The stone stairs in front of Hamartia begin at the edge of a creek bed, leading up. The building, while eerie in an intangible sort of way, is nothing if not posh and stylish-- especially for Grimoire. Well maintained, with attractive rose gardens and sculptures of naked angels, devils, men, and women carefully arranged to depict the fall of humankind, it smacks of good - if eclectic - taste.

Mostly hidden in the leaves of a tree, ice blue eyes that seem a little too pale in the daylight scan over it critically, looking for points of entrance and trying to get a feel for who's up and about.

An attentive Yin might notice a trail of bread crumbs leading straight up to the front doors, where three statues - sculpted in traditional images of Adam, Eve, and a woman crawling with snakes - sit in a triangular pattern a few feet out. A raised plate stands in the middle.

No one seems to be about, save a long, mellow looking sky wyvern who seems content to lazily circle the cathedral at the top of the mansion.

The sky wyvern is a complication...can see things. Still...it worries her, the warning about the "room of winding" or whatever. An enchanting room...other points of entrance may very well be guarded in the same way. Of course, with notes about how powerful the owners are inside the house, she really doesn't want to be detected. The front entrance isn't exactly ideal, either. Yin jumps quietly out of the tree, and begins taking a long route around the trees in the mansion, wary of visitors and looking for other ways in.

Hundreds of rooms...hundreds. Damnit, but she's going to need those bread crumbs. The longer she's inside, the more likely she is to fail.

Hat pulled low, and as unobtrusive as possible, the vampiress approaches the front door.

The wyvern ignores her, busy chasing its tail around the cathedral for now.

In front of the door, the statues stare unmoving, ever forward.  Mounted into the pedestal of Eve and Adam, two plateless clocks gaze into space just like their mounts.  Upon the pedestal of the central figure, the words "LILITH: Divine Mother Not To Be" are chiseled in neat script, followed by a written piece of shielded parchment.

"Time is endless, by the cat's paw," it reads, "but what is the score, by the cat's clue?"

Yin glances over these but briefly, and turns her eyes to the door. Hand sets upon the handle, and she gives it a try.

Curiously enough, the door opens without trap or trick. On the other side a simple hallway can be seen, attractive in its minimalism. Very European inside, it's walls are simple gray granite with columns here and there, tapestries in teal and violet there and here, and a fine red rug up the middle, leading to a gate that sits partway open.

Yin's eyes glance carefully through the hall. Needs to keep her eyes closed through the 'hall of winding'...well, it doesn't wind. Straight. Glances at tapestries and rubs and such as she shuts the door lightly behind her, looking for anything that would indicate winding to her.

When the door closes, the gate at the end of the hall swings wide, letting a horde of specters and ghouls pour inside. Their translucent purple bodies spiral in a fluctuating pattern, spraying glowing dust all over the room and causing every but the red rug and the floor beneath it to appear to spin.

Yin's eyes widen just a touch, but then narrow. In response to Wock's warning, a makeshift blindfold made of what used to be the wavy flap adorning her shirt had been tied to her forehead. Doesn't know if this is what she'd been warned against, but it's good enough for her. The spinning may throw her off anyway. Ice blades crystallize on her forearms, held into a defensive position, as she tucks her head and runs for the other door. She sucks in a breath as soon as she sees the dust coming and has no intention of taking another.

The spectres squeal and groan, but their spell has no effect on a blinded Yin. The room, which of course does not really spin, is as solid as ever.

Nothing's bounced off her blade that she's felt. Nothing's taken a swing that she's heard...not that it's easy to hear anything in the din. She'd be hard pressed to defend herself should it come to that. Just keeps running, trying to get through the gate.

"Hey, watch ooooof!"

At the end of the hall Yin barrels into someone, and the two tumble end over end down the sloping floor in front of the winding hall. The spectres cease their wailing, and the enchantment fades away to the rear.

"Hello to you too!" her impediment, a blonde man dressed in functional leather armor and mostly green beneath, chuckles, looking up at her.

Yin cringes under the blindfold. "Hi. Er...sorry. I'm very talented that way." When the ghoulish voices fade, the thouroughly...eerie feeling she'd had does with them, and she raises the blindfold a bit to glance at the man. This as she quickly jumps up and off of him, on her feet in half an instant, though she offers a hand up.

The man gazes at the hand, smiling a bemused smile, and rises without taking the hand. "You seem to be," he laughs, dusting himself off. "Though I can forgive you if you're willing to tell me your name?"

"Yin." She removes the blindfold as she speaks. Damn. She's pretty sure it mussed her eyeshadow on her left eye.

"Hello, Yin. My name is Patricio." He glances about, smirks, and bends to pick up his staff; a simple wooden walking staff adorned with a carved cobra's head at the top. "Are you also lost in this place?"

