Death Chamber
|
The Death Chamber was changing. With the new lab equipment were new sights, smells, and sounds. Various liquids were bubbling, and emitting often rather sweet vapors, making the room seem alive for the first time. With the more obvious changes came the smaller ones at the employees initiative. The lighting was brighter to accommodate the alchemists, though there was a master lantern near the entrance that would allow someone to dim, or even change the color of the rest of the torches or candles. Another change was that one of the employees decided to take the cleaning duties into his own hands. With his ever-standing cane keeping a vigil at the top of the room, the man himself was about halfway down, a broom in hand. The dusty old chamber never looked cleaner. It was a time for new beginnings. |
Jane had been so engrossed in her work in the new laboratory that had been set up in the Death Chamber that she hadn't even noticed that anyone else had come in. How long she had been in there working, she wasn't even sure. She was looking subtly different from her usual self this year--dark circles were starting to form under her eyes, a strand or two of hair was slipping out of her usually neat bun, and she seemed very serious, without her former understated cheerfulness. As she reduced the flame to very low, the potion she'd been working on subsided from a low boil to a barely noticeable simmer, and in the resulting quiet, she suddenly thought she heard a noise in the room. "Hello? Is someone there?" she called out, stepping cautiously out of the laboratory area and nearly tripping over a cane that had been left at the top of the stairs. |
The cane teetered when Jane bumped into it, but it quickly brought itself back upright. If the Ministry were to collapse right now, the two things left standing, would likely be that cane and the archway in the center of the room. "Jane!" Damian exclaimed in surprise, in the middle of a broom stroke. "To me." Calling to the cane, it zipped to the unspeakable's right hand, while letting the enchanted broom go about it's business unaided. "Not that I don't appreciate the gloomy atmosphere. It really sets a mood..But I've grown tired of working in a dusty mausoleum." Cane in hand, he confidently climbed up the stairs. His bad leg wasn't giving him much trouble today. Thanks for asking. "How was your holiday?" |
Jane noted vaguely the self-righting cane and briefly thought what a handy bit of magic that was. She looked around at the Chamber as she slowly made her way further down the stairs--it was indeed much cleaner than it had been. She hadn't really been aware for a long time now of the condition of the Chamber; its atmosphere of gloom and disuse rather suited her current mood. Or maybe that was her imagination--the work she was doing could have a depressing effect. "My holiday?" she finally responded. Had she been on holiday? Oh yes, the trip to Europe; she supposed that might count as a sort of holiday--at least things had turned out more or less all right in the end. "It was all right. I did manage to see some of my old colleagues at the Alchemical Institute at Göttingen." Including the most important one, the meeting she wasn't going to mention to anyone. "But Europe has gotten a bit...strange," she continued, frowing slightly at the memory of the signs she'd seen of Neo-Alliance activity in Germany--their influence had definitely spread beyond London, or Britain. |
"Ah." There was a brief pause, knowing that she wasn't telling the full story, but he had no right to pry. "I keep in touch with magical musicians across the world. We share music, practically a language in it's own right, and some of it has been rather distressing to hear." Few truly knew the secret messages that were sent around the world through song. It could often be felt, but the feeling was hard to decipher without an understanding of their hidden language. "They took their shot at us first. Even if they couldn't topple the ministry, they did enough damage to embolden their ilk around the world. We have to be vigilant that their evil doesn't take root here again." Giving the cane a squeeze, the weariness in his heart was starting to show through his youthful demeanor. He could see the witch felt something similar. Damian wanted to say something funny to try and lift her spirits. Even if his humor fell flat on her ears, he at least could offer a brief respite from her woes. But today wasn't the day for mirth. What he said next was as cold and serious as the grave. "I'm going to find him. I've heard rumors that he never escaped the ministry, and has been feeding on employees. I investigated the scene of one of the attacks, and luckily the woman was found alive. But he has killed in the past. Though we have treaties, and accords, saying that his kind deserve to be treated like any other witch or wizard, he's broken every single one. It's his actions that has made a monster out of him." Damian knew that Jane knew who exactly he was talking about. The classification of vampires had been a hotly debated topic throughout the centuries. The unspeakables of the Death Chamber often classify them under their purview. Other departments would sometimes argue against Mysteries claims, at least until MLE needed a specialist. |
Quote:
|
