open.

[luaithre]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: Late night evacuation drill
WHEN: Early Harvestmere, don't think about it too hard
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: See OOC note below.

Lashes of rain batter at unyielding fortress walls. It is dark, quiet, and peaceful save for all the rolling thunder summoned from over the sea. It is a good evening to be warm in bed.

Until it isn't a couple of those things.

Wherever you are sleeping (or working) late at night in the Gallows, you will hear it: an incessant and noisy bell ringing, handheld, clanging and clanging loud and obnoxious from the top of each tower and downwards, lingering in the key residential halls until there is sign of people emerging from their rooms. Gwenaëlle has been assigned to harass the Central Tower, while Abby takes the Mage Tower and Matthias is assigned the Templar Tower. Even if you happen not to be in either of these places, the muffled cacophony of bells is liable to still reach you.

It may take a second to realise what's happening, and how real this emergency is, but in the past week, all will have received some suspiciously timed updates as to evacuation procedures, including the protocols surrounding what to do when the instruction is to shelter in place (because they do, after all, live in a fortress).

The first step is moving without hesitation when the warning bells ring out loud. The next is to descend the towers, down dim stairwells lit by lyrium glow, in as orderly a fashion as possible. From there, it's a matter off finding the correct subterranean chamber (tonight, indicated with lamplight) and waiting it out.

At least, this route does not take them outside.

In the basement chamber will be Edgard and Marcus, the former equipped with a medieval clipboard and the latter marking the time in his head as people enter, while semi-supervising the other man's work and guarding the exit. The space is large enough to comfortably fit the whole company, although it is also cold, dripping, and musty. There are places to sit, chairs and tables both, and a few blankets if you find yourself underdressed.

And if you attempt to leave too early, you'll be bid to wait it out a little longer to accommodate and cause no disruption or confusion to late comers.

To encourage this, there are a few bottles of wine set aside along with some lukewarm tea. Stay a while.

[ ooc ; feel free to top level at any part of this interaction! I will handwave the cooperation of anyone who doesn't tag in or assume they are out of the Gallows, so don't feel like you have to, but there is also a comment below for anyone who deliberately wants to be on the naughty list of no-shows. ]

Comments

[inkindled]

Reentry to a room to retrieve something, during an emergency drill, is a black mark. Reentry to a room to retrieve something, during an actual fire, might well be death, so Matthias first gives a very dry, "You've the instincts of a drunk fly, mate," ringringringring.

Like, a red cloak? Seriously? And now he's worried about death traps?

Unfortunately, the scorn imposes a distinct disadvantage to Matthias being able to think of a logical place the fire might be.

"It's," ringring, ring, ring, flagging slightly, come on, Matthias, "above us. The roof. Coming down." Like fires do, and this bit at least he can be confident on, knowing fires so well as he does. "Not yet hit the stairs but we've got to get out, still. What's so important about a cloak that you'd risk a death trap for it?"

Ring ring ring ring ring. He's found his footing again--er, ringing.

[portalling]

Strange peers up at the ceiling as they go, trying to picture these tall towers burning. Of course the Gallows would be on fire once he got here. Of course.

And he doesn’t miss the slight edge to the boy’s voice, and his mouth purses, knowing he was in the wrong. The sentimentality wasn’t smart. But he’s still shaking off the cobwebs, the instinctive sense that he could be outside in the blink of an eye or an emergency, having to re-learn to take things more slowly.

“It’s not just a cloak,” Strange says, a little tersely, as he sweeps the fabric round his shoulders and pins it in place. Then, amending: “At least— it used to be more. It was a sentient magical artifact before I came through the rift. Had its own mind and everything.”

He can’t bring himself to let it burn, not when it’s one of the last vestiges of home he has. So the Gallows is going to be treated to this absurd sight: a shoeless man in PJs and cloak. Very smart, very dignified.

[inkindled]

The ringing of the bell slows as Matthias casts his eyes over the cloak. The sentient magical artifact. He's gotten cleverer since joining Riftwatch, enough so to know what sentient means. It's more interesting than magical, which is saying quite a lot, as Matthias is very interested in magic.

He watches the sweep of the cloak as the stranger throws it around his shoulders. His eyes narrow, as if he there might be some sign of magic still on it. There isn't, of course. It's a bloody cloak. Well-made, maybe, but no runes or anything sewn or painted upon it, no glimmer or glow.

"What d'you mean, it had its own mind. It could, what. Speak?"

[portalling]

“Act,” Strange says instead, curtly. They’re still stalking down the halls together, but thankfully the ringing’s abated a little, and it’s easier to hear each other talk.

“It doesn’t have a voice, but it could fly and levitate and gesture. A rudimentary intelligence — I’d never been able to fully suss out how much, but it could obey commands, act of its own volition, and it showed concern for others and could rescue them in a pinch. It’s saved my life enough times, I’d be an asshole to leave it behind to burn. Even if it’s… not the same, any longer.”

It is so, so stupid to feel so downtrodden about the loss of an item of clothing. But so it is. Apparently he’d grown more attached than he’d realised.