undergrounds | Down the Rabbit Hole

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Down the Rabbit Hole

This event runs from 26th-29th November 2015.

follow the white rabbit.

Maybe you took a wrong turn when trying to catch the train on the Underground. Maybe you walked down the street and fell into a manhole. Maybe you caught sight of a strange figure with white rabbit ears and followed them into misty darkness...

You've stumbled into the Other Realm, but you're no longer in London. This is Wonderland, a twisted version of the classic tale created by the fae. What's going on?

Summary
26th November 2015 is the 150th anniversary of the publication of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. In honour of this great occasion, the fae have created their own version of Wonderland... and your characters have fallen down the rabbit hole. Participating characters will be trapped for up to three days in the Wonderland version of the Other Realm.

Characters will enter Wonderland with their powers intact and they may retain any possessions or weapons that they were carrying before being spirited away. However, they will find themselves... altered. Items will become poor copies of themselves e.g. a real blade will become a wooden toy sword, a magic ring will become a cheap plastic bit of jewellery, etc. Supernatural powers and characteristics will take a turn for the absurd e.g. vampires will sparkle in the sunlight, shapeshifters will turn into either ridiculously adorable or monstrous versions of their animal forms, magic will backfire.

If your character is a member of the Seelie or Unseelie Court, then they know what is happening and they're in on the act. Have fun. If your character is not a member of the Seelie or Unseelie Court, then enjoy getting sucked into their game. When in the Other Realm, characters will enter a dream-like state influenced by the fae magic around them. This world will be dictated by dream logic: the most absurd events will seem perfectly normal.

To escape, characters must beat the fae at their own game. Some escape options are suggested below, but feel free to make up your own! If you have any questions about this event, please ask them here.

Prompts

1) I AM THE WALRUS. Fae of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, this is your game. Why not choose a part? You could play the White Rabbit, luring unsuspecting mortals into Wonderland. Or the Cheshire Cat, providing cryptic advice before literally disappearing. Or even the Queen of Hearts: off with their heads! The fae can play any Alice character, with the exception of Alice herself.

2) EAT ME/DRINK ME. What's this? You come across a cake or a biscuit with the label "EAT ME" on it. Or a small bottle that says "DRINK ME". Some of the food will make you shrink to the size of a mouse. Some of it will make you grow to the size of a house. Beware: fairy food ties you to the Other Realm and makes it harder to escape. Perhaps there's a door that will lead you out if only you're the right size to fit it... now where's the key?

3) MAD TEA PARTY. A merry unbirthday to you! Why not join the Hatter, the March Hare and the Dormouse for a most unconventional tea party. Solve their riddles correctly and you may yet be able to leave.

4) PAINT THE ROSES RED. The Faery Queen dislikes white roses. Paint them red, she says! Paint them red. Paint them all red or she'll chop off your head.

5) CHECKMATE. Even a pawn can become a queen. Avoid being captured by the Knight or killed by the Queen and you too may reach the other side of Wonderland to be crowned as a Queen. Checkmate the King and you'll win the game and be able to escape.

6) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Perhaps a game of croquet, an encounter with the fearsome Jabberwock or a trial of stolen tarts. Anything Wonderland-inspired is up for grabs.

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Lancelot is tired. His feet hurt, his heart emblazoned playing card tabard is a little worse for wear but he's still stuck here.

He's struck here, and this creature is either entirely deaf or ignoring him entirely. Lancelot sighs, brushes some loose strands of peculiarly overgrown hair (when did it get so long? When did he get this costume?) and steps a little closer. He was already frustrated to begin with -- little is so frustrating as being in on a joke and yet unable to explain it or to escape it -- and this is worsening it.

"Excuse me," he says with a little more determination, "but who are you?"

Edited (whoa italics) 2015-11-29 21:48 (UTC)

Finnick pauses in the middle of a drag from his hookah, putting on a disgusted look as he turns to look at Lancelot. He blows the smoke out through his nose as he leans forward on his perch, looking the man up and down.

