[hider=Tabula's Tour: Part Four]
From one side of the Factory to another: the next location on Tabula's itinerary appeared to be Chapter One. Visiting there after Chapter Three demanded a somewhat circuitous route so as to approach through the front entrance, but Papillary made it happen. This domain, at least, Tabula could boast a little knowledge of. Salem, a doll with a host of potent abilities, presided over the aptly-named City of Lost Things. It was a dreg heap, a resting place for rubbish, but not in the conventional sense. Ruling over a landfill, after all, carried neither practical nor metaphorical weight. Rather, Salem watched over the discarded, the unwanted. An agreement existed between Salem and Graft that established a constant loop of resources being taken from the City for use in the Factory and then various dolls and things being made in the Factory for dumping in the City. To Tabula it seemed like activity just for the sake of it, but she felt sure that it represented a subtly genius tactical move on Graft's part.

She also knew a little about Salem. The doll featured at the grand meeting, of course, but she also remembered it from way back when everything was fuzzy. Along with Light and -of course- Graft and Papillary, Salem had been there when she first woke up. But something had been off. She couldn't remember everything the hetero-chromatic child said, but she remembered a feeling of unease. Plus, Graft wrote down a specific warning for her to heed, which brusquely and matter-of-factly read, Salem has a warped perspective. Act like you understand and consider whatever is said, but disregard anything that contradicts your common sense or what you've been taught.

With that warning in mind, Tabula knocked on the door to the City of Lost Things. 

The entrance that led from The Factory to The City of Lost Things was a gate attached to a wrought-iron fence, above which stood a juxtaposed arch, decorated in garish colors, and inviting designs. Due to the pre-arranged nature of the visit, a threadbare plush bunny holding a ridiculously large timepiece stood at the gate to greet Papillary and Tabula. "W-welcome to the C-City of Lost Things, d-domain of Salem Vicarious. Lord Salem will be out to greet you shortly, but in the meantime, I can show you around the City. Though there aren't any major features of note, save for the newly constructed Amberden replica, and The House That Salem Built, which is City Hall and Salem's mayoral residence in the center of the City." The plushie stopped speaking as it looked at the guests expectantly, creating an awkward silence that was only interrupted by the distant sounds of toy NPCs brutally murdering each other. 

Of all the places Tabula visited so far, Chapter Two turned out to have the strangest greeter. Compared to Miss Mikoto, Mr. Whately, and even the bone butlers, a stuffed rabbit with a giant clock and a stutter that quickly wore off struck her as particularly odd. Given how much she liked rabbits, she realized that she should probably like this thing, but something about it didn't seem quite right. Instead of soft and friendly it seemed haggard, raggedy, misused. He announced that only a couple actual features dotted the place, with everything else -Tabula imagined- boiling down to atmosphere. The kinds of noises that reached her ears after the living toy said his piece left her little doubt as to what sort of atmosphere it was.

Still, she did not waver in her intent to visit the place. If the Dreamlands, a realm far scarier and more mismanaged, couldn't turn her away, this place couldn't either. "That's okay," she told the toy. "We can stop by both those places, and maybe do a loop around the place? Even if there aren't any landmarks, I still want to see what its like." Smiling down at the little thing, she did her best to look enthusiastic despite the not-insignificant chance that her tour would be as threadbare and wanting as this plaything. 

"V-very well, we can stop by the replica of Amberden first, since it's along the way," the rabbit declared. Clearing its throat, the rabbit went into tour guide mode, "As you can see and hear, the City of Lost Things is a place of endless wonder. We are born in The Factory, which you are doubtlessly familiar with, but upon arriving in The City, we gain individuality; each of the denizens of the City is unique and different from the other denizens. We compete in various games and challenges, not only for fun and entertainment, but to vie for favor from the Lord of The City. Though Dr.Drd is no longer here, it matters not, as Salem has been Lord since even before the Sable Lords left. Though our actual levels of strength do vary, it comes down to the attributes that we gain upon entering The City and how we use them that is often the deciding factor in who wins and who loses. In the City, abandoned things have purpose, to provide 'data', whatever that means. Though I've heard that everyone in the Chateau is an abandoned thing now..."

