#(though covered in a black ooze. The same ooze mentioned in the letter BESIDE the notebook tied to Wally AND the same ooze growing on

[syncrovoid-presents]

Wally and the Colour RED

Wally and the colour Red have an interesting relationship in Welcome Home. This is a rambling/analysis of different things I've found that makes me believe it's an important detail moving forwards with the Welcome Home Mystery!

First! Why do I think this matters?

There's a few reasons why I think this matters! First, while all the members of the cast seem to be tied to a colour, none is as focused or as consistent as Wally and the colour red! The two primary examples I'll use to cover this is one that we've had for a while, and two that we got in this update. Those being the signatures at the bottom of the guestbook, the interactable telephone, and the name graphics on the transcript page!

Interestingly, all of the cast are directly tied to a specific colour! The signatures at the bottom of the Guestpage and the colours of the "calls" on the telephone are the same for each character. This being pink for Julie, orange for Sally, yellow for Frank, green for Poppy, turquoise for Howdy, blue for Barnaby, purple for Eddie, and red for Wally. This is consistent (and possibly something to pay attention for in the future?)

Notably however, Home is signed by Wally, while the audio file for Wally's "call" recording is also called "duet" when you open it in another tab. Audio files with "duet" is a sign that Home is present. This means that red is not strictly a Wally colour, but also the colour for Home!

(if you're curious, the other audio called "duet" is Wally's little song he sings)

This is interesting, because Wally and Home are often treated as a duo, moreso than any other characters of Welcome Home. I would also like to point out another detail, one that I think ties into this tie between Wally, Home and the colour red.

The Records

All the records from Wally's hidden message ("I will help you understand neighbor, I will find a way soon.") are red! Sure, some are glitched, but they are all red. As is this record with the strange audio (has anyone decoded this yet?). This audio is directly tied to Wally, as it's called "(DRAWING?) WITH WALLY DARLING".

However the hidden one's may not just be Wally. Though they are all name the tab "answer" when opened, I'm tempted to say that "answer" is wally prompting us to answer (or, alternatively, Wally is trying to answer us, however he perceives us).

I believe that Home is there too in the audio. If you listen to all of them in a row, turning up the audio will reveal that there is a heart beat in the background. This, I want to say, is Home and not Wally, as Wally does not seem to register them. It peaks about halfway through with Neighbor, coincidentally the audio that is both glitching and is made of a series of clicks rather than voice lines.

I have seen people say that this is "Help Me" or "Hello" in morse code. I do not know which is the agreed translation is (to me it sounds like "…. . ..-.. .. -.. ---", which translates to "HEĘIDO", which is not a word. However it most resembles "…. . .-.. .-.. ---" which translates to "HELLO")

Regardless of what Home may be saying, it shows that the hidden recordings can be put together into a timeline that sounds like one recording, which means it's most likely all recorded at the same place. Ergo, Home is in the hidden recordings as well!

Other spots where red is brought up

There are other instances of red being tied to Wally. Some are obvious, like his love of apples (red ones specifically), the Wally prints/finger paint on the bottom of the guestbook, the background of the "i <3 Wally" gif/sticker in the sticker section of the site (also shared with Home. Wally's character description is also shared by home!), Wally himself in the "so-below" page, among other things. Such as the Wally themed telephone being red, despite his more iconic blue swirled hair (or blue and yellow-trimed sweater), his clothing in multiple official artworks, the Wally cereal box, and more.

(Like something I've noticed, which is that Home is the only house that's a solid colour (red!) without any pattern breaking it up, plus the most "standout" red that Wally typically wears being tied around his neck (symbolism?). Plus the "W" of Welcome Home is red! That's fun too!

There's also some... stranger ones. Such as this hidden piece of morse code found by this person, which spells out ".. -- .-. . -..", or "IM RED" when translated to english.

And more hidden ones too, that tie into the hidden staff page (I have a post breaking that down that you can find here!! I cover everything I could find plus went through the website code, if you want to know everything about the secret staff site check it out!)

There is the red safe, which has in WHRP universe lore!! I delve into this in my other post, just know that it is something that exists both in the secret website (it is what introduces you to the hidden website!) AND it exists in the WHRP world, both written about in printed emails and as a physical object seen within The Room:tm:. You may also notice everyone is represented by their original colours, except for home, who is now white (or blank?).

There's also scrap pieces of red paper spilled on the ground in The Room:tm: (that have drawn spirals), a red clock in the style of Wally's red car, a red painting of some sort on the wall of The Room:tm: (that we never get a good look at, though it may have a drawn yellow eye in the upper center), a red apple, and most importantly of all, this:

The Red Notebook

This is no ordinary notebook. This here is the notebook that the WHRP team have "loaned" the Question Answerer, also known as the Head Curator of Question Answer! according to the printed emails. This book is very important because there are multiple signs that it was written by Wally. Inside is a sketchpad attached to the lefthand interior bookcase with little paintings and a handprint suspiciously similar to that on the bottom of the GuestBook page and doodles in the styles Wally has used (spirals, finger paint smiley face, the drawn apple, etc).

(by the way, if you're interested in what the note says the most accurate translation I've found is by Tumblr user truckfreaks

"Hello,

My name doesn't matter. I am here to catalogue something I'm not sure is fully real. But it must be. I'm holding all the evidence in my hands. Pictures. Characters. Text I can barely read. It's called "Welcome Home" and it looks like it might've been a children's book? Like I said, I can't tell.

It was sopping wet when I found it. When I first reached into one of the brightly colored envelopes, my hand was already covered in some gross, [unknown - possibly “oozing”] material. It feels like antiques are always covered in some kind of grime. I'm trying to clean up what I have and do a little more digging.

There's only one name I can make out right now... Wally. Probably important, but like I said, I'll keep looking.

XOXO"

The wrap up (don't want to make this too long!)

Regardless of what you make of this, it shows that there is even more proof of Wally, not just the character but the Wally ""haunting"" the website and the Wally within the WHRP universe, all being tied to the colour red. (Quick clarification: The Wally we see in branding, clips of the show, etc are all Wally, however he isn't current Wally. He is the Wally of the past, the original Wally, the base Wallly, whatever you want to call him. Therefore I separate him from the "now" Wally. It's unconfirmed whether the Wally that's seemingly trying to communicate with us through the website is the same as the Wally that seems to be related to all the objects being sent to Question Answerer, who is the same Wally that is constantly calling them. If so, then there is only one "now" Wally. If they are separate, then there are two, possibly one in the website itself and one focusing on Question Answerer. Please note, this is all speculation).

While it's true that red is Wally's favourite colour, I believe that it's far more than just that tying Wally and the color red together. Going forwards, anything red that isn't immediately branded as a Wally related object should be considered important, at least I think so.

