hellhouse | (no subject)

WHO: Derek Hale & Cleo Sertori
WHAT: Waking up in Hell House
WHEN: Day 1, early afternoon
WARNINGS: tbd

It hadn't actually been all that surprising to find that life tended to slow down rather a lot once one leaves Beacon Hills long in his wake. Derek liked South America, but it wasn't for him. He visited Cora for a while and then he'd gone to the only other place besides Beacon Hills that he'd ever called home. Brooklyn. He's been enjoying the lack of urgency and the rest and relaxation he's been able to indulge himself in taking because in Brooklyn, there's way less supernatural drama going on. He's not that guy who was suspected of killing his sister out in the woods, anymore. Now, he's just another nobody in a sea of ever-changing faces. It's loud as hell and it was disorienting to come back into it, at first, but once he'd gotten over that hump, this is much more his style: staying out of trouble.

But, of course, nothing good ever lasts because Derek Hale can't have nice things, so when he wakes up slumped over a table in uncomfortable clothes that barely fit properly, some part of him isn't actually all that surprised. He is, obviously, but some deeper part of him shrugs it off. What else is new? More drama. Always more drama.

It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he realizes that the room is just lit with candles, which...why? It takes him several more seconds to notice the woman slumped over on the table a few seats down from him and he only knows she isn't dead because he can hear her heart beating slow and steady, like she's sleeping. She's dressed like she's on her way to a gala or something and when Derek looks down at himself, he realizes she's in good company. What the actual hell is going on?

"Ma'am," he says in a voice that's neither gentle nor rough; neither quiet nor too loud. Just...his normal volume. There's a scratching sound and Derek looks over to see what looks to him like a record player turning itself on and lifting a record to place onto the platform. "Miss?" asks, this time a little louder as he gets to his feet and moves toward the record player, looking at it with interest. Whoever she is, she's about to miss something and Derek has no idea how important or unimportant that something is.

This room is dark and dank, old fashioned like something out of a movie set in a haunted mansion and he can't shake the discomfort that comes with that. His focus is more on what's going on, where is he, and who is she? The rest will come together after answering those questions, he hopes.

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Shaking his head, Derek shrugged as he started to move forward again. "I don't know. I also wouldn't have thought a person could get trapped in a room with no doors or windows when there had been a door for them to go through to begin with, but here we are," he pointed out, frowning. There was something wrong with this place and it went beyond it being creepy; way beyond that.

It wasn't lost on him that she had a hand out in front of her and he wondered if whatever she'd done to bust open that wall had come from her hands; maybe they were the source of whatever it was she could do. It made him wonder more what she was, because she probably wasn't human. Derek wasn't going to call her on it because that would mean either outing himself or being a hypocrite. ...or both. But he was curious, all the same.

When they got further down the hall, Derek could finally see a door more ornate than the one they'd come out of and the others they'd seen so far. "That's got to be it," he thought aloud. Weren't ornate doors usually reserved for the main entrances? That made sense to him, anyway. If nothing else, it was worth a shot.

Cleo's eyes fell on the door that Derek saw after he mentioned it. It certainly looked like something that would be more of a main entry and exit to a house. It stood out from the others, so unless that door was meant to draw attention for another reason, it seemed like a safe bet.

"What are the chances someone attacks to try and keep us from leaving?" She wondered out loud, voice dropping to a soft whisper. If someone was going to attack, now would be the time, when they were close to escape.

When the reached the door, Cleo used her free hand to grab onto the knob and twist. She attempted to be as quiet as she could with the knob, before pushing it open quickly.

It was black. Pure black. And cold. Cleo instantly felt air temperature drop around her, causing her to shiver. She couldn't see anything, but if she didn't have her glasses on she would be convinced she was imagining the darkness around the edge of the door frame moving, almost like it a shadow, or smoke.

"...I don't...think we should go in here."

"They'll be sorry if they do, I can promise you that," Derek replied in a low voice, frowning. He'd make sure of it. Frustrated would be the understatement of the century if one tried to use it to describe Derek right then. He'd had it with the place already and he couldn't have even been there that long. Enough was enough and if they wanted to attack he and Cleo now, then let them try. He'd make them sorry for it. Very, very sorry for it.

Cleo opened the door and Derek could almost immediately feel the drop in the temperature. Taking care not to let them glow when he did, Derek reflexively switched to wolf vision, because he should've been able to see better that way. It looked just as black inside either way he tried, which was confusing and disconcerting.

"Yeah, no," he agreed, moving to close it again. "Whatever is in there, I don't actually want to know that bad. It doesn't lead outside, so it's fine if we just leave it alone, right?"

As far as he was concerned, it was, anyway. Derek sighed. "This is ridiculous. Maybe we're on an underground floor, like a basement level? I haven't seen any windows; maybe it's because we're not on the ground level. Let's look for some stairs." Why anyone would have a dining room below ground level was beyond him, but that was probably the least weird thing he'd encountered today, so it was hardly the most concerning.