Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Two: Witch's Haunt]
10-23-2010, 09:36 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.
The Prestidigitator broke his gaze from the shattered mirror on his wall. The Composer had left, but the deals that had slipped so freely into the open could just as well have burned the very air. He glanced at a viper’s nest that had sprung up from his extraordinary wine, but they merely writhed and slithered. Mindless animals. He watched them for a moment longer, but it offered no insight. He sighed, drawing a match from under one lapel , hissing before it burst aflame. The Prestidigitator briefly savoured the flicker before calmly dropping it among the creatures.
“Prestidigitator?”
He didn’t reply, choosing instead to absentmindedly slip a pocket watch free of it’s hiding place in his suit’s jacket. It hung before him, glinting and winking and promising of many things that it’s engraved golden surface hid. He smiled at the intake of breath from behind him.
“Victoria,” he stated, turning to face her. She attempted to smother her expression under a blank face and a pale mask, but her eyes betrayed her as they burned and stared at that glinting gold.
“The round-“
He turned back to the mirror.
“Is finished. It is unfortunate to be out of the wager so early into this experiment, but at least I can lavish my attention on other… projects.” He passed a hand over the eyes of his mask, sighing. “The contestants are frozen at the point of death, correct?”
“Of course.” She sounded a little hurt, and ceased her staring to sweep herself towards the flickering hearth of the fireplace. “Although it should be noted that the astral projection was picked up on towards the later part of the round. Stronger measures are required-“
The Prestidigitator waved an impatient hand.
“We discussed all this in great length. Bring me Third. For all his insolence he still has more initiative than you could ever display.”
The room fell into a hushed silence. Victoria’s eyes bore into the suited back of the Prestidigitator, her dark eyes shining. He himself said nothing, pretending to be absorbed by the flickering images of his mirror. In the background, the last of the vipers died their fiery death. She carefully peeled off one of her opera gloves, sparing one last glance for her leader. With a swift turn of the head she cast the glove the ground and was swallowed by the shadows.
Unseen to anyone, the Prestidigitator’s hands were shaking.
From the gloom an elderly man in a ox mask emerged. He seemed hesitant. Third’s gaze fell upon the now shuddering form of the Prestidigitator, who ran a hand through this hair and swallowed. He held the pocket watch out towards Ox with one quivering hand, speaking with a muted voice that did little to betray his obvious distress.
“Take the pocket watch. Commit the loser’s soul. Don’t tell Victoria. Not a word. She can’t know. She can’t know about any of the things I have discussed with you.”
Third took it wordlessly, and he too was engulfed by the shadows moments later.
The Prestidigitator stared, unseeing, into the mirror a few moments later. When he finally stirred he glanced wildly around the once again empty room, and strode towards the brandy. Quaking hands poured himself a drink. It was downed in seconds. His gaze wandered.
He reached for the cane. And then the room was empty.
Afterparty peeled itself away in twisting and curling ribbons, sleekly scratched away from view to reveal a darkness that seemed to press against the eyes and skin of all who witnessed it. The combatants were frozen in place in the crushing dark and raging silence, saved only by their faint rasps of breath.
In the distance, some began to notice faint glimmers in the void. They slid forward, sharpening into blazing pinpricks of light as they approached ever closer. At some point a blur of white appeared above these dashes of luminosity, sharpening into a blazing white mask. The darkness lurking in the eyeholes of the red-engraved mask glittered. A low chuckle, and a bobbing glint on a narrow blade as the display moved ever closer.
Someone snapped their fingers. And there was light. Harsh, sterile light slamming a spotlight on was unmistakably the Prestidigitator. Despite all the illumination, the light shot down from above only served to darken his features even more. He shifted the bare cane sword rested over his shoulder (the other half of the contraption held loosely in a gloved hand), coughed politely, and spoke.
