londoncallingrpg | Haunted House GP

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Haunted House GP

The house doesn't exist, that's the first thing anyone who might find themselves inside it would want to know. Now, you might ask how one could find themselves inside something that doesn't exist, but you'd honestly be better off asking yourself how you could leave something that doesn't exist. After all, ideas and concepts can't be burnt or broken, and you can't breakdown a door that's not there- Or was there and then decided to be somewhere else for a while...

You wake in a house though, a house that doesn't exist. A house that defies the laws of reality. There are corridors that go on for days, rooms full of nightmares, and millions of doors that lead you anywhere but out. Trapped inside with you are dozens of other people, all searching for an exit, or an explanation.

Behind every door you'll find your darkest fears, maybe even memories you've tried to forget, or secrets you never wanted to share...

(OTA! Here is your first of two Halloween gps! This one is, of course, set in the haunted house where your pup can run into anything you can dream up! Deadly traps! Spooky monsters! An existential crises! Top level your pups waking up or running into danger, and then go ahead and tag other players! Since this is all magic-y and spooky don't worry too much about time lines and who bumped into who first. Only rule is that your pup can't escape until November 1st! Have fun! Also, because there are two GPs going up this week, both are open to new top levels for two whole weeks! And, of course, you can keep tagging long after that if you want. :D I'll post reminders daily on slack.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They tried everything. At one point Q even managed to put a small hole in the wall so he could attempt to see the wires themselves. ...But it was no use. With only five minutes left on the clock, it became clear they weren't stopping the clock, and they weren't breaking free.

"We should try and make some kind of shelter, using chairs and tables. If we're very lucky... Perhaps the whole building isn't wired to blow. Only one side," he suggested quietly, not sounding very hopeful.

Dutch leaned back in her chair, and laughed. And kept on laughing for a good twenty seconds. "I can't believe I'm about to spend my last minutes alive making a blanket-less blanket fort with you."

"If you'd rather, we can always hold hands and face the possibility of death head on," Q replied flatly. "I'm not feeling terribly Thelma and Louise at the moment though, are you?"

That just made Dutch laugh some more, even as she stood and put her laptops back in her bag. As if it mattered. "Let me laugh about this, will you. It's about the only thing I've left."

"Do I look as though I'm stopping you?" Q sighed, glancing at the countdown again, and hating the way his heart fluttered nervously. He didn't want to die afraid.

"Come on, then, blanket fort," Dutch nudged him after shouldering her bag. She selected one corner of the room, and dragged one of the tables over. It was something to do, at least, no matter how pointless it was.

Q blinked, then nodded, following after her and starting to move some chairs and then another table, building what he hoped would be some kind of barrier against the blast.

"One minute," he said, moving to get under the table so they could pull everything into place around them.

Dutch consolidated everything on one side, then climbed underneath the makeshift shelter with him, dragging the last pieces of furniture in to seal them off, as much as possible. They were cramped in together, but at least now she couldn't see that bloody countdown anymore, from where she was. "And now we wait, I guess," she sighed.

"This really isn't how I thought my life would end," Q admitted. "Under a table, next to someone who doesn't very much like me. I mean an explosion was always a possibility, given how my predecessor was killed, but even then- I'd sort of hoped to be in my lab, or at the very least doing something that could be described as cool. ...I never get to be cool."

"Excuse me," Dutch frowned at him. "You're cool as shit." She paused. "Creepy as shit, too, but I figure that's the job."

Q looked startled by the complement, even if it was rounded off with an insult, and he seemed unsure of what to say for a moment.

"Yes, well- I suppose you're quite cool as well," he admitted, about to say something more- Only to be interrupted by a loud beep- And then a light so bright that it forced his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, they were no longer under a table in a locked room, but instead sitting in the middle of Trafalgar square- With a police officer standing over them.

"I said you can't be here, did you not hear me?" the officer asked. "Right, come on, you both look like you could do with a night in the cells."

Q blinked in confusion, but his senses quickly came back to him.

"I really don't think you want to take us in," he said, "Not unless you feel like explaining why to my boss, Gareth Mallory."

