Re: Journal of Sociology [S!6] - [Round One: The Pacific Spire]
05-21-2012, 01:11 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
“Going up?”
For a little while, all that registered in Elise’s mind was a sort of stunned shock. For all the panicked hurrying and bedlam in the floor behind her, the elevator was… overwhelmingly calm. Her mind tried to reconcile the sudden shift in tone, but failed to do so, leaving her in a half-collapsed state of stupefied silence. The elevator whirred to life, and continued on its way.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes.’ then.”
Elise blinked once, twice. Suddenly, she realized that there was a vaguely attractive young man leaning against the opposite wall, staring at her, studying her.
“Um,” she said, straightening herself out, trying to look taller or less freaked out or something. “Yeah. I am, I am going up.”
He chuckled a bit at that, smiled. The eyes were still on her, following contours and patterns and degrees and really the whole thing was sort of unsettling. It was the sort of thing she’d see the infected do, a predatory glare, preparing for something, something. But, somehow, he was familiar in another way. Like she’d seen him before.
“What’s with the suit, by the way?” He said, staring at her mask, the birdlike beak glinting in the clinical light. “I haven’t ever seen a costume like that.”
“It’s, uh, it’s…” she began, before trailing off. Something about that guy gave her the serious creeps. She adjusted her gloves a bit. He was wearing gloves, too. Why would a man in office attire be wearing gloves?
Another floor whizzed by.
“So?” he said. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“I-I’m a doctor,” she replied. “I wear this so I won’t, so I won’t get infected.”
“Oh,” he said, shifting his eyes up to the ceiling. “You learn something new every day, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“That’s why I was, staring, though,” his eyes flicked back down, met her gaze. “Your outfit.”
“Oh,” she said. That made sense. That made sense.
“What’s your name, by the way?”
“Elise. Yours?”
“Chuck,” he replied, pointing to the nametag stuck over his heart. “Chuck O’Hanlon.”
“You don’t look like a Chuck,” Elise said, allowing herself a small smile.
He didn’t, though. He didn’t look like a Chuck.
“You’d be surprised how often I get that,” his smile matched hers perfectly, almost designed to foster well-being. He wasn’t that bad, was he? She must’ve been imagining things. She was imagining things.
“Say,” he continued. “Have you ever stared into the emptiness of the void?”
ding! bapbapbapthunk
Suddenly, a man was in the elevator with them. He turned around slowly, eyes big, sort of overwhelmed, and managed to let out a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi, there,” Elise replied. She recognized him as one of those, one of those two guys from the introductions. She quietly fumbled with the crossbow, holstered behind her. Better safe then sorry. “What’s your name?”
“Blake,” he replied. “I’m Blake. What’s—”
And that’s when Blake turned a bit, and realized Nemo was pointing a gun. At his head.
“Uh,” the Magic Co worker said, incredulous, blinking rapidly. “Uh.”
The crossbow was already out, and leveled at Nemo’s throat. “What the hell, Chuck! Put the gun down!”
He seemed to be just as surprised as they were. He stared at it for a long while, like it was some sort of strange growth, a sickly mess of flesh and metal that needed to be removed. Eventually, he got his mouth moving again.
“I, uh. Sorry. You surprised me.” The gun was still out.
“Then, then put the gun down, Chuck,” Elise replied. “You’re not doing anyone any good by pointing it at Mr. Blake over here. Put it down.”
“No,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wait. I mean. Yes.” The gun was still out.
“Chuck,” she said. “Could you please. put. your weapon. down.”
“Yeah, of course!” he wet his lips. “Not an issue. Nope. Nuh-uh.” The gun was still out.
“I don’t want to have to fire this crossbow. I really don’t. But I’m going to have to if you keep pointing it at Blake, ok?”
Finally, arm straight out, he dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor. Elise grabbed it without a second thought, handed it to Mr. Richards.
“Keep this pointed at him, ok?” she said. “Shoot him if he tries anything.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Elise,” Nemo said, smile washing over him. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just a little spooked, you know? It’s a warzone out there.”
