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Who: Oliver Day (

oliverplus) and Maximilien Robespierre (

le_traitre)
Where: In the labyrinth
When: During Oliver's time rendered mute
What: Oliver and Robespierre find themselves lost in a labyrinth. Possible craziness ensues.
Warnings: None

One minute, Oliver was on his way home from work, deep in thought about how in the world he could possibly do any of his assignments without being able to speak and debating if he should just give in and hide out on the Plane until the experiment ended. He was walking a dusty lane, half-watching a rosso lizard crawling along in the road as he contemplated. It was all very normal, really--an observation that would not occur to him until about a moment later when he quite abruptly found that the road, the lizard, and the dust were all gone, and he was in some sort of stone passageway.

He stopped, understandably startled by the sudden change in location. And as he took a cursory glance around, he discovered that, on top of its unexpected appearance, this stone passageway wasn't even your run-of-the-mill, old castle gardens sort of passageway. It, in fact, had many paths, which was not odd in itself. What was odd was that these paths were going off in all directions at impossible angles. And just to top things off, the stone walls were...sparkly.

His reaction would have been along the lines of, "What the hell?" but his open mouth, as usual, produced no sound. He scowled. If the Plane was going to trap him somewhere, couldn't it at least allow him the chance to speak while he was there? But the Plane was as silent in response to his annoyance as his failing attempts at vocalisation. So, giving up that useless endeavour, he decided he'd better have a proper look around. He had a feeling there was going to be some sort of trick or game to this experience, and he didn't want to get caught off-guard.

It was at that time that he, thankfully, realised he was not alone. He didn't recognise the other man, but he smiled anyway, waving to him. Company was always better than being in the middle of a mess on your own.

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Traveling with Cagliostro and Lorenza was never a bore, though he wouldn't admit it. Cagliostro was always loud and conversational, but Lorenza's quiet nature served to balance it somewhat. She would keep him busy as best as she could, but on occasion he didn't mind joining in on their conversations. Today was one of those days. A conversation about the popular philosophies of the time always kept his interest, and he had been carefully explaining the nature of Rousseau's more radical views.

It was just unfortunate that the conversation had been so rudely interrupted by suddenly appearing on the Plane. Or, it seemed like the Plane. The walls still held the lustrous shimmer of the Plane's stars, but the fact they were walls--it wasn't welcome. It was certainly one of the experiments that the others on the Plane had mentioned.

Robespierre drew his sword, planning to use a psalm to help him discern the nature of the labyrinth, but the footsteps startled him. In an easy movement of a knight trained by the sword, he turned to face the young man. The sword was pointed at Oliver's neck, but the magic Robespierre could do with the sword was likely more dangerous than the blade itself.

"Who are you," he demanded simply. His voice was cool and unassuming, as if to match his quite genteel appearance.

Oliver was definitely not expecting his friendly greeting to be met with a sword. However, when the man pulled one on him, he at least had the presence of mind to immediately throw his hands up, trying to look...more innocent than he already did?

The sword itself was bad enough, but even worse was the man's question. Oliver had learned through quite a bit of experience that people pointing weapons at you generally didn't like it very much when you failed to answer their questions. Unfortunately, as much as he would have loved to provide his name and start a proper conversation--hopefully involving less steel--he couldn't. And he certainly knew better than to reach for his datapad in a situation like this.

There was nothing for it. After briefly considering his options, Oliver shook his head, keeping his expression apologetic. Then he mouthed as clearly as he could, "I can't speak." And, very slowly, he pulled back one hand to tap at his throat, hoping he didn't get attacked for the gesture.

Edited 2010-03-15 10:38 (UTC)

Mute. His first thought was that the boy before him was a traitor, or had told information that he was not supposed to. It was not unusual for a person who told information to someone that they shouldn't to have their vocal cords cut. In fact, as a dragoon, Robespierre had performed the duty himself once. But the loose and casual clothing coupled with the distinct lack of a scar made him think otherwise. It was far too easy to apply his own time to the others here, even if they were certainly not in it.