"Well, not yet. I've only just walked in." She glances doward, eyes darting across the floor for crumbs.

And so there are. A trail of said crumbs leads up a set of carpeted stairs, emerging into a grand staircase that dominates an entire, enormous chamber. Other paths and doors lead off to the sides, dozens in number.

"Really?" Patricio booms, looking at what looks to be a solid wall at the top of the slope. "How did you come through that wall, anyway?"

Yin glances that way. Raises an eyebrow. "Well. It was a gate from the other side. See, this is why I dislike enchantments. For orientation's sake, the front entrance is or was on the other side of that." Is relieved at the bread crumbs, though. "Nice meeting you, Patricio. I have another lost friend to find." And starts off in the direction of the stairs at a cautious jog.

"Best of luck, then," the young-looking cleric bids to her, before turning and heading down his own path.

The stairs pose no particular threat. The higher Yin climbs, and there are a number of stairs, the more a rousing, waltz-ish tune can be heard floating from the dance floor above. There, a number of people sway and turn to the strains of a ghostly violinist hovering high above, icy fingers dragging bow across string. None of the dancers are Alouette, but none of them look like they know where they are, either.

Yin pauses at the door. Frowns...creepy. As. Fuck. She shakes it off and, evaluating herself carefully to make sure the music isn't enchanting her or something similarly weird, looks for the bread crumbs.

The crumbs skirt the dance floor, leading along a caution fence - the dance floor rises a few stories into the air - to its left. The trail passes a plate that reads "Gallery".

"Will you be joining us for a dance?" inquires a soothing male voice from the floor. There, amidst the puppet dancers, stands a life-sized wooden puppet, whose face is a bizarre amalgamation of a puppet's static features and a jester's face. it takes a step, clacking against the ground. "Your friend already went to see the exhibit."

Yin narrows her eyes a touch. "I think I'd rather join my friend, thank you." Oh, crap. Dangerous wording much?

"Would you? My lord and lady would be thrilled to hear such words from the mouth of one so delicate-looking."  The puppet takes another step, tapping its wooden feet against the ground in rhythm to the violin. "It is an honor of the highest. Order."

"Something tells me I'm going to regret the wording," Yin observes dryly. "I just want my friend back." This as she sets across towards the vaunted Gallery.

"You shall be with your friend for all eternity," Rosencrantz calls, not moving to chase her.

Inside the next room, a long row of what look, at first glance, to be paintings hang in life-size along the wall. Further study would reveal that they are in fact hollows in the wall where flesh and blood people have been posed, catatonic, dead eyed. Along the other wall, tastefully placed statues - which are also living, breathing humans stand in various athletic and artistic positions.

The trail of crumbs leads down the center of this winding, circular path, stopping just in front of an ornate throne.

At Alouette's feet.

She sits in silence, features warped with fear that will never, ever fade away. Her mouth hangs slightly open, halfway through forming the word 'fucker' during her scrape with Guildenstern earlier. Her clothes have been changed, and now she sits in priestessly, resplendent white. Her hair as well has been brushed out, her makeup simplistically applied, and her skin rubbed warm with oil.

Were she not comatose, she might have enjoyed the treatment.

"This," Yin murmurs softly as she walks, keeping herself steady with her own voice, "is the creepiest, most fucked-up thing I have ever seen. And this is coming from someone who kept the world from getting blown up by a..." voice trails off. Gazes up at Alouette...face blank, only hints of strain showing through. Emotional shutdown. She has no choice or she's going to have some kind of break. "Alou...?" Tries to take one of the spider's arms. Pulls. Pulls hard. "Well. Damn."

"Do you like it?"

Clack. Clack. The cloaked assailant emerges from within one of the 'paintings', wooden arms sticking out beneath the dark cloth.

Yin's back is facing the other way so quickly that she seems to skip the steps between, hand-blades partially raised in defense. "No. Aesthetic is too easily tampered by the macabre. This is the most disturbing sight I've ever seen, and coming from me, that means a lot."

The puppet steps down from the hollow, landing with a clattering clack on the floor. "Why," it chuckles, tossing the cloak aside to reveal a creature similar to Rosencrantz but colored a bloody red, and adorned with a three-belled jester hat, "thank you."

Eyes narrow. Wracks her brain a moment. "Guildenstern, I presume," she notes dryly.

"You presume correctly. Are you here, then, to add to the delights of this gallery?"

"No. I'm here to remove my friend so that we can get home."

"Why, I am so glad to hear you'll be joining us!" The puppet flings out its arms to the tune a axe blades shooting into sight along its forearms. "Your blood will color that hair nicely."

Yin's fangs bare into a very vampiric snarl that's tempered by draconic ferocity. Her stance tightens. Pale eyes scan slowly even as they harden into frozen steel. As trying as today has been, she'll be happy to take it out on someone.