As for the connection between Wally and Home, both sharing the colour Red? I think this primarily is a display of how the two characters either rely on each other or are, in the vaguest of ways, tied together by fate.

Good bye for now!

[asherranceoftheheart]

My Housemate Might Be the Antichrist? - Drabble Series #1

Summary:   A series of little drabbles on the sitcom AU where Jack's a weird bastard who grew up with Anti as his only example of social manners, Chase Brody as the fussing mom friend and the only seal of the apocalypse, Stacy Anderson as an upcoming lawyer who has a tendency for violence and swindling other people, Anti who is Anti, and all the others who are watching the chaos that is that household and wondering how the fuck it hasn't collapsed yet. Character/s: Chase Brody, Antisepticeye, Stacy Anderson, Jack McLoughlin, mentions of the other egos Pairing/s: None, Chase Brody/Vacation/Advil Warning/s: None, Soft(?)Anti, Some Horror Cliches like blood on mirror but for comedic effect Genre/s: Humor, Fluff, Friendship Note: It would probably be easier to follow the entire thing if you read it from AO3 since it’d be in one link. But that’s up to you dear readers! (Archive Of Our Own Edition)

“So get this,” Jack didn’t even look up from his phone when his roommate burst into his room. “I think my room is haunted.”

“Dude we already talked about this,” Jack said with a flat tone that spoke of how many times they’ve talked about this exact topic. “I am not possessed. You are not possessed. None of us are possessed.”

“Tell that to the guy who looks like you but with green hair, completely black eyes, and a slit throat standing at the end of my bed at three in the morning while creepily smiling at me and I hear some unknown demonic language being whispered around me,” Chase whined and dropped his entire body on top of Jack’s stomach.

The older man grunted and half-heartedly shoved at the other who was now childishly pouting. Jack rolled his eyes at the pout and knocked his fist against Chase’s head lightly.

“You are exactly like a long lost annoying little brother,” Jack told his housemate dryly. “Besides, I told you. It’s just Anti, the whatever he is who’s been following me since childhood. He’s just playing a little sleep paralysis prank on you. That’s all.”

Chase turned his head to stare at him dubiously with those pretty baby blues and Jack couldn’t resist flicking him on his forehead. The younger man yelped and slapped his offending hand away with a glare while rubbing the reddening spot in the middle of his forehead sullenly.

“You say that as if it’s completely normal to have someone like Anti following you around.” Chase shot back while Jack shrugged nonchalantly because it is normal for him.

“Look on the bright side, Anti likes you. If he didn’t you’d have ran out of our shared room a long time ago when we were roommates for college.” Jack patted his head and ruffled his hair in a pacifying manner. Chase just sulkily slumped down on top of him and pressed his cheek against the soft cover of his bed.

“I thought you were pranking me and I was staying out of complete spite.” Chase bluntly said, looking him dead in the eyes.

Jack just patted his head like he was a cute little puppy.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

There was a weird guy wearing a cat mask and a cliché magician’s cape standing in front of their door. Jack had been playing Kingdom Hearts 3 in the living room when somebody rang the doorbell to their house. Originally, he was going to let Anti answer it for him but then he remembered Stacy’s threat about killing him in his sleep if they get another phone call about a possible serial killer in the house.

“Good afternoon sir,” at least the odd stranger seemed rather polite even though he kept staring at Anti who was looming behind him like an off-brand Slenderman. “I don’t know how to put this reasonably but… are you aware that an evil creature has been following you?”

Ah. This was one of those situations.

“We don’t accept solicitations,�� Jack gave the man the friendly smile that he learned from Chase. 

Apparently, the smile that he grew up with after learning it from Anti belonged more to that of a horror movie’s villain.

Chase tried to bring it up gently to him by saying it’s rather unnerving while Stacy just outright said to his and Anti’s face that people would rather take the stairs than ride in the same elevator with him if he kept that creepy smile up.

As it is, he was already closing the door on the weird man’s shocked and outraged face. Hah. That one’s a pretty funny face. He could hear Anti snickering behind him.

“Wait—!” The man tried to stop him from closing the door but Jack was unrelenting.

“Sorry,” he apologized without a single shred of remorse or guilt in his entire existence.

The door was shut with a loud click. 

Jack flipped the lock for extra measure and briefly wondered if he had closed the backdoor.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Stacy emerged from her bedroom, her hair unkempt and flying all over the place, her eyes ringed with dark shadows from lack of sleep, and her body yearning for that sweet, delicious caffeine. The woman had been up all night for the past weeks reviewing for her law board exam in an almost panicked frenzy. If it hadn’t been for Chase occasionally forcing her to go the fuck to sleep, she was pretty sure she would’ve dropped dead by the first week of unending readings and memorizing that she had been doing. She could already smell that blessed nectar of the gods being brewed in the kitchen and she could hear Chase humming a cute lil song while no doubt shaking that bubble butt around while he’s cooking breakfast for all of them.

“Hey boys,” the sleepless woman grunted as she slipped into the dining room and sat down on the nearest seat. “How’re things going for you guys?”

“Anti threatened to kill me last night because I ate the last pack of cheetos.” Chase said as he exited the kitchen to place a mug full of that heavenly black as her soul coffee in front of her.

“Just add that to the millions of baseless threats that he’s given you for the past six years.” Stacy dismissed his words with a wave before she took a sip of that scalding coffee with a happy moan. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live without your coffee, Chaser.”

Chase just patted her head as a wordless ‘you’re welcome’ before placing a breakfast plate in front of Jack whose face was completely smushed against the table while he’s completely passed out. He flicked his ear and smirked when the older man jolted up awake with a bewildered shine on his normally calm face before Jack realized that there was food in front of him.

“Rise and shine, Jackaboy,” Chase ruffled Jack’s hair, chuckling at the disgruntled grunt he received. “Good morning to you too, Creepy Bastard number one.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Chase woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring through his room. He was half-tempted to push the snooze button but the consequences of having a cranky household—especially this household—is too much of a headache to even consider facing. He lazily rolled out of his bed, kicking away the blankets that were entangled around his limbs and landed on the floor with a soft thump.

The sleepy man fumbled for his way to his own bathroom and flicked the light on. He blinked at the red that covered his face mirror and sighed.

DON’T FORGET THAT YOU HAVE A 10 AM APPOINTMENT WITH YOUR THERAPIST TODAY.

“I promise I won’t Anti,” Chase mumbled as the bloody letters began to fade away now that its message has been delivered and understood. “Thanks for the daily reminders, buddy. I just wish you won’t do the blood schtick. Well, at least you clean them up yourself now. So great job on that!”

