[With the hub-bub relating to new items, the meetings, and the sheer fact that Ariel has been spirited away from his home world, he's been feeling... a lot... of late. He lays relatively low for a few days, popping his head out here and there, greeting those that he comes across, but ultimately allowing himself time for contemplation.
The same cannot be said for Saturday. It's dangerously close to having been a week since they'd all been snatched away, and they're no closer to answers than they were at the beginning.
Between breakfast and lunch hours, Ariel is in the Kitchen. He has a new collection of chemicals, and he is carefully measuring each one out. He's wearing the protective equipment Stephen had fetched for him previously, and he's learned enough by now to turn the fan above the oven on, at least.
After some time fashioning a few more compounds, he returns to the lobby. There's a bowl of baking soda beside him, a large jug of water, and several rags created from the more atrocious clothes in the dressing room. He alternates different combinations on the hinges -- pouring them on, scratching down the reactions, and then dumping baking soda and water on both to clear the chemicals away and start anew.
Later in the afternoon, he retreats for a period of time. When he returns, there's a pile of papers in his hand, all of which are pinned above the Rules. The top is written in a delicate hand, a survey not unlike the one Riley put together.]
My fellow patrons,
At your earliest convenience, please fill out the information below and submit it to Room 8. I am testing a number of theories as to our entrapment, and would like to identify any further commonalities that our companions touched on. Your feedback is appreciated.
Profession: Talents: Strengths: Weaknesses: Enemies: Important Connections (Societal, Political, etc)" Missing Memories?: Secrets?: What do you feel makes you useful:
Your feedback is appreciated.
-Ariel
[With his work out of the way, Ariel eventually settles in the middle of the hall outside of his room. He's face to face with a light socket, squinting against the bright light. His hands are clad in the best (read: not great) pair of rubber gloves he could find in the costume shop. He has a pen and ink on the ground beside him, scratching out notes where he can.]
no subject
The same cannot be said for Saturday. It's dangerously close to having been a week since they'd all been snatched away, and they're no closer to answers than they were at the beginning.
Between breakfast and lunch hours, Ariel is in the Kitchen. He has a new collection of chemicals, and he is carefully measuring each one out. He's wearing the protective equipment Stephen had fetched for him previously, and he's learned enough by now to turn the fan above the oven on, at least.
After some time fashioning a few more compounds, he returns to the lobby. There's a bowl of baking soda beside him, a large jug of water, and several rags created from the more atrocious clothes in the dressing room. He alternates different combinations on the hinges -- pouring them on, scratching down the reactions, and then dumping baking soda and water on both to clear the chemicals away and start anew.
Later in the afternoon, he retreats for a period of time. When he returns, there's a pile of papers in his hand, all of which are pinned above the Rules. The top is written in a delicate hand, a survey not unlike the one Riley put together.]
My fellow patrons,
At your earliest convenience, please fill out the information below and submit it to Room 8. I am testing a number of theories as to our entrapment, and would like to identify any further commonalities that our companions touched on. Your feedback is appreciated.
Profession:
Talents:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Enemies:
Important Connections (Societal, Political, etc)"
Missing Memories?:
Secrets?:
What do you feel makes you useful:
Your feedback is appreciated.
-Ariel
[With his work out of the way, Ariel eventually settles in the middle of the hall outside of his room. He's face to face with a light socket, squinting against the bright light. His hands are clad in the best (read: not great) pair of rubber gloves he could find in the costume shop. He has a pen and ink on the ground beside him, scratching out notes where he can.]