Guildenstern lifts his forearms, crossing them to form an X over his chest. His mouth drops open to reveal a tongue of flame pouring from a tiny black pipe within. High above, dozens of lesser puppets begin to lower from the ceiling, dropping on strings of sugar and razor wire.

The puppet hisses, spitting ignition gas through the flames and directly towards Yin.

The dragoon sidesteps, hugging one wall and sprinting in Guildenstern's direction. Blade widens and hardens to cover herself as a series of small ice-darts are flung his way.

The darts plink against the master puppet's wooden body, glowing with fiery enchantments. The flames die down as Guildenstern pulls in another breath.

The puppets attack.

Two at a time they fall from the ceiling, landing with harsh clatters before leaping at Yin, one group after the other, axe blades swinging brutally for her back and chest.

From their size, they should only be able to competently approach her swinging three at time...the dragoon sidesteps again to bait one, even as her lower back lurches forward to avoid a swinging blad. Goddamn they mean business. She'd hoped they'd be more intent on subduing without damaging her.

The sidestep works, though. A fourth puppet joins the circle, and two of the long-armed things are unable to swing while a whirling blade of heavy ice slices into their heads or waists.

Meanwhile, the darts that had connected to the puppetmaster try to snake up and freeze his joints.

The heat radiating from Guildenstern's body rises, spikes until Yin's darts pour away from him. Again he breathes in, this time preparing to spray flames all over her and the puppets. 

More of the soldier marionettes descend, attacking one at a time now to prevent tie ups. Those that Yin sliced fall into piles of puppet parts, their wires bursting into flames and burning all the way up.

Yin snarls...a marionette just in front of her is rended at the waist. She doesn't prevent a deep gash from opening on the back of her wrist from its axe...she knows exactly how deep it's going, and it won't be disabling.

The dragoon tries to leap back, retreating, and clear herself of the crowd. Her eyes narrow, and her arm blade separates and re-crystalizes into the boomerang she'd employed earlier. A crow-step forward later, she flings this with all of her force, aiming close to the ceiling. Trying to rend the strings.

And it works. Several of the puppets - including a number who hadn't descended yet, plummet to the floor in lifeless heaps of wood. Others leap aside or raise again.

In a moment, Yin faces a wall of fallen puppets.

Guildenstern belches flames into the center of it all. Some of the paintings cough or try their best as the oxygen inside the room burns out and the heat grows stifling.

There isn't nearly enough room for the boomerang to turn around. It smashes into the wall, shattering.

Yin springs back again, leaping backward over puppet bodies, retreating from the flames. Coughs, and drops to a knee. This is mostly front. She's not weak enough to need it yet, but even as ice crusts up and down one side of her neck and face, the smoke and heat are beginning to get to her.

The vampiress pulls up the blindfold from around her neck to her mouth and nose against smoke, pinching and freezing it in the back so she doesn't burn the time it takes to knot. Arms raise again, but she hesitates on deciding what to crystallize, eyes narrow against the burning fumes. She has to end this fast, somehow.

Guildenstern spews flames until his breath depletes. Amazingly, the floor, walls, rugs, and such of the gallery do not catch fire-- only the empty puppet parts.  He takes a step, into the flames, approaching Yin. Apparently, he is fireproof as well.

Yin remains where she is, panting...glaring up at the puppet as he approaches. She's wiped the blood from her arm once across her face and the upper part of her neck, and appears significantly more damaged than she is. In the meantime, ice begins to crystallize thinly inside the ceiling stones not far in front of her.

Guildenstern continues to approach. He steps methodically, carefully, but is hardly a telepath. As he lifts his axe blade to bring down across Yin's neck, he does not notice the ice building above.

She had looked like she should, a defeated fighter facing an execution-style end. At the last second, her exhausted eyes clear suddenly and a small, crooked smile snakes across her lips.

Yin tries to spring backward, ice shield forming above her at the exact moment the ice snaking throughout the ceiling structure expands explosively.

When she moves, Guildenstern blows a spray of fluid - no fire, this time - in Yin's general direction. The spreading ice shoves stone aside, raising the pressure within the ceiling until it begins to give. A chunk of rock plummets to the floor, smashing into the pile of flaming puppets and sending sparks and wood scattering about. Another falls, not far from Yin. And one more falls between them, an enormous slab that smashes Guildenstern's axe arm into splinters.

Yin isn't caught under her own collapses, ready to avoid them, but most of one leg, the other ankle, and one forearm does get coated by the liquid.

The master marion leaps away, clattering explosively, his-screeching at the loss of his arm. He leaps into the air to be caught by other puppets, who begin to draw him up and away, through a panel in the ceiling.

The vampiress snarls. A larger, sharper boomerang takes a few moments to complete itself and, with several sprinting steps' momentum behind it, goes flying towards about the midpoint of the marion's body.

It connects.

