Lights Out

Parish stands before the door to the basement, broom in hand. He turns to regard the group of guests and residents brave enough to volunteer to join him. "I say, what a noble band we have assembled here. As I said, there is nothing to fear down below. In the dark, cold, twisting, cavernous chambers that lie beneath our safe, cozy inn."

He glances over his shoulder at the ominous wooden portal. He clears his throat and looks back to the motley crew. "Ahem. Still, if any of you wish to rescind your volunteer status, now is the time to do so. I will not look poorly upon any who make such a decision."

Percy shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, the little flame flicks of his hair crackling and sending tiny lights dancing around the dark room. He's clutching a rolling pin in his hands, inspired by the frog knight's own self-defense broom, and is still partially covered in crisped flour - he has been helping Parish with the cookies earlier, and accidentally dropped a pack onto himself. Gosh, that was a little embarrassing. Hopefully his magma skin cooked it enough so he doesn't leave trails of it anywhere.

"Mister Parish, I'm sure it won't be any trouble for us to get to the generator. Not under your command!" He smiles earnestly at the frog and then gestures towards the yawning abyss of jet darkness that is the basement stairs. "And I can even provide a little light for everyone, so we don't trip on the stairs. Please be careful and watch your steps, friends!"

Amelie rolled back into the room carrying a small pile of unlit candles in one hand and a lit one in the other.

"Oooh, are you all going down into the basement? I've been meaning to do some cleaning there. Looks like the perfect time to do so." They say with a cheerful attitude.

They head over to the broom closet, skillfully getting there even in low light. As if they do this every day, when in reality it's even more often than that. "Let's see... I'll need a broom, a bucket, dust pan, soap spray bottle, small cloth, ..." They look over at the gaping black hole that is the basement entrance. "... Maybe a second broom." They say ponderingly while reaching for another broom.

Amelie knew that closet inside out, blindfolded and backwards! No cleaning tool was ever out of reach.

"Alright, I think I'm ready!"

Amelie overlooks the flour-covered body of Percy. "You better walk in front of me, Percy" They say with a bit of a frown, realizing he might create extra work.

Viv sat in the back of the room, on a small chair, her legs drawn up in front of her. She wore a big well-worn, loose-fitting hoodie, which she pulled over her legs. She looked like a worn fabric lump with a head and some slippers poking out the bottom. The slippers were fuzzy and shaped like little fish. He head was mostly obscured by her waist-long straight black hair, which covered her face like a curtain. A round yellow eye was visible peeking through an opening in her hair, as was some of her face. She had blue skin that subtly rippled with soft, skin-like, irridescent scales. She wore a pair of headphones around her neck, its wire extending down to an old cassette-tape walkman.

When the lights went out, she squeaked, but breathed a sigh of relief when they were restored. She wasn't afraid of the dark, exactly -- just surprises. Well, surprise darkness maybe; after all, she liked surprise parties. To prove this to herself, she volunteered to join the others in an expedition into the sub basement. "Um... I'll go. I don't think I'm scared of the dark... I think." She said quietly, from the back of the group.

"Very well. We have gathered our party. Now, the time has come to venture forth!" Parish declares. He marches down the stairs into the basement. As he leads the way into the dank, gloomy cellar, he imagines himself the brave knight of old he once was, delving into the lair of a mighty dragon. A worthy foe, indeed! And what wondrous treasures might it guard? What glittering prizes might he claim from its hoard?

Caught up in his flight of fancy, he is scarcely aware of his surroundings as he pushes open the door to the next basement room...The light from Percy's body illuminates a looming shape in the corner of the chamber ahead. Yikes! Is that a ghost, or just a sheet awkwardly draped over a broken clock?!?

Behind Parish, Amelia is busy wrangling all the stuff they're carrying. As they step down the stairs, they slip on some of Percy's detritus. "Wohhh ahh ... oh no ... I ... " They say trying to regain their balance, but it's too late. Before they know it, they're tumbling down the stairs, past the people in front and straight towards the looming shape. "Waaaaatch ooouuuut" Says the mess of robot and cleaning products zooming by.

Yazeba, having been in the basement beforehand, turns at the sound of the approaching party. She never gave much consideration to the way others would perceive her, that being their responsibility first and foremost. A ghost wasn't the worst thing she'd been called, and inwardly she couldn't help but think of the description with undue relish. The well worn scowl on the outside didn't fade in the slightest.

She stepped aside when Amelie hurtled toward her, stray eyebrow raising in in mild bemusement at the end result along with the stray brushes, brooms and other detritus. Why were they down here? She'd specifically included a staff only sign and a most foreboding reputation which, to any good minded witch, is the best spell for keeping unwanteds out. Good spells, after all, were less about the magic and more about the mentality of the people they're cast on.

