deathsmajesty | The Creepy And Now Holiday-Appropriate Mansion, Thursday Evening

Once again, the gate that blocked off the bottom end of Phoenix Way was opened, inviting everyone to the creepy (though much less abandoned) mansion. This time, however, instead of being guided around to the gardens, the lit path led them to the front door, where the a tall figure in a tattered robe and deep cowl gestured for them to step inside the door and get onto a...boat? Once people had climbed in settled themselves, the ferryman began to guide the ship down the River Styx. Or, okay, their long entrance hallway, with blue lights to either side of their boat to mimic water and bathing everyone in an eerie blue glow. (Yes, okay, the boat perhaps wheeled down the hallway rather than floated, but they had not refinished this house just to flood the hallway for verisimilitude. Even if Liliana had considered it for a few minutes.)

The double doors leading to the ballroom were opened, with thick fog rolling out of the doorway. And through that doorway, people could descend the stairs into the Underworld proper. Black and gold were the prevailing color, with deep red nods to a pomegranate motif. Gold coins and loose gemstones added to the decor, a nod to Hades' wealth - but even amidst all the dark opulence, touches of other colors could be seen: tucked away in various corners and small niches were flowering plants, a surprise kiss of springtime to be found in the least likely places. Rather than one large chandelier, they had several, creating areas of both light and shadow around the ballroom.

Welcome to the Underworld, dear friends.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm not," Pam said. "Or, at least, it's still going to sell the same kind of products."

Mainly, mind you, because she didn't want Adrian to have to figure out some other way to sell his stock.

"But the previous owner stocked a lot of items that were either terrible for the environment, or actively hid how bad they are," she continued. "I'm not about to add to the amount of microplastics already in our environment, or be complicit in the poisoning of our planet."

No, Ivy, say how you really feel.

"Microplastics?" Liliana asked. "I'm sorry, darling, I'm from a completely different plane, so I have no idea what that is." She knew what plastic was! And sometimes it was useful, even. Others she just had to look at something and ask Why? "And when you say 'poisoning,' do you mean a real, targeted attack upon the Earth's Worldsoul? Or just carelessness supported by greed and not caring about others?"

She'd seen both.

Oh god. Liliana. Please. Don't get her started.

"What's the line between 'targeted' and 'carelessness supported by greed' when the people involved have known damned well what they're doing for the past century?" she said. "The products they make involve pumping toxic chemicals into the environment. The plastics their products contain leak back into that environment after we use them and disrupt the bodies of all living things. And yet they keep making and selling them."

"I find there's a very large difference between malice and even weaponized indifference," Liliana said with a weaponized shrug. "Malice wants to hurt. Weaponized indifference just doesn't give enough of a fuck to not. And, of course, of the two, I'm more personally insulted by the second. Malice has motive. That kind of deep indifference is usually linked to a kind of entitlement that makes me want to rend someone."

"Likewise," said Pam, who suddenly felt a deep desire for a drink. "Frequently."

Wanting to. Not doing it. Rly.

Missing out, Pam. Some people could use a good rending.

"Is that what you got your doctorate in?" Liliana asked. "Environmental studies?"

Yes she'd looked up what kinds of degrees you were technically able to earn at the college she sometimes taught at.

"Phytochemistry," Pam said, crossing her arms. "Also known as botanical chemistry. The study of chemicals and toxins in plant matter."

"Fascinating," Liliana said, and, to her credit, that did seem genuine. "My college, Witherbloom, was founded on the Principle of Root and the Principle of the Vein. Life and death. My studies were along the Path of the Vein, but as I'm certain you know, there's a great deal of overlap - toxins being one of them."

"If those two principles are what I think they are, then I'd say the overlap is usually underestimated," Pam said, raising an interested eyebrow. "How did you find your studies?"

"I loved them," Liliana said with a kind of aching sincerity that no other topic could possibly lay claim to. "Invigorating. I nearly stayed after I graduated, in fact."

The happiest times in her life revolved around a school. Time to not examine that.

"I was a Dreadbones and Pestcatcher - not what it sounds like - double major, and very nearly picked up a third major in the College of Silverquill."

"Your school definitely got poetic," Pam said. And look, there was that eyebrow again. "So what are Dreadbones and Pestcatcher?"

"Magic School founded by dragons," Liliana said. "'Poetic' is pretty much written into the charter. But a Dreadbones is basically their necromancy degree; it specializes in infusing dead flesh with magic to create undead servants. Pestcatcher is someone who can harvest life energy from other living creatures." She smiled a bit. "In most other places, the words aren't that fancy. Most places understand if I tell people I'm a necromancer, and even ghoulcaller gets a least general recognition."

"Most places wouldn't teach something like that, either," Pam pointed out. Was there something clinical and dispassionate about her voice? Oh well. "What drew you to those subjects?"

"I was already a necromancer," Liliana said with a shrug that elided over so much. "But Strixhaven is the best magic university in the Multiverse. I wanted to learn more from the best. I was mostly self-taught in those days, learning necromancy to supplement my healing skills, with a small bit of mentoring. I wanted a curriculum, something that could give me the foundation to do as I--wished."

"Hm," Pam hummed, thoughtful. "Well. Good that worked out the way you hoped."

It didn't always, did it.

The Creepy And Now Holiday-Appropriate Mansion, Thursday Evening

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