The sound is something like a howling tinkle bell falling down stairs. Guildenstern bursts into puppet parts, tumbling down into the spreading flames below. His head, white as goose down, tumbles over and over and finally comes to a stop against Yin's shoe. Its smile remains, mouth slightly open but eyes totally dead.

Yin gazes at it a few moments, catching her breath for real. Kneels to pick it up, eyes travelling over it. Odd. She's not sure why. But she has the funny feeling this may not be over. But that's lunatic. He's clearly done. And yet still creepy.

She drops the skull, kicking burning puppet parts away where they're too close to paintings and statues, and then walks over to Alouette. Gazes up at the spider a few moments. "You're a lot of trouble," she observes softly. "You're lucky you're worth it."

She reaches up to set a hand on either side of the spider's face, both glowing brightly to life with the Golden spell.

Alou's breathing goes irregular, catching, but still she doesn't move. Her lips part, just barely.

"Yin," she chokes out, "I can't move my body. I can't..." Her eyes close, breathing labored and thick. "It's hard to talk."

To their rear, Guildenstern's head shivers. Rolls onto its side, facing the women, the pilot-light glowing brightly between his teeth.

The vampiress nods slowly. "We'll figure it out, Alou." Narrows her eyes at a sound behind them, ice crystals beginning to form on her hand, and glances backward, scanning for the threat.

The skull's mouth erupts in flames, streaming for Yin and Alouette, spearing through the burning puppets and arcing towards them, aiming mostly for the oil on Yin's clothes.

The vampiress's eyes snap open. Mind races. Muscles tense, but she withholds the dodge a split-second later. Can't dodge...Alou will be in the direct path then. Growls, and an oblong shield of ice, the largest she can manage so quickly, is jerked before them, covering her head and torso.

She realizes too late what the liquid on her clothes is. A sharp scream announces the moment they explode into flames.

Guildenstern cackles, the flame jets ceasing abruptly. Alouette tries to scream, tries her hardest to get up, but can't move a muscle in her body. The chair's magic keeps her rooted there, unable to help her friend.

Yin's gasping, world whirring. She hadn't heard her own voice. The pain is...unreal, for an ice element. She tries the whole "stop, drop, and roll" thing...but this is almost completely ineffective with her fuel-coated garments.

Then, some level of her kicks into functionality. The "get your shit together or you're going to die" part she's trained into...well, existing at all. Grits her teeth from where she cringes on the floor, and tries to abruptly wrap her entire body in ice, originating from her skin and rapidly crystallizing outward. No oxygen for the fire...and cold she desperately needs.

The fire dies beneath Yin's ice, hissing out in a wink just as natural fire would. The smallest of tears slip down Alouette's cheeks, born of frustration and powerlessness.

Guildenstern, spent, topples over. His skull crumbles into bits, leaving only a palm-sized, orange-red jewel lying in the debris.

Yin stays where she is awhile. Her only movement is to murmur something resembling "I'm okay." Fifteen seconds, thirty. A minute. Just cringes in place, trying to catch her breath. She's burned badly, more susceptible than flame than the average vampire...and simultaneously chilled, a sensation she hasn't really suffered in many years. Ice isn't the thing to stick on a serious burn, certainly not on extensive ones.

Finally, the ice cracks away all at once, and the dragoon forces herself shakily to her knees. Glares at...what used to be the puppet's head, and stands to take a few painful steps--and an even more painful kneel, she very nearly falls and has to catch herself on an also-burned hand, to a pained, bitten exclamation--to cautiously retrieve the gem from the ground.

The gem's warmth wraps itself around Yin's hand, not intrusively so much as in request. It's warmth attempts to infuse within her body, attaching its fireproof nature to her hidden sorcerous makeup.

By now, the puppet flames have mostly cut off the entrance.

Yin very nearly throws the gem, but...something stills her hand. She's been expose to magic so very many times in the last year, both helpful and harmful...she could very well have just let this crystal bind her to this place, or condemn her to die, or something similarly nasty. But whatever the case, she hesitates the few moments it takes for the gem to do...whatever it's doing.

Stupid, really, all things considered.

The vampiress rises to her feet, trembling and nearly screaming at the effort although her burns don't seem to hurt quite as badly, all of a sudden, and looks to Alou, eyes much more tired and beaten-down than they had been a few moments ago. She walks back over to the spider, slow and careful. "The trick is figuring out how to get you off of there..."

"I wish I knew," the spider, embarassed at tears she can't wipe away, admits. "Leave, Yin. Save yourself."

She tries to smile. "Come on. You know me way too well to think I'd listen." Wipe's Alou's tears gently, without comment. "Besides, that was a really tough fight to not have anything to show for it."

She glances down at the throne. Maybe there's...a button or something on the throne itself? Damnit, she doesn't know this magic stuff.

