tiny little farms. The aphids have little horns and the ants are all dressed like cowgirls." It's dry enough to make a desert, but if it's mockery (and oh, it is), it at least sounds good-humored. Regarding the locus, he glances towards the desk. "It's fine. I'll reserve us a study room for hours past the closing time and say we'll let ourselves out. I'm faculty. It won't be a problem. Anywhere in particular we need to be close to?" Darwin is buying into Solomon's description /completely/, for at /least/ the first few seconds before he realizes-- no, the ants aren't dressed as cowgirls. "Shut up, Jessup," he snarls. "Get us a room on the fourth floor. It's a particular carrel desk-- uh." He pivots, pointing at nothing and orienting himself. "Northwest corner." Solomon pretends to cluck his tongue and shake his head with sadness. "You're gonna feel so guilty when you get your ant farm and they all demand the tiny cowgirl hats," he says. Then walks away, to the general desk, to get the permissions they need. It's a large university, and Solomon is relatively new as faculty - most students don't recognize him. Those who DO are easily noted, however; they're the ones that - 9 times out of 10 - take one look at him and either give him a wide berth or just turn around and realize they have business in another building. Urgent business. Even the people behind the desk seem...wary of him, if not as openly bothered as the undergrads. At least it means he gets his key without much trouble. He turns back and rattles it towards Darwin before heading to the elevators. After about the fourth undergrad to pick up her books to hurry along, Darwin eyes Solomon from the side while they step off onto the fourth floor. "You have... some /kind/ of aura. Either you earned this fear or they smell something that I don't smell, which is impressive." Within the study room, Darwin fishes out a pouch with odd glyphs pressed into the leather, digging out something that looks like a shriveled piece of jerky. "Are you /sure/ you don't want rose petals? Weirdo?" "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. I'm a peaceful and gentle soul, beloved by all." Solomon bares his teeth in a smile at a freshman as they approach the same elevator, and voila, Sol and Darwin get an elevator to themselves as they ride up to the fourth floor. Once they're in the room, he throws himself into a chair and studies the pouch with interest. "What are those? Are they that language of the spirits you folk speak?" He makes a gimme motion with long fingers. "I'm not the one who apparently stalked some poor raven and cut out its liver. Weirdo. This isn't the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten, Pace." Darwin's gaze narrows, but he drops the pouch on the table and slides it over. Within are vials of rose petals, odd rust, and dead, green flies. Just two, along with the jerky which is what must be the raven's liver. "It's useful! They're psychopomps. A sparrow would've worked too. Don't eat that just yet." Antsy, he paces near the door and finally closes the blinds. "First tongue. Or babel, sometimes. Spirits use it, but... some can communicate in other ways." Finally, he slumps into a chair across from Solomon. They've got about fifteen minutes or so. "Dare I ask the most disgusting thing you've eaten, Jessup," he asks, oh-so-dryly. Solomon picks through the offerings with delicate fingertips, careful not to so much as knock the wings off the dead flies. He sets the jerky aside at the admonishment. "Interesting. Doors to the Hedge have keys; specific things you can do, say, or have that will open them. Usually there's only one key per doorway, though. Any of these things will work, you said?" He pauses as Darwin gives that dry reply. His expression goes guarded. "I probably don't remember," he says, at last. "I could only tell you the most disgusting thing I remember, and I'm sure there was worse than that." Darwin knows enough, at least, to back off when the lost-types talk about memories or lack thereof. Even though his curiosity practically burns in his frozen stare. A short list of the worst sorts of things populate his mind, but he blinks and looks away before he can dwell too long. "I had pictured a giant hedge mage. Ji-Ho said it was thorns and torn souls. Weird markets where you can trade dreams and wishes." His eyes fall to the table. "They help. Some of them only work if they've grown around a locus. Grave mold works. Mushrooms from faerie rings. Placentas. Like I said, I could bring you myself, but it'd be difficult. This place is