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Melvin managed to find a eyeglass case with some glasses in them. Putting them on, they still were big but didn't hurt his eyes as badly as the other pair did. Blinking through the adjustment, he walked over and looked at what he had in his hand.

"Ohh. Can you see if it says anything about what's going on? Maybe it has top secret information."The size and shape had his eyes snapping to the table, remembering he saw a square just like it by the googles.

Walking over, he snatched the square off the table and walked back. "There is one here too." To which he grinned, glad to not be without a cool gadget while the other kid had one.

Death Offices


Gale dragged a chair over to pile it with the table, wedging the top of it underneath a leg to keep it there. The barricade was at least mostly complete - if a barricade made from the furniture in the Death offices was considered in any way complete at all. He swiped a stray strand of hair out of his face.

Lucky received a look of glacial withering.

"I haven't been a teenager in two years, thank you," he said. "Any guesses on how we fix this?"

His gaze flickered towards the despondent Rep, then back to Lucky again.

[Dorms]

He was sure he was at school but it was darker today than he remembered. There were people, but they seemed frozen in time and completely unaware of his presence. He turned to each, calling out, but none could hear.

He suddenly shook awake. Everything around him was still mostly dark, dimly lit by a lamp resembling a mushroom. He rolled the covers off of himself and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed.

He felt disoriented, where was he? This wasn't his room. Where was his pajamas? And... what was that sound? He glanced over his shoulder and froze when he realized there was a body in the bed next to him. He didn't get shitfaced last night did he? He doesn't even remember going to the bar.

He was too scared to move in case he woke them up.

"What? How did you do that? Call the cops or something." Melvin was also wrapped in poking at the screen, opening a thing with a bird and lots of pictures and then into a screen with pictures.

"I thought this was a camera. See?" He turned the device he held in both hands to show Jordan.

"There's no police number stored but I can try 911." Jordan did so and put the phone up to his ear. What he heard made him frown, though. "It's not 911, it's some kind of weird answering machine," he said, and poked the red button, nodding to himself when that ended the call.

"It has a camera too, but it's a way better camera than I've ever seen on a phone." He poked the camera icon again to show Mel the photo gallery. "Some of these photos are sort of creepy."

Moving to stand beside him, he occasionally would glance at Jordan's phone as he tried to figure out his, and soon found the phone gallery.

"Yeah, these are weird." Most were friendly enough. Pictures of people he didn't know. Picture of places. There were a lot of a old man with someone who looked like his cousin but with glasses and thicker hair. "Who are these people?"

Flipping through, he flushed as he saw the man naked, and then flipped it a few times to see some more, before he kept racing past it. "There are naked people on here." He said, pausing when it moved to that of a woman, and then one of her in lingerie. He'd seen nude magazines from Greg Chanson's older brother, but it felt strange to see it on a phone and know it was somehow more real.

"There are no kids on these." Did that mean something?

Town

Rules and routines existed because they worked, and they functioned best if followed to the letter. Mimsy knew that this was true because the rules and routines that her father outlines for her allowed her to function - it was all flawlessly interconnected, and was all as it should be. Even the sound of her mother crying upstairs came like clockwork, noise that she could anticipate would begin just before her father came to check on her to ensure that she was in bed and prepared to begin the routine anew.

She could remember this occurring, and anticipated that she would begin this cycle again as she opened her eyes at the correct time, yet awoke in a location that immediately indicated a disruption in her routine. The bed was uncharacteristically warm. The room was notably incorrect. The decor was the wrong color. Nothing smelled as it should.

None of this was as concerning as the large, adolescent male who was wrapped around her in his sleep. Neither of them were wearing an appropriate amount of clothing. There was touching, and she did not want to be touched.

It took an astronomical amount of courage that she would never have believed she was capable of, but she eventually unwound and removed herself from his clutches, seemingly successful in her effort to not disturb him. Towards the top of the empty space where she had been, she spotted a small pile of mismatched rings; none were familiar, except one, which she snatched up before creeping soundlessly towards the door. Trembling fingers collected her dress on the way, discarded on the floor in such a careless manner that only provided more evidence that she had not been the one to remove it. She pulled it on, struggled with the buttons, then smoothed her braids as effectively as she could without a mirror.

Peering owlishly around the room that she emerged into, she attempted to make some observations that might be beneficial. This place was undeniably unfamiliar, but its most peculiar quality was that several details were quite appealing. It was almost as if someone had attempted to design the location with qualities that she might like.

"Daddy?" she whispered, receiving the lack of response that she'd anticipated. Then the more likely option, considering how incorrect this all was: "Mother?"

Nothing. She felt ill, but answers were perhaps more necessary than ever before. Forcing herself into a steeled mindset to be optimally objective, she began to search the contents of the house. As was her nature, she made little to no noise through the entire endeavor. This was critical, lest she wake--

Someone was knocking on the door. Wide-eyed, her gaze shot towards the window in that direction, giving her a glimpse of red hair. A twinge of panic suggested that it might be Clerise; the voice graciously suggested otherwise. With a bag slung over one shoulder and the white coat she'd been examining bundled in her arms, she opened the door and slipped outside, closing it with only a faint click behind her.

"It is imperative that you do not wake the inhabitant of this dwelling," she calmly, quietly, monotonously informed the redhead. "I suspect that I may have been kidnapped as well. I do not know this place. I was not clothed, and..."

She failed to make eye contact up to this point, but briefly connected in her pause.

"I need to find my father. He will be so upset. We can search these belongings for a mobile phone, but I do not want to go back into the house."