𝒘𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏

chapter :book  i,  chapter  i     location :lobby  convenience  store     tagging :   @ankeliebe​

some  time  later,  though  it  was  such  a  relative  term  in  a  place  where  there  seemed  to  be  only  now,  tommy  emerged  from  the  convenience  store  and  back  into  the  main  lobby.  while  the  space  lacked  windows  to  light  it  well,  it  seemed  that  the  candles  were  trying  their  best,  reflected  by  the  crystal  hanging  above.  it  was  enough  light  to  realize  that  he  was  not  alone.  it  takes  a  few  more  steps  though,  which  she  likely  hears  –  he’s  not  particularly  light  on  his  feet,  for  him  to  recognize   who.   anke.  he  knew  a  select  few  facts  about  her,  mostly  that  she  was  smarter  than  he  was;  sometimes  he  would  do  his  best  to  keep  up,  but  other  times  he’d  simply  removed  himself  from  the  situation  entirely.  the  academic  world  had  never  been  exactly  kind  to  him.  

however,  given  the  current  state  of  their  confinement,  darkened  for  unknown  reasons,  he  thinks  maybe  she’ll  have  some  answer.   ‘   it’s  like,  pretty  freaky-deaky  in  this  place  right  now.  more  than  usual  anyway,   ’   he  says,  his  tone  somewhat  casual  despite  the  circumstances.  maybe  he’d  just  grown  accustomed  to  the  strangeness,  or  maybe  he’d  just  fallen  in  step  with  it.   ‘   you  got  any  of  those  tricks  you  do  that  can  fix  something  like  this  ?    ’

With every passing hour, if that was even a relevant term inside the walls of this place, Anke felt more and more at a loss. She was not about to risk tampering with the electrical box - she was a chemist, not an electrician, and her knowledge of electrical engineering was limited, among other things, to her time - the house would not have it. So, amongst the candles, she scribbles inside her beloved journal, noting down everything she has learned so far under a sloppy title - Stormausfall. Mr. Enright is testing my patience, she writes, what do letters have to do with a lack of electricity? 

Footprints alert her to the presence of another, and looking up, Anke can make out the silhouette of a man. Tommy, she recognizes, who adored the experiments she conducted trying to solve the mysteries of the house. Or, out of sheer boredom. Even still, she found that the world of academia, her beloved world of science, might be quite foreign to him. That was a simple hypothesis, however, too bare to prove or disprove for the time being,

“It is as you say, uh, freaky-deeky,” the words gain an unusual tone with her accent. Slang wasn’t a part of her vocabulary, especially in English. “If by tricks you mean science, I have to disappoint you,” she sighs, looking at her notebook, “I’m no electrician, and I doubt this place has an electricity box from 1964. But, we might learn a thing or two from this.” She spins the pen between her slim fingers.

“Do you think blackouts happen regularly and this is just our first time experiencing one?”

the  voice  that  came  from  the  other  was  a  little  pathetic,  the  apology  coming  for  something  that  macie  had  done.      “  i  almost  took  you  out  and  you’re  apologizing  to  me?  ”      she  scoffs,  free  hand  tightens  into  a  fist  while  the  other  tightens  around  the  knife.        “  i’m  fine,  are  you  fine?  ”      she  asks,  raising  a  brow  though  it’s  impossible  to  see  in  the  dark.      “  it’s  macie,  by  the  way.  i  think  that’s  anke,  but  i  couldn’t  be  sure.  ”

She must have sounded small. The scoff from the other was a testament to that indeed. It was not her intention - staying cool and collected in a situation like this was the ideal she was striving towards. Sounding scared would help no one and only serve to make people worry. Clearing her throat, she offered a weak defense: “Well, I could have been more careful, I suppose. Made my presence known, at least.”

Took her out? So the other, Macie, as she helpfully supplied, was armed. With a knife, most likely. Anke raised her eyebrows. A knife would be much more useful if one could see what they were cutting into. And, in defense of the House, it’s never tried to harm them before. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just trying to see what exactly we’re dealing with.”

Though, judging by Macie’s demeanor, she might be just as lost. “You’re right, it is Anke,” she nodded, “The accent gave it away, didn’t it?”