His sword did not waver, nor did his gaze. It was an tense few moments as Robespierre considered how useful he could be, but Robespierre knew better. He sheathed the rapier and instead took a few steps forward, tucking the leather-bound book under his arm. Muteness did mean that he could not ask about the book, which was preferable.

Robespierre did not offer his hand nor any other friendly gesture, but spoke just as evenly as he had a moment ago, "Do you have means to communicate? I will not make my way out with you if you can not prove yourself to be useful."

For a few moments, Oliver was disturbingly unsure of what this man was going to do. The way he was regarding him, he couldn't help but think that he might actually stab him. Which was ridiculous, wasn't it? All he'd done was shown up here! He wondered what sort of world this man must be from, for that to be his first reaction to someone new.

However, the man eventually sheathed the weapon, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been a horrible way to go. But when the man finally spoke to him, Oliver made a face, really not liking the first impression that muteness, yet again, seemed to make. Really, it was lucky that he'd gotten to know so many people before this had happened because getting reactions of disgust would have gotten very tiring very fast otherwise. Then again, it was rather tiring anyway. It wasn't like he could help it!

Content that the sword was safely sheathed and hoping to dispel the idea of uselessness as quickly as possible, he held up a finger for the man to wait as he reached into his back pocket with his other hand, withdrawing his black datapad. He held the button to turn it on, then used the touchscreen to bring up a notepad. He typed a brief message, considered it, and then decided that he really was annoyed at the man's clear prejudice toward muteness and typed a bit more. He wasn't usually one to be moody, but the frustration of being mute was starting to wear on him. He held out the datapad for the man to see.

I can type. Hope I can talk again soon.

Technology was foreign to Robespierre, as it should be for a man in the 18th century. He was reminded of the book under his arm as he looked at the datapad, but he knew there was no magic in the device. Still, to write without a quill, he was slightly amused at that. It would be a welcome change, even he knew.

"It is temporary," he spoke simply, as it wasn't a question, "Then I suppose you can be of some use. How lucky that you do have something to communicate with."

Robespierre looked away to the walls. He closed the distance and touched the wall thoughtfully with his hand. It would be easy to simply break down the walls and move that way to freedom, but he already had a feeling that the Plane would not allow that simple of a solution. Without pausing to consult his new companion, Robespierre started to trace what seemed like a word onto the wall. After a moment, the motion he had made glowed on the wall, showing the Latin word "Seclorum." Each letter's light raced away to different directions, as if to find the maze's end.

This was all quite normal to Robespierre, so he quite nonchalantly leaned against the wall and opened the book as if to read. "If it works, we will know where the end is."

Oliver scowled at that, wondering just who this guy thought he was. He was starting to think it might be lucky he didn't have a voice at the moment, or he'd have a few things to say to him. Because honestly, was there really any benefit to being so condescending?

But he was quickly distracted when the man...started writing on the wall. In light. And, in fact, in Latin. The classes required of a Classical history major came to mind, his brain automatically noting that the word was probably genitive plural, but he didn't know the meaning. But once his rational thoughts had caught up with his automatic response, he couldn't help being fascinated, the light show drawing his attention far more the dry area of linguistics. He watched in awe as, with the word finished, the letters seemed to fly away on their own. Just what was that? Magic of some sort? Axel had told him that magic was real, and he'd heard and seen enough of different worlds by now to believe that it could easily be possible.

He looked to the other man, a million questions flying through his mind, only to find that he seemed to be rather more interested in his book than in conversation. He did, at least, take the time to explain the reason behind what he'd just done. Oliver smiled. Definitely a good idea to start with! He typed a message to tell him so--and to ask a question that was starting to nag him--but as he held out the datapad again, he wondered--with a bit of annoyance--if the other man would even bother to read it. He didn't seem to be terribly interested in Oliver's presence so far, except to complain about it.

Great! Hope it's so easy. Magic?

My name's Oliver. Yours?

Oliver tapped his foot a couple times--not in impatience, but just to make a sound--and waited to see if the man would react. Or, for that matter, if the spell would turn up any answers...