"Is that any way to speak someone who is so very clearly busy?"

He raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer, or an apology.

Edited (hahaha italics) 2015-11-30 04:32 (UTC)

Busy? Well, he's not so sure Finnick exactly looks busy but to say otherwise would be rude. So Lancelot simply inclines his head a little, adjusts his approach accordingly.

"Forgive me, it is only that I have been walking a long time with little hope of finding a way out. I was hoping you might know a way out or someone who could help?"

It's worth asking, after all, even if he doesn't expect a straight answer.

"I could," Finnick says, reclining again and taking a puff from the hookah. Something in his tone indicates that he is not going to make it easy. Much as he doesn't love a bunch of concerned mortals running around his realm like this, toying with them for a while is fun.

This one, though. There's fae magic on him. Finnick can smell it. He's mortal, but he must have lived in the Other Realm for a time, or had some prolonged contact with a fae. This is the only reason that he poses a follow-up question, something that will keep the interaction going.

"But why would you want to leave this forest? Isn't it to your taste?"

And so it begins. He knew it wouldn't really be that simple, and yet all the same Lancelot is reluctant to play the part. He dislikes anything that feels false, considers himself a terrible liar 90% of the time and has no desire to become an actor. So why, then, would he ever try to match a fae at a game of make believe?

Still, he doesn't have a choice. He tries to steel himself, tightens his grip on his heart-tipped stick on forces himself onward.

"The queen has cast me out," he says, which is not entirely far from the truth. "I interrupted a game. I am to exit her court and live among the mortals, stripped of power. I cannot open my own door."

Finnick waves him off dismissively. "I'm not subject of hers. Even if that were her wish, I'm under no obligation to obey."

He takes another bored drag and looks around his perch as if he's about to forget that Lancelot's there. When his eyes fall on the man again, he holds up a hand in bewilderment, wondering why he hasn't replied immediately.

"Well? Tell me about the game!"

It's at this point, somewhat belatedly, that Lancelot realises he hadn't thought this through. Did he need to think it through? He probably should have, should have planned, but standing here with Finnick it oddly feels as if it doesn't matter too much. Like he's in the strangest sort of dream, full of colour and confusion that all makes sense even when it shouldn't. Some part of him distinctly tries to fight it, recognising fae magic for what it is, but Lancelot finds himself overly calm despite that.

"It was a game of hide and seek. All the children were hiding while the knights, lords and ladies went to seek."

"Ugh, boring."

Finnick reclines on the mushroom with the sigh, so ready to tell Lancelot to go away, but that fae magic clinging to him still has him interested. It's hard to continue being dismissive when he's so curious, but he keeps it up a little longer.

"Now you've told me a boring story. And you smell."

He supposes it would be boring to a fae. Fae kidnap children all the time, so much so that it must have become mundane. Although the idea of such a thing becoming mundane is faintly unsettling. It should probably be more so. It probably will be later.

"Forgive me," he says regardless, as if telling a boring story while apparently smelling is an offence for which he truly is sorry. "Perhaps, then, if you showed me the way I could be out of your presence all the faster."

"No," Finnick says airily, dropping his head back. "I want to hear an interesting story."

He smoothly pushes himself onto his stomach, leaning on his elbows out over the front edge just a touch and smirking at Lancelot as the whole mushroom seems to lean toward him as well. "Tell me about why you smell like fae."

The hookah pipe is still in his hand, and he ever so thoughtfully turns and tilts his head to blow the smoke just to the right of Lancelot instead of straight at his face.

Something in Lancelot seems to shake off the glamour and dreamlike fog more for a moment and he blinks at Finnick, eyes widening a fraction as he takes in the situation a little better. Tell me about why you smell like faesmells? He feels nerves make his pulse quicken, fight-or-flight instinct beginning to better catalogue the area for threats. Yet he still answers.

"Because I lived here," he says simply, "for many years."

