DOORS IN THE WEST WING ARE MORE LIKELY TO BE LOCKED.
But who is locking them? Is a door's natural state one locked or unlocked, and is it a human who decides?
This bit of information is provided by a note in the hallway. Another note elsewhere (the security room? the conference room? I can't recall) tells us that red notes are lies, so we know west wing doors are more likely to be unlocked...but it still makes me wonder bigger questions about the nature of Mt. Holly Manor.
It also makes me wonder why I haven't wondered this before.
By skimming through games, I mostly regard them in a Doyleist fashion. Games are games. Doors are locked or unlocked because it is part of the game mechanism.
But who controls Mt. Holly in a more Watsonian way?
Do the puzzle boxes generate themselves? The math on the bulletin board?
Is Anne Babbage always ahead of me, populating rooms with puzzles the way she populates the front table with my allowance -- and if so, how?
Who is who, and who does what?
K. Thompson packaged my delivery to the mail room. It's an amateur lockpick kit (my favorite) and two gems.
Apparently this was done by The Synka Company. I bet if I'd been paying attention in my hundreds of hours of previous play-throughs, I'd have some inkling of whether the Synka Company has grander lore importance, and whether K. Thompson is a random name or someone I should know.
It is bothering me now how little I have retained from this odd little puzzle game.
Anyway, I am also noticing from the mail room that we're currently in Fenn Aries, which I have only ever thought about long enough to look things up on the Wiki. I imagine the "SKR 6789" postal stamp stands for something like Synka Royal, since there are other Synka packages, and a bag is labeled Royal Mail.
We know who boxed up my goods, but not who delivered it to the room.
Anne Babbage, is that you too?
In the kitchen, we learn that "Bridgette" has gotten fruit for me to eat. That means five apples, five bananas, and five oranges, according to the list. The bold upper-case words seem to imply these are significant. They will also apparently total to fifty steps. Everyone seems bound by the odd movement rules of the game.
Though Anne Babbage, as house manager, seems responsible for most things, we can learn in the guest bedroom that "Sinclair" designed the puzzles from someone whose name is signed KL. Lord Evanson is friends with both of them.
I have already forgotten if Sinclair is the name of my uncle.
If my useless memory frustrates you, be assured it frustrates me too.
Your package has been delivered
I requested a magnifying glass yesterday, and today I bought it from the commissary. Hence I can read the carving on the photo of the orchard: 11-28, the code I completely forgot. Hopefully I don't run out of steps so I can go unlock that today, but I only got this with 16 steps remaining, and I'm not keen to prioritize something that will end the day when I also got car keys from the guest bedroom.
With the magnifying glass, I also see that my uncle's camera (seen in a darkroom photo) is made by Synka Co. Maybe that's our company?
A note in the darkroom says that "H.S. has requested yet another print of her Ladyship." I think H.S. stands for Herbert Sinclair, so yes. Sinclair is my uncle. Probably.
Her Ladyship is very beautiful. I love her portrait.
Thoughts on Day Two
The coffee in the kitchen is labeled "LUX COFFEE." Not "Luxe," like Deluxe, but "Lux," like Light.
I can't see the stained glass window behind the altar in the chapel.
It's probably meant to indicate a manor where the ownership is in flux, but I like cluttered hallways because my hallways at home are also quite cluttered.
A blue postcard in the bedroom says "Greetings from Reddington," which looks like a village overlooked by mountains. My mountains? I'll have to look outside at some point.
DIRIGIBLOCKS IS AN ARCADE GAME! It's in the commissary. My dad warned me not to play this too much in the mailroom letter. Alas, it isn't plugged in, and neither is the neighboring cigarette machine. My young heir will not be feeding either addiction anytime soon.
There is a red note telling me that the commissary will be closed from day 12 to day 16. What a weird thing to lie about.
The edge of exhaustion
I didn't get to finish exploring the house, unfortunately. I ran low on steps and used the last couple to unlock the orchard after all. I'll have twenty extra steps a day from here on out, so this shouldn't happen as often in the future. I hit zero steps going inside -- I couldn't operate the valve. I'll have to go back for it. That can probably wait until I'm ready for the sundial puzzle.
It's frustrating to get everything I need to make full use of the garage except the garage itself! I wonder if I hadn't wandered around after the darkroom if I might have been able to get back to security. I wonder if I should have prioritized keeping my gold to buy food in the kitchen.
I haven't really cared about such scarcity in the past because I always knew I'd have another day. Giving myself one day per day in real time is a bit frustrating in that regard. It also means I have the energy to read everything and really think about it...so I suppose that's for the best.
About kenopsia
You might be familiar with liminal spaces, since liminal horror has broken into the mainstream this past year or so. Some people argue that a lot of liminal spaces are actually better described as kenopsic.
To paraphrase definitions, liminal spaces are the in-between spaces where we transition from one thing to another. Think airports or waiting rooms.
On the other hand, kenopsia is a sense of hollowness in a space that should normally be filled with people and life, but has been left silent. I have also heard kenopsia associated with a paranoid feeling of being watched by the people who should be there, though you can't see anyone.
Blue Prince has liminal spaces (hallways, arguably) but the overall feeling is mostly one of kenopsia. There is an acute sense that at least Mrs Babbage has an eye on us, although we never see her.
I would argue that this is what makes Blue Prince feel like Myst, my childhood favorite. It's not the way you must solve puzzles to progress, but the sense that there should be people around, but there are not. You only find evidence of their existence.
It's an eerie feeling that is also very cozy to me. I wish I could live in Mt. Holly Manor. I wouldn't mind a reshuffled house every day -- even if I'm not exactly sure who's doing it.