For a moment, Robespierre watched as words formed on the pages of the book. They glittered red, like blood, but it was as if the tapping of Oliver's foot interupted their formation. The only legible word was "Louis XIV," but the words smeared and disappeared as quickly as they had come. Luckily it was not because of Oliver's interuption, but instead because of the word that had just formed on the back of Robespierre's hand. Closing the book, he glanced up to reply to the pad's questions.

"Magic," he answered simply, not caring to elaborate on what sort of magic it was. The book was again closed, but this time put inside his jacket. Presumably, there was a pocket large enough to hold it, since clothes of the 18th century were often made this way for the gentry.

He did not answer to the request for his own name right away, instead preoccupying himself with the letters that had appeared on the back of his hand. He was mildly amused that it was in fact "NQM" which had appeared on his hand, but it was not so unusual anymore. The letters shone lightly, as if they were metallic. The nature of the Psalms wasn't always clear, but hopefully it would be simple enough to use them to lead the way to an exit.

Robespierre spoke the verse quietly, as if they were incantations for a spell, but the origin of the words was likely not entirelly unfamiliar to his companion. It was just a part of Psalm 5, "Lead me, o' Lord, in your righteousness, because of my enemies—make straight your way before me."

As if responding to the words, a light similar to the one that had appeared when Robespierre drew the word "seclorum" appeared at the junction at the end of the hall. It danced against the wall, then to the floor, and finally disappeared around the right-hand corner. Satisfied with this, Robespierre finally turned back to Oliver.

"I am Maximilien Robespierre. The Psalms shall lead the way to the exit, if you wish to follow."

Oliver watched, curious and a bit puzzled by the magic the man was using. On the one hand, magic was a novelty in itself, but most fantasy films--not to mention Axel's fire--were a lot simpler than...whatever Robespierre was doing. Oliver did recognise the Bible verse, and it made him want to ask the man where he was from. Some alternate version of Earth, maybe? Otherwise why the direct quote?

But he didn't want to pester him with more questions already. He got the impression that he was lucky enough to have gotten the man's name. Instead, he grinned, showing his excitement at the possibility of a way out that didn't involve aimless wandering. He had been expecting this place to stop the magic from directing them, and it was nice to see something Plane-related going right for once.

He started off around the corner, following after Robespierre. Thankfully, his excitement at their early success hadn't put him off his guard too much, so he didn't fail to see the recesses in the walls of the next passage. He stopped short, grabbing at his companion's arm to make sure he stopped as well. He wasn't sure he quite believed what he was seeing. What were they in, Indiana Jones? But even if it wasn't what he thought it was, this was the work of the Plane, and odd markings in the wall just had to mean something dangerous.

He picked up a rock, throwing it toward the first one and fully expecting an arrow to come out of the hole and collide with it. Instead, a green laser beam shot across, and a smoking, blackened rock landed on the ground just past it. Oliver turned to his companion, eyes wide. That wasn't good at all.

Robespierre immediately thought the laser to be of magical origin, and thought to counteract it with his own. But as he raised his hand to cast another spell, he paused. The Psalms did not readily come to the symbol on his hand--it must be something else.

Luckily, he wasn't so completely stubborn as to avoid help if it could possibly be provided. It would be better to ask first, especially with something that he was obviously unfamiliar with. Robespierre glanced at Oliver, nodding his head towards the obstacle ahead.

"I do not believe that the Psalms will be useful, here. Do you have any other ideas, monsieur?"

Oliver frowned, studying the recesses in the wall. They were far enough apart that maybe... But he made a face at himself for even considering that possibility. Far too Mission Impossible. He'd never be able to twist enough to keep from being burned. And his companion was actually looking to him for a solution, so he couldn't blow it on something silly.

And then the obvious occurred to him and he grinned. He knelt down, lowering his head until he had a good view across the passage. He nodded. That would work. After glancing up at Robespierre, he got down on his stomach and gestured forward. The recesses for the lasers barred walking, but crawling should easily be possible--as long as you kept your head down, at least.

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