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There is a certain electric tension in the air here—like the room itself is thinking.
Clean and unnervingly bright, this peculiar chamber buzzes with intellectual static. The walls are lined with enchanted chalkboards that update themselves in real-time, scribbling theories, symbols, and incomplete theorems in a dozen different languages (and at least two theoretical dialects). Occasionally, the boards will weep powdered chalk when overburdened. It’s best not to take it personally. At the center of the room rests a large tank filled with an eerie green potion that glows faintly when no one is looking directly at it. Suspended within are pearly white brains—the Encephalons—whose thoughts ripple visibly through the potion like fish in a magical pond. They hum faintly and move with deliberate grace. Highly intelligent, slightly temperamental, and possibly listening, the Encephalons are essential to the Department’s ongoing research on magical cognition and the echoes of thought throughout the magical world. A handful of desks (magically affixed to the floor after a minor incident involving levitating interns) circle the room, along with a curious contraption resembling Professor Edmond Savary d'Odiard's Thought Machine. It clicks and ticks at irregular intervals and occasionally launches parchment at passersby with urgent philosophical questions. Please return those to the filing box marked "Unsolved (Yet)." There are doors to either side that suggest the Chamber extends far beyond its visible boundaries, and quite possibly beyond this reality’s agreed-upon laws of physics.
Visitors are advised not to fall asleep here. Your dreams may not remain your own.
*randomly tagged* | Norbert(a) | The Wandmaker (tm)
It had been a while since Adam had been in the thought chamber. Normally he could resist the pull to come, but today? Today he couldn't resist. So here he was, standing perhaps a little too close to the large tank of Encephalons. One of the brains looked rather excited to see Adam, or was that perhaps just his imagination. It kept bumping up against the glass and waving one of it's tendrils as if saying 'hi! I missed you!!!' Adam kept his distance, or tried to, but the longer he stood there, the harder it was. It always was. The bond he had with Reil the Encephalons, was strong. He reached out and touched one finger to the glass.
One finger became two fingers, which became a palm pressed up against the glass...
Jane had been looking throughout the Department of Mysteries for Adam. She wanted to consult him about some aspects of the love potions and ask about the possibility of re-opening her workstation in the brewing area of the Love Chamber. She was still involved with her current work in the Death Chamber, but she anticipated moving on as early as next year, given the insights that had come to her in hospital, so she thought she might as well get some of the preliminaries out of the way now.
Someone had finally mentioned that they thought they saw Adam headed for the Thought Chamber, and so she headed there herself. As she entered, she paused for a moment to appreciate the clean, bright area. Sometimes she regretted spending so much of her time the the dark, claustrophobic Death Chamber (but not really--that area offered so many challenges, she felt lucky to have gotten a position there on her entry to the Ministry several years ago).
Suddenly her attention was caught by the sight of Adam Gerulf standing near the bell jars that contained the preserved Encephalons, with his hand positively plastered against one of them. Surely that couldn't be quite safe? Fearing to alarm any of the Encephalons, particularly the one next to Adam, Jane slowly and quietly stepped further into the room until she was in earshot and then, trying to keep her voice low and not startle anyone (or anything) too greatly, she said, "Mr. Gerulf? Are you free to talk a moment?"
*randomly tagged* | Norbert(a) | The Wandmaker (tm)
Despite the glass between them, it felt like Reil was slowly sweet talking his way into Adam's brain. Images floated around his head. This always happened when he stopped by. Reil seemed to start an exchange of ideas and images, as if it was the Encephalon's way of making small chat. He seemed very excited to learn more about Micha and Adam was happy to show him, so long as the brain-thing didn't try to take over his body again.
It took Adam a while to realize someone and not Reil was talking to him. His blue eyes seemed to struggle to focus behind his big thick glasses, but slowly he seemed to realize where he was. He pulled his hand away from the glass and the Encephalon seemed to get a little upset. He turned towards Jane. "Call mich Ah-dam, bitte." Being called Mr. Gerulf made him feel old and lately he was already feeling his age. His father had told him having a child would make him feel young. Mostly Micha just made him feel tired. And sore... "Vhat can I do fur you?"