He knew that the creature was watching him and could feel the smug self-satisfied aura that was practically oozing out of the demon. Chase internally thanked all of the useful advice he read from all of the parenting books he bought from the bookstore that mentioned Positive Affirmation of good deeds is effective in helping the lessons stick. It took a few weeks of providing positive rewards such as giving Anti his favorite snacks, and giving him some leeways on the lighter chaotic actions for him to start making progress.

Who knew that parenting techniques are great at teaching ancient demons on how to be more civilized people?

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

Charles Dickens: Societal Problems in “Our Mutual Friend”

Note on the text: Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens published by Walter J Black

Charles Dickens is one of the best novelists that the world has ever known. His knowledge of nature is so deep and so penetrating that it rings true even now. 

He was a much better observer of human nature than he gets credit for. It has become vogue in recent times to see him as something of a caricaturist who only created characters that were one dimensional and over the top. 

But look at the way he introduces the characters of Lizzie Hexam and her father Jesse, who are sailing on the Thames, to us. How he tells us so much about these characters with so little text: “Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and in its sodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing that they often did, and were seeking what they often sought” (2). With only a few words we know instantly that they are professionals and the image that comes to mind from these few words is as rich and detailed as if they had been given a paragraph’s worth of adjectives. 

Again Dickens shows his genius in describing the minute details of human nature in the way that Jesse instinctively knows that Lizzie has noticed something on the river that he hasn’t: “What ails you?’ [asked] the man, immediately aware of [Lizzie’s change in attitude]. ‘I see nothing afloat’” (3).

It should not be a surprise therefore that someone who noticed the smallest details of human behavior, was also able to notice some of the broader details too. What Dickens seems especially interested in is the effect that education and money have on people. One of the things that he points out over and over again is how people who are in the privileged class often don’t notice how privileged they are and they aren’t aware of just how valuable those privileges are. People on the outside on the other hand are acutely aware of just how valuable those privileges are. Those who are educated, for example, don’t know just how much of a gift education is because “no one who can read looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like someone who cannot” (24). Lizzie is a poor girl who, as she tells her younger brother Charley, “would be very glad to be able to read real books” and who “feels her want of education very much” (40). She knows what the value of a good education is, which is why she sends Charley off to school later even though that means that she might not see him again. Contrast that with the image of the Veneering family who, although they are very educated and surround themselves with the crème de la crème of society, care so little about being educated that “any one who has anything to tell generally tells it to anyone else in preference” (18). These are the people who have the power and the privilege, and yet they cannot even recognize or appreciate the privilege that they have. 

Along with access to education comes access to higher paying jobs, and all power that money has access to. Dickens was acutely aware of the power that money wields in both the micro and macro scale. In terms of the micro scale, look at how Eugene describes the way in which his father found him a woman to marry to his friend: “My respected father has found, down in the parental neighborhood, a wife for his generally not well respected son’. ‘With some money of course?’ ‘With some money, of course, or else he would not have found her” (198). A rogue like Eugene, without any money, is intolerable and unmarriable. But a rogue with money is a different story altogether. 

Dickens is also aware however of the role that money plays on the macro scale. Just look at the way he describes what a gentleman with shares, the 19th century equivalent of a hedge fund manager, does: 

He goes in an amateurish, condescending way into the City, attends meetings of Directors and has to do traffic in shares. As is well known to the wise in their generation, traffic in Shares is the one thing to do in this world. Have no antecedents, no established character, no cultivation, no ideas, no manners, have Shares. Have Shares enough to be on Boards of Directors in capital letters, oscillate on mysterious business between London and Paris, and be great. Where does he come from? Shares. Where is he going to? Shares. Does he have any principles? Shares. What squeezes him into parliament? Shares. Perhaps he never achieved anything of himself in success, never originated anything, never produced anything! Sufficient answer to all: Shares. Oh mighty Shares! (154-155).

No where is the difference between the haves and the havenots in this book more evident than in a conversation that Mr. Podsnap has with an unnamed gentleman at a dinner party. They are discussing a report which has just appeared in the newspaper regarding six people who have died that week, in the streets, of starvation. Initially Mr. Podsnap says that he doesn’t believe that that actually happens to which the gentleman replies that they 

must take it as proved because [of] the Inquests and Registrar’s returns. ‘Then it was their own fault’ said Mr. Podsnap. . . . The man of meek demeanor intimated that truly it would seem [that] starvation had been forced upon the culprits in question. . . [and that] they would rather not have [starved to death]. . . if it had been agreeable to all parties. ‘There is not’, said Mr. Podsnap flushing angrily, ‘there is not another country in the whole world, sir, where so noble a provision of the poor is made as in this country’. The meek man was willing to concede that, but perhaps it rendered the matter even worse, as showing that there must be something appallingly wrong somewhere [in the system]. . . [and] wouldn’t it be just as well to try and figure out where? ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Podsnap. ‘Easy to saw ‘somewhere’; not so easy to say ‘where’! But I see what you are driving at. I knew it from the first. Centralization. No. Never. Never with my consent. [It’s] not English’. . . . [The meek man had no] favorite ‘ization’ that he knew of. But he was certainly more staggered by these terrible occurrences than he was by names of however many syllables. Might he ask if dying of destitution and neglect was necessarily English?. . . . [Might there be a way to ensure that the] laws [regarding the poor] were being properly administered? (190-191). 

At this point Mr. Podsnap quotes Scripture by saying that the poor will always be with us and cautions the young man to not attempt the impossible by feuding with God. When the young man attempts to say that he is not trying to go against God but is instead just trying to help his fellow man Mr. Podsnap interrupts him by saying that he 

must decline to pursue this painful discussion. It is not pleasant to my feelings. It is repugnant to my feelings. I have said that I do not admit these things. I have also said that if they do occur (not that I admit it) the fault lies with the sufferers themselves. It is not for me’- Mr. Podsnap pointed at ‘me’ forcibly as [if to add] by implication that it may be well for ‘you’- ‘it is not for me to impugn the works of Providence. I know better than that, I trust, and I mentioned what the intentions of Providence are. Besides’, said Mr. Podsnap flushing. . . with a consciousness of personal affront, ‘the subject is a disagreeable one. I will go so far as to say that it is an odious one. It is not one to be introduced among our wives and young ones, and I’, he finished with a flourish of his arms than anything [else] could, ‘And I remove it from existence’” (191-192). 

Doesn’t Mr. Podsnap remind you of people in recent times who, when they were told of a tragedy that was happening nationwide to members of an under privileged class, initially denied that anything was happening, and then, once they could no longer deny the fact, proceeded to blame the members of that group for their predicament? People who even after they realized that they could not blame those people for the predicament which they found themselves in, said that everyone should just simply celebrate the progress that the country has made and stop talking about it because they were tired of having the conversation and it was making them uncomfortable? Does this remind you of anyone? No? Just me then I guess. . . .