@ankeliebe.

event » candlelight  location » somewhere in the raven house 

it wasn’t that he didn’t like her… he was sure that anke was a wonderful person– actually, no, he wasn’t sure about any of that. he didn’t know her at all, despite having resided in the same building for far too long. and it was entirely his fault– the young man withdrew when she entered a room. when she spoke, he shut down. he didn’t make an effort to get to know her, and truly it was his loss (not that he would know about that). 

so, when the young man found himself in the same room as her / alone, at that / he was far from comfortable. the usual manner in which he held himself, his confidence, suddenly lacking. head lowered he began to fumble with his fingers, ‘ uhh… sorry, i can– uh i can leave if you want to be alone. ‘ he muttered before tilting his head to the side, emerald green hues averting to glance upon the young woman. his curiosity got the best of him. he couldn’t evade her presence forever. ‘ what exactly is it that you are doing? ‘ he had seen her, notebook in hand, making observations, drawing conclusions, setting up hypothesis about the raven house– something about scientific method, or so he was told– he had always been rather horrible at all things scientific. 

History is a terrible burden to bear. She’s not quite sure where she heard the phrase last. Perhaps it was her mother who said it while tucking her into bed one night. Or professor Wolf with his poetic manner of speech. Wherever it originated from was a pale and distant memory, growing ever more elusive every moment she spent inside the house. But the phrase remained and found a physical form - one named Luc Rioux. 

Anke didn’t know him well. She didn’t know him at all. It wouldn’t have mattered if she didn’t notice the small signs - his discomfort whenever she slipped into her mother tongue, his voice turning quieter as she entered the room. The fact that he seemed to evasive, a phantom to her but to no one else. In her search for an explanation, the year 1955 comes up. She connects the dots. Her theory makes her sick to her stomach. So she avoids him, too.

But unfortunate circumstances brought them together. There, in the lobby, surrounded by candles, Anke tried to focus on her notebook and not the nervous stutter in his voice. It would be best, she wanted to stay, but her mouth remained shut, a hand scribbling messy notes under the title power outage (Stormausfall. She sincerely hoped it was too dark for him to see it). If she was to understand the workings of The Raven House, this predicament of theirs could prove invaluable. His question, however, made her hand stop in its place.

“Just...taking notes,” has her English always been so plagued with her mother tongue? “about what’s happening. Also, I’m trying to determine whether the candles are burning slower or faster than...on the outside.” She stopped herself before she got carried away. Rather, she hoped a single candle, as strange as it sounded, would offer an insight into how time runs in the house. It was easier said than done.

location: bar & lounge 

music cuts, lights go out; the quiet hits her first. do you know what it is like to sit in silence? you still hear tchaikovsky in your dreams. unease settles, and she washes it down with the rest of her scotch. if this malfunction is out of her hands, then at least she refuses to be scared.

someone takes the seat across from her, though she can’t make out their features in the dim candlelight, the only illumination left. and what a pathetic glow it is—for all its opulence, the raven house should sorely invest in working lightbulbs. “ i don’t suppose you are an electrician, ” she says dryly, pouring herself another glass before holding the decanter out. “ drink? ”

The candles won’t last. A fire needs fuel to burn, and with every passing minute, the wax that was feeding the flame grew sparser. Sooner or later, their only source of light will die out, disappear as if it was never there, to begin with (no, nothing just disappears. The wax simply turned liquid and evaporated. If only the house could be explained in such simple terms). 

Needless to say, it gave her a sense of urgency. A time limit. Anke navigated the darkened halls carefully. Though her step was slow, her mind was racing. There ought to be some flashlights somewhere, anywhere.

Drawn to the illuminated bar, she recognizes the woman sitting there. Vasilisa, Vasya. A smile graces her face. And with it, an idea springs to mind. Anke takes a seat next to her. “No, I’m not,” she shakes her head, “and I don’t drink either.” This is the last situation she would want to get drunk in, though she understands, to some extent, the ballerina’s need for alcohol.

