open rp post

[curiously]

DROP IN PROMPTS, PICTURES, OLD THREADS, A POST OR EVEN TFLN BRING IT.
( cw: body horror, gore, violence & etc. in some threads + please label threads for such. )

<small>( ➵ from <a href="">here</a> )</small>

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[curiously]

[ several thoughts come to zarina's mind and none of them is finding a seat.

silence takes over her voice as she walks in one step at a time, leaving the door open just the way she finds it. pupils shifting to look towards one part of the room and next while taking everything in about the unfamiliar part of glenvale... a place of solitude for an inventor, isn't it? no wonder this specific building ends up locked behind closed doors during a trial — attempting to sneak into areas without notice had been one of her first instincts upon hearing far-too-loud heartbeats incoming her way.

already zarina reminds herself that she shouldn't assume more than the person who actually resides here, but her wonder takes over while taking in the various tools and machinery there happens to be. hands have yet to reach out for the promised device as her head turns, looking upwards to see how the place is lit beyond natural sunlight and what other inventions he may have that isn't just his weapon.

is the machine that shoots spikes for railroad tracks here? or the steam powered drill? what inventions aren't worth mentioning? ]

How long did it take you to set up this place? [ zarina finally speaks out one of the many, many questions in her mind before she walks over towards caleb, a hand digging through the leather messenger bag she always brings. ] And I don't suppose the drill is here with you, is it? I'd love to see it.

[ it takes her a moment, but eventually the documentarian pulls out what looks to be a simple black, slim camera that's as small as the cellphone they're gifted with by the entity.

click goes a button, and the lens extends already with a preview of whatever is in front of it right at this moment — part of caleb's hand, the table he's working on, and the redeemer — in full view of the screen at the back. ]

And see? Different already.

[deathslinger]

[ Caleb watches Zarina as she enters. Clear curiosity slows her step, her gaze wandering instead of darting about like it usually does in trials. As if each pace isn’t taking her closer to one of her habitual murderers. Not that he wants her terrified of him now, but her apparent lack of caution strikes him as more than a little careless.

Still—it does make him wonder what his workshop is like to someone who isn’t used to it. Especially a survivor. What did she notice first? The odors of charcoal, machine oil, and sawdust? The ladder in the corner leading upwards into the shadows of an open trapdoor? The pulley system crisscrossing the ceiling, suspending a ( currently unlit ) lantern that—with a tug on its ropes—he can bring nearer to whichever part of the room needs more light? Or maybe she’s spotted the half-finished, hand-sized model of a generator sitting on one of the workbench’s shelves atop a sheaf of sketches?

An ever-distrustful part of him answers: she might be only looking around to take note of what she can scavenge later. But it’s easy to push aside. If Zarina thinks she can simply stroll on in whenever he’s away—for a trial or otherwise—then she’ll be in for a painful surprise. 

When she finally breaks the silence, Caleb has to bite back a derisive laugh. Here come the questions, fast as the ones she peppered him with in her messages. But it's nothing new. Not after her so-called interview—and it figures she'd be just as bold even without any guarantee of safety. ]

Haven't seen it yet. [ considering the Entity's fondness for pulling objects out of his memories, he wouldn't be surprised if it did show up eventually. ] And this all took about... twenty or thirty trials to put together.

[ he leaves it at that, not wanting to dwell on how time flows the same here and in Hellshire: long and meaningless, its divisions marked only by the arbitrary whims of his jailer. Fortunately, it's then that Zarina unearths her camera from her bag and holds it out for him to examine. He leans in a little closer.

It's not the camera he expects. The lens on this one protrude only when she pushes a button. And it's much smaller. That isn't strange on its own; designing machines to take up less space while keeping or improving its speed and efficiency is an eternal puzzle for an engineer. It is different though, as she said. The brief blurriness before its display focuses doesn’t keep the colors from shining through. Looking between what the camera's pointed at and their counterparts on its screen, he can pick out a subtle brightening. As if it doesn't need the pale thin sunlight coming in through the door to create the images it shows. Is it just to allow the one using it to see better? Or would the pictures keep the same vividness once taken?

Caleb tamps down on the urge to dismantle it and see its inner workings. No owner of a valued tool would give it up so easily. He definitely wouldn't. So, he starts with the most obvious: ]

This ain’t the usual one you have in trials. [ or at least, in his. ] Did you find it somewhere here? Or was it somethin’ you already had with you when you—arrived?