Suddenly her attention was caught by the sight of Adam Gerulf standing near the bell jars that contained the preserved Encephalons, with his hand positively plastered against one of them. Surely that couldn't be quite safe? Fearing to alarm any of the Encephalons, particularly the one next to Adam, Jane slowly and quietly stepped further into the room until she was in earshot and then, trying to keep her voice low and not startle anyone (or anything) too greatly, she said, "Mr. Gerulf? Are you free to talk a moment?"
Quote:
Originally Posted by Krel Ansell
It took Adam a while to realize someone and not Reil was talking to him. His blue eyes seemed to struggle to focus behind his big thick glasses, but slowly he seemed to realize where he was. He pulled his hand away from the glass and the Encephalon seemed to get a little upset. He turned towards Jane. "Call mich Ah-dam, bitte." Being called Mr. Gerulf made him feel old and lately he was already feeling his age. His father had told him having a child would make him feel young. Mostly Micha just made him feel tired. And sore... "Vhat can I do fur you?"
After spending a number of hours in the prophecy hall recording and evaluating prophecies Laurel felt light-headed and tired. She needed a break and to talk to friend. Adam immediatly came to mind so she made her way to see him. He wasn't in the brewing area so Laurel headed to the thought chamber on impulse. The encephalons always creeped her out, but some just thought brains were cool. Shuddering slightly the blond prophecy maven entered the chamber and spotted Adam standing way too close to the encephalon tanks to her liking and Jane. "Hello Adam and Jane!" Laurel greeted with a warm smile. Moving a little closer she asked "How have you both been?" Right now Adam didn't seem to have a hand on the tanks so Laurel chose for now, not to say anything about his place of standing.
He pulled his hand away from the glass and the Encephalon seemed to get a little upset. He turned towards Jane. "Call mich Ah-dam, bitte." Being called Mr. Gerulf made him feel old and lately he was already feeling his age. His father had told him having a child would make him feel young. Mostly Micha just made him feel tired. And sore... "Vhat can I do fur you?"
Jane nodded and said, "Adam, then." She would have been surprised to learn that being called by his surname made her colleague feel old--in fact, Jane thought she was rather older than he was. But she liked to keep up a certain degree of manners in the workplace; maybe it was from all that teaching of manners to the youngest Blackthorne when she was her governess."
Quote:
Originally Posted by Nordic Witch
Shuddering slightly the blond prophecy maven entered the chamber and spotted Adam standing way too close to the encephalon tanks to her liking and Jane. "Hello Adam and Jane!" Laurel greeted with a warm smile. Moving a little closer she asked "How have you both been?" Right now Adam didn't seem to have a hand on the tanks so Laurel chose for now, not to say anything about his place of standing.
Jane turned at the sound of another voice and found another colleague, Lauren Vance-Rose, had entered the chamber. Jane smiled and nodded to the other woman, murmuring "I'm quite well, thank you," in answer to her question. Well, Jane was as well as someone who'd been attached by something or someone and spent a half year in hospital. Of course, that was some months ago, but sometimes Jane still felt a little weak. She had more to say to Laurel, but first things first, so she turned back to Adam.
"I came to ask you about what potions experiments you were planning for next year in the Love Chamber. I have something I might be wanting to work on there and I wanted to make sure it doesn't interfere with anything else going on." Next year might be too early for some to plan, but not for Jane. She paused to clear her throat slightly and then added, "Is it quite wise to stand so close to that enclosure?" Because he'd looked about ready to give the Encephalon an embrace, from where Jane had been looking.
*randomly tagged* | Norbert(a) | The Wandmaker (tm)
He gave Jane a big smile when she agreed to stop calling him Mister and then looked off towards the entrance where Laurel had appeared. He'd of course, smelled her perfume or shampoo or whatever she used because he had always been too polite to ask - before he saw her. Yes his eyesight had improved steadily over the past few years, but it was always going to be bad. "Hallo Laurel," he said cheerily. "Kan nicht complain...You?"
Potions? Well, he hadn't really thought that far. Most of his potions revolved around variations of the love potion and antidotes. Although since he and Zita had officially moved in together, he's started conducting some of his wolfsbane potion variations at work. His quest to find a version that wasn't so hard to brew nor cost so much was still a work in progress but he had faith that some day he would find something. But with Zita's condition, he had agreed to not brew potions at home unless it was absolutely necessary. "Vell, Lofe potions uff kourse... undt mein eyesight korrection potions. If you need space, I am sure zere kan be some made." Laurel already knew about his crusade to help those afflicted by lycanthropy, but he wasn't sure if he could tell Jane about it. People had very specific feelings about werewolves after all.