"You'll never open it that way," a tiny, thin and male voice calls to Yin as a sparkle floats over the flames, translucent wins pounding rapidly to carry a little fae towards her. He nods his head. "She's stuck there."

Considering what's already happened, the by now burned and bedraggled vampiress whips to the new voice in defense. She evaluates the fae warily. "All right. So how do I unstick her?"

"You have to find the person who enchanted the chair, obviously," the faerie peeps. He's sort of a slutty-looking faerie, dressed only in a ripped-looking half-kilt.

"And who would that be?"

"Obviously," the faerie sighs, "Captain Hook."

Her eye actually twitches, though a pair of fingers on the bridge of her nose stills it, lids sliding shut. "You're kidding. Right? You're fucking with my head."

"Are you coming onto me?"

"Not without a lot more liquor. So. Where can I find Captain Hook and a bottle of strong antipsychotics?"

"He's on his ship. Dont' know where it is, though." The faerie flits around Yin, looking her over. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"I need a lot of answers." The vampiress nods a little. In the meantime, she retrieves her dropped purse and the ointment and bandages contained therein. Not nearly enough of the ointment, but...a start. She tears away what's left of her incinerated sleeve and gets to work dressing that arm. "So, is Captain Hook the only way to get my friend loose? What about the owners of this house?"

"This is their gallery. They won't give up a piece of art like that." The faerie flies over to Alouette, lights on her shoulder. "This chick is perfect. She's not dripping sex, and she's not homely, she's a medium.

Yin's eyes darken a bit at this. Damnit. So...damn. This is taking too long. She doesn't know when Menayen may call them back...or what will happen if they're separated when it happens.

"They're not much for negotiation, then, huh? What are they like, anyway?" Can I take them?

"Eclectic," the faerie nods enthusiastically. "They're art fiends. Really, they love anything and everything expressive. Tragedy, though, is really enamored with ice sculpture. She practically lives for it."

A white eyebrow raises at this. No way. Just...uh-uh. Things don't work so prettily. "That...hm. Where can I find them?"

"Dunno. You could try looking up your ass. I''m sure you might find more questions to pull out if you did." The faerie curtsies.

Yin coughs. The smoke is getting bad as the fires die...which worries her for Alou's sake. She takes her blindfold and ties it around the spider's face. "Well. You've been a helpful little jackass, anyway. Thanks."

"Have you ever been cockslapped by a man with a half inch penis? I..." The faerie smiles. "Probably, come to think of it."

"Now who's coming onto," coughs, "who?" Ugh. Eyes are watering. She glances towards the beginning of the hall. She's not quite as worried about Alou as herself at the moment. The "artwork" doesn't catch fire, that's already been proven, and her face is covered.

Damn. She doesn't see an easy way out.

"What," the faerie flies up and towards the fire. "This bothers you?" He produces a wand - magically, else from god knows where - and waves it over the flames. Dust pours from the tip of the device, and everywhere it touches the flames turn blue and then puff out of sight. "Don't fuck with Tinkerbell."

The vampiress breathes out. She's still coughing a little, but nods. Smirks a little. "I'll quote you on that. Thanks."

"Sure. Now, I tell you what. I'll take care of your hot friend." Tinkerbell zips back to Alouette, landing on her shoulder.

The dragoon's smile fades to something less cynical. "Thank you. I need to go find Comedy and Tragedy. This whole thing is a very creepy farce." She heads over and touches Alou's cheek reassuringly. "I'll be back, okay? Face it: after everything we've been through, if I'm not dead yet, you're stuck with me." She grins.

Then, picking carefully over the puppet parts--they must be cooler than she'd supposed, because her foot breaks through to what she'd thought were live embers and isn't burned--and heads towards the entrance. She's looking for either some hint as to where to find the house's owners, following her instincts on which way leads to important people, or the next danger she needs to deal with.

Or, somewhere she can wash her soot-soiled face. That works, too.

Outside, the dance has apparently ended. The floor is clear, the music gone.

Rosencrantz is nowhere to be found; however, with the procession gone, a doorway marked 'observatory' can be seen, along with an alternate donward staircase.

And the splendid dancers dangle from the rafters, gently swinging back and forth, hanged at the neck.

Yin's expression darkens at the sight. She tries not to look up. They were probably already dead. This is what she's going to tell herself for her own sanity, anyway, and she's also going to neatly avoid the fact that this is probably where they were killed.

She gazes at the "observatory" door, and at staircase. Ponders. "One as black as crow feathers..." Tragedy. She also knows now that Tragedy is the female and the ice afficianado she needs to be looking for. Would such a creature be found down where it's dark, or would she more likely be in what's probably a nicer area above, where the lady of the house should be? Also...she can just see herself wandering into a hazardous, literal dungeon. That would be the icing on the cake.