Edited (why the extra space) 2015-12-28 00:09 (UTC)

Finnick tilts his head. He knows that most of the time when humans come to the Other Realm it's not under entirely consensual circumstances, so he decides very quickly that he doesn't want to talk about that. He drops his voice a touch instead, looking Lancelot up and down.

"Why did you leave?"

"It was not my choice. I was sent back, my memories obscured. I could not say why. Perhaps they simply tired of me. Perhaps I grew too old. Perhaps," and here his lips quirk up faintly, "I smell too much."

Too much of human. Perhaps he behaved too human. Aged too quickly. Lancelot gives a faint shrug, eyes fixed on Finnick still. It's difficult to focus, but he's trying. If Finnick can help him get out then it's worth trying to appeal to him. He really isn't keen on staying here too long, if he can help it.

Finnick's voice sits at a soft, enticing rumble from deep in his chest, employing the same type of glamouring he used to do without thinking when he was young. Something about how easy this is is fun, and he only hopes he can string the man along for his own fun a little longer before he sends him home or ushers him along.

"I don't think you're too old. You are undeniably human, of course, but some of us don't find that off-putting."

Doesn't think he's too old? Lancelot tilts his head curiously at Finnick, drawn along by the siren song of his voice and finding himself oddly unable to look away.

"'Some of us'?", he prompts, "should I be flattered, then?"

"I should think so," Finnick says with a patronizing tilt of his head. "I'm not nearly so complimentary toward most humans."

All but one, actually, though in his past he's showered many humans with many complimentary words. Very few of those were genuine, but true to his creation none of them were lies. The mushroom seems to shift subtly closer, close enough for Finnick to reach out and gently lift Lancelot's jaw with the knuckle of his index finger.

"Some might consider my attention a gift."

Lancelot is about to say that he supposes he is flattered then, if it is as Finnick says -- yet then the fae is somehow closer. Somehow closer and touching him. Lancelot's eyes widen a fraction at the gesture, eyes flitting over Finnick as if to try and read the meaning behind the gesture. He can feel his heart begin to beat faster, uncertain of the gesture and how he should react. If he should be nervous of the fae so close, preparing to fight or flee.

Part of him knows he should pull away, yet the glamour of the magic around him leaves Lancelot simply standing mutely a second -- gazing at Finnick as if he's speaking in a language he cannot entirely parse.

"And is it a gift?" he says finally, although he suspects the answer Finnick gives might be different to others who have experienced his attention.

Something twists in Finnick's stomach then, some deep hatred for a faceless mass that Lancelot is currently standing surrogate for. It's a stupid question, he thinks. A stupid, thoughtless question, and Finnick can't cut to the part of it that makes him so upset, he just wants to take it out on Lancelot for asking it in the first place.

But his smile doesn't waver. If anything, the dimples in his cheeks just get deeper and the light in his eyes becomes more fierce.

"Gifts can only be given to the willing," he says, avoiding the question entirely. If there's any danger in his tone, it's right on the edge and nearly undetectable, especially with the glamour getting more intense. "The true question is, do you want it?"

It's an odd sort of question, and once Lancelot struggles to properly form an answer to. Is he willing... to what? Be given a gift? The gift of this fae's attention? He thinks on that a moment, frowning, then finally answers --

"I want to leave," which is an honest answer. He isn't frightened by Finnick, the glamour is too heavy for him to be worried at all, but he does want to leave. He has so much work to be doing, and his dog to take care of. He can't stay here, can he?

Finnick studies Lancelot's face for another moment and then he's gone, pulling back as the glamour fades. His transition from being close enough to touch to reclining on the mushroom again is smooth but abrupt.

"A human who chooses not to use his gift of bald-faced deception," he says, like he's musing about a child who insists on only using half the box of crayons. He takes a thoughtful puff from the hookah and then tilts his head at Lancelot thoughtfully once again.

"If I gave you what you ask for," he says airily, "what would you do with it? Just how much mediocrity should I expect from this life I would be giving back to you?"

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Down the Rabbit Hole

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