“No offence, Chuck,” Elise said, turning to him. “You come off as a bit of a creep.”
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Get off the elevator. Next stop.”
“No, I’m serious, Elise,” he said, smile almost painful. “I want to be your friend. I really do.”
“Get off of the elevator,” she said, “I-I think I know where I know you from.”
The smile vanished.
“Do you, Elise Pestarztyn.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Um,” Blake interjected. “Who is he?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know my name, but she knows. She knows the bare minimum,” the grin returned, this one somehow more genuine. “You’re clever, Elise.”
“What are you planning to do?” she said, muscles tense, crossbow ready, eyes looking straight into his.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nemo replied with a shrug. “I tend to just wing it. I like winging it. It makes me feel spontaneous.”
“I mean,” he continued, becoming more relaxed, more himself, more something. “I could kill you, distract you, disarm you, splash piss on you, comply to you, heck I could even romance you. Wouldn’t that be exciting! A high-speed elevator romance at gunpoint.”
“Really, I can do anything,” his voice was growing quicker, more excited, more enthralled. “I’m free. I have total freedom. It’s just so clear. Everything is more clear when you’re free. In fact—”
And with this, Nemo kicked his foot up, slamming it into Blake’s hand, knocking it, force bringing the gun up, out, flinging it in an arc, an oval arc just scraping against the ceiling and at the apex it was just hanging there as all the kinetic energy became potential energy, spin-spin-spinning, obsidian black glinting as gravity began to take hold and it slowly descend to earth and then quicker and quicker and quicker and then catch.
An arrow logged itself in the wall. It was about two inches from Nemo’s neck.
“See, the thing about arrows,” Nemo said, as he leveled the gun at Elise. “Is that they are slower than bullets. Please put the crossbow down.”
She grimaced, staring into his eyes, looking for any kind of oversight or weakness. But she relented, and placed the weapon on the floor.
“I guess you got me, Chuck.”
“Call me Nemo. It fits better.”
“Going up?”
For a little while, all that registered in Elise’s mind was a sort of stunned shock. For all the panicked hurrying and bedlam in the floor behind her, the elevator was… overwhelmingly calm. Her mind tried to reconcile the sudden shift in tone, but failed to do so, leaving her in a half-collapsed state of stupefied silence. The elevator whirred to life, and continued on its way.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes.’ then.”
Elise blinked once, twice. Suddenly, she realized that there was a vaguely attractive young man leaning against the opposite wall, staring at her, studying her.
“Um,” she said, straightening herself out, trying to look taller or less freaked out or something. “Yeah. I am, I am going up.”
He chuckled a bit at that, smiled. The eyes were still on her, following contours and patterns and degrees and really the whole thing was sort of unsettling. It was the sort of thing she’d see the infected do, a predatory glare, preparing for something, something. But, somehow, he was familiar in another way. Like she’d seen him before.
“What’s with the suit, by the way?” He said, staring at her mask, the birdlike beak glinting in the clinical light. “I haven’t ever seen a costume like that.”
“It’s, uh, it’s…” she began, before trailing off. Something about that guy gave her the serious creeps. She adjusted her gloves a bit. He was wearing gloves, too. Why would a man in office attire be wearing gloves?
Another floor whizzed by.
“So?” he said. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“I-I’m a doctor,” she replied. “I wear this so I won’t, so I won’t get infected.”
“Oh,” he said, shifting his eyes up to the ceiling. “You learn something new every day, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“That’s why I was, staring, though,” his eyes flicked back down, met her gaze. “Your outfit.”
“Oh,” she said. That made sense. That made sense.
“What’s your name, by the way?”
“Elise. Yours?”
“Chuck,” he replied, pointing to the nametag stuck over his heart. “Chuck O’Hanlon.”
“You don’t look like a Chuck,” Elise said, allowing herself a small smile.
He didn’t, though. He didn’t look like a Chuck.