She ponders this quietly. Well. The observatory is likely only a few rooms. Down may take longer to search. Check the former first, and if she's wrong, it will be a shorter sidetrack. That, or Comedy will giggle when she gets eviscerated or something.

She opens the door.

Past the door, a short hallways leads to a silver door with a clock engraved on the facing, reading 1:50. It's slightly ajar, and on the other side stands a comfortable, deep south style reading room with cushy chairs, a comfy fire, and a young-looking, pale-for-her-apparent-race black woman sitting in said chair. 

Her attire consists entirely of black silk pajamas with lettering here and there, and at the moment, she's reading.

Yin walks quietly down the hall, and peeks into the door. Hm. After a moment, she knocks quietly, trying not to startle. "Excuse me, Miss?"

The black woman turns her head at the voice, gazes at Yin with sapphire eyes. 

"Hello," she says in a voice like goselyn down. "Are you here for the exhibit?"

"In a manner of speaking. Are you Tragedy?" The vampiress steps into the room.

"I am. And you are my hero." Tragedy closes her book, its cover sparkling with oil and the scent of resin. "Have you ever modeled?"

"Yes, actually, but have no particular intention of doing so. I'm here because a friend was already taken and put in your gallery. That's not acceptable; she and I need to get home. I'd like to propose a trade."

"You may. But I warn you, I cannot consent to return your artwork without my brother's consent." Tragedy lays the book aside, crosses her legs and clasps her hands at the knee. Her eyes roam Yin's unusual features, appraising them.

Well. It's a start, anyway. Also, she's glad her face is as dirty as it is. Without a keen eye, any attractiveness is very much masked. "I hear that you're into ice sculpture." The pseudo-dragon holds out a hand, and a wavering spire of ice crystallizes up from the palm. It sprouts. Paper-thin leaves loop up and down as the rose atop it blooms...stem and leaves in cloudy ice, and intricate flower brilliantly clear.

"I can accomodate that like almost no one else in the world. I can either provide copies of my friend and I in ice, or another sculpture you had in mind. In return, my friend and I get to walk out of here unaccosted."

Tragedy's eyes go buckler-wide. She goes so far as to rise from her seat, staring into Yin's open palm. Lips part, close, and part again.

"You," she quietly mumbles, "will stay here, and make ice sculptures for me."

"Yeah, not going to happen." The dragoon snaps off the rose at the stem's base, and holds it out to Tragedy. "See, that's the fun thing about dragoons. Our power isn't unconditional or irrevokeable. 'Our' power is actually that of the dragons we're tied to. If you could somehow make me do this without my consent and it became thus detrimental to me, my guardian dragon Syphyxian would revoke his power. I'd actively be unable to manipulate ice anymore."

It's kind of true. She's not actually sure he would, as that would be quite hard though possible to reverse.

"Then you shall be enticed instead." Tragedy has eyes like a child, very much like Troix's in that they sparkle with innocent intelligence. She steps back, as though mesmerized by the little flower. "Anything you want will be yours, if you stay and sculpt for me."

"I appreciate it, Miss Tragedy, I really do. But everything I want is waiting for me back home." Can't help but smile the littlest bit. And he has platinum-blonde hair and ear fins. "Besides, an ally is likely to transport my 'artwork' and I back home, let's call it magically for the sake of shortened discussion. I don't know when. It could be any time, really. I just fear what might happen if we're too far separated when it does. In return for helping me to avert that possible danger, I'd like to do one or two elaborate pieces for you. My power isn't without limit, but can go a long way. The sculptures will also be hardened and melt more slowly than normal ice."

Tragedy's eyes lose their light word by haggling word.

"So... you wish to barter something temporary for something permanent? Am I missing something?"

"Yes. A friend is going to transport both of us away from this world. Alouette won't be a permanent fixture in your gallery anyway, and then you'd just get nothing in return."

"I," Tragedy quietly declares, "am in love with Alouette. I will not let her go."

A quiet chuckle echoes in the room, so soft it sounds as though it could emanate from the first floor.

Yin's eyes dart back for the other sound. "But she couldn't stay here even if she wanted to. She'll be dragged back home. I'm not asking you to let her go; that's inevitable. I'm just asking to expedite it."

"I have no reason to trust you, and I am in love with her," Tragedy declares again, eyes fixed on Yin's. "That is that."

The chuckle strengthens, footsteps pounding a gentle rhythm.

"My sister," the chuckler calls, now distinctly the voice of the Cheshire Cat, "is in love with every piece of art she acquires. For about a week."

Ugh. Christ. Fingers find the bridge of her nose. On with re-evaluating of every piece of information I got from the cat. "So, what, come back in seven days?"

"It's a distinct possibility," says the cat voice. Tragedy is beaming by now, looking around for her silk-white brother.