"Though I try not to be here before noon, I did make it there for breakfast that day." Damian said nonchalantly, taking a seat on one of the steps, as the enchanted broom came sweeping by. His work outside the ministry building kept him on the graveyard shift, because the ghastly and the ghouls rarely kept regular business hours. Showing up midday, half asleep, earned him a reputation as lazy to those who did not know the nature of his occupation. "The pancakes were quite delectable. Even the fountain spouting a viscous red liquid couldn't bring me down from the heights of syrup induced joy." Finding the cold stone rather comfortable against his back, the man sprawled out on the step, letting his head hang off the edge, observing the chamber upside down. "I was actually rather happy to see it. My previous hypothesis was that he was trapped in the ministry. Attacking out of desperation. But the theatrics shows there is more method to his madness. Or, at the very least, he isn't acting alone." Though it was grim business, he always did it with a smile. It helped to know that he had the epitome of professionalism watching his back. |
Ordinarily Jane would find the sight of someone lolling off one of the steps in the Death Chamber to view it upside down amusing, but nothing lately seemed amusing to her. It was the work, she knew--this phase of the experiment was bound to cause negative feelings to well up in a person, Jane knew that. But still, even knowing it in advance did not keep it from depressing her. And the fact that she, along with other Ministry staff, had been unable so far to discover exactly what that liquid in the fountain really was. Seating herself on another of the stone steps, Jane rested her head on one hand. "No, he's not working alone," she commented glumly. "He doesn't have the capability of producing that liquid in the fountain. So far, it's defied all of the combined abilities and knowledge of the Ministry; no one in any of the departments has been able to analyze exactly what it is." Jane felt rather a failure at the moment and gave a sad sigh. |
"Hmm." Though he was listening to every word, Damian was easily distracted. With an upside-down perspective, he was looking around the chamber. The tower inverted, death inverted. But whatever truth he was trying to find was not easily revealing itself. Raising his head to look at Jane (The Empress? Queen of Pentacles?), Damian did not notice her melancholy until he turned his view upright. "Have some chocolate." Reaching into a pocket, there was a jingling of coins, and various trinkets, before he pulled out a black wrapped chocolate bar with gold inlay. Unwrapping the bar, the unspeakable was unaware of the pair of notes that had tumbled from his pocket, an origami frog and crane. "Pair of unspeakables came up with this specific brand of chocolate in this very chamber. It was meant to treat dementor sickness, but it's good enough to have as a treat when you're feeling a little blue." Handing Jane a square, the pair of notes were making their attempt to hop/fly away. "Always thought 'The special ingredient is love.' was just a cute bit of marketing, but I checked the Love Chamber logs. It's true, believe it or not." After snatching up the rogue origami before they could escape, those blue eyes watched intently. Wondering if the woman was being overworked, or that the sanguine substance was having some effect on her. Maybe both. |
Jane walked toward him, not seeming to really hear what he was saying, but all the same she did reach out for the chocolate. Love, eh? Maybe that would help, though she doubted it. She was well into the Black Phase of her alchemical work now, and that required delving into your deepest shadows and facing you worst fears. Still, chocolate probably wouldn't hurt. She had been working very hard. "Thank you. If nothing else, maybe it will wake me up. I hadn't noticed until just a while ago how late it was. But I wanted to finish what I was doing and put it on a low simmer before leaving it alone." Jane stood here, meditatively chewing a bite of the chocolate. Maybe a cup of coffee would help...Then she noticed the escaping notes. "Don't let any get away," she commented with just a touch of her dry humor. "They have a tendency to try to jump through the Veil. Whatever is behind there probably doesn't know what to make of them." |
Not sure if the chocolate was having any effect on Jane, seeing her try it at least gave his mood a slight push in the right direction. "I'd like to think they would read them." Damian said hopefully. "Sometimes, at night, when I have the chamber to myself I play my guitar for them. My first published paper was about how ghosts react to music. I figure it's worth a shot, and to be quite honest. the acoustics are pretty great in here." He added with a small smile, harkening back to his first time in this chamber. "I know it'd be a practice in futility to try and convince you to go home and get some rest. So, perhaps I could talk you into hitting the break room for some coffee, and a little time away from your experiment? Can't have you running yourself ragged. Anything happens to you, who is going to have my back?" They were complete opposites. Night and Day. Life and Death. Through these differences, and the importance of their work, a fierce loyalty was forged. Jane's professionalism and work ethic were two things Damian severely lacked, but deeply respected. |
Quote:
"You're right," she finally answered, wiping her hands on a pocket handkerchief that she produced, seemingly from nowhere. "I've been in here too long today. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the Third Floor Break Room." She preferred that one when she wanted to be by herself, and besides, she just remembered she had a biscuit stored away there. "But fair warning--if I don't get back in time, you may find an oily black cloud that smells like sulphur and rotten eggs emanating from my lab," she remarked wryly over her shoulder to him as she headed up the stairs to the exit. |
With a bit of a grin on his face, Damian felt rather proud of himself for convincing his superior to practice a little self care. How very grown up of him. Wait, what did she say? "You're kidding, right?" He stammered. "I can't tell when you're kidding!" That grin fell right off his face. "I've worked so very hard to clean this place..." The wizard muttered sheepishly. What was this chill running down his spine? This sense of impending doom? |