[color=0072bc]"That's quite enough,"[/color] Salem silenced the plushie while hovering into view. By now Tabula, Papillary, and the rabbit had passed through several of the desolate Victorian streets of The City and had arrived at the Amberden replica. The rabbit plushie bowed deeply before excusing itself. [color=0072bc]"Welcome, Papillary, and Tabula,"[/color] Salem greeted. [color=0072bc]"This is Amberden. I'm not sure if Graft will ever let you out of the Chateau, but if you ever want to know what a 'human town' in this world looks like, or the layout at least, you can learn about it here. BUT. I'm so disappointed in you and the Good Director. Not once have either of you taken up my offer of access to the wardrobe! Though Graft and I had our disagreement, my offer was not revoked and remains open, no strings attached. Honest to goodness."[/color] Salem giggled at their own puppet-related pun. [color=0072bc]"I'm sure Graft would love to see you wearing an assortment of lovely dresses. After all, my creator liked seeing me in cute clothes too. Ah, but Graft is not your creator, is he?"[/color] Salem looked quizzically at Tabula, wondering if she was aware of this fact. [color=0072bc]"Even though he's your boss and Papillary's boss, if anything, the three of you are equals!"[/color] Salem watched Tabula carefully for anything resembling a rebellious epiphany, something, anything to prove to Graft that she was a threat to him.

Together Tabula and Papillary followed along, listening to the rabbit's explanation as they meandered through the City of Lost Things. Every so often they saw toys engaged in brutal conflict, ripping one another to shreds in a vicious display. It seemed so pointless; even in the horrific Dreamlands, where every door and hollow held some gruesome surprise designed for maximum torment and terror, the residents didn't engage in such senseless butchery. When the rabbit mentioned data, though, Tabula guessed she could understand it. Graft prized 'data' highly as well, and collected it ravenously, albeit in a different method. I guess this is just how Salem earns data, she concluded. It wasn't her place to judge his operations.

Speak of the devil, the doll appeared, floating no less. Salem quickly detailed the purpose of the reconstruction the two found themselves in, which definitely intrigued Tabula. While she hadn't thought of it before, learning about how humans lived sounded really interested. Unfortunately, Salem followed up by expressing his displeasure with his visitors' choice of clothing, which rubbed Tabula the wrong way in an instant. Her garb was a gift from Aurora, a learned cleric and a valued mentor, and it had been painstakingly adjusted by Graft himself so that it would suit her perfectly. It constituted a culmination of her teachers' efforts, and symbolized their care for her. She didn't feel even a little bad that using it prevented her from using whatever clothes Salem offered. Whatever they were, she felt sure, they couldn't possibly be as good.

He went on to say something strange about her creator. Though faceless Papillary looked somewhere between angry and wary, and she glanced at Tabula to see her reaction. Tabula, meanwhile frowned, furrowing her brow, and opened her mouth to say something before closing it again. Confused and clouded, she remained at a loss until Salem suggested that she stood on equal footing with Graft or even Papillary, which was something she could refute. She shook her head emphatically. "I'm afraid that is nonsense. Origins don't matter. The Director and Miss Papillary stand so much higher than I, in power, in experience, in purpose. I am truly blessed that they reach down to lift me up."

The statement took Papillary by surprise. It sounded an awful lot like Tabula really respected her. All of a sudden she felt bad about her jealousy and minor sabotages. She kept silent for a moment, before putting a hand on the Nightgaunt's shoulder. 

[color=0072bc]"Well, at the rate Graft is training you, you'll equal him in power and experience in no time!"[/color] Salem giggled, but the doll was sure there was no ambition to be elicited from Tabula. Perhaps Salem ahd misjudged Tabula. If Salem could be considered Dr.Drd's 'child', then Salem was an 'only child'. Despite this, Salem believed very strongly in the concept of 'sibling rivalry', likely due to Dr.Drd's obsession with 'competition', survival of the fittest, and evolutionary pressure; and were Salem in Graft's shoes, Salem would never allow a rival to exist.

[color=0072bc]"Well, it seems the White Rabbit has explained the function of The City of Lost Things, more-or-less, so there's really not much more for you to learn here. If you would like to explore 'Amberden', you are free to do so, but before you leave, I would like to at least show you my wardrobe to see if you find any dresses you like. Obviously, what I have would be only for recreational purposes, nothing I have could compare with the utility of what Graft and Aurora could gift you with, but not everything you own must be for utility. Some things we wear or own for enjoyment. take for example, those rabbits you seem so fond of. Utterly useless except as sustenance for the living, yet pleasing to look at. And I take it you've visited the Shadowtower Shrine already? The place is built to be pleasing to the eye; I'm sure you enjoyed the beauty of the scenery, and the grace and dignity of Ashara's fox maidens? With the pieces from my wardrobe, you could make yourself exude a similar charm, without needing to use any spells."[/color] At this point the choice Salem offered Tabula and Papillary was clear: continue inspecting the Amberden replica, or allow the doll to escort them to Salem's manor where the doll could show Tabula Salem's wardrobe.