Yin looks back to the woman. "Is there nothing I can do to change your mind about prolonging an inevitability and possibly endangering your new love, Miss Tragedy?"

Tragedy turns her attention back to Yin, as well.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No. I've already explained the danger. I know better. I'm asking."

"If things are as you say," a calming Tragedy begins, "your friend will come to no harm no matter what. Either she will vanish, or remain here."

"Vanishing wouldn't necessarily be harmful. It could just be our way home. The only thing that concerns me is our being split from one another and thrown to different regions or different worlds, worrisome because both she and I have enemies. Disappearing together would be fine."

"I fail to see where I run risk here," Tragedy admits. "Alouette and I are star-crossed. Destiny brought her to me."

Comedy just laughs, amused at his serious sister. He finally fades into sight, eyes and teeth first, but this time in the shape of a pallid, Italiano nobleman.

"Love isn't love if you're thinking of your own well-being," Yin observes rather dryly before she can bite it back. She knows what love is. "Very well. I suppose I'll be back, then." Looks to...Comedy. "How do I leave here?"

"Magic," Comedy answers, and then cackles as though its the funniest thing in the history of things.

"Alright. How do I come across said magic?"

"This entirely depends on whether you projectile ejaculate or not."

Twitch. "You're having too much fun to give a straight answer, aren't you?"

"You're gay? What?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Listen, will I be assaulted again when I leave this room?"

"You were assaulted the first time because you attempted to steal something that is mine," Tragedy hisses, asserting herself for the first time. "So that depends on you."

"I wonder if it's stealing," Yin returns, a faint draconic snarl behind her voice, "to want to take back that which was stolen in the first place. Alouette didn't suddenly become yours when you kidnapped and manipulated her. If anyone's, she 'belongs' to her daughter Triox. Make no mistake, Miss Tragedy: I have not sought to make a deal with you because you have some sort of right of ownership. The ice offer stood soley because I don't feel like instigating a fight I'm not confident I can win."

"I did nothing of the sort! My Alouette was a gift from Guildenstern. I shall call for him, and he will tell you it is so," Tragedy says. Comedy's smirk fades a little bit.

Shit. She'd kind of figured Tragedy already knew. Yin's tone is quickly more careful. This is about to turn nasty. "Guildenstern grabbed Alouette kicking and screaming from the side of the road. One look at her current face shows how scared she was. She'd never have agreed to something like this."

"She agreed to this as soon as she crossed the ravine. This is my land, and she trespassed." Tragedy huffs, folds her arms over her chest. "As did you."

The dragoon's eyes are icy and even. "If you're going to take me, do it. Otherwise I'll be on my way."

"I don't want you. You are temporary." Tragedy sits again, pouting, until her brother begins to rub her shoulders. "You may leave my chamber."

Yin's back teeth are slightly gritted, and she just turns to leave. On to Hook it is, if she can get out.

"Don't forget the score," Comedy calls to her as she leaves, smiling softly at his sister's purring.

When she passes through, the chamber door eases shut and locks into place.

What's that supposed to mean...? Wait, didn't he make some smart-ass mark regarding the score earlier? But what was it?

Yin ponders this only absently as she walks back down the stairs, eyes and ears at the alert. Tries to stuff down her rage as well. There was so much more she'd wanted to say, but pissing Tragedy off too much wouldn't have been way up there on the "smart things to do" list. Her transition into to an increasingly genuine public figurehead for wyverns, general non-humans, and, to a lesser extent, dragons is slowly but surely increasing her willingness to think before she speaks.

When she arrives in the ballroom, she turns to the direction she'd initially come in, hoping this godforsaken house doesn't do something freakish like realign the halls.

The stairs are gone, folded into the side of the building like stacked cards. Another clock facing sits next to them, set at five thirty. Above, the dancers swing in silence. 

From the other doorway, the sound of men singing can be heard, welling up from below. It sounds like a gregorian chorus, but strangely enough they sing in draconic.

We commend our brother
bough to bough, cradle to cradle,
steel to stem,
to earth, to earth, to earth.
Guildenstern, to earth.

Yin frowns a little, and turns a deaf ear. She doesn't feel guilty, exactly, but she's never thrilled at causing grief. The language also gives her pause. Yin bares her fangs slightly at the missing stairs.

Brow creases. Wait. Clock. There had been clocks outside, too, with the same clue written the cat--Comedy--had just repeated. What was it...?

Ten and two.

The vampiress approaches the clock, opens the face, and tries to set the hour hand to ten, and the minute hand to two.

The hands move, but nothing happens. The singing continues.

Frowns. Tries setting the clock to 10:02. Feels increasingly stupid about doing so.

Still, nothing. The singing wafts into silence.