New Ministry year, new timeline... Jane stood in the special potions lab area of the Death Chamber and surveyed the remains of her last experiments. It seemed so long ago since she left them, intending to be gone no more than an hour for a cup of tea and a muffin. But things didn't turn out the way she planned, as they often didn't. She'd been attacked by...something (a vampire, according to her colleague, Damian Pendragon, and Jane supposed he ought to know, though she hadn't seen her attacker and remembered only a few vague sensations related to the event). With all the noxious and even toxic (some of them) herbs and ingredients that had been permeating her body and clothing last year, Jane had hoped that whatever (or whoever, for she had her suspicions) had attacked her might have poisoned itself. Though you could never tell with vampires. Now, although her colleagues had managed to close down the experiments before they fouled the Death Chamber in her absence, there was nothing left of them but charred embers and a dark, foul-smelling sludge in the bottom of one retort. Disgusted, Jane cast "Evanesco!" with her wand and vanished the entire thing. She would have to start over, of course. But instead of feeling depressed, she felt excited, even elated. There was nothing like a near-death experiment to bring clarity to the Putrefaction stage of the Nigredo process. What needed to be done next had manifested itself in her mind so clearly as she was regaining consciousness--she could see the answer all of a whole, like her subconscious had been working on it all the time she had been unconscious. Humming to herself softly, she began gathering the equipment and ingredients needed to begin again. |
Strolling into the chamber, while humming a tune to himself, Damian was in a rather good mood after encountering Conley and his daughter at the fountain. It was almost enough to allow him to forget the experience in America that lead to him carrying a chained up, face bound book, and his robes being covered in muck and other nastiness. "Mind the stairs." Dropping the chain, the unflappable unspeakable gave the book a kick to the face, sending it sailing down the stairs as it cursed him in some dead language. "To me." Calling his simple wooden cane to his now free hand, Damian carefully made his way down to the bottom of the room. "Any last words?" More Sumerian gibberish. "Yeah, I'll miss you too. Enjoy your stay in the Night Library." Replacing his cane with his wand, he picked up the book with his other hand, making sure not to let it bite his fingers. Again. And with a few words, a small opening formed in the marble, just large enough for him to shove the book into before sealing back up. "Ugh." Ugh. |
Jane poked her head around the corner of her laboratory area at the sound of thumping. It was her colleague, Damian Pendragon, kicking something (she hoped it was not a someone) down the stairs and then magicking it into an opening in the marble before sealing it up. "Damian? Is that you?" she called, stepping out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. "What is that? Are you leaving it in here?? I can't have another mishap with this experiment." Really, this stage of her work was very delicate and the least wrong vibration could set it awry, which was the very reason she had asked permission to set up a lab in the Death Chamber. Damian was a good, even at times a noble, person, but he didn't communicate things as well as might be wished sometimes. Jane sighed slightly. She had been wanting to speak to Damian ever since she'd returned to work about some impressions she was starting to remember from her attack, but really, he couldn't have turned up at a worse time. |
Damian was exhausted. Tired to his very core, and neglecting to do his due diligence. The doctor wouldn't have let himself be caught accessing the area under the veil. With his back to Ms. Howard, he only saw her shadow stretching over him as he heard her voice. "It's me.." He called out to the witch, wand still in his hand. "I didn't want to worry you with this." The unspeakable, the mortemist, knew that he should obliviate her, and unburden her of the knowledge of such a terrible secret. Damian knew what he should do, but he also knew what he could do. And he knew he couldn't do that to her. She'd already been through so much, and a selfish part of him needed to share this with her. With someone. Every day he cursed the name of Nero Nykto for hanging the weight of the Death Chamber around his neck. "It can't do anything if we don't read it." Letting his wand slide down his tattered sleeve, Damian turned to look up at Jane, a hint of shame in his eyes. "This is where we keep the bad ideas. The tomes and grimoires that have to be hidden away until we find out how to safely destroy them. It's dangerous to even think about these books outside of this chamber, not to mention speaking of them." Ideas could be dangerous, and knowledge could be a burden. If there was anyone he could trust, it would be Jane Howard. His shoulders felt a little less heavy when she was around. |