It was funny that Jane asked if it was safe for Adam to be so close to the tank because he didn't realize it, but his hand was reaching out again because Reil was bumping against the glass wanting Adam's attention. He placed one finger on the glass and then turned towards the ladies. " Reil undt I are old friends. He once spent a monzz in mein body. So long as you keep away from ze liqfid you are fine."
Jane continued to look doubtfully at the Encephalon, feeling that Adam was perhaps placing too much trust in it. Especially since, as she'd just learned, it had apparently taken over his brain once in the past. Maybe it was just an "old friend," but maybe it wanted another go at the man. But she couldn't very well order him about like a child, so she held her peace, for now.
"Well, not right away, but I think I might be ready to brew in the Love Chamber again some time early next year, if my current experiment continues to go well." And if she didn't wind up unexpectedly spending half a year in hospital again. "What I'm doing now is best suited for the Death Chamber, but the next stage involves the combination of the products, in a sort of chemical marriage, you understand. And the atmosphere of death will have a dampening effect on it, you see. But I thought the Love Chamber was just the place." As long as that place wasn't too close to Adam's work--she still remembered losing part of an experiment to one of his explosions. But after last year, that seemed a minor event.
If Adam had dared tell Jane about his experiments, she might have had some ideas for him, because she had been involved with such work years ago in Europe with her mentor. But he said nothing, and she wouldn't think to ask.
Looking back at Laurel, she nodded politely again. [b]"And what have you been working on this year?" she asked the other woman. Jane felt rather out of the loop this year after missing so much work when she was ill.
Jane turned at the sound of another voice and found another colleague, Lauren Vance-Rose, had entered the chamber. Jane smiled and nodded to the other woman, murmuring "I'm quite well, thank you," in answer to her question. Well, Jane was as well as someone who'd been attached by something or someone and spent a half year in hospital. Of course, that was some months ago, but sometimes Jane still felt a little weak. She had more to say to Laurel, but first things first, so she turned back to Adam. She paused to clear her throat slightly and then added, "Is it quite wise to stand so close to that enclosure?" Because he'd looked about ready to give the Encephalon an embrace, from where Jane had been looking.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Krel Ansell
He gave Jane a big smile when she agreed to stop calling him Mister and then looked off towards the entrance where Laurel had appeared. He'd of course, smelled her perfume or shampoo or whatever she used because he had always been too polite to ask - before he saw her. Yes his eyesight had improved steadily over the past few years, but it was always going to be bad. "Hallo Laurel," he said cheerily. "Kan nicht complain...You?"
"Vell, Lofe potions uff kourse... undt mein eyesight korrection potions. If you need space, I am sure zere kan be some made." He placed one finger on the glass and then turned towards the ladies. " Reil undt I are old friends. He once spent a monzz in mein body. So long as you keep away from ze liqfid you are fine."
It was relief to hear that Jane had recovered well after what she had been through last year. Laurel had heard about her colleague being attacked and had been a little worried about Jane's wellfare. Turning her blue eyes to Adam she smiled. "I've been good. I've finally gotten Aaron to do more cooking and cleaning around the house." Her husband wasn't an expert cook and she did find some peculiar messes sometimes, but Aaron at least tried. "How is Zita and the kids?" Laurel wondered as Jane questioned the wiseness of Adam's standing so close to the encephalon tank which she silently echoed.
Quote:
Originally Posted by MadAlice
Looking back at Laurel, she nodded politely again. [b]"And what have you been working on this year?" she asked the other woman. Jane felt rather out of the loop this year after missing so much work when she was ill.
Adam of course tried to persuade them that it was safe to stand so close to the tank even though an encephalon had taken over his brain. Laurel shook her head and took several steps forwards as she pleaded with her friend. "Please remove your fingers from the tank Adam. It's not certain that all the encephalon inhabitants in the tank are as 'nice' as Reil. I don't want you to get hurt." Her friend had the habit of getting himself and her into trouble and if he didn't take his fingers away then maybe he'd be there again. Turning her gaze to Jane she responded. "I've been working on a new system for analyzing and recording prophecies that will be quicker, more reliable and safer." They had found orb's with cracks lately that Laurel wanted to prevent from happening since prophecies were valuable.