Not only does society despise members of the lower class, but it scoffs at the attempts that many people of class make in order to be able to enjoy the benefits that are being offered to members of the upper class. When Jesse Hexam is being derided for being a waterman and something of a grave robber, he retorts that it is better to rob a dead man who has no need of money than it is to rob a live one which is what a lot of other people do. Similarly people condemn Bella for wanting to marry a rich man, but who could blame her? Given the way that society treats poor people, who could blame her for saying that she “hate[s] and detest[s] being poor” and that because she cannot make money, beg for money, or steal money, she is resolved to marry into it (435)? But that is the difference between the haves and the havenots. The haves make the rules and the havenots have to live by them. The haves live in a world where they have privileges that they are not even aware they have, while the havenots must struggle to get by in a world that seems stacked against them. 

Charles Dickens was a very perceptive writer, and much of what he said about 19th century England still applies to America today. History doesn’t always repeat but it does often rhyme. It’s strange to know that people like Podsnap still exist today. We have a long way to go, but it’s important to keep fighting so that future generations don’t have to keep dealing with the same problems that we do. We must keep fighting. 

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 3 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

"Well, children can be quite vicious," Ezra concluded. “Though I’d have to say, a ten year old calling a grown adult a ‘fucker’ in the middle of a classroom sounds quite outrageous.”

Or, Crowley is a spiteful son of a witch.

Chapter 4 of 20 Ongoing 2198 words Romance/Humor

It was 10 o'clock on the next Monday morning and all of Ezra’s talk of albums, old photos and Crowley’s art the other day, had the man sifting through his own archive. Somewhere, there had to be something, any old work that has some spark of greatness in it. Some shard of his former self that would inspire him. That, or something he could blatantly plagiarize from his former self. That would be fine as well. As he scanned the pages, his eye fell on a photo Anathema had given him.

He remembered the day it was taken very well. Anathema had been nine years old and there was a career fair at her school. Her mother had been too busy with her job at the bank to give a presentation herself, and so Crowley, the only positive male role model left in the young girl’s life, had been put to the task. It had been taken in the morning. It must have been, Crowley was still smiling, because that day had been the day he had learned just how terrible children can be…

“I don’t know,” a boy from Anathema’s class had said. “Isn’t art supposed to look like something?”

“Well, in a way, yes,” Crowley had said, as he frantically dug through his mind to find an answer that would be satisfactory to two dozen nine to ten year olds. “Sometimes art can look like things we can see, but sometimes art can look like the way the artist feels.”

“I bet you felt real ugly when you made this one. It’s rubbish,” another boy at the back had joked. All of the children laughed except for Anathema, who buried her face in her hands. Crowley never wanted to stand in front of a class ever again.

“Besides, you’re probably a—”

That day had also been the day Anathema had learned the other F-word.

A few hours later, the two of them had sat in Anathema’s mother’s kitchen, waiting for her to come home.

The girl kicked her feet from where she sat on her chair, her chin rested in her hands as she looked at her uncle.

“I don’t get it. They’re usually not that mean,” she mumbled.

“Yes, well, art has a long history of going underappreciated by the masses,” Crowley said casually. He didn’t lift his eyes from his sketchpad, nor did he look over the rims of his sunglasses. Partly because he wanted to make sure Anathema’s portrait looked good*, partly because he didn’t want the girl to see his eyes water.

(*It wasn’t like he had anything to prove. Especially not to himself.)

“I meant to you. Personally,” Anathema said sternly as she folded her arms over each other.

Crowley had been quiet for a moment, searching his mind again for the right words as he let his frustrations out as he translated the mass of curls on Anathema’s head onto the page. “Some people just don’t like things that are strange to them. Sometimes it’s because we’re artists, sometimes it’s because we’re boys who fall in love with boys, and they say that sort of thing to hurt us.”

“No one had to go and say that! Besides, boys are really mean, I don’t see how you can fall in love with them,” she huffed. “I mean, except for you and the bookshop man. You two are acceptable.”

There was an insinuation there that Crowley had chosen to ignore. “Anathema, you really are too wise for your age.”

She always had been. Still was.

Just like people had always been unappreciative of arts, and always would be.

Inspiration be damned, spite had always been the best motivator for Crowley to do, well, anything. And so, before 11, an easel with a canvas was set up in the living room along with a palette and oil paints, the floor, plants and furniture were all covered in tarps, while Adam was parked on the floor wearing his pajamas from last night with a scrap of old wall paper and a set of finger paints in front of him.

Crowley had finished his sketch before he turned around to see how Adam was doing. The boy still stared at the paints and the wall paper, unsure of what to do with it. With a smile on his face, the man crouched down, dipped his fine oil paint brush in the fingerpaint and dragged it across the paper in hopes of provoking the boy. “You can do it, Adam,” he encouraged.

Adam, in turn, raised a tiny hand, dipped it into the red paint and slapped it onto the paper. He giggled again.

“There we go. Have fun, buddy.” He ruffled the boy’s hair as he got back up and turned his attention to his own canvas, putting the base colours in place.

Once noon rolled around and it was time for Adam to eat his snack, Crowley turned back to where the boy had been sitting a little over an hour ago. 'Had been', being the key phrase, as the boy was nowhere in sight.

"Adam?" Crowley called as he walked around his black, leather chair. The tarps had small, brightly coloured smudges scattered over them. He heard the laughter of the small boy come from behind the sofa, and the closer Crowley came, the more colour drained from his face.

"Adam! My walls!" He cried. Pristine, white plaster was now covered in red and yellow handprints.

Adam turned to the man and gave him a satisfied smile.

*

“My walls look like a Jackson Pollock,” Crowley whined as he took a long drag from his cigarette for dramatic effect, outside, leaning against the doorpost of the bookshop. The door of which was wide open, exposing both Ezra and Adam to his complaints. Lucy had explicitly forbidden him to smoke around Adam, but he needed this, dammit. He tried his best to look angry at Adam, who was still strapped into his stroller and was very much unaffected by the man’s pathetic attempt at discipline. With a huff, he put out the remaining half of his cigarette against the outside wall of the bookshop and shoved it back into the pack before going back inside. “Just like your mum. No one can stay mad at that pretty face of yours.”

"Well, I'm sure the painters were glad the tarps were already there," Ezra said as he sipped from his hot cocoa from where he stood behind the counter. Sure, it was lunch time, but customers had a tendency to always show up at the least opportune moments. If they showed up at all.