a dense city, the Gauntlet is incredibly thick, and that locus out there is minor." He pauses. "Shit, I forgot a mirror. Tell me you have a mirror." Solomon is usually one to meet a stare with an equal stare - but this time, he drops his eyes and won't meet Darwin's gaze. He studies the flies instead, pushing one around with a fingertip. His voice is even, though, as he says, "It's sort of like that, but also not. The Hedge reflects this world, but not...exactly. In Chicago, picture a ruined city, overwhelmed by vines and plants, brandishing thorns so sharp they can reach past the flesh and catch on your very soul. Fairy tale wonders dwell within - fruits in the shape of screaming babes which, when consumed, taste like blood and give you a youthful appearance for an hour or two. Markets, yes, although I've never liked them." He looks up at the last. "A mirror? I don't usually walk around with a mirror, Pace." Sudden mirth sparkles in his eyes. "We could go into the men's room, I suppose." Darwin is sated with this fresh, /fascinating/ detail, as creepy as it is. Blood fruit? Babies?! Then his widened features scrunch and he growls at the suggestion. "No. No, we'll make do. Can just... look at a reflection in the glass. We need to be within a certain range." He stands again, peeking out through the blinds, and when the main lights of the floor turn off, he turns back to the table and grabs his pouch, leaving the liver. "Come on. Eat it. And... keep alert. Always be ready to run. Hyde Park is pleasantly low key, but... Well, you can never be too careful." Solomon snickers at Darwin's scrunchy face. "There's probably something relatively polished near the place. A window or something." He pops the liver into his mouth without hesitation, chewing it with...rather remarkable ease, given its jerky consistency. His teeth might be sharper than they look. He follows along behind Darwin, checking around for any lingering grad students. "I'm always ready to run," he says, with perfect seriousness. Then, quietly, but equally serious, "Do you like it? Being what you are?" The floor is mostly dark, save for the dull red glow of a few exit signs. Darwin pulls a flashlight from his coat and shines it across the desks. Solomon's question might be delivered with level seriousness, but experience has Darwin suspicious. He looks back for a moment, thoughtful. "I didn't like it when I was trying to survive high school. It's kind of the last thing you want, when you're stressed about tests and your stupid grocery store job. I wasn't sure what the hell I was supposed to do for a long time. It's easier, now. I focus on my students when stuff gets too... messy. I dunno' if it's the same for you--?" He half says, half asks, then pauses at a particular desk. There's nothing special about it. It's the second one in a row of carrel desks. "Okay, find something reflective to look into and don't move." Solomon doesn't appear to be teasing, this time. He listens, while humming something under his breath. For those conversant in old pop songs, it's 'Wildfire'. For those not, it's just a nasal sort of rhythm - but when he finishes, Solomon's eyes catch the light like a cat's and reflect it back at Darwin. Easy to see, because his eyes widen. "You've been what you are since you were a kid? Fuck." He shakes his head. "I focus on my research. It's reassuring, to take the world apart and pretend it makes some sort of sense." At the directive, he looks around, not bothered by the darkness, until he finds a reflective piece of metal on the side of one of the stacks - some plaque or another, but it's polished enough to give his face back. "I'm lucky I didn't kill anyone," Darwin murmurs. "There's a pup that just came to us... apparently she was out on the streets. I've been trying to give her pointers. She's eighteen. It just /happens/-- jeez!" He startles when he spots that odd cat-eye reflection. "/God/ that's-- Okay, cool. Sure." Darwin stills where he stands, and then just... vanishes from reality. Solomon will find himself fading seconds after, and to him, the world becomes a pale, misty void. There's an odd pressure all around, and it bears down, growing stronger by the second, before relenting and revealing the darkened world again. They're still very much in the library, in the same spot, though even in the darkness things seem a little washed out. Throughout the floor, a few tables and chairs are entirely absent. The bookshelves are sparse, the sounds trail an odd echo, and at least initially, everything seems devoid of life. Everything except that