Alright. So, to hell with the storybook riddle stuff. Yin frustratedly sets the time at two, and closes the clock face. Maybe he means 10:02. Maybe he means skip ahead four hours. Maybe you set it at ten and then two. Maybe the "score" has nothing to fucking do with the clocks. She looks for a switch or lever of some kind. Damnit, but there has to be a way. And if nothing else, if they aren't ghosts--and god she's crazy for considering it--those singing people have to leave sometime.

There are no devices, only the clock face. After a while, a slow procession of cloaked puppets clatter up the stairs, carrying an urn that glows softly red. They turn, heading towards the observatory, and pay Yin no mind whatsoever.

"Come on," Comedy's voice calls from high above as he appears, hung from the ceiling and laughing about it. "Don't give up so quick. DOn't you know the score?"

"Ten to two, I remember," the dragoon observes. "It..." Trails off. Facepalm. "I should have said that aloud to start with," she murmurs. Opens the clock again. Right. 1:50.

Stone blocks grind from slots in the wall, arranging themselves into a neat set of tile steps. Once they're arranged, millions of crimson threads shoot from the wall, stitching together to form the fine red carpet that had been there before.

Down below, a faint hissing sound, like a gas leak combined with a pissed off cat, can be heard.

Yin's...well, pretty embarassed. She's supposed to be some kind of superspy, right? She should have gotten that. Looks up to the creepy-ass Comedy. "I don't know why you're helping me, but thanks." Turns to head down the stairs.

"Because you make me laugh," Comedy twitters, watching her go down. "And because our father knows who you are." Vanishes in a puff at the last syllable, cackling.

Downstairs, the ground wavers in green and brown. The hissing continues, as one cobra lifts its head. Then two. Then ten.

"Aw, fuck," Yin sighs. Well, nowhere to go but forward. She pauses to carefully crystallize a suit of armor over herself, about two inches thick. Other than extremely thin vulnerable areas behind her knees and elbows, she's pretty well covered. She has a high collar, but nothing on her head. Cobras don't climb that she remembers.

She's going to need to rest soon. Any more big tricks are beyond her, she isn't likely to manage more than her usually weaponry after this, and she's getting to the point she feels like she's been awake for days.

Just as soon as she's out of the forest.

She starts down without particular hesitation into the cobra pit, picking her way carefully at first to make sure the covered floor is indeed right there. It won't do to stumble and fall, and this makeshift armor is far harder to move in than the real thing.

THe serpents strike. Of course they strike-- there's nothing magical about them. They're Indian cobras with spectacled hoods, ringhals that spit venom - sometimes dangerously close to her eyes, and fourteen-foot kings that stare at her with hoods spread, coiled tightly. A louder hissing sounds over the rest, though.

"Yin, was it?" A familiar voice shouts over the hissing as Patricio approaches, staff glowing jade at the tip. His steps part the snakes like a stone protruding from a swift river.

Impressive, that. Yin's minding her eyes. She forgot cobras could spit, but it's a slow enough sort of projectile that spy instinct is serving her well. "Yeah."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" The snakes flee to a range of about six feet, warily hissing at this green-clad stranger.

"I suppose. Don't have a way to take my friend home just yet, but I did find her." Glances at the snakes. Smirks tiredly. "I'll admit an idle worry about you earlier, but it seems the greatest danger to you around here involves running albinos."

"Ah, you mean the devil twins. No, they have precious little interest in me. I'm afraid I'm not interesting enough." Patriciou raises his staff, and a stream of ringhal spit evaporates against its tip. "I apologize for the mess. I'd been gathering these serpents from every corner of Hamartia. They don't belong here, you know."

"Well, I meant me running you over, and...don't they?" Well. She's out of place. Maybe some hint at other things being out of place will give her a hint as to how to get home. Also, if he says his given name is Patrick, she's going to scream to make any sopranino proud.

"No. Tragedy gathered them from elsewhere-- she has a liking for serpents, for some reason." Patricio words off a striking coral snake. "The tiny ones sting the worst. Banded bastards. Anyway, I found a hole in one of the walls large enough to get them through, a few at a time. The most amazing thing - it's right underneath a clock."

"That sounds right. The key to opening that staircase was in a clock, and there were three clocks by the front entrance giving the same clue. They seem to be key in getting around this place." The dragonish gazes down at snakes striking her iced shins before back up to the cleric. "Where is this clock?"

"Underneath the grand staircase." Patricio gestures with his staff, striking a king in the face at the same time to deflects its strike.

Halfway through the sentence, a soft glow surrounds Yin.

Her brow creases, and she raises an arm to gaze almost apathetically at it. "Okay. So. What in the thousand bloody hells is going on now?"

"I don't know," Patriciou admits. "Do you often glow green?"

"No," the vampiress sighs. Heads towards the grand staircase. What else can she really do? She doesn't know anything about magic, there's really nothing she can do about it. If it does something, it does something.

And it does.

Yin vanishes, Julen City bound.