Jane continued standing there, frowning slightly, though she did lower her wand. "I wish Mr. Flamsteed had warned me about this before he set up my laboratory in here. I had no idea this chamber served as the Restricted Section for the Ministry." Sighing, she suddenly wheeled around and began casting a protective circle utilizing the *hagalaz rune around her workstation and chanting under her breath in a low voice. When she was satisfied that no stray vibrations could get near her experiment, she turned back to Damian. "I'd been wanting to talk to you since I got back. I've remembered some things--very vague impressions, you understand--about my attack, and I felt I should share them with someone. But I haven't been able to get hold of any of the aurors--I suspect they think it not worth their time, and they may be right. But I thought you--since you have experience with such things." She gestured vaguely at the puncture marks on her neck, which were clearly visible above her lightweight robes. Some women would try to hide such a scar with jewelry or scarves, but Jane didn't bother with such vanities. She didn't go into detail about what "such things" might be--it didn't take a genius to put massive blood loss and a wound consisting of two puncture marks together and come to some sort of conclusion about what might have attacked her. |
If anyone is keeping track: This takes place before the Lair of Despair. "We.." Damian was beginning to make his way up the stairs. "We don't really talk about the books.. I try to forget sometimes myself." He didn't want to have to explain the lengths he sometimes went to to do this. "The aurors have been rather tight lipped about these incidents, haven't they?" He was at the top of the room now, leaving his cane standing as he approached Jane. "I never liked doing consultations for suspected vampire attacks when I was in the private sector. There's always so many different parties involved. When dealing with dementors, ghosts, inferi, etc; Things are pretty straightforward. But with vampires, they're classified as people with an affliction, so have to be treated as such." Damian could have rambled more, but he became distracted by the two small marks on the witches' neck. "I'm sorry, I talk too much sometimes. What do you remember? No detail is unimportant." The investigation into the attacks within the walls of the Ministry of Magic had been a side project over the last year, but when Jane Howard became the latest victim, Damian began to take things personally. He was constantly exhausted, but he knew he could only rest properly when this was all over. |
"Hmm, yes, well even people with an affliction have to answer if they commit crimes," Jane said rather tartly. She didn't believe personal problems, however genuine, were valid excuses for bad behavior--especially murder (and she was still not quite over losing her previous colleague). "Well, I really don't remember very much. And of course, with the puncture wounds and our past experience in the Ministry with...a certain individual, one can come to certain conclusions about what is going on. But...I do have vague memories of...a sort of hissing, yowling sounds--almost like purring. And there were these blurry, rather animalistic movements around--which I felt, rather than saw, you understand, because the room was filled with the most unimaginable blackness. And I had been curious, because I'd never heard of those sorts of things associated with..." (oh, why was she beating around the bush about it, especially down here with Damian, they both knew what they were talking about here) "...with vampires before. Is it the vampire turning into some sort of animal, or accompanied by one, or...well, as I said, it's all rather vague. But I started dreaming about it, even when awake, in the hospital, and even know, sometimes I do still. I know what I heard." Despite the healers' attempts to placate her with words about stress and blood loss causing her to imagine things. Which Jane Howard did not do. |
"Hrmm.." Damian's blue eyes fluttered while listening intently as Jane spoke. "I would think his continued seclusion, his desperation, is causing him to become more, uh, feral." With a wave of his hand over his face, he closed his eyes. "At first, I dismissed the loss of vision as a symptom of fading consciousness, but it has become apparent that the shade came before the attack." The younger wizard pointed his finger like a wand towards the veil. "That's what pointed me at Goldwasser. He couldn't help but make a show of abducting my predecessor under a cloud of darkness. Then, he was at the top of his power. Now, he's desperate, in hiding." This was punctuated with a huff. "Have you been feeling well? Sensitivity to sunlight? Aversion to running water?" His voice softening, two fingers pressed against the scars on Jane's neck. |
Quote:
"And you're definitely right about the darkness--it came before the attack, because I remember trying to see what was in the room with me and failing to." Jane didn't really want to dwell on the attack much, it would inhibit her work, but she'd felt she ought to share wha |
"Pulse is good. You seem to be the picture of health." Damian removed his fingers from the side of her throat, and put them on his own. "But I'm terrified. I don't know how you're handling this so well." The mortemist was supposed to be the most mysterious of the Department of Mysteries. The shadow of death itself. But he knew he was only mortal, and something far more dangerous stalked the halls of the Ministry of Magic. Dropping his hand to his side, Damian turned his head away. "This is all coming to a head soon." He had pulled the deck of beaten cards from his pocket already. It used to be for fun, but over the last couple years it had become an obsession. Turning over the first card, it showed a weathered picture of a menacing being cloaked in shadows. The Devil Card. Again, and again, he turned cards over with increasing speed until they became a messy pile at his feet. The Devil Card. Each and every one. |
Quote:
Quote:
|
All times are GMT. The time now is 11:52 AM. |
Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.4
Copyright ©2000 - 2024, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
LinkBacks Enabled by vBSEO 3.3.2 © 2009, Crawlability, Inc.
Site designed by Richard Harris Design