particular desk. It's stacked with books and papers, a pen suspended by no one, endlessly carving notes and formulas into the wood. The notes aren't exactly legible, stained with tears dripping from nowhere. Darwin grimaces faintly, smacking his lips like he'd tasted something unpleasant. "Hell. It's hard when you're younger. I was nineteen, but...I had things to hold on to. To remind me--//fuck//." Darwin disappears, and Solomon fades away before he can properly get an understanding of it. His perspective shifts, the world //squeezes// him, and he instinctively tries to fight back, twitching and snarling until the pressure relents. Giving Darwin a very good look at a momentarily panicked Solomon attempting to claw the air into pieces. He steadies himself, panting, turning in a circle, teeth bared and skin tingling with the sensation of...whatever this place is. He eyes the pen like he's going to bite it in half - or like it might be about to bite HIM in half. Darwin lingers in place for a moment, sorting his own odd instincts, and finally notices Solomon looking /plucked/. He /almost/ laughs but stops himself, because Solomon's phantom claws didn't feel so phantom over his nose that one time, and the bared teeth may match. "It's fine! It's fine. We're good," he assures, stepping away from the locus and beckoning. "It's just the locus. Tastes like... academic stress. Someone was really feeling the pressure right here. Find us the stairwell? I'm not taking that damn elevator. Tell me what you know of any of this." Solomon takes a few deep breaths. He shoots Darwin a glare, shoulders tense and defensive, waiting for the mockery and derision. When it doesn't come, he's at first suspicious, then - from the stain across his cheeks - embarrassed. He clears his throat and runs his hands through his hair, as if trying to soothe hackles. "That...it's not like crossing into the Hedge. Not at all. That--pressure. That was the Gauntlet?" He licks his lips, and nods, gesturing towards the corner of the floor that has the stairwell. Another glance at the pen, endlessly writing, and he starts to slink away. Either the scare or Darwin's words got through to him; he's twitchy and alert, even as he studies the shelves with curiosity. "In the Hedge, in places like this, sometimes you can find books that were never written. Just imagined. Or episodes of TV shows that never got produced." "That was the Gauntlet, yes. It's very thick in cities. My prey, Azlu, make it thicker. Choke it out. But that's another thing altogether." Darwin follows, occasionally bumping into the corners of desks. It's still dark for him! And wolf vision isn't great in general. "Out in the wilderness, it's very thin. Sometimes it's so thin there's no barrier at all. You step across a spot in the material world and you're there." As they descend the stairwell, more and more things look to be missing. A rung on the railing is gone. The defibrillator pack on the wall is absent. On the first floor, in the lobby, the world seems to open up a bit. Beyond the glass of the windows is a sky that is packed with way, way too many stars, all glittering and multi-colored. "Not gonna' lie Jessup, that sounds pretty amazing. Do you offer hedge tours?" he asks, grinning and tucking his flashlight away. "Why do they do that? They're spirits, aren't they?" Solomon's head cocks to one side. "Wouldn't they want this world to be close?" His eyes dart here and there, noting the discrepancies. He twitches once or twice, moving closer to Darwin as if worried he might lose the other man. When they finally reach the view of the sky, though, he stops dead and looks out the window with his eyes wide, his wonder unhidden. "It's beautiful. The sky, I mean." It's only a little above a whisper. "And, no, not usually. But I owe you for this. So I'd take you if you wanted. It's dangerous. And not just in the 'everything wants to eat you' way. Some things in the Hedge - and the lands beyond - don't want to eat you. They want to _keep_ you." "They want essence above all else. Whatever it takes to get more essence. So they use the barrier as a sort of web, to catch things. But you're right that it's a little odd. Typically spirits wanna' hop over to better manipulate their sources of essence, and so they're not hunted by other spirits. I hope I'm making sense-- I'm not a spirit master wolf or anything," Darwin says. Out on the lawn, where the pathway crisscross over one another, the difference of the air is obvious. It's sharp, clear and crisp, and it seems to have a subtle pulse. "Yeah," Darwin