“Well played, combatants. You surprised me. I wasn’t aware anyone in such a situation would have found it possible to build up so great an animosity in such a meager measure of time.” His smirk was just visible from under the gratuitous shadows falling over his face. “Although much of it managed to achieve remarkably little, you did surpass yourselves in managing to kill one of your number. Almost two. A few seconds quicker and, well. You can imagine, I suppose. Sadly, this is not the end of the road. Your aggressive floundering will not go unspent just yet.”
The arm grasping the cane sword dropped languidly, eliciting a sharp scratch as the tip brushed whatever they were standing on. The darkness crumbled at the noise, as if the frail reality could stand no more of the relentless pressure such sounds exerted.
And in place of the darkness, there was light. Golden, buttery sunlight that cleaved through the monochrome world they had briefly inhabited. This new place was predominately pale marble, lit up brilliantly by the cloudless summer afternoon. Some would recognize its styling and architecture to be that of a manor house. It’s doubtful they could have placed an era, but the extravagance was plain to see in every inch of the décor, from the astronomical Biblical paintings that graced numerous ceilings to the golden metalwork that curled around every candle and every mirror. It screamed of money, and old money at that.
But for all the perfection of the building, the lack of dust or dereliction, not a single sound could be heard. A glance outside would reveal no birds or other wildlife, but you could have kidded yourself that you just couldn’t hear them. You would also have ignored the open window that did nothing to allay the eerie quiet.
The Prestidigitator’s voice boomed from within the contestants very skulls, as if it was afraid to breach the silence that seemed to have accumulated like dust. It reached them all, regardless of their frozen forms being scattered throughout the immense interior of the house.
“Welcome to your second location. The rules are as much the same as in the first, I’m afraid. One person dies, you leave this place. And if you’re wondering, or wish to enquire as to the location of the pirate’s toy, I gave it to a friend who lives here. She’s a charming little girl. It was a terrible shame… she went swimming in the lake and never came back. Never even broke the surface again, not after that day, and never would she breath air again.”
His voice trailed off, but whether this was due to a reverie or an end to the talking was an answer left to the imagination. Either way, no more sound was left echoing around the contestants minds, and they were left to the golden silence again.
The Prestidigitator broke his gaze from the shattered mirror on his wall. The Composer had left, but the deals that had slipped so freely into the open could just as well have burned the very air. He glanced at a viper’s nest that had sprung up from his extraordinary wine, but they merely writhed and slithered. Mindless animals. He watched them for a moment longer, but it offered no insight. He sighed, drawing a match from under one lapel , hissing before it burst aflame. The Prestidigitator briefly savoured the flicker before calmly dropping it among the creatures.
“Prestidigitator?”
He didn’t reply, choosing instead to absentmindedly slip a pocket watch free of it’s hiding place in his suit’s jacket. It hung before him, glinting and winking and promising of many things that it’s engraved golden surface hid. He smiled at the intake of breath from behind him.
“Victoria,” he stated, turning to face her. She attempted to smother her expression under a blank face and a pale mask, but her eyes betrayed her as they burned and stared at that glinting gold.
“The round-“
He turned back to the mirror.
“Is finished. It is unfortunate to be out of the wager so early into this experiment, but at least I can lavish my attention on other… projects.” He passed a hand over the eyes of his mask, sighing. “The contestants are frozen at the point of death, correct?”
“Of course.” She sounded a little hurt, and ceased her staring to sweep herself towards the flickering hearth of the fireplace. “Although it should be noted that the astral projection was picked up on towards the later part of the round. Stronger measures are required-“
The Prestidigitator waved an impatient hand.
“We discussed all this in great length. Bring me Third. For all his insolence he still has more initiative than you could ever display.”
The room fell into a hushed silence. Victoria’s eyes bore into the suited back of the Prestidigitator, her dark eyes shining. He himself said nothing, pretending to be absorbed by the flickering images of his mirror. In the background, the last of the vipers died their fiery death. She carefully peeled off one of her opera gloves, sparing one last glance for her leader. With a swift turn of the head she cast the glove the ground and was swallowed by the shadows.