Crowley, on the other hand, begrudgingly fed Adam his lunch. "I guess… I'm sure they won't give me a discount for it, though."

"What got you painting anyway?" Ezra asked. "I thought you were still in the process of sketching."

"I am. But a bunch of nine year olds were mean to me once so I painted out of spite," he stated simply.

Ezra choked on his cocoa. "What?"

It was quiet for a moment before Crowley decided it would probably be a good idea to elaborate. "It was for the career fair for Anathema's class and my sister was too busy, so I went and gave a presentation in her place. But then a kid said my painting looked like nothing and another said it was rubbish and then another called me the F-word, so I almost cried in front of a class full of pre-teens," he said flippantly, though could almost start crying from embarrassment again. If only he’d never mentioned the painting in the first place.

"Well, children can be quite vicious," Ezra concluded. “Though I’d have to say, a ten year old calling a grown adult a ‘fucker’ in the middle of a classroom sounds quite outrageous.”

Crowley almost laughed. Had his mood not been this sour, he probably would have. In the ten years he had known Ezra, he had never heard the man swear. Not even so much as an ‘oh gosh dangit’. ‘Fucker’, on the other hand sounded alien coming from his mouth.

"The other F-word, Ez," he said. “Six letters. Your witch was burned on them. Can’t miss it.” The tone he tried to assume was casual, but heartbreak was oozing through the cracks.

"Oh dear. That's painful," the other man mumbled.

Crowley cast his glance down at Adam, who stared up at him with his big, blue eyes. “That was the very first time I saw Anathema look at me with pity, and all I knew was that I never wanted that to happen ever again. So I went and got my job as a P.A. for a big multinational’s marketing director who would one day give me a baby to look after. And that’s my tragic Batman villain backstory,” he all but sighed.

An uneasy silence fell over the two of them. Over the years, Crowley had gotten used to putting on an air of confidence around colleagues, family and what few friends he had. He wasn’t used to putting himself into a vulnerable position like this. He didn’t look at Ezra, because he knew the other man would look at him the same way Anathema had all those years ago.

“I can’t believe it. That happened eight years ago and this is the first I hear about it? Even after I asked why you got your job?”

Crowley didn’t need to look at Ezra’s face to hear the frown on it. He inevitably grew irritable.

“I don’t particularly enjoy talking about it, you know. I knew that if I told you, you would look at me the way you’re looking at me now. We can’t all follow our dreams, Ez. I’m perfectly happy doing the work I do with the people I work with, even if that means I have less time for my creative ventures.”

A shorter, yet more uneasy silence fell over them. Adam looked from one man to the other as he nibbled on his dry cracker.

“What did you paint to spite a bunch of nine year olds?” Ezra asked, breaking the silence.

“Nothing. It looked like shit anyway so I asked the painters to paint over it,” Crowley lied, casually waving his hand.

“My dear, please—”

“Did you get anything interesting from the grimoire? Memoire. Whatever,” he asked, verbally grabbing the subject by the shoulders, forcefully turning it around a full 180 degrees and pressing on against his better judgement.

Ezra frowned. He was very… empathic. Anyone who had been with Ezra for longer than five minutes knew that. He tended to be much more in tune with people’s feelings than the people experiencing said feelings in the first place.

And here Crowley was, frantically running back and forth between hiding a wall to hide his feelings behind and letting them out by means of molotov cocktail. But for whatever reason, the Ezra seemed to have given up. And Crowley felt infinitely worse about himself.

“Well, I have to say it will be very useful. I’ll probably have to take the story in a different direction to make it more accurate, but you know I like a good challenge,” Ezra said, forcing a smile. It wasn’t nearly as striking or beautiful as his genuine smiles. It didn’t fill him with warmth and joy. It just hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

“You definitely should have,” Ezra insisted. “Talking about your feelings might hurt at first, but it’s definitely better for you in the long run.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but there was no malice. “You really are too good for this world, angel.” It took him a second to realize what had just come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but did you just call me ‘angel’?”

Why. Why on God’s green Earth had he said that? He’d been all over the place for the entire day, and now he had to come up with an excuse.

“Anthony, are you alright?” Ezra asked sternly.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, you’ve been calling me ‘dear’ since Saturday, so I would think a nickname for you would only be fair.”

“Uhuh…” escaped Ezra. Whatever happened, Crowley didn’t want to acknowledge that the man’s soft cheeks had grown slightly pinker. Stubbornly, he pinned it down to their natural rosiness.

Still, he choked on the breath he was taking. He cleared his throat and got up. He couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. He had to clear his head. A brisk walk would do it, he figured, away from the shop as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Well, I think the painters are probably just about done and Adam here is in desperate need for a bath. Paint in his hair and ears, you know. I should go,” Crowley pressed on as he got up and took the bag of crackers from the tray in front of Adam. It was still half full and the boy made an uneasy sound when the food of him disappeared into the diaper bag.

“My dear, I—”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

[nebula-starlight]

Virus (Part 4 - Asylum)

Her eyes glowed bright green in the mirror’s reflection, despite her best efforts to will them back to the soft topaz they were supposed to be. Work was coming up and she couldn’t afford to call in sick again. She’d lose her job if she did that once more and she needed the money. Rent wasn’t cheap near the clinic after all.

The low gurgle of her stomach drew Narssia from her thoughts and she grimaced, lifting a shaky paw to her chest. Was it indigestion? She hadn’t exactly eaten anything this morning... having felt a bit off. Oh no.

She threw herself over the washbasin, heaving until her entire body ached. Well that settled the debate about work. There was no way she’d go in now. Letting a few strands of saliva drip from her jaws as she panted, a low glitchy chuckle echoed in her ears for a brief moment before vanishing.

Waiting a few more minutes to see if the feeling passed, she sighed and left the bathroom, using the tip of her tail to flip the switch that emptied the filled basin. She’d fill it back up with water later but not now, not with her head spinning. Why had she gotten sick? It made no sense... There was nothing she’d done that would have prompted such a reaction.

Retreating to her den, she picked a chair and curled up in it, staring blankly into the unused fireplace beside her. The feeling would pass, she was sure. If not...

Well she knew what do to.

Bright lights shone briefly in one of her eyes as Narssia slowly returned to consciousness, hearing the distorted, warbled sounds of far-away voices. When had she drifted off? Not that it mattered too much now when she just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

“She’s coming around. Give her room.”

She knew that voice, the one that broke through with an almost crystal clear quality. Chills ran along her back, terror flooding through her system as the long buried memories rammed into her waking consciousness. No, no, no! Why was it him?! That drake was the last individual she wanted to see now. She ran away from him. She... She’d fought hard to free herself from his web of lies.

