we're soaring // open

[skypher]

Chip sighed as they sat in the lobby of the lodge. He did not do much. He supposed he could do much. But alas, there was nothing to do. More than likely his two brothers were off doing who knows what and he was left... He drew his legs up close to his chest, alone. He was used to being alone at this point, not that he liked it. It was a gross, twisted feeling. Like shadows were crawling up from the darkest depths of your stomach and were crawling and clawing up your esophagus and trying to escape from your mouth... He raised a brow. That was disgusting where did that even come from.

He needed to go do something. Fast.

Chip groggily stood up, his arms, shoulders, and head falling limp. He yawned as he lifted his head up, eyes scanning the dark room in front of him. He was the only person in here so far. He couldn't talk to anyone then... (well. more like make them talk to him, but he liked to listen.) Chip hummed, eyes moving over to a stack of various boxes in the corner of the room. Okay. That'll do. His curiosity is peaked.

Chip slid himself over to the boxes, taking one off the top and setting it in his crisscrossed lap. He slowly blinked before taking hold of one of the folded flaps. He peered inside. ... lightbulbs. He felt somewhat accomplished. Like an itch of curiosity has been scratched. He now knew what was inside the box. He closed it once more, shifting it to the side, peering up. What was in the rest of them? Opening various boxes, he got hold of toy soldiers, food bars, cotton balls and ... his face twisted. Eugh. (Ottawa might like these, he had to think) Moving on. He took hold of the last box, peering at it. He tilted his head, brown bangs falling over his vision. There had to be something in the box. He lifted it up, giving it a small shake. There were things inside. He could hear them. He took hold of the flap, tearing it back. And promptly raised a brow in confusion. Various bands of bright, fluorescent colors stood back. They were straight like a ruler, gross and fuzzy like cheap fabric. Chip pinched one between two of his fingers, staring at the unknown object like the plague. He tightened his grip, screaming out as it suddenly snapped, rolling up like a porcupine or hedgehog. He promptly punted it across the room. Chip stared at the small fabric roll in shock, sweat dribbling down his face. He tilted his head, promptly facing his fears and lifting up another band. He hummed. If pressure made them roll up. He took his wrist, the closest "stick like object" to him, and tapped it across the surface. It rolled up like a bracelet. He chuckled. Okay. These were not so bad, he supposed.

[impiety]

[div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Greer herself had become rather lonely, and she felt more lonely than ever upon Gilbert's return. Her brother had further isolated himself and he was quite difficult to handle, and so she tried to sleep away from him. She was sleeping by his door though, after shoving some food into his room. She tended to fall asleep anywhere easily, and, it was quite embarrassing. But she was jolted out of her slumber quickly.

She hit her head against the wall as she looked around frantically, eyes turning in confusion as she spotted the room it came from, the lobby. She quickly stood up, unaware that Gilbert had also been startled and was stepping out his room and quietly following her. Luckily it wasn't too far away, so she quickly rushed forward with Gilbert next to her holding his baseball bat. She scanned, and spotted Chip - playing with something familiar. "Was that ye?" She asked, stepping closer as she studied the bracelets. Was... He screaming because of them? She couldn't blame him, it was freaky when they suddenly snapped like that.
[align=center]"Greer"            "Gilbert"

TAGS

[BENJAMIN]

[align=center][div style="border:0px;width:450px;text-align:justify;line-height:1.1;font-size:8.5pt;"]The feeling of having nothing to do is familiar to Benjamin. As someone with a disability that severely hinders every single hobby and every single physical thing he can do, the blind teenager often finds himself lying around in the common room like a useless lump, either sleeping on one of the couches or reading a book. It's an incredibly boring existence, if he's being honest with himself. He can also relate to feeling alone, as he feels alone on the daily. He's trapped in his own little world while everyone else is able to see the world they truly live in, while he's stuck with patterns and shapes and colors that he can't even begin to understand. It's all incredibly shitty, and yeah, being alone feels horrible. He knows that. He gets it. So, the curious push to rummage through the storage boxes he'd been moving from room to room isn't all that surprising. What is surprising, though, is hearing a sudden shriek. Benjamin pauses where he is, lifting his head as he sets a few of the boxes down in the basement. What in the hell was that? He supposes he should investigate. So, he feels his way up the steps, then taps his cane along in front until he finds himself in the common room, and awkwardly, he stands in the doorway while Greer talks. "Uh—what was that? What's going on?"

[ bad post, trying to get activity up in a hurry, i apologize ]

[torquemada]

[align=center][div style="width: 460px; text-align:justify; font-family:arial; font-size:9pt"]"What the shit was that?" Ottawa had also been quite startled upon hearing Chip's bloodcurdling shriek. He had rushed to the source of the sound expecting there to be someone dead, or injured, but there's nothing of the sort here. It's just Chip, cowering in fear from some stick-thing, and a couple other lodgers at his side. Well, no one's dying, so Ottawa guesses he can put away the knife clutched in his uninjured hand. He slips it haphazardly into his pocket, unsheathed and all, and shoots Chip a rather unimpressed stare, as if to silently say really? All this racket over a... what even is that? He's not going to reprimand his brother over screaming over nothing or anything; it's his own fault he had immediately thought the worst, but he can't help but feel a little disgruntled that Chip had made such a big fuss over nothing.

Ottawa hesitantly steps forward, crouching down to peer into the box. He shoves his hand into it and pulls out a few of the bracelets that Chip is so terrified of, scrutinizing them with a scrunched up face. "Fuck—I mean, uh, what is this?" He asks, looking expectantly towards Chip. Chip might not know. They look pretty old—they're colored so obnoxiously that it reminds him of their beloved hippie caravan, like a piece straight out of the 70s embodied in an ugly strip of fabric and plastic.