She turned her head, slow enough that people might've thought she was a statue after all, to the group's leader. "Parish?"

Her tone made that both a statement of recognition, and clearly a question. To Parish it read Parish, why are you here, where I am, with a gaggle and not elsewhere? despite being only one word.

Viv followed behind the others, headed downward -- or was this upward? When a ghost that looke like Yazeba appeared, she froze, her hair making a solid curtain, obscuring her face.

"Oh, Yazeba!" Parish said, belatedly realizing that she wasn’t a ghost after all. He clears his throat and straightens his back, wincing as it cracks. "Oof, we came down here to turn the generator on. We’ve lost power due to the storm raging outside, you see. I’ve assembled this brave cohort to accompany me in our quest to restore electricity! Would you care to join our adventurous band?"

At Amelie's scrutinizing look, Percy flushes, the breaks in his skin lighting up ember red as he apologetically tugs on his shirt - only resulting in actually dusting the flour onto the floor and the robot themselves. "O-Of course!" He hesitantly looks at the array of cleaning tools Amelie is carrying, a haul seeming remarkably bigger than their own lean frame, and shyly offers: "Do you need any help carrying all of this? I can-"

But ii seems that the elemental was a bit too late with his offer, as by the time he gets out the words, Amelie already takes a step forward - and promptly slips on the stairs, tumbling down with mops and spraying bottles scattering everywhere. Percy gasps in horror and quickly runs after her, awkwardly squeezing past Viv and Parish and... Yazeba? He skids to a stop next to the fallen robot. "Amelia! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Oh no, this is all my fault, I'm so sorry!" Percival fusses as he tries to help them upright. "Do you need first aid?"

"System diagnostics running ... 65% ... 84% ..." Then a series of beeps can be heard. To know what they mean, someone would have to check the manual.

Amelie seems a bit out of it before returning to their normal selves. "Oh, Percy. What happened? I just remember the world spinning. I mean faster than usual." They say in a factual way. "Oh, no! My stuff..." They look at the floor as far as the light reaches trying to spot everything they took with them and checking inventory.

"Could you help me up, Percy? I think I'm ok." They gladly accept his help to get up again. "Yazeba?!? Were you down here in the dark?" Then the filth of the place registers in Amelia's sensors. "Oh my, oh my. This place needs a good sweep. I will get right on that, Yazeba. Don't you worry."

In the presence of the owner, Amelie was always on a heightened sense of dirt-alert-ness. Worried that they might make a bad impression in front of 'the boss', they find the nearest broom and dust pan to get to work.

"That won't be necessary, Amelie." Yazeba says in a tone so flat it's hard to know if she doesn't realise the distressed robot has already began its work, or if she deliberately refuses to acknowledge the efforts.

She reaches into the pocket of the large coat draped across her bony shoulders and extracts a rather too long and thin cigarette. It gives the impression of something a stereotypical witch mike smoke, although she doesn't light it. Instead she perches it on her bottom lip, softly held in place by her teeth. When she looks up from what she's doing her expression falls in disappointment.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Weren't we searching for the generator?" Her tone is strict, though she doesn't raise her voice.

She glanced back, a look of concern at the contents of the room that might have been read as a worry for the group though she'd deny it completely. She dropped it from her face as soon as she could, and ushered everyone out.

Viv stares at the dress form in disbelief and blurts out, "You used to dress like that? What occasion did you wear it for?"

As Yezeba orders Amelie to stop cleaning, they cannot disobey. After all, it's part of their programming. The dust pan that Amelie was already holding is promptly turned over causing a small dust cloud to form around them as it hits the floor.

"Right. Sorry about that. You are ... sure this place doesn't need dusting?" At this point Amelie coughs. Even though a robot doesn't really need to breathe, they were programmed to mimic the behavior of those around them to fit in better.

"Oh yes, the generator. Parish, which way do we go?" They ask, having received a more important instructions.

"I wore it for occasions you shan't be privy to." Yazeba says flatly, her eyes fixed on the robes as one might stare at a snake before it strikes.

Despite several attempts to tear, burn, hide or destroy in any way these robes they kept coming back. Someone had enchanted them in a manner most unfit for a witchling in training but not unusual for the spiteful inconvenience that marked wars of fully fledged witches, which could mean anyone from her long and tireless list of mortal enemies. So, until she found out how to break the enchantment, Yazeba had to contend with the nightmare reasserting itself.

"Unless you'd rather suffer a similar curse as theirs." Still not tearing her eyes away, she quirked an eyebrow at Viv.

"Eep!" she yelps, and shrinks back behind the others, hiding behind a curtain of hair.