“You’d be surprised how often I get that,” his smile matched hers perfectly, almost designed to foster well-being. He wasn’t that bad, was he? She must’ve been imagining things. She was imagining things.
“Say,” he continued. “Have you ever stared into the emptiness of the void?”
ding! bapbapbapthunk
Suddenly, a man was in the elevator with them. He turned around slowly, eyes big, sort of overwhelmed, and managed to let out a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi, there,” Elise replied. She recognized him as one of those, one of those two guys from the introductions. She quietly fumbled with the crossbow, holstered behind her. Better safe then sorry. “What’s your name?”
“Blake,” he replied. “I’m Blake. What’s—”
And that’s when Blake turned a bit, and realized Nemo was pointing a gun. At his head.
“Uh,” the Magic Co worker said, incredulous, blinking rapidly. “Uh.”
The crossbow was already out, and leveled at Nemo’s throat. “What the hell, Chuck! Put the gun down!”
He seemed to be just as surprised as they were. He stared at it for a long while, like it was some sort of strange growth, a sickly mess of flesh and metal that needed to be removed. Eventually, he got his mouth moving again.
“I, uh. Sorry. You surprised me.” The gun was still out.
“Then, then put the gun down, Chuck,” Elise replied. “You’re not doing anyone any good by pointing it at Mr. Blake over here. Put it down.”
“No,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wait. I mean. Yes.” The gun was still out.
“Chuck,” she said. “Could you please. put. your weapon. down.”
“Yeah, of course!” he wet his lips. “Not an issue. Nope. Nuh-uh.” The gun was still out.
“I don’t want to have to fire this crossbow. I really don’t. But I’m going to have to if you keep pointing it at Blake, ok?”
Finally, arm straight out, he dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor. Elise grabbed it without a second thought, handed it to Mr. Richards.
“Keep this pointed at him, ok?” she said. “Shoot him if he tries anything.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Elise,” Nemo said, smile washing over him. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just a little spooked, you know? It’s a warzone out there.”
“No offence, Chuck,” Elise said, turning to him. “You come off as a bit of a creep.”
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Get off the elevator. Next stop.”
“No, I’m serious, Elise,” he said, smile almost painful. “I want to be your friend. I really do.”
“Get off of the elevator,” she said, “I-I think I know where I know you from.”
The smile vanished.
“Do you, Elise Pestarztyn.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Um,” Blake interjected. “Who is he?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know my name, but she knows. She knows the bare minimum,” the grin returned, this one somehow more genuine. “You’re clever, Elise.”
“What are you planning to do?” she said, muscles tense, crossbow ready, eyes looking straight into his.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nemo replied with a shrug. “I tend to just wing it. I like winging it. It makes me feel spontaneous.”
“I mean,” he continued, becoming more relaxed, more himself, more something. “I could kill you, distract you, disarm you, splash piss on you, comply to you, heck I could even romance you. Wouldn’t that be exciting! A high-speed elevator romance at gunpoint.”
“Really, I can do anything,” his voice was growing quicker, more excited, more enthralled. “I’m free. I have total freedom. It’s just so clear. Everything is more clear when you’re free. In fact—”
And with this, Nemo kicked his foot up, slamming it into Blake’s hand, knocking it, force bringing the gun up, out, flinging it in an arc, an oval arc just scraping against the ceiling and at the apex it was just hanging there as all the kinetic energy became potential energy, spin-spin-spinning, obsidian black glinting as gravity began to take hold and it slowly descend to earth and then quicker and quicker and quicker and then catch.
An arrow logged itself in the wall. It was about two inches from Nemo’s neck.
“See, the thing about arrows,” Nemo said, as he leveled the gun at Elise. “Is that they are slower than bullets. Please put the crossbow down.”
She grimaced, staring into his eyes, looking for any kind of oversight or weakness. But she relented, and placed the weapon on the floor.
“I guess you got me, Chuck.”
“Call me Nemo. It fits better.”