[ Moving a bookshelf around... How familiar. The remembrance of a related incident motivates him to rise, faster than is probably sensible given their current state. His joints protest, letting out a high pitched and entirely artificial sound. He pays it no mind. They'll be time to fret over the effects of this place once they're free.
For now, he settles his hands against once side of the shelf, grateful his fingers at least have kept their dexterity. ]
It could be a secret passageway of some kind. I've seen such methods used in the past.
[ Thoughts of Professor Jeritza — or of his real identity — is not a place he'd prefer to dwell. It's a short path from the events of Flayn's kidnapping, his first direct experience with dark mysteries kept behind hidden doors, to the village of Remire. He swallows back the bile and anger those memories inspire, tries not to linger on their similarities to this place. Its cruel experiments and disregard for human life.
Tries being the key phrase. ]
Here. Allow me to—
[ Oops.
All he was intended to do was push the shelf, maneuver it forward so they could get a better look at whatever it may be covering, but in his frustration... Well. It appears he overdid it. On the bright side, the shelf moves. A few more feet than intended. In its absence lies a large and seemingly function door. Less bright is the reappearance of that same noise. Sharper, ending with a biting crack, as the skin (material?) of his palm gives way and buckles under his own strength. He pulls it back, staring at the spiderwebbing chips and splinters forming across the front of his hand. ]
no subject
For now, he settles his hands against once side of the shelf, grateful his fingers at least have kept their dexterity. ]
It could be a secret passageway of some kind. I've seen such methods used in the past.
[ Thoughts of Professor Jeritza — or of his real identity — is not a place he'd prefer to dwell. It's a short path from the events of Flayn's kidnapping, his first direct experience with dark mysteries kept behind hidden doors, to the village of Remire. He swallows back the bile and anger those memories inspire, tries not to linger on their similarities to this place. Its cruel experiments and disregard for human life.
Tries being the key phrase. ]
Here. Allow me to—
[ Oops.
All he was intended to do was push the shelf, maneuver it forward so they could get a better look at whatever it may be covering, but in his frustration... Well. It appears he overdid it. On the bright side, the shelf moves. A few more feet than intended. In its absence lies a large and seemingly function door. Less bright is the reappearance of that same noise. Sharper, ending with a biting crack, as the skin (material?) of his palm gives way and buckles under his own strength. He pulls it back, staring at the spiderwebbing chips and splinters forming across the front of his hand. ]
—Oh.
[ This is... new. ]