But still those feelings remained... How hard claws smacked against her snout, tearing open skin as the pain only made her want to curl up in a ball and disappear. He always screamed at her, demanding she toughen up. The world wouldn’t accept a weak little shadow-breather even though she was trying her best to be brave.

Stop crying! Those black scales you’ve got only give others the impression there’s a cold, heartless monster underneath. You want that, don’t you? To feel strong... powerful even.

She trembled, straining herself to move, to run, to do anything! Still her wings remained limp behind her back and her limbs stayed shackled to the bed for protection. Not this Hell again. Anything but this. They couldn’t see the scars... The past attempts to get rid of that thing growing inside. But she couldn’t move and the routine nightmarish memories she struggled with were bad enough but to relive it...

No, she couldn’t go through that again. There had to be a way out before she started to spiral down into the darkness of her mind. She just had to think...

You’ll be cured in no time, my dear. All those silly little fears will be nothing more than wisps of fleeting thoughts. Soon there will only be the two of us. Together.

“Unusually high... brain activity, Doc. Should we... drug...?”

Her eyes flew open, panic clouding over any and all vision as the whitewash walls of the hospital sent her heart racing in her chest. No exams! She thrashed against the chains holding her down, screaming until her voice broke in repressed anger and fear. No proper drakes trying to fix her. She wasn’t broken! There was nothing... wrong with her.

It was all in her head. It had to be! No one deserved to see her like this. She wasn’t worth anyone’s time. Even the drake had finally spat those words in her face before she...

Oh Ancients! Don’t make her confess it. It was all an accident. He- He pushed her too far. No, no, no... her tail wasn’t covered in blood as the sounds of several pairs of clawed feet thundered up stairs outside his apartment. The noise of the brief struggle had been heard despite her best intent to silence him without a peep.

She confronted him. Marched right up and ripped out his heart, blood splattering over the expensive carpet of his flat as her tailtip dipped into the oozing crimson fluid dripping down his chest and then curled around his neck. Fixing one dark iris on him with a frustrated hiss, she snapped his neck at the same time she crushed the organ in her paw, relishing the satisfying squish it gave before she threw the ruined smear across the room to smack against the locked wooden door.

So many promises... He promised to treat her, cure her even. When that failed he said he loved her and wanted to toughen her up. Well he certainly did that... although likely not how he expected. Now that monster had left yet another mark on her soul, one she tried again and again to purge.

Poison hadn’t worked. Alcohol hadn’t worked - although it gave her an awful hangover the next day though. Every glance she dared to take at her scarred, swelling underbelly filled her with such self-loathing as the months passed. Oh she knew exactly why she’d gotten sick and why her energy was all but gone, there was nothing she wanted more than to rip it right out of her body. Who cared if she tried a dozen other ways to be rid of that hellspawn growing in her lower abdomen!

“Let me go!” She screeched, trying once more to move as flickers of tiny little green lights darted by the corners of her vision. “I’m not crazy, I swear. Don’t send me back there. Don’t... do that...”

Her jerky attempts at escape slowed before stopping, head rolling slightly to one side as a heavy sigh came from her left. A single, slightly stained claw brushed against the bottom of her jaw gently to check her pulse as the weary blue eyes of the doctor glanced over at the young male sitting down in the far corner of the room awaiting news. He was lucky someone had found her so quickly this time around judging by her extensive chart. Now she wasn’t out yet but they at least had her stabilized. Last thing anyone wanted was a half-crazy healer out on a vengeful warpath...

“Ease there girlie, you may not think so but we won’t hurt ya... Pretty lucky that you have attentive co-workers.” He looked up, spotting movement outside the small individual room in the clinic’s psych wing before continuing softly to the one who brought her in. “Poor ‘ness has had emotional problems for a long while. Last I spoke with her previous doctor they thought she was on the right medicine to even her out. Hmm, I wonder what caused a flare up this bad?”

The sound of the hospital room door opening seemed to take the doctor’s attention away for a moment. Stepping inside, the aged silver dragoness politely bowed before starting forward as the young orange drake excused himself and left to allow the two experts some time alone.

“The team I sent to her location of residence after she arrived found a note on her bed that was addressed by a Geer Stormbringer. Should we try to get in touch with him? Maybe he knows what set her off?”

The lead doctor hummed softly in thought as he lightly stroked the side of her snout to encourage her to fade on off to sleep. “That would be the best course of action right now, Silvia. We’ll keep her under for a bit until things can be sorted out.”

The night air was cool when she woke, blinking sleep from her eyes as she yawned. How long had she been out? Running her tongue along her teeth, she thought it was odd they felt moist as though she’d eaten something recently. Moving a forepaw, she felt the squish of something soft and slowly glanced down, finding her paw covered in blood. Beside her lay a half-eaten carcass, the shape draconian in nature. No...

She shuddered, the soft crackle of static buzzing in the background as she pushed herself back onto her hind legs, frantically trying to get her limbs under her so to run. Where was she? It wasn’t home if the wooded area was any indication. Was she losing her mind? Sure the thought had crossed her mind in the past to seek revenge but she wasn’t a violent creature. Drawing blood just wasn’t in her nature... at least she thought so.

Getting to her feet, she shakily stood, curious about the corpse as she crept closer. It was difficult to tell but she thought its scales were purple and its eyes... No, no, no, why?!

Those wide open gray eyes were ones she knew, expression fixed in a terrified scream. Geer’s past letters to her had mentioned a lovely little female healer by the name of Melvise if she was right... No, there was no connection linking the two, was there? How would she have even known what the dragoness looked like?

‘Someone’s not real fond of the monster they are, huh? Figures you good-for-nothings are all hypocrites. Hiding behind that perfect little facade...’

The soft chuckle of laughter caught her attention immediately, recognizing the voice somehow even though she was certain she’d never heard it before. Still she stood, glancing uneasily at the corpse before shying away from it.

“Who are you?”

‘Honestly, the static didn’t give it away? Sheesh, with how messed up your mind is it makes me look like a damn saint...’ The humor dropped from the mysterious voice, a chill running through the air as Narssia pressed her wings closer to her body. ‘Turns out I need to make my appearance known before I can fully possess you. Sucks for you then ‘cause I’m not the most... No, you know what? I’ll just show you what I mean.’

Her eyes went wide, fear crawling up along her spine as she shuffled backwards from the dead dragon. “Um, do I have a choice here? Cause I’d rather not.”

‘How cute. You think you have a say here... Such a pity I need you alive then. I was really looking forward to killing someone today.’

The ground suddenly went dark, eerie green lines of code appearing all around her and glowing as Narssia panicked and tried to fly away. All she managed to do was unfurl her wings before shadowy tendrils wrapped around her legs to pin her in place.