The name clearly meant something, and the officer took a step back. "Just get off the ground, alright?" the man said, shaking his head and turning to walk away.

Dutch got to her feet and held a hand out to Q to help him up to his feet. "Now I know who to name-drop next time a copper bothers me." She smiled at him, bright and completely genuine. "Hey. We're not dead."

Q let her help him up, dusting himself off and looking around. "Not dead- Yes, that's... Well, it's quite a relief. Unsettling and impossible, but- Yes, good."

He rubbed his face, then looked at Dutch.

"I don't usually say this sort of thing, so do try and refrain from laughing in my face, but how do you feel about coming back to mine and getting very very drunk? I'd suggest a bar, but I've got a cat waiting for me at home who's no doubt starving."

Dutch hesitated for a moment, and then decided, fuck it. In for a penny... "Only if we can get very very stoned, too," she answered, since that was another reason why a home was better than a pub. You didn't have to go out for a smoke, no matter what that smoke was made of.

"...I haven't been stoned since I was sixteen. Well, unless you count the pills I take to make it through a flight," Q mused, looking unsure for a moment, and then shrugging.

"I suppose just this once can't hurt."

"You're on," Dutch told him, and hooked her hand in his arm as if they were old friends. "Lead the way."

"Oh, right, um- Okay," Q nodded, shrugging and leading them to the tube.

It wasn't far to Q's flat, and though the building looked like nothing special from the outside, inside Q's place was very nice. All sleek lines and modern furniture. Nothing he'd picked out himself of course, though there were personal touches here and there. From the very large and elaborate cat tree, to the tech that seemed to be everywhere. Everything that could be digital, was.

"Bond?" he called out curiously as he opened the door, glad to see the double-o wasn't home as he invited Dutch inside. "Must be at work still," he explained.

Oberon, Q's fluffy white cat, seemed to appear out of nowhere, trotting over to investigate the stranger, then demand food from Q.

"Yes, I know, you're starving," he said softly. "Come along then Oberon. A can of tuna for you, a bottle of something strong for us."

Dutch looked around the place curiously, until a cat wound itself around her ankles and she managed not to trip, crouching down to give him a quick pet, before he decided to go bug his owner for food. She stood back up and shrugged out of her leather jacket, abandoning it on the back of a chair.

"Don't you want to call him?" If she'd just seen the body of someone she loved in there, she would want to call them as soon as possible. And preferably before she was drunk off her face.

She grabbed her gear out of a pocket of her jacket and sat on the edge of the couch, to roll up on the coffee table.

"I do," Q admitted, putting down the cat's food, then grabbing a rather large and presumably expensive bottle of vodka and two glasses. Bond never bought the cheap stuff.

"If I call he'll worry though. We're not the sort of couple that checks in with one another unless we're doing something that involves checking in. He'll assume something's wrong- And while I am shaken, I'm alright. I don't want to panic him."

Dutch shrugged; it was his decision, really. His couple, their lives. She licked the side of a cigarette to open it up and get its tobacco for the joint, and eyed the bottle of vodka. "Nice one," she complimented.

"He has expensive taste," Q replied, sitting down and cracking the seal on the bottle. "Ridiculously expensive sometimes, actually," he added with a slight grumble as he poured them each a double.

"Ridiculously expensive works for me." Dutch paused in what she was doing, tobacco now laid out on the skin, to pick up one of the glasses and touch it to Q's. She drank half of it down in one go, then set it down to pick up her tiny plastic bag of weed.

Q did the same, then frowned as he watched her.

"I always preferred a bong when I was younger. My boyfriend at the time bought me the most beautiful hookah once. It was blue, hand blown glass. It came with tobacco that tasted like strawberry sweets. I was a boy still really, and I thought it was so grown up."

Dutch smirked at him. "Well, unless you're hiding one somewhere in here, old-fashioned joints are going to have to do the trick. What happened with that boyfriend?"

Q had a thousand lies on the tip of his tongue, but he washed them down with the rest of the vodka and instead offered the truth.

"He kidnapped me last year and attempted to kill me," he replied blandly, refilling his glass, then nodding at hers. "Another?" he offered.

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