Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 2: Prospect Creek]
10-04-2010, 09:19 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.
“Well,” Timothy was muttering, “if we don't find a way out of the gas soon, it won't make a difference whether you'll die without your books.” He might have said something else, but Wardell tuned him out.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">“It hurts,” Carrie groaned. “My stomach...”
“That passes,” Miss Desjardin said. Pity and self-shame met in her and mixed uneasily. “You have to... uh, stop the flow of blood. You-”
There was a bright flash overhead, followed by a flashgun-like pop as a lightbulb sizzled and went out. Miss Desjardin cried out with surprise, and it occurred to her
(the whole damn place is falling in)
that this might obviously foreshadow a plot point for later in the book, when[/spoiler]
...Wait, what? Wardell blinked a few times, unsure if he had read that correctly.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">There was a bright flash overhead, followed by a flashgun-like pop as a lightbulb sizzled and went out. Miss Desjardin cried out with surprise, and it occurred to her
(KILL THE DOORMAN)
that this kind of thing always seemed to happen around Carrie when she was upset, as if-[/spoiler]
Wardell looked around, taking a few deep breaths. He adjusted the scarf over his nose and mouth. If I'm not imagining things, he reasoned, and this is a hallucination caused by the gas, then the text will change when I look at it again. He spent a moment staring into space, giving the book a chance to change. He looked just about anywhere except where Timothy was standing. Once he had more-or-less memorized the patterns in the woodwork, he opened his book again.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">There was a light ceiling overhead, followed by a corn-like pop as the bacon sizzled and went out. Miss Desgarden cried out with surprise, and I kind of got lost in her eyes
(Do you want to fight, bitch?)
It was a dark and stormy DAY. I had left the dryer turned on, dryer turned on, dryer turned on--[/spoiler]
Wardell threw his copy of Carrie to the floor, his swearing unintelligible through his scarf. Agitated letters skittered from the pages like ants, leaving inky trails behind. Timothy paid no attention.
“Will you stop that,” he demanded. “Wardell, you're hallucinating. Ignoring it and reading isn't going to change that.”
“I'm not hallucinating,” Wardell murmured, staring at his hands.
...Well, his free hand, anyway. He was already gripping another hardcover. Nervous habit.
“You don't know tha-”
“I feel fine,” Wardell interrupted, “I just-”
“He's right, you know,” Wardell's scarf offered.
They simultaneously fell silent, and turned to stare at his scarf. Timothy did a double-take. He wasn't looking at the scarf.
“Wardell, did you just hear that?”
“Of course I heard it,” Wardell snapped.
“I heard it too.”
“So? Why would-” Wardell froze as he started to respond. He nodded thoughtfully, pretending to understand, then realized with a start what Timothy was talking about. “If it's a hallucination, then why did both of us hear it?”
“I'm right here, you know,” muttered the scarf, clearly insulted. “I can hear every word you're saying.”
Outside, the Photographer rolled onto his side, breathing laboriously in his sleep.
The room suddenly buckled and collapsed inwards. The ceiling bulged, straining the supports as the floor contracted. A garish yellow clock that hadn't been there a moment ago crashed to the floor, shattering its faceplate. The table recoiled in surprise, scattering a fine Yixing tea set. An unfortunate teacup cracked against the floor and began to roll towards the center of the room. Timothy and Wardell watched, speechless, as the small clay cup rolled faster and faster down the ever-increasing incline.
Once it reached the middle of the floor, the teacup spun and wobbled neatly onto its base.
...And the floor promptly split open under its meager weight.
Floorboards drained like liquid into an inky void that now occupied the middle of the floor. The wooden planks shattered off of the walls, revealing pale yellow walls and some bay windows with a view of the ocean. The ceiling pinched inwards, splintering a crossbeam.
Wardell dropped his book.
Sensing danger, a rafter shook free of its bulging supports and clambered for the door like an enormous stick insect. The room contorted and caved in a bit more, trapping the rafter in place. Timothy ignored its groans and steadied himself against it as he tried to climb his way towards the door, which was slowly rising out of reach. Floorboards loosened and slid away with each footstep. Wardell's scarf flicked out and gripped the rafter for a moment as it pulled its wearer fringe-over-fringe towards the door. “It's okay,” the scarf announced. “We can make it!”
“Don't talk!” Wardell replied, horrified.
Timothy made up a prayer under his breath as he reached for the doorknob. It promptly skittered out of reach at his touch. The scarf wrapped its fringe around Timothy's wrist and pulled free of Wardell's neck, giving it the extra reach it needed to catch the doorknob and wrench it open. Timothy climbed through, followed by Wardell, who had been clinging to a vertical table. As he let go, it fell away into the void just as it reached the wall. On the far side of the room, several hundred feet away, floorboards fell away in ever-increasing ripples. There was a distant crack as the last of the floor broke off and fell away into the infinite blackness. The room was almost crushed into nothingness at this point, and as the rafter finally snapped, the walls slammed shut like a beartrap.
The two highly-unusual thieves ducked under the counter, which was now bobbing against the ceiling, and pulled the door open, revealing a brick wall. Wardell threw a hefty novel through the window, and they climbed through as the ceiling fell into the abyss, allowing water to spill over the walls and start to flood the room.
Just moments after they made it out, the building twisted violently and shriveled into the ground. Timothy checked himself for glass cuts, and Wardell sat down heavily on a nearby television, exhausted.
“We did it!” chirped the scarf.
Wardell grabbed it by the fringe. “DON'T.”