Adam of course tried to persuade them that it was safe to stand so close to the tank even though an encephalon had taken over his brain. Laurel shook her head and took several steps forwards as she pleaded with her friend. "Please remove your fingers from the tank Adam. It's not certain that all the encephalon inhabitants in the tank are as 'nice' as Reil. I don't want you to get hurt." Her friend had the habit of getting himself and her into trouble and if he didn't take his fingers away then maybe he'd be there again. Turning her gaze to Jane she responded. "I've been working on a new system for analyzing and recording prophecies that will be quicker, more reliable and safer." They had found orb's with cracks lately that Laurel wanted to prevent from happening since prophecies were valuable.
Jane was relieved that Laurel had told Adam to take his hands off the tank--that saved her the problem of doing it herself, and Adam did not usually take well to being told to do things by her (maybe he sensed some governessy residue in her manner, she wasn't sure). At any rate, she was not at all sure even the Encephalon he was communing with was 'safe' just because they had a history (in fact, that probably made it less safe).
But, interested in what Lauren was working on, she turned back to the witch (keeping an eye on Adam in her peripheral vision to see if he would really remove his hands) and responded eagerly, "Oh, that sounds very useful! I'd been meaning to check with someone on the extent of the damage caused by that rock golem that got loose in the Chamber of Prophecy a few years ago." That had been Jane's first day at the Ministry and was very memorable.
But, interested in what Lauren was working on, she turned back to the witch (keeping an eye on Adam in her peripheral vision to see if he would really remove his hands) and responded eagerly, "Oh, that sounds very useful! I'd been meaning to check with someone on the extent of the damage caused by that rock golem that got loose in the Chamber of Prophecy a few years ago." That had been Jane's first day at the Ministry and was very memorable.
'the extent of the damage caused by the rock golem.' Laurel was looking at Adam willing him silently to do what she wished him to do and remove his fingers from the tank. She wouldn't be satisfied before he had taken a few steps away from it too. It was then that Jane's eager voice broke into her thoughts and made her turn towards the other woman with a blank stare. The golem was rarely spoken about and usually only Airey mentioned it still and Adam if they happened to argue sometime. Shaking her head to break the stare Laurel responded with a smile to Jane. "We'll see the system isn't quite ready yet, but it looks promising." Airey and her bosses had to approve it too.
"The golem? Well the damage the golem caused has long been been repaired, but some prophecies we'll never get back. Luckily we keep parchment records of all prophecies though." Laurel shared with a hint of sadness in her tone. "Have you seen how we storage prophecies from seers?"
"The golem? Well the damage the golem caused has long been been repaired, but some prophecies we'll never get back. Luckily we keep parchment records of all prophecies though." Laurel shared with a hint of sadness in her tone. "Have you seen how we storage prophecies from seers?"
Jane briefly noticed the other woman's stare, but it would not have occurred to her that it was because she had brought up the golem. Jane didn't often have misgivings about talking about anything and had noticed that the subject was rarely mentioned by anyone. And as to the prophecies--"Well, yes, I have seen the storage hall...rather briefly, though, I'm afraid. I didn't really have a chance to discuss how they were maintained and organized with anyone,". Mainly because they were being attacked by a golem, which tended to put a damper on professional discussions in general.
Suddenly Jane turned back to Adam and said, "Really, Adam, could you possibly stop communing with that encephalon for just a little while and come over here and join the conversation?" She was trying not to order him about like a nanny, but seeing him with his hands still on the tank made her want to rap his knuckles with her wand.
