The gunshot prompts Achilles and Madden to abandon their trip down the stairs, dashing through the corridor towards certain danger. However, Griffin Paisley has a little more protective mindset when it comes to leading children to gunshots -- as in, not doing it. The both of them continue their noisy spiral down the staff-only stairs, until they reach the bar's back-room staging area.
The room is relatively quiet, though noise filters in from the bar. There's the occasional tinkle of glass, the sounds of things crashing against each other, raucous laughter, and far more mayhem than the proprietors would have ever tolerated from their guests. The curtain obscures a clear view of what's going on. Stairs lead up, and also down ... or, wait, it seems that the stairs to the cellar have been choked up with some overgrown roots. Those were not there before.
Keeping a finger to his mouth in a 'keep quiet' gesture, Griffin goes to the cellar stairs, and waves his fireplace poker at the vines to see if they react.
"They're upstairs! Follow the gunshot!" someone shouts, followed by gleeful cheers, and pounding footsteps.
Integra shrinks against her uncle, evidently unnerved by the chaos going on in the next room.
The vines wriggle slightly, but at least they don't launch out to attack. Not yet, anyway. They seem to pulse with a life unnatural to mere encroaching vines.
"Let's see who is still outside," Griffin whispers to Integra, and goes to peek through the curtain separating the snug from the bar and tavern area.
Through the curtains, Griffin can see the back of Mr. Tom Sullivan, as he calmly polishes glasses, and goes about his business, even while bottles and dishes fly around, crumpled hats can be seen here and there, and people are basically behaving like deranged chimpanzees, or worse.
"Right," the photographer whispers, and then quietly goes to check the door the back rooms - and the back street exit as well - to see who might still be lurking there.
Griffin can make out the double-doors in the entryway heading out to the street, around the corner of the snug room, but out of the corner of his eye, he catches a fluttering movement on the wall. That poster over there. Could it have moved? It's a poster for Tiger Brand Cigars ... and the tiger just pulled itself free from the poster!
In the smoking room, Griffin can make out that for the most part it looks undisturbed. The sphinx table is still standing guard in between the two chairs, the chess table is in the corner, there's a set of poker cards lying on the shelf, there are assorted glasses that haven't yet been collected ... but more detail would require actually sticking one's nose out further.
"None of these creatures should try to hurt Integra," Griffin things. "That is, if Alice even knows about her. Can't take the risk." Still, a child should have some sway here. "Integra," he whispers, "politely ask the vines blocking the stairs if they would kindly move aside."
"All right!" Integra whispers back, hastening over to the vines. "Would you pretty, pretty please open up and let us by?"
"You are growing OH so nicely," Integra continues. "And you're nice and lush and green! Why, you're the best any gardener could ever hope for!" The vines rustle and twist. They do seem to be moving.
Griffin smiles proudly, and then peeks again to keep an eye on that paper tiger, in case it decides to not wait any longer.
The paper tiger prowls past the doorway, sniffing at the air, but it doesn't seem to catch hint of Griffin. As with many things here, it's rather unsettling to look at -- it seems fully three-dimensional one moment, then turns a certain way and seems quite flat.
Carefully stepping back from the door, Griffin checks on his niece's progress to see if the way to the cellar is clear. Vines are still preferable to tigers.. even literal Paper Tigers.
The vines seem to be slowly curling away, even as Integra is whisper-singing a half-remembered lullaby about gardens and roses, filling in the many gaps. She's probably hitting quite a few nursery poems all at once. A bit of Mary Mary, a bit of Jack and the Candlestick (except now it's a rose), a Pocket Full of Posies, and more.
The paper tiger looks distinctly disappointed. It flaps and turns about, then flutters back up to its poster on the wall.
Given the rate of progress, Griffin begins prepares a distraction: taking one of his bags of flash powder and preparing the camera flash. Once finished, he checks for the tiger again.
Out in the main bar, a stool goes flying, apparently of its own accord, as glimpsed through the curtains. It would seem that the crazy folk aren't the only ones contributing to the mayhem.
The tiger -- or rather its poster -- is hanging on the poster just outside the door on the wall, around the corner in the smoking room. It's just within arm's reach of the door frame, if one dares.
"Integra, come here," Griffin whispers. "We are going to try to leave through back doors. I want you to carry this." He holds out the camera flash-trough to the girl.
"But I thought this was dangerous and I was never supposed to touch it," Integra whispers back. "Oh, without a responsible adult supervising. Yes, uncle."
"It's just that I need to grab something on the way out," Griffin explains. "If something jumps out at you, though, hold it up high, close your eyes and pull the sparker."
Integra nods her head solemnly, and keeps close to her uncle.
"Here we go," Griffin whispers. "Three.. two.. one.. go!" He steps through the door and turns to try and tear the tiger poster from its frame.
The tiger poster starts to ripple, as it seems to detect the movement, but -- too slow!