“Well,” Timothy was muttering, “if we don't find a way out of the gas soon, it won't make a difference whether you'll die without your books.” He might have said something else, but Wardell tuned him out.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">“It hurts,” Carrie groaned. “My stomach...”
“That passes,” Miss Desjardin said. Pity and self-shame met in her and mixed uneasily. “You have to... uh, stop the flow of blood. You-”
There was a bright flash overhead, followed by a flashgun-like pop as a lightbulb sizzled and went out. Miss Desjardin cried out with surprise, and it occurred to her
(the whole damn place is falling in)
that this might obviously foreshadow a plot point for later in the book, when[/spoiler]
...Wait, what? Wardell blinked a few times, unsure if he had read that correctly.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">There was a bright flash overhead, followed by a flashgun-like pop as a lightbulb sizzled and went out. Miss Desjardin cried out with surprise, and it occurred to her
(KILL THE DOORMAN)
that this kind of thing always seemed to happen around Carrie when she was upset, as if-[/spoiler]
Wardell looked around, taking a few deep breaths. He adjusted the scarf over his nose and mouth. If I'm not imagining things, he reasoned, and this is a hallucination caused by the gas, then the text will change when I look at it again. He spent a moment staring into space, giving the book a chance to change. He looked just about anywhere except where Timothy was standing. Once he had more-or-less memorized the patterns in the woodwork, he opened his book again.
<div style="margin-left:40px"><div style="margin-left:40px">There was a light ceiling overhead, followed by a corn-like pop as the bacon sizzled and went out. Miss Desgarden cried out with surprise, and I kind of got lost in her eyes
(Do you want to fight, bitch?)
It was a dark and stormy DAY. I had left the dryer turned on, dryer turned on, dryer turned on--[/spoiler]
Wardell threw his copy of Carrie to the floor, his swearing unintelligible through his scarf. Agitated letters skittered from the pages like ants, leaving inky trails behind. Timothy paid no attention.
“Will you stop that,” he demanded. “Wardell, you're hallucinating. Ignoring it and reading isn't going to change that.”
“I'm not hallucinating,” Wardell murmured, staring at his hands.
...Well, his free hand, anyway. He was already gripping another hardcover. Nervous habit.
“You don't know tha-”
“I feel fine,” Wardell interrupted, “I just-”
“He's right, you know,” Wardell's scarf offered.
They simultaneously fell silent, and turned to stare at his scarf. Timothy did a double-take. He wasn't looking at the scarf.
“Wardell, did you just hear that?”
“Of course I heard it,” Wardell snapped.
“I heard it too.”
“So? Why would-” Wardell froze as he started to respond. He nodded thoughtfully, pretending to understand, then realized with a start what Timothy was talking about. “If it's a hallucination, then why did both of us hear it?”
“I'm right here, you know,” muttered the scarf, clearly insulted. “I can hear every word you're saying.”
Outside, the Photographer rolled onto his side, breathing laboriously in his sleep.
The room suddenly buckled and collapsed inwards. The ceiling bulged, straining the supports as the floor contracted. A garish yellow clock that hadn't been there a moment ago crashed to the floor, shattering its faceplate. The table recoiled in surprise, scattering a fine Yixing tea set. An unfortunate teacup cracked against the floor and began to roll towards the center of the room. Timothy and Wardell watched, speechless, as the small clay cup rolled faster and faster down the ever-increasing incline.
Once it reached the middle of the floor, the teacup spun and wobbled neatly onto its base.
...And the floor promptly split open under its meager weight.
Floorboards drained like liquid into an inky void that now occupied the middle of the floor. The wooden planks shattered off of the walls, revealing pale yellow walls and some bay windows with a view of the ocean. The ceiling pinched inwards, splintering a crossbeam.
Wardell dropped his book.
Sensing danger, a rafter shook free of its bulging supports and clambered for the door like an enormous stick insect. The room contorted and caved in a bit more, trapping the rafter in place. Timothy ignored its groans and steadied himself against it as he tried to climb his way towards the door, which was slowly rising out of reach. Floorboards loosened and slid away with each footstep. Wardell's scarf flicked out and gripped the rafter for a moment as it pulled its wearer fringe-over-fringe towards the door. “It's okay,” the scarf announced. “We can make it!”
“Don't talk!” Wardell replied, horrified.
Timothy made up a prayer under his breath as he reached for the doorknob. It promptly skittered out of reach at his touch. The scarf wrapped its fringe around Timothy's wrist and pulled free of Wardell's neck, giving it the extra reach it needed to catch the doorknob and wrench it open. Timothy climbed through, followed by Wardell, who had been clinging to a vertical table. As he let go, it fell away into the void just as it reached the wall. On the far side of the room, several hundred feet away, floorboards fell away in ever-increasing ripples. There was a distant crack as the last of the floor broke off and fell away into the infinite blackness. The room was almost crushed into nothingness at this point, and as the rafter finally snapped, the walls slammed shut like a beartrap.
The two highly-unusual thieves ducked under the counter, which was now bobbing against the ceiling, and pulled the door open, revealing a brick wall. Wardell threw a hefty novel through the window, and they climbed through as the ceiling fell into the abyss, allowing water to spill over the walls and start to flood the room.
Just moments after they made it out, the building twisted violently and shriveled into the ground. Timothy checked himself for glass cuts, and Wardell sat down heavily on a nearby television, exhausted.
“We did it!” chirped the scarf.
Wardell grabbed it by the fringe. “DON'T.”