agrees of the sky. "When it's not clouded over with awful overcast it looks really nice." Under the floodlights surrounding the library, the trees sway. There is the absolute, undeniable, /constant/ feeling of being watched. "I will gladly take you up on that, then. And it's not that I don't think it'd be dangerous, but you've shown how annoyingly slippery you are." He begins walking, almost disappearing under the shade of the trees ahead. Solomon's breathing has never _quite_ settled down from his first panic, and that persistent feeling of being watched isn't helping. His fingers unconsciously curl into claws, and whenever they stop to talk, he rotates in place, trying to catch those unseen eyes in the act and stare them down. "It makes sense. Survival always makes sense. If you need food, then you do what it takes to get food." A short, quick nod. "All right." Only a flicker of a smile at being called _annoyingly slippery_. He hurries to keep pace with Darwin, clearly unwilling to let him out of his sight. He also seems to be trying to walk _exactly_ where Darwin is walking, as if afraid that stepping wrong might have consequences. "What do you do here? I mean, if you come here. Do you come here? Regularly, I mean." "It'd be better in a pack, but... I try to keep an eye on things. Make sure this place doesn't end up like the Undercity, I guess. Too much essence and spirits get powerful. Then they get spicy, and start to influence things in bad ways. But there's mostly just motes here. Spirits that are young and dormant, clinging to what little essence they have. If you look--" Darwin points towards a cluster benches. It's very subtle, the clump of dark, fuzzy splotches resting on the wood slats. "Spirits of depression. They'll probably fade out and die, sooner or later. There /is/ one thing I wanna' show you, though." Through the dark, Solomon can locate at least one tangible source of what may be watching him. It's /yards/ away, and startles even Darwin as it turns its feathered head, flaunting nine perfect, glowing circles that must be its eyes, arranged in no order. It doesn't stare much longer, and launches from the branch, and against the glittering night sky, it looks to be some kind of oversized owl spirit. "Fuck!" Darwin curses, watching it flap off. "I dunno the details, exactly, but a couple of wolves found a...nest of roach spirits? They were creating large roaches that had acidic bites and a predatory bent. It was incredibly interesting--but I can understand why you wouldn't that sort of thing happening all the time," Solomon murmurs as his eyes scan the area. He stares at the dark splotches, snorts. "Winter would like that place." Then his gaze moves on. He freezes as he sees the creature turn its head and reveal all those eyes. He stares until it flaps away, then blinks, slowly. "This is a fascinating place." Then, thoughtfully, "I wonder if we can harvest off these things. I wonder what that would do to them." Darwin flexes his fingers and settles, arms held stiff at his sides. "If you recall their names, I definitely wanna' know about it. Maybe the spirits were hybrids or something." He blinks. "Harvest? Harvest the emotions from them?" An odd smile crosses his lips. "Never thought about that. An experiment for another time. Is Winter a friend?" he asks, oblivious. In the distance, there's the sound of cheering. Shouts and whoops, all coming from a group of... flags? Fabric? They're brightly colored even under the night sky, and the flag-like material ripples as if whipped by a harsh wind. Three of them, four-legged, like a banner had wrapped around a bunch of dogs. "...Come on," Darwin urges, leading the way in the opposite direction. "Let's pick up the pace. Got a fast mode?" "The wolves? Ethan and Colt," Solomon responds, without having to think about it. "If you mean the spirits, I fear we were never introduced." His voice is dry again. The cheering sounds have him going all wary again. "Are there people he--" The moment he sees the flags is obvious. He blinks, then grins. "Spirits of celebration? We don't even have a sports team." He looks a little disappointed when they're not going towards the flag dog things, but chuckles. "I bet I can outrun YOU." But, mindful of the unfamiliar realm, he doesn't dash off. Darwin catches that disappointment and smirks. "Hey, you wanna' go punch a bunch of spirits of celebration, be my guest." He does, for a moment, look like he might actually push Solomon towards those flag dogs, but then thinks better of it. He sniffs then licks his lips again. "I think it's