Upstairs, there's another gunshot! There are more screams and shouts and ... laughter somewhere far above?
The photographer has the poster, roughly yanked from its frame. It flops and flops, but once it's in hand, it seems to be at a distinct disadvantage for forming itself up into a fully-realized tiger.
For now, Griffin crumples the poster into a ball and sticks it into his pocket. He makes another 'shush' gesture to Integra, and heads for the adjoining hall that opens to the street.
They make it out through the entryway onto Wentworth Street. At last! Out of the building ... out of the madness! The night is chill, and the fog is thick, making it hard to make out much beyond the golden glow of the lamp posts at each corner of the intersection with Commercial Street, and the few glowing window-fronts. In the distance, crickets chirrup, but it's oddly quiet out here for a London street at night.
Griffin looks up the side of the building, to see if there's any movement in the upper floor windows.
As Griffin looks up, he can make out the stars. They look so very clear and so very close. ... Too close.
He can make out the sides of the Princess Alice Pub building, just as he'd expect, and a few of the windows glow faintly. Another gunshot rings out somewhere upstairs. Surely a bobby should respond to that by now! But no. And up above the building top, where there should be sky, the sky looks rather solid, dotted with crystal-like stars ... or star-like crystals, perhaps.
"We are not in London anymore, I do suspect," he tells the girl. "Although we may still be able to flag a cab. Keep an ear open, Integra."
Inside, they can hear the rapid stomping of feet coming down the staff-only stairs, as the double doors are still propped open, what with Integra and Griffin not yet committing themselves fully to wandering the streets.
Muffled voices can be heard. That sounds like Madden, and perhaps the others.
"That may be the others," Griffin says. "Best hand me the flash, just in case." He offers the poker in exchange.
Integra nods obediently, trading weapons, and clutching the poker as if it were some sort of magic sword to banish away all evil-doers, as she stays with her uncle (just in case the magic sword does NOT).
Nothing jumps out of the shadows past this point to hassle the group as they make their way along Wentworth Street -- or its mirror double. Griffin bravely takes the lead, while Madden follows behind with Integra (the haberdasher still daubing at some of his scrapes with a cotton swab and some alcohol he picked up along the way).
Griffin checks to see if the door is locked, hoping his key still works if that should be the case.
A sign on the private street entrance informs visitors that the entrance to the Princess Alice Pub is on Commercial Street, and that rooms are available for rent by the day or week (and to inquire at the pub). But just as he said, Griffin has a key so he can get in this way for convenient access to his room, up the stairs.
Fortunately, for all the mirror-strangeness that has gone on, the key still works. Perhaps it is because of the symmetrical way in which these keys are made, that mirror-flipping hasn't had any impact on its workings ... or maybe this "mirror world" is a bit inconsistent in its workings (which shouldn't be too great a surprise).
Easing the door open, the photographer takes a look to see if anyone is in the hallway or coming down the stairs.
The hallway is clear. This tall-ceilinged hallway provides an alternate entrance to the building, with stairs curving up to the tenants' floors above, and a pair of double doors leading to the Princess Alice Public House to the south. A hanging gas lamp provides illumination, while a snuffer/lighter on a pole leans against the railing on the first flight of stairs. An amateur copy of a portrait of Princess Alice hangs on the west wall, while the rest of the room is dominated by knickknacks and salvage associated with the ship of the same name -- the SS Princess Alice.
Past the double doors to the south of the entry room, there is occasionally a crash or a shriek of laughter. Rapid chopping can be heard from the direction of the kitchen.
"Mrs. Sullivan may be cooking," Griffin notes. "Still.. we must make certain. Keep close now." With that said, he enters the hall and heads for the double doors.
The double doors are ajar, as it seems those crazy people who came up the stairs earlier passed through here and didn't kindly push the doors back into place (since they don't conveniently just close on their own). Just through the doorway, to the right, there's an open doorway into the billiards room, where the fireplace flickers warmly, and no one appears to be playing. To the left is the door to the kitchen, evidently closed. More chopping can be heard, and then a sound as if a knife was being sharpened.
Further ahead, there's a short hall, and a doorway branching off to the ladies' room (the interior of which Griffin has only seen due his handyman work about the building, and never while it was occupied), while the other way leads into the main pub, where the swing door is partially ajar, as it appears one of the serving girls (presumably Effie) is leaning in and jostling it, laughing loudly.
She does not, however, appear to be in a position to see the hall -- rather, looking at whatever antics are going on in the main pub room.
"Stay on this side of the doors," Griffin says to Madden and Integra, then stands up and walks through the door, still carrying his flash bar and heavy camera case, and tries to step into the kitchen before Effie might see him.
This cluttered kitchen is dominated by a cast-iron stove in the corner, with a large sink and pump faucet to the south, and a work-table and cutting-board to the east. A back door leads to the alley on the east side, while a swing-door provides access to a hall to the west. A narrow doorway provides a tight squeeze into a pantry and a cellar access to the north.