*randomly tagged* | Norbert(a) | The Wandmaker (tm)
The other encephalons weren’t that interested in him. In fact, if he hadn’t the connection he did with Reil, Adam was pretty sure even he wouldn’t care about the people outside of the tank. Their brief time body-snatching sharing with employees, had taught them they were happier in their tank. Of the people affected, Adam was probably the only one who came in here anymore. In fact, he might be the only one still around. Reil just liked catching up.*
And at the mention of Zita and Micha, well, Reil got a little excited and images of both his loves flashed through his head. It was an enjoyable trip down memory lane and one that made Adam zone out for a moment. Or two. Or three…
He completely missed Laurel’s request that he step back. Her mention of getting hurt usually would have been enough to get him to move. After all, he’d been hurt enough at work and now he had a family to support. And while he normally shut down when yelled at, Jane’s tone was just sharp enough to slice through his memories and actually get him to pull his hand back from the tank. As he did so, he made sort of a snorting nose as if he was waking up. ”Sorry vhat?” He blinked at them owlishly, completely unaware that he was likely just making both women feel like they were justified in being worried about the encephalon tank.
Having just returned to the Ministry after a period of sick leave lasting no more than two weeks - not ideal, but also admittedly not unnecessary - Daxton had resumed his work as though there had been no pause, no interruption. This was not difficult, as he kept his interactions with others to an absolute minimum, and the work itself was of sufficient complexity as to draw him back in, keep him engaged. Too engaged, occasionally.
At times, Daxton would halt in his work, only to realise just how many hours had passed; sometimes they brought him well into the night. When these moments occurred, it was necessary to stop and mentally retrace his steps, to ensure he had not employed methods in his work that were not considered socially acceptable, even down here in the Department of Mysteries (and, if he had, that they were neither recorded nor easily attributed to some other method). For the most part, however, did not allow himself to get carried away like that. It was necessary to always be in command of what he was doing, no matter how interesting the work or the research started to become; Daxton was determined not to give the Ministry the best of his mind, just as he felt it prudent to maintain his grip on the worst of it while in the building.
That still left plenty of genius to be applied to the work he did. No one could accuse him of holding anything back - no one who knew the depths of his capabilities, at least.
At the present moment, Daxton sat on a wheeled stool, using one creeping foot to gradually scoot himself around the Encephalon tank. He paused intermittently, apparently inspecting the brains inside with a fixed, intense stare. Then he would make a note - or several pages of notes - on the stack of parchment on his clipboard, before rolling quietly along to the next. Always in complete silence. Always maintaining that unwavering attention. And yet always, as ever, alert to the chamber around him.
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Days of Potter 2023:___________________________ Which Bertie Botts Flavour Are You? You are Chocolate!
At his initial beginning at the Ministry, the fact that Evan's primary workload was to be conducted in the Thought Chamber had been a bit of an inconvenience. If only for the fact the Encephalons gave him a bit of an eerie feeling, watching the brains floating around. He was certain that the overall strangeness to him was exacerbated by his no-maj upbringing and early education. But thankfully, over the last year he'd grown used to seeing them and now as he entered to begin his work for the day, he hardly even noticed them.
Setting himself up at one of the desks, Evan laid out all of the ingredients to complete another batch of potion to add to the tank, but before he could begin his eyes caught sight of the other desks left with some bits of residue from whoever had created it last. Preferring to start his work in a clean space, he stepped away and retrieved his wand from it's holster. A few cleaning spells here and there, and some parchments stacked neatly on top of each other should do the trick.
The minor nousist stepped to one of the first desks to do just that.
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Let them point and laugh at who we are, it's you and me here dancing from the start
At his initial beginning at the Ministry, the fact that Evan's primary workload was to be conducted in the Thought Chamber had been a bit of an inconvenience. If only for the fact the Encephalons gave him a bit of an eerie feeling, watching the brains floating around. He was certain that the overall strangeness to him was exacerbated by his no-maj upbringing and early education. But thankfully, over the last year he'd grown used to seeing them and now as he entered to begin his work for the day, he hardly even noticed them.
Setting himself up at one of the desks, Evan laid out all of the ingredients to complete another batch of potion to add to the tank, but before he could begin his eyes caught sight of the other desks left with some bits of residue from whoever had created it last. Preferring to start his work in a clean space, he stepped away and retrieved his wand from it's holster. A few cleaning spells here and there, and some parchments stacked neatly on top of each other should do the trick.
The minor nousist stepped to one of the first desks to do just that.
Well...shoot...