“You know, while I would never blame our wonderful host for this situation,” her Russian is laced with her mother tongue and intent, “there has to be a better alternative to these fire hazards we call candles. Say, flashlights. In the basement.”

timestamp:   ——  ,  NULL .   ·   location:   where  else?   the  raven  house  ,  MADNESS  TAKES  IT’S  TOLL .   ·   tagging:   open  for  everyone !

when  the  power  flickered  the  first  time,  macie  thought  maybe  she  was  seeing  things.  maybe  the  exhaustion  or  the  stress  or  something  had  finally  caused  her  to  snap.  but  then  it  happened  again,  and  again,  until  finally  the  power  disappeared  completely,  leaving  the  room  with  a  gentle  hum.   “ shit, ”   the  word  is  blown  out  on  a  soft  breath.  fingers  instantaneously  slide  down  her  thigh  to  reaffirm  that  the  bowie  knife,  her  safety  net,   was   still  within  reach  as  if  it  ever  left.  it  lessens  the  tightening  in  her  chest.  she  fumbles  around  in  the  dark  for  the  candle  that  is  kept  on  the  desk  in  her  room.  she’d  only  thought  it  was  decorative.  when  her  fingers  finally  find  purchase  on  it,  she  realizes  there’s  no  point.  she  doesn’t  have  a  light.

stepping  into  the  hall  does  nothing  to  help  the  uneasiness  that  has  settled  into  her  stomach.   no  emergency  lights.   what  kind  of  fucking  nightmare  was  this?  there’s  something,  maybe  it’s  anxiety  or  knowing  she’s  been  caught  in  situations  like  this  before,  that  makes  her  grip  the  bowie.  using  her  other  hand,  she  feels  down  the  wall  as  she  walks  for  the  dip  that  will  lead  to  the  stairs.  it’s  only  when  she  hits  the  bottom  that  she  runs  clear  into  another  body.   “ fuck! ”   c’mon  sullivan,  you’re  better  than  that  —  but  hey,  at  least  you  didn’t  stab  them. 

Out of everything she had seen and experienced in the Raven House, a blackout was, perhaps, the most mundane event of them all. She was no stranger to the way the lights flickered, or how her world was suddenly plunged into darkness. Under any other circumstance, she’d simply light a candle and continue reading the novel, now left open in her hands. But this was The Raven House. Here, the darkness was unsettling. Eerie. It filled her with a familiar sense of dread. Breathe, Anke. There is always a logical reason for a blackout. 

(The weather? No, unlikely. There was no storm today.)

She opened the door and peered into the hallway. There are no emergency lights. There is no candle in her room. Dread mixes with frustration in the pit of her stomach. This situation is more difficult than she thought it would be. Fingers trailing the walls, Anke made her way towards the stairs. Someone must know more.

(It could have been a malfunction. It happened all the time in Berlin. At the most inconvenient of times, of course.)

She should have noticed the sound of footsteps behind her. In her defense, the theories her mind presented demanded her full attention, even if that meant colliding with something - a person - at the bottom of the stairs. She jolts backward, nearly hitting the wall with her back. “Uh,” her voice wavers, “who did I just bump into? Are you alright?” 

(  FLORENCE PUGH,   CIS FEMALE,   SHE/HER     —     oh  gosh,  sorry  ANKE LIEBLEIN !  i  didn't  see  you  there !  y'know,  i  can't  believe  you're  already  26  years  old;  seems  like  just  yesterday  you  were  tripping  over  yourself,  or  was  that  yesterday ?  just  kidding,  just  kidding  !  anyway,  i  hear  that  you've  been  here  since  1964,  or  so  you  think;  congratulations  !  at  least  that  shining  COMPOSED personality  of  yours  hasn't  changed  a  bit,  especially  that  CHARMING  +  CLEVER,  but  SUSPICIOUS +  EVASIVE way  about  you.  look,  i  gotta  get  back  to  the  group,  but  i'll  see  you  around  !       

Hello hello! My name is Lou from gmt+1 and I’m beyond excited to join you! Let me tell you - my history-loving heart skipped a beat when I found this group! But anyway, under the cut you’ll find some info for my chem nerd child Anke! If you’d ever like to plot, feel free to leave a like or message me directly!