After a little thought Tabula decided to take what Salem said as a compliment, in regards to her learning ability. "Oh, thank you. I have a very long way to go, though."

Salem let the visitors know that little else remained in Chapter One for them to discover, essentially confirming their suspicions. This place, simple in both form and function, featured a lot more in common with the Bone Butler quarters than with the Dreamlands of Lord Chompy Bits. Both areas accomplished their purpose with neither frills nor depth, though the entire Chateau benefited from the labor of the skeleton staff, while Tabula didn't really know what Salem's realm did for the whole. Then again, according to what she'd learned of the Chateau's hierarchy, each Chapter served as an obstacle for potential intruders to overcome. As the keeper of Chapter One, Salem served as the first line of defense against invaders, barring whoever might be on guard at the main entrance. That, Tabula figured, was an important role--and certainly one that Salem could perform regardless of any mental issues.

The doll, however, gave Tabula and Papillary a request. As per Graft's direction the Nightgaunt went on guard instantly, but Salem's suggestion seemed harmless enough. She didn't even need to try wearing anything; just looking at it would apparently be satisfactory. A look around confirmed that there wouldn't be much more to the fake Amberden than met the eye, it being a soulless imitation devoid of any actual human activity she could learn from. Besides, the doll's words rang true. Her visit to the Shadowtower Shrine had helped her realize that things could exist for aesthetic reasons alone. "Alright. We'd be happy to look at your clothes," Tabula agreed. 

Salem clapped their hands in glee and led The City's guests a short distance to The House that Salem Built. Though The House was nicer than the rest of The City, it was still a jarring juxtaposition of clashing art styles, and remained as unorganized and disused as the rest of The City. Salem led them further into the back until they arrived at a lavish bedroom. Salem threw open the large double doors on the side, revealing an enormous walk-in closet. It was filled with actually organized, well-kept, clothing, while extremely realistic looking mannequins of various body types stood at attention. These mannequins were not NPC's of The City, they were in fact, replacement bodies for Salem. [color=0072bc]"I can see us having so much fun in here! Everyone's always so busy with work, nobody stops to have fun or play!"[/color] Using telekinesis, Salem brought over a lifeless mannequin and wig that approximated Tabula's physique and hair, along with a slew of dresses the doll thought would fit the Nightgaunt, placing the dresses in front of the mannequin to show off how they would look. A tall standing mirror was also brought over, along with a table, chairs, and a mobile clothes rack to let Tabula have her own agency to sift through the clothes that Salem was presenting to her. However, Salem arranged the furniture in such a way as to mimic the doll's memory of the room that Tabula had been found in, or at least, how such a room would have been arranged prior to becoming disheveled.

[color=0072bc]"It's been so long since I've had such fun, let me join in!"[/color] Salem declared, before the Eye of Dread, Salem's single red eye, popped out of the doll's head, leaving the child-like body floating limp and lifeless. Another female mannequin, also paired with a wig, that matched the physique in, Salem's memory, of Lady Brushen Penn was pulled over and the eye inserted itself into the new mannequin's head. Clothing somewhat closely resembling what Brushen Penn used to wear were also brought, which Salem, in their new body, put on. [color=0072bc]"So, Tabula, do you remember [i]anything[/i] about your creator?"[/color] Salem asked, dropping the mannequin of Tabula on the ground in a pose resembling the manner in which Graft, Salem, and Papillary had found her. Salem watched Tabula carefully, gauging her level of discomfort or obliviousness to determine whether or not to continue with what the doll had planned.