An amused chuckle was all she earned for her efforts. ‘Yeah, good try there but not real successful.’

The most awful sound split the air, reminding the healer of a screaming group of hatchlings as she saw the creature drop to the floor right in front of her. It was primarily skeletal, with a large gash further distorting its neck as the wyvern-like look had no wing structure other than the main permanent bone and thin claws that acted like her own foretalons. Two empty eye sockets blazed with bright green light and a large almost jewel-like gem sat in the top of its chest.

She hadn’t studied about the past ancestors of dragonkind for many years but was she looking at a fallen, a Shadowling some preferred to call them even? The appearance would fit what little she remembered...

‘You know what I am. Consider me impressed, for once,’ the glitch purred, voice humming with the soft crackle of static underneath. ‘My goal however is a bit more complex...’

“What... What happened to your body? I thought most fallen lost their forms but you....” Shock loosened her tongue, making her spit out whatever came to mind. Shaking her head to try and reign herself back in, Naris met the intense gaze of the spirit for a brief moment before shuddering in fear and looking away.

‘Repulsive, I know. Blame the one hanging with that drake you like. It’s not something I enjoy talking about.’ The creature crawled closer, using its wing-claws to move forward as Narssia was finally able to retreat, immediately backing away in fear. ‘And don’t deny your feelings for Geer. I’ve been in your head long enough to realize that much. Intriguing to think he could pull you free from all those chains wrapped tightly around your mind. Some shadow-breather indeed...’

The dragoness shuddered again, memories surfacing to remind her of all the reasons why being with Geer wouldn’t work. He didn’t deserve to deal with her brokenness on top of his own issues. Yes she was aware of his disability but found herself in awe at his dedication to his job. If only she was that brave...

‘Come now, you broke the dude’s neck and crushed his heart. Pretty impressive if you ask me.’

“I didn’t,” she hissed back, lifting a paw to her chest as her steps slowed. “I never meant to hurt anyone. What do you want with me anyway? Besides my body I imagine.”

The glitch snorted, eyes rolling in their empty sockets. ‘Body and mind, dearie. Can’t have one without the other - otherwise you’d be dead right now.’

“And if I refuse to let you in?”

‘Oh you know exactly what’ll happen. Those pretty little terrors trapped up in that head of yours want to play and who would I be if I didn’t push things along a bit.’ One skeletal wing rose, pointing directly at Narssia’s skull as the fallen snickered. ‘Choice is yours, missy.’

Well that wasn’t what she expected to hear. Actually no, she somehow knew that would be the response. Her uninvited guest didn’t seem like it played fair anyway.

With a sigh she stopped in her tracks, tail swishing around her hind legs. “Do you have a name?”

‘I did. Once. But you don’t deserve to know it.’ The spirit growled, body dissolving away into a glitchy black and green mist before it swirled around Narssia predatorily. ‘Neither did he for that matter. All talk of serving for the greater good and everything left ‘em with what? A stained core that started to crack long before he... No, I won’t say it.’

“You don’t have to say it. He slit your throat, right?” Narssia felt the mist glide over her back without giving a response, teasingly swirling over her horns in a manner that made her decidedly uneasy.

‘Why should I tell you anything about myself? Here I was denied my chance at having a family but you...‘ Invisible claws stroked her snout, digging into her skin as the glitch’s words turned bitter and malicious. ‘You are far too happy to destroy yourself, trying everything to purge the last reminders of that vile doctor from your body. Speaking of which, did you enjoy my little gift? It wasn’t difficult to fish up the memories of how he sounded. How each touch left your pretty little body aflame. Deny it all you want... but you envied him, didn’t you?’

Despite herself Narssia had leaned in towards the contact, too drained to properly realize what was going on. She craved touch but yet, held herself back so often out of fear she’d get hurt again. Was that why she’d fallen so quickly for him? Every nice compliment had soothed the burns scarring her fragile heart until she gave in and let him “help” her. It hadn’t been to her benefit at all...

“Go ahead,” she muttered, closing her eyes as the glitch slid over her shoulders. “Torture me all you want. I’m not important to anyone.”

‘Ooh, abandonment issues as well. How did I get so lucky?’ The soft chuckle filled the air as Narssia stood there in silence, awaiting the next horrible bout of night terrors that would surely come her way. ‘Fret not, my dear. Soon no one will be able to break you ever again. All you need to do is say three simple words and I’ll take the pain away.’

“Just let me drown in guilt...”

The green sparks within the mist crackled, shock prompting the next words from the glitch. ‘Come now... Don’t you want release? I can give you that and still keep those precious ones alive.’

Dark irises slowly slid open, half hidden by her eyelids. “Not what I want...” Her head lifted slightly, fixing one topaz eye on the pixelated cloud before she started forward with increasingly confident steps. There was a certain raspiness present in her voice, kept low but firm. “I decide when to fall apart on my own terms, Glitch. Pester me all you want. Break open every scarring memory if you desire and see where it gets you! I’m flawed, I know that, but I don’t need a constant reminder of the darkness that lies buried within.”

She glared at the spectre as they came nearly snout to energy cloud, her eyes filled with tears of her own self-hatred. “Never will you ever reduce me to a state where I beg for your kind of release. That isn’t freedom, it’s enslavement and I refuse to be a slave again. Now get out of my head before I make you.”

‘You really shouldn’t have said that... I would have been merciful otherwise but now, you’ll only have yourself to blame when you come crawling to me in defeat.’

The dark hiss she received as the glitch vanished in a burst of green sparks made Naris feel better about her decision, only to then wonder what hell would await her because of it. Had she just sentenced herself to torture unlike any she’d known before? The Shadowling had seemed almost frustrated that she would reject the new life that was growing inside of her but maybe she could use that to her advantage somehow...

She had to hold on! Maybe something would break her free before she succumbed to the darkness it offered. No matter what she couldn’t let that monster get the better of her.

Shadows swirled around her feet, the looming outline of the dead- no, corrupted wyvern trailing behind her as she started to walk, static softly crackling through the air in reminder of who’s domain she was really in. Just survive, Narssia repeated to herself with each shaky step she took. That’s all she could afford to do now...

[syncrovoid-presents]

I forgot to add this!! A printed version of this image was found within The Room:tm:. This adds more to the idea that Frank will play a bigger role in the future, as they already have been playing a bigger role in this update. From Frank being the "bug expert" and bugs being a big way of finding new audio, to other things, I believe he will be important in the future!

And if red represents Wally (and, at times, Home too) this piece of art being not just a neat piece but real within The Room:tm: implies it is canon, which opens up many questions, doesn't it?