Matilda Sullivan chops away at some turnips, and chops away still more. It seems that she is very, very busy chopping things, as chopped things are stacked up high. The way she grins and such, it seems she's quite enamored of the activity. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to have noticed yet that she's no longer alone.
However, something else might have noticed. Griffin gets an unsettling feeling of being watched. The knives rattle slightly in their holders. A drawer full of silverware shuffles a bit in its frame. A tenderizing mallet on the table taps quietly. This room seems to be positively FULL of sharp or smashy things ... and it's not for certain they will stay still.
"Ah, Mrs. Sullivan, there you are," Griffin says as he steps fully (and nervously) into the kitchen. "Ginny needs you in the snug. Salad emergency, she said."
Mrs. Sullivan turns around, holding a knife. For a brief instant, there is a gleam of wickedness in her eye, and Griffin can be sure he's about to get the sharp, pointy end of that chopper ... but then she seems to relax. "Oh. You've changed," she says. "Funny. I thought you'd look a little ... different." And so she gathers her things (her sharp, pointy things), and passes Griffin, heading into the hallway. So, it's just Griffin ... all alone with the cutlery.
Eyeing the anxious implements, Griffin wonders at what would be a Wonderlandish means of calming them. "Just because your mistress is absent, don't think that you can get away with any mischief," he addresses the kitchen. "You wouldn't want to be left in the sink, would you?"
Somehow, despite Griffin's less-than-gruff demeanor, the utensils and cutlery and even the dishes seem to take him very seriously. They settle down immediately. There's no telling what they might do once he leaves ... but that's not nearly as much of a concern.
"Mrs. Sullivan knows how to run a tight kitchen," Griffin notes, and goes to check the pantry.
In the pantry, shelves are stacked high and low with stocks for the public house and for meals for the upstairs tenants and store staff, while a steep set of stairs leads into the dark depths of the cellar. These stairs, unlike those in the back room, are free of any choking roots or vines.
The pantry exudes an aura -- not just the smells of herbs and dried meats and such, but an energy that it seems only Griffin's keen nose can fully appreciate.
The stairs are a pleasant surprise, and cause Griffin to hurry back to the door and call on Madden and Integra. "Hurry through, before Mrs. Sullivan returns. The way to the cellar here is clear!" He doesn't wait for them though. The allure of the pantry is too strong, and he still has some space in his pockets.
There are a number of tinned goods to be found in the pantry, with strange and potentially marvelous powers if consumed. Of more specific interest, there is a jar of marmalade, and immediately Griffin can tell that by Wonderland logic, it would be very useful to consume if falling down a long distance, slowing and softening the fall. (How it is to be eaten while one is falling? Well, it's just POSSIBLE, that's for certain.) Lastly, his nose takes him to a freshly-cooked pot of stew on the stove. It's ... could it be? It's ... RABBIT stew! Why, eating this marvelous concoction should give him the quickness of a rabbit's reflexes.
"The stew is safe to eat," Griffin notes to his companions, and goes to the (hopefully docile) bowls. "Best to have some now, while we can." He also searches for spoons.. and perhaps a jam spoon as well, for the marmalade.
"Oh, thank you, Uncle Paisley! I'm famished!" Integra proclaims, as she rummages around and pulls out some bowls, then begins serving stew out for everyone.
With a bit of rummaging, Griffin turns up spoons for the stew, and a jam spoon for later. "I'd like you to carry something for me, Integra," he says. "A jar of marmalade and this spoon. If you ever find yourself falling.. have some of the marmalade on the way and your landing will be softer. I suppose if you can share with anyone else in that situation you should, as well."
Suddenly, the silverware looks darker than before. Something must have changed ... somehow.
"All right," Integra says, furrowing her brow a bit at the odd advice, but trusting her uncle nonetheless. She looks about for a place to keep it, then looks surprised as she somehow manages to cram the jar into one of the pockets of her apron. There's hardly a bulge in the pocket. "Oh! A magic trick!"
After collecting the tins of meat from the pantry, Griffin has a serving of stew as well. "Do either of you feel that something has changed?" he asks Integra and Madden.
Outside the kitchen, there's a chorus of breaking glass ... and then silence.
Suddenly, the silverware looks shiny again. Perhaps more alarmingly ... Griffin can see his own reflection in the spoon again -- as well as those of the others.
"Mmm," Madden says. "I don't notice anything except that this is the best rabbit stew I've ever had."
"The mirrors.. I wonder is this means March and Johnson have defeated the last of the dopplegangers?"
Griffin wonders aloud.
"Eh?" Madden looks about. "Is that it, then? It all seems so ... normal now. Did we escape? Are we back to the Real World?"
"I don't hear a commotion," Griffin notes, and goes to check through the kitchen door.