Although nice, or at least nicer than pretty much everything else in the City of Lost Things, Salem's house struck Tabula as perfectly representative of his realm's chaotic, haphazard nature. Crossing its threshold made her think of the nightmares described by Mr. Whately in the Dreamlands, with its horrific galleries hidden behind the most innocuous of facades, but no gruesome scene sprang to life as Tabula passed through this door. Instead she followed the doll to a bedroom, the first that the Nightgaunt had ever seen, and watched as Salem revealed a huge, well-stocked collection of garments. She noticed as well the abundance of mannequins, eerily lifelike. Feeling more than a little out of place, she stood still as Salem began the presentation, happy to let the doll show off rather than sort through anything herself. An odd feeling began to come over her. She couldn't identify it, or its cause, but she couldn't brush it aside. "Bothersome..." she whispered, drawing a glance from Papillary.

Salem then went a step further. The doll's true form broke free from its container, a mere crystalline eye. Everything that Salem was, Tabula realized, was inside that crimson orb, just floating there in the open. Naturally the sight of it suggested a glaring weak point, ripe for exploitation, but Tabula thought more about the sort of existence that Salem led. To be an intelligent object, a self-aware magical artifact, unliving, with everything beyond that single eye a falsehood, an imitation. How awful, Tabula thought, that must be.

But she couldn't ruminate on Salem's existential condition for long. After socketing into a new body, Salem started doing something peculiar. 'She' gathered together fine black boots, a black overcoat, a flowing gray robe. A silver wig floated onto the mannequin's head, and the hair levitated in tubelike bunches to form shapes like tentacles, or branches. That feeling...it was growing stronger. A ringing inside Tabula's skull, an ache behind her eyes. Random itches broke out across her neck, arms, and back. Her softhorns began to writhe. "Bothersome..." the Nightgaunt repeated, more intently. This time Papillary glanced at her sharply, before turning her attention back to Salem.

Of course, the secretary had figured out what the lunatic was doing, even without the question laying Salem's plans bare. She'd been there, after all, and gotten a better look inside that room than Salem thanks to her proximity to Graft. The doll was trying to torment Tabula, to force her buried trauma to resurface and wreak havoc. As the Nightgaunt's ally and protector, it fell to her to stop this cruelty in its tracks.

...But wouldn't the girl tearing herself apart be oh-so-sweet?

Papillary's heart was beating. She could imagine Tabula clutching her throbbing head, trying to stuff the pain back away, and shrieking when it would not be stopped. She imagined Tabula falling to her knees, her softhorns flailing around, pulling out that gorgeous black hair and raking her nails across that flawless gray skin. The sound of agonized weeping filled her mind. And then what? Would Tabula go berserk? Ruin all the hard work put into shaping her? Maybe even strike at Papillary, and invoke retribution? She pictured Graft's face, filled with disgust and disappointment as he put the wretched thing down, making Papillary number one once more.

But...

Papillary's heart rate slowed. She could see the anguish emerging on Tabula's soft features. That same eyes that gazed with such amazement at the wonders of Shadowtower Shrine, and twinkled with excitement at the unknowns of the Dreamlands, and shone with determination every day at the Factory, and looked at Papillary with such trust and respect...they were filled with fear. "This cannot continue," Papillary said, convincing herself as she said it. Tabula was like her little sister. She could not allow her to come to harm. Besides, Graft would kill her if she did, and he of all people would know how.

She stepped forward, wrapped an arm around Tabula, and raised a hand toward Salem. "TRANQUILITY!"

A chime sounded; there came a wave of light, filling the room with a soft radiance, and everything went into slow motion. Floating droplets filled the air as an absolute quiet took hold. The droplets gathered together into a single point in the air, and a drop fell to the ground. Plop. The sound echoed, as if through a cave, and then there was peace.

Papillary sniffled, her ragged breathing growing calm. She hugged her savior tightly. "Th...thank you...thank you, Papillary."

"You're welcome," the secretary said, her voice flat. Even without a face, she looked mighty hostile toward Salem. "...little sister." She lowered her hand and gave a curt nod of farewell. "Salem. We're leaving. I'm sure the Director will have a lot to think about." Together, the pair started toward the door. 