Now, it was his first day here on the job within the Ministry, save for the Orientation Day which happened a few days prior, but there was a sinking feeling growing within Gethin Hughes that the room he had just entered was not the chamber he was supposed to be in. The atmosphere didn't really match his job as one of the Unspeakables here in the Department of Mysteries, and this fact could be inferred from the large glass jar with all the floating brain-like creatures in the center of it. With this now also in mind, it had started to occur to the Welsh man that he got here because he was not entirely familiar with how the Spinning Room worked. He could've sworn he said 'Death Chamber, but now, come to think of it; the wording might've been misconstrued. The word 'thought' must've somehow slipped out when he was speaking it originally, so now he was here within the Thought Chamber.
It was no big matter though, or at least, hopefully not. Hughie knew that some of the rooms were deemed more lucrative than others, so entry to them was somewhat...restricted. Mistakes do happen though. Besides the fact, at least it wasn't as if he was some random person walking in here. So, certainly, if worse came to worse the lad would have that riding for his side. Luckily enough too, there appeared to be another worker already in here as his one hazel and one blueish-gray eye scanned the area; a man tidying up one of the many desks. Perhaps they could lend a hand with how the Entry Chamber works. The only issue was, Gethin dreaded having to start the social interaction.
But, he had to get to the Death Chamber. He wouldn't want to be running too late on his first day, so he'd just lowly sigh and walk on over to other guy, clearing his throat partially before speaking up in a calm, yet confused tone "Excuse me," The Welsh accent began, somewhat strong, yet still clear and understandable. "-I seem to have gotten things mixed up in the Entry Chamber. I'm another Unspeakable here, and needing to get to the Death Chamber. If you could kindly remind me again how to get there, the help would be much appreciated." Hopefully, the former Ravenclaw wasn't making a fool of himself either with this mix-up. It raised a question in his head 'Did others make this same mistake on occasion?' But the other guy seemed kind and understanding enough so, there was a shred of hope at least.
Clearly, someone in the room had been having a bit of fun at the expense of the next person to clean up - because one of the messes left behind was magically charmed to be impossible to tidy. He’d tried everything he could think of. Which admittedly, was not a lot as the former Ravenclaw’s brain seemed too filled up with the potions and his to do list. His attempts thus far had been limited to finite incantatum to try to undo whatever had been cast previously and the skurge charm.
He was so wrapped up in trying to brainstorm something else to attempt, Ev hadn’t even noticed the additional body enter the room. Not until someone was addressing him, that was. Not one to show outwardly when he was surprised (or much of any emotion on his face really - his common expression was simply ‘Evan’ as his sisters would say), the younger unspeakable turned and gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Oh, hello.” He greeted. He took a moment to try to recognize the other employee, however the face was not one he remembered seeing so he figured at the least it was not someone in his own position. Although with the Department of Mysteries what it was, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that they were all periodically charmed to forget everyone else’s faces. “No problem. The spinning room can get so confusing, I still get mixed up after a year.” He’d seen some people be able to pick their location without having to ask for assistance - but it was not something Evan had yet perfected.
“If you go back out the door you came in, you’ll get to the Spinning Room. When you can’t figure out which door to take to your destination, you can actually say where you want to go and it’ll help you.” It was a tool often used by the other departments, but there was no shame in a regular of the area having to utilize the trick as well. Realizing he had someone else to bounce ideas off of though, Evan quickly added more before the other guy left. “Maybe you can help me out too. Do you know of any cleaning spells or anti-charm spells to try to reverse something?” He’d prefer to not have to go find someone from accidents and catastrophes for something probably miniscule.
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Let them point and laugh at who we are, it's you and me here dancing from the start
Wizarding World RPG Admin Minister for Magic Alley Proprietor
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Sweet solstice. The chalkboards were weeping AGAIN.
Airey Flamsteed stood in the middle of the Chamber of Thought, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair messily flattened to one side as though he'd used a textbook as a pillow (which, to be fair, he had). The air thrummed with pressure. Floating thought-threads zipped overhead, vibrating like restless violin strings, occasionally flickering into half-sentences in languages that didn’t exist yesterday. The Encephalons were behaving themselves, for once, and yet the chalkboards had started to cry.