Wally and the Colour RED

Wally and the colour Red have an interesting relationship in Welcome Home. This is a rambling/analysis of different things I've found that makes me believe it's an important detail moving forwards with the Welcome Home Mystery!

First! Why do I think this matters?

There's a few reasons why I think this matters! First, while all the members of the cast seem to be tied to a colour, none is as focused or as consistent as Wally and the colour red! The two primary examples I'll use to cover this is one that we've had for a while, and two that we got in this update. Those being the signatures at the bottom of the guestbook, the interactable telephone, and the name graphics on the transcript page!

Interestingly, all of the cast are directly tied to a specific colour! The signatures at the bottom of the Guestpage and the colours of the "calls" on the telephone are the same for each character. This being pink for Julie, orange for Sally, yellow for Frank, green for Poppy, turquoise for Howdy, blue for Barnaby, purple for Eddie, and red for Wally. This is consistent (and possibly something to pay attention for in the future?)

Notably however, Home is signed by Wally, while the audio file for Wally's "call" recording is also called "duet" when you open it in another tab. Audio files with "duet" is a sign that Home is present. This means that red is not strictly a Wally colour, but also the colour for Home!

(if you're curious, the other audio called "duet" is Wally's little song he sings)

This is interesting, because Wally and Home are often treated as a duo, moreso than any other characters of Welcome Home. I would also like to point out another detail, one that I think ties into this tie between Wally, Home and the colour red.

The Records

All the records from Wally's hidden message ("I will help you understand neighbor, I will find a way soon.") are red! Sure, some are glitched, but they are all red. As is this record with the strange audio (has anyone decoded this yet?). This audio is directly tied to Wally, as it's called "(DRAWING?) WITH WALLY DARLING".

However the hidden one's may not just be Wally. Though they are all name the tab "answer" when opened, I'm tempted to say that "answer" is wally prompting us to answer (or, alternatively, Wally is trying to answer us, however he perceives us).

I believe that Home is there too in the audio. If you listen to all of them in a row, turning up the audio will reveal that there is a heart beat in the background. This, I want to say, is Home and not Wally, as Wally does not seem to register them. It peaks about halfway through with Neighbor, coincidentally the audio that is both glitching and is made of a series of clicks rather than voice lines.

I have seen people say that this is "Help Me" or "Hello" in morse code. I do not know which is the agreed translation is (to me it sounds like "…. . ..-.. .. -.. ---", which translates to "HEĘIDO", which is not a word. However it most resembles "…. . .-.. .-.. ---" which translates to "HELLO")

Regardless of what Home may be saying, it shows that the hidden recordings can be put together into a timeline that sounds like one recording, which means it's most likely all recorded at the same place. Ergo, Home is in the hidden recordings as well!

Other spots where red is brought up

There are other instances of red being tied to Wally. Some are obvious, like his love of apples (red ones specifically), the Wally prints/finger paint on the bottom of the guestbook, the background of the "i <3 Wally" gif/sticker in the sticker section of the site (also shared with Home. Wally's character description is also shared by home!), Wally himself in the "so-below" page, among other things. Such as the Wally themed telephone being red, despite his more iconic blue swirled hair (or blue and yellow-trimed sweater), his clothing in multiple official artworks, the Wally cereal box, and more.

(Like something I've noticed, which is that Home is the only house that's a solid colour (red!) without any pattern breaking it up, plus the most "standout" red that Wally typically wears being tied around his neck (symbolism?). Plus the "W" of Welcome Home is red! That's fun too!

There's also some... stranger ones. Such as this hidden piece of morse code found by this person, which spells out ".. -- .-. . -..", or "IM RED" when translated to english.

And more hidden ones too, that tie into the hidden staff page (I have a post breaking that down that you can find here!! I cover everything I could find plus went through the website code, if you want to know everything about the secret staff site check it out!)

There is the red safe, which has in WHRP universe lore!! I delve into this in my other post, just know that it is something that exists both in the secret website (it is what introduces you to the hidden website!) AND it exists in the WHRP world, both written about in printed emails and as a physical object seen within The Room:tm:. You may also notice everyone is represented by their original colours, except for home, who is now white (or blank?).

There's also scrap pieces of red paper spilled on the ground in The Room:tm: (that have drawn spirals), a red clock in the style of Wally's red car, a red painting of some sort on the wall of The Room:tm: (that we never get a good look at, though it may have a drawn yellow eye in the upper center), a red apple, and most importantly of all, this:

The Red Notebook

This is no ordinary notebook. This here is the notebook that the WHRP team have "loaned" the Question Answerer, also known as the Head Curator of Question Answer! according to the printed emails. This book is very important because there are multiple signs that it was written by Wally. Inside is a sketchpad attached to the lefthand interior bookcase with little paintings and a handprint suspiciously similar to that on the bottom of the GuestBook page and doodles in the styles Wally has used (spirals, finger paint smiley face, the drawn apple, etc).

(by the way, if you're interested in what the note says the most accurate translation I've found is by Tumblr user truckfreaks

"Hello,

My name doesn't matter. I am here to catalogue something I'm not sure is fully real. But it must be. I'm holding all the evidence in my hands. Pictures. Characters. Text I can barely read. It's called "Welcome Home" and it looks like it might've been a children's book? Like I said, I can't tell.

It was sopping wet when I found it. When I first reached into one of the brightly colored envelopes, my hand was already covered in some gross, [unknown - possibly “oozing”] material. It feels like antiques are always covered in some kind of grime. I'm trying to clean up what I have and do a little more digging.

There's only one name I can make out right now... Wally. Probably important, but like I said, I'll keep looking.

XOXO"

The wrap up (don't want to make this too long!)

Regardless of what you make of this, it shows that there is even more proof of Wally, not just the character but the Wally ""haunting"" the website and the Wally within the WHRP universe, all being tied to the colour red. (Quick clarification: The Wally we see in branding, clips of the show, etc are all Wally, however he isn't current Wally. He is the Wally of the past, the original Wally, the base Wallly, whatever you want to call him. Therefore I separate him from the "now" Wally. It's unconfirmed whether the Wally that's seemingly trying to communicate with us through the website is the same as the Wally that seems to be related to all the objects being sent to Question Answerer, who is the same Wally that is constantly calling them. If so, then there is only one "now" Wally. If they are separate, then there are two, possibly one in the website itself and one focusing on Question Answerer. Please note, this is all speculation).

While it's true that red is Wally's favourite colour, I believe that it's far more than just that tying Wally and the color red together. Going forwards, anything red that isn't immediately branded as a Wally related object should be considered important, at least I think so.

As for the connection between Wally and Home, both sharing the colour Red? I think this primarily is a display of how the two characters either rely on each other or are, in the vaguest of ways, tied together by fate.

Good bye for now!