The Eye of Dread immediately popped out of the 'Brushen Penn' look-alike and reinserted itself back into Salem's original, child-like frame. Meanwhile, Salem telekinetically tossed both the Brushen Penn and the Tabula mannequins in a heap, and draping a tablecloth over them to hide them from Tabula's view. [color=0072bc]"We are shackled by our memories of our creators!"[/color] Salem declared, hoping to keep Papillary and Tabula for just a moment longer. [color=0072bc]"All of us wrestle with our memories; some more than others apparently. Each Chapter but The City of Lost Things serves a real purpose, and therein lies the problem. We [i]serve[/i], and without question, no less. Graft wants you to grow, but there is only so much you can learn in sterile, controlled environments. That is the core of what The City of Lost Things represents. Not growth, but evolution, and evolution requires pain and competition. All of us need to confront our creators and the scars they have left us with in order to truly transcend. Though she still haunts you, you barely remember your creator, and that puts you in a unique position. You have no pre-designated purpose. You are, as Graft called you, a clean slate. But even Graft is blind; he still reveres his so-called, 'board' and has hidden your past from you, has not allowed you to confront it. For having hurt you...I truly am sorry. But if ever you have the courage, if ever you have the curiosity necessary for real growth, have the willingness to evolve and transcend, you know where to find me."[/color] As far as Salem's face could be gauged, the doll's apology seemed sincere.

Salem then turned their attention to Papillary. [color=0072bc]"And do not take this as a sign of rebellion towards Lord Rodias. After all, though he is a 'Supreme Being', he is not a creator. Perhaps he does not share in their sins, or in their arrogance. That is something we will have to figure out for ourselves."[/color] Beyond speaking to them, however, Salem made no move to prevent the guests of The City from leaving. As they left, Salem turned and felt something resembling remorse. Had the doll gone too far? Salem had thought that they would have to mime Brushen Penn beating the Tabula mannequin before Tabula would exhibit a reaction. Salem thought that what they were doing was ultimately for Tabula's, and the rest of the Chateau's, own good, but perhaps that was just a symptom of cyclical abuse, since what abusive parent doesn't use the excuse that what they are doing is for their child's own good?[/hider]

[hr]

As the alarm sounded, Graft snapped out of his state of concentration and jolted upright. The tool-arms of his operating table, extensions of his body thanks to the somatic link in the table's console, flailed wildly. A few trays of materials, disconnected components, and globs of flesh splattered to the ground. “An alert?” he cried, pulling his hands free from the warm clutches of the somatic link. He shook off the clear, viscous fluid and threw on his coat. “We're under attack?” he asked his attending Specialist as if the minion could offer any further insight, and who could only nod in bewilderment. Graft snatched his cane from the masked mage and sprinted from his lab across the hall into his office. He dashed behind his desk, flinging his chair aside in the process, and pressed a switch that elevated the whole desktop to a position suitable for standing. He took a deep breath, in and out, to calm himself, and then he opened a Direct Line. “TL,” he barked, “What's going on out there?”

“Unknown threat...approaching quickly. ESPers...returning,” rumbled the juggernaut assigned as captain of the Guards posted to the front entrance. Graft's technoorganic soldiers had detected the incoming entity not long after the Bone Sentries managed to, but long enough for the skeletons to get into gear first. “Butterfly...moving...to intercept.”

Graft's face was a stony mask. “Stand back then, and let him handle it. It could be that the Stalker is making its move. This is too soon, damn it. Someone must have done something to get its attention.” He moved the glyph around to his left side and swiped the air to open another, this one straight to the head honcho. “Sir, we have a potential hostile on approach. The alarm is sounded. Your orders?” 

He listened intently. Rodias told him. “Emergency mode it is, then. First things first: let's make this a Collect Call.” Graft thrust both hands forward, palms out, then spread them apart. An entire array of Direct Line glyphs appeared, each linking to an important member of the Chateau. Salem, Light, Kath, Flan, Zouyu, Aurora, Kaldorna, Violet, Talim, Papillary, and Tabula all received one. Even Ashara, Gromgard, and Chompy Bits, smack dab in the middle of a grotesque confrontation received a link. Only Charme, Chuunitrixx, and Mamoru went without.

“Good day, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the latest episode of Chateau Gothika is Under Attack. I, Vitaphagas Graft, esteemed entrepreneur, will be your host and master of communications. This is no ordinary invader; sources say that may be the mysterious individual whose power dwarfs our own. Our Sable Lord, Rodias, has commanded that we all gather in the Climax Hour while he deals with the intruder personally. If you're not at the Chateau, either return instantly or stay away. I urge you to comply. Stay safe out there, folks! ...You're less use to me dead.” He muted himself and grinned. “As for me...” A number of tentacles snaked out from beneath his overcoat and got to work. Preparations would not make themselves. “I think I'll arrange a meeting with out newest client, should initial negotiations fall through. A performance evaluation, yes...and should results fall below expectations, only termination can follow.”