Not metaphorically. Literal tears of powdered chalk were dripping in steady rivulets from the boards’ frames, leaving ghostly residue that whispered to itself and dirted up the floor in ways that was making his skin want to crawl right off his bones. "I explicitly told you,” Airey muttered aloud to no one while pinching the bridge of his nose to the point he left little red finger prints on either side, "not to cross-reference memetic self-awareness with the dreaming logic lattice before lunch."
The chamber, predictably, responded with a low hum. One of the chalkboards smudged itself violently in protest and clouds of chalk dust wafted into the air. Airey leapt onto a nearby desk—again—and began pointing between scribbled diagrams with his wand like a conductor directing a very stubborn symphony.
"Alright, new theory!" he announced to the room―and maybe some acknowledgement from the Encephalons if they were feeling generous. "The mind’s getting more overwhelmed than we expected because the subconscious is picking up leftover dream-echoes from the Love Chamber. It’s not the actual content causing it—it’s the intensity of the emotions. Basically, we’re flooding the brain with high-emotion energy straight into the thinking process." He cast a premeditated exasperated glance over at the Encephalons. "No sonnets today, I beg of you."
At that moment, one of the powdered thought-tears hit the floor with a fizz and began forming words in the dust. Airey squinted down at the complete and utter gibberish, unable to make heads or tails of any of it.
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When you're stuck in a moment and your spark has been stolen .................................................. ........... this is our time to own it, so own it..................................... baby we were born withfire and gold in our eyes
"It's a solid theory." A voice came from the far end of the room. One that had not haunted the Ministry of Magic in quite some time. "The push and pull of the chambers on one another. I used to think of this department as some great machine, but it's not that simple is it? It has it's own emergent structure, like a plant... Or a symphony perhaps."
It had been nearly five years since Damian Pendragon had left London. After the incident in the Death Chamber with the dead book, the life experiment, and the sword. Experiencing the Chapel Perilous, the wizard traveled the world to find answers. From the Canadian tundra, to Kathmandu, and back again. It was time to return to closest thing he had to home.
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Mysteries
Diagon Alley Proprietor:
Zachaël Lufkin
Owl Post
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Airey did not turn immediately.
He stood motionless perched on the desk in the center of the Thought Chamber, the iridescent wisps spiraling lazily above as though in a Pensieve pool of zero gravity. His eyes remained fixed on the tangled strands of memory, emotion, and possibility that danced in the air—but his posture shifted. Subtle, but noticeable to those who knew him.
A slow exhale and then, "Plants and symphonies are living things. Machines only pretend to be." His voice echoed gently across the domed chamber. "But yes. You’re right. It resists control, even understanding. Every answer shifts the whole, like organs in a body. Try to fix one room and another begins to hum louder, acting like an orchestra in dissonance or a warp core misaligned by one micrometer."
Now he turned, finally.
The sight of Damian Pendragon standing at the edge of the chamber did not startle him—but it did reach him, in the quiet way a tremor moves through stone long after impact. There was memory in the air. And not all of it belonged to the Chamber.
"You’re either a hallucination… or it’s been far too long." A pause while he contemplated and reflected upon just how long he had holed himself up in here and whether or not he was overdue to go out and touch a bit of grass. Then, after his prolonged pregnant pause and with a slight tilt of his head, he spoke again. "Five years and you return through a metaphor." He arched a brow. "Incredibly Spockian of you."
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Spockian? Damian had never heard of such a wizard. "Hallucination? What ill mind would imagine someone like me?" There was comfort in returning to a familiar place full of familiar people after years of travel, yet he remained aloof, as if he would disappear if you looked away.
Briefly looking to Airey, his attention then turned towards the Encephalons. "I have a malicious thought-form trapped in my subconcious. An evil tulpa formerly in the shape of a sentient book. I built a cell for it somewhere between my true name and my black bug room." Damian paused as he reached a hand up to brush away some of his own thought-threads that were escaping into the room. Streams of green, blue, and red sentences flowed from him. Thoughts laid bare that didn't take legilimency to read. What was most concerning were the black symbols in some dead language that leaked into his other thoughts like an oil spill.
"There are cracks beginning to form in the cerebral-dam, and I was hoping this pickled intelligencia would be able to help me, but here they are having an emotional crisis. What do you think a disembodied brain weeps for?"
__________________ In over his head
Last edited by Helios Sunrider; 05-13-2025 at 02:58 AM.
Thought Chamber 
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