Unseen to anyone, the Prestidigitator’s hands were shaking.
From the gloom an elderly man in a ox mask emerged. He seemed hesitant. Third’s gaze fell upon the now shuddering form of the Prestidigitator, who ran a hand through this hair and swallowed. He held the pocket watch out towards Ox with one quivering hand, speaking with a muted voice that did little to betray his obvious distress.
“Take the pocket watch. Commit the loser’s soul. Don’t tell Victoria. Not a word. She can’t know. She can’t know about any of the things I have discussed with you.”
Third took it wordlessly, and he too was engulfed by the shadows moments later.
The Prestidigitator stared, unseeing, into the mirror a few moments later. When he finally stirred he glanced wildly around the once again empty room, and strode towards the brandy. Quaking hands poured himself a drink. It was downed in seconds. His gaze wandered.
He reached for the cane. And then the room was empty.
Afterparty peeled itself away in twisting and curling ribbons, sleekly scratched away from view to reveal a darkness that seemed to press against the eyes and skin of all who witnessed it. The combatants were frozen in place in the crushing dark and raging silence, saved only by their faint rasps of breath.
In the distance, some began to notice faint glimmers in the void. They slid forward, sharpening into blazing pinpricks of light as they approached ever closer. At some point a blur of white appeared above these dashes of luminosity, sharpening into a blazing white mask. The darkness lurking in the eyeholes of the red-engraved mask glittered. A low chuckle, and a bobbing glint on a narrow blade as the display moved ever closer.
Someone snapped their fingers. And there was light. Harsh, sterile light slamming a spotlight on was unmistakably the Prestidigitator. Despite all the illumination, the light shot down from above only served to darken his features even more. He shifted the bare cane sword rested over his shoulder (the other half of the contraption held loosely in a gloved hand), coughed politely, and spoke.
“Well played, combatants. You surprised me. I wasn’t aware anyone in such a situation would have found it possible to build up so great an animosity in such a meager measure of time.” His smirk was just visible from under the gratuitous shadows falling over his face. “Although much of it managed to achieve remarkably little, you did surpass yourselves in managing to kill one of your number. Almost two. A few seconds quicker and, well. You can imagine, I suppose. Sadly, this is not the end of the road. Your aggressive floundering will not go unspent just yet.”
The arm grasping the cane sword dropped languidly, eliciting a sharp scratch as the tip brushed whatever they were standing on. The darkness crumbled at the noise, as if the frail reality could stand no more of the relentless pressure such sounds exerted.
And in place of the darkness, there was light. Golden, buttery sunlight that cleaved through the monochrome world they had briefly inhabited. This new place was predominately pale marble, lit up brilliantly by the cloudless summer afternoon. Some would recognize its styling and architecture to be that of a manor house. It’s doubtful they could have placed an era, but the extravagance was plain to see in every inch of the décor, from the astronomical Biblical paintings that graced numerous ceilings to the golden metalwork that curled around every candle and every mirror. It screamed of money, and old money at that.
But for all the perfection of the building, the lack of dust or dereliction, not a single sound could be heard. A glance outside would reveal no birds or other wildlife, but you could have kidded yourself that you just couldn’t hear them. You would also have ignored the open window that did nothing to allay the eerie quiet.
The Prestidigitator’s voice boomed from within the contestants very skulls, as if it was afraid to breach the silence that seemed to have accumulated like dust. It reached them all, regardless of their frozen forms being scattered throughout the immense interior of the house.
“Welcome to your second location. The rules are as much the same as in the first, I’m afraid. One person dies, you leave this place. And if you’re wondering, or wish to enquire as to the location of the pirate’s toy, I gave it to a friend who lives here. She’s a charming little girl. It was a terrible shame… she went swimming in the lake and never came back. Never even broke the surface again, not after that day, and never would she breath air again.”
His voice trailed off, but whether this was due to a reverie or an end to the talking was an answer left to the imagination. Either way, no more sound was left echoing around the contestants minds, and they were left to the golden silence again.