more... triumph. Like someone got an A+ or something. /Hopefully/ they'll just eat each other." The challenge cannot be resisted. Darwin falls to it /immediately/. "You're on. To Sky Goddess. Ready, set--" "That place exists in another world?" Solomon is genuinely startled, despite seeing how closely the Shadow mimics the other world. But now there's a CHALLENGE. He immediately drops all conversation, and leaps forward. He's...fast. Very fast, as it happens, and doesn't seem to even need to catch a breath as he darts this way and that. By the time they pull up to the coffee shop, Solomon comfortably ahead, he's laughing in his victory. _Triumph_, indeed. Maybe the flag dogs inspired him. Darwin shouldn't be so surprised. He's irate when he finally jogs up, out of breath, dropping to brace his hands on his knees. "Shut up," he pants. "Shoulda' gone wolf mode," he huffs, aggressively flicking his hand in the air as if that'll make Solomon's laughter go away. It's made all the worse with the sounds echoing in the crisp air. Sky Goddess is strangely bigger than it ought to be, taking up a little more space on the strip. Darwin abruptly crouches and tucks behind a mailbox, reaching to haul Solomon down with him, gaze fixed on something across the street. Solomon grins brightly at the werewolf. "What can I say? I jog. You oughta come running with me some morning. Bright and early. Nothing quite like it." He chuckles, but but it's abruptly cut off when Darwin grabs him and drags him behind the mailbox. His smile instantly cuts off, and he doesn't struggle against the movement at all, instead going tense and silent under Darwin's hand. Instead of speaking, he follows Darwin's gaze, trying to see what the other man sees. /Bright and early/. Darwin's lips curl even as he focuses. "Fae bullshit. I'll think about it," he whispers. The sound reaches Solomon before the sight. Like a bunch of coins falling across cement, interspersed with sharp gasps from varied voices. Indeed, there appear to be a swarm of coins rolling along the sidewalk. Dollar bills soaked in blood flap along within the swarm, painting the ground red behind it. "Someone was mugged around here, not too long ago. It's a spirit of violence. My hope is that the neighborhood stays chill enough for it to starve out soon. Otherwise it could grow to be a problem." Solomon's head tilts this way and that with the approach of the odd sound. It doesn't ping any of his usual threat responses, so his brow is furrowed as he tries to figure out what's going on. His eyes go wide as the dollar bills and coins just roll down the street. "That...is...wild," he whispers back, looking almost delighted. Probably at the oddness of the spirit, and not at someone getting mugged. Probably. He does ask, after a moment, "Can we kill it? SHOULD we kill it? Or is this a 'don't damage the spirit ecosystem' sort of thing?" Darwin had been looking /slightly/ wary at this point, but Solomon's eagerness seems to bolster him where a pack might've. "...I haven't hunted in a while," he reasons, then nods. "It probably ought to be handled before it influences anyone top-side. But we can't right now. Need a little prep, gotta' learn its ban." He waits a beat longer, until the spirit is well out of sight, and pushes to his feet. "Ready to head back? We can do a perimeter on the way. There's a spirit around here that's pretty fuckin' ridiculous. Looks like a woman made of iced coffee, and she's always annoyed. Probably made from a bunch of folk getting impatient with the barista." Solomon grins. "Excellent. I've never hunted a spirit before." His eyes gleam. "This will be an interesting opportunity." But he's not so eager that he tries to push back on Darwin and insist a hunt Right Now; he recognizes the other man's expertise in this area, and bobs his head in agreement. Following Darwin's lead, he rises to his feet, then laughs. "Really? How fun. What happens if you drink her?" He reaches out to clap Darwin lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you for bringing me. If I can help support this...patrolling you do, let me know." "I would /love/ to see you try and drink her," Darwin goads. If he has an answer to that particular question, he does not share, eyes dancing. "Yeah well, you're welcome. I'm sure other neighborhoods are a lot more... intense, but you've claimed a pretty peaceful one. For now." His sharp smile softens, and he watches Solomon for a moment, /possibly/ trying to mimic that creepy stare he does-- before he bolts down the sidewalk, presumably initiating another race.