Fievel's Works - May/07/10 - Which Way Is Left? Ch. 21

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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Fievel » Fri Nov 06, 2009 5:57 pm

He's infiltrating a bank, to put it simply, except it has an excessive amount of security.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Doctress Who » Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:18 pm

Ok. You might want to make that a bit clearer in the last portion of the story you posted - after the chapter about the school, I got confused and thought it was still set in the same place.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Fievel » Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:22 pm

Oh, wait. He's in the capital building in Canada. I just remembered, and it was in the last post of the first chapter, which is the third section with the story.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Doctress Who » Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:36 pm

Ah, I see. Well, since there is a break between him arriving at the capital building and the infiltration, it might help just to give the readers a small reminder of where he is as you continue the story - particularly as you've switched from one scene (the capital building) to another (the school), and then back again.
- It only needs to be a small mention, just to remind the reader, after returning to the scene, where the character is at that point.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Fievel » Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:40 pm

Well, I originally meant to place either Ferrik or Mr. Stevenson's name before the chapter number. Ferrik's story takes place entirely in the school and its dormitories, and Mr. Stevenson is all over Canada. I should probably start adding that in now. And remember, one story is in the present (Stevenson), and the other is in the future (Ferrik). Stevenson is going to be in the capital building for a bit longer, though.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Doctress Who » Fri Nov 06, 2009 6:53 pm

Fievel wrote:Well, I originally meant to place either Ferrik or Mr. Stevenson's name before the chapter number. Ferrik's story takes place entirely in the school and its dormitories, and Mr. Stevenson is all over Canada. I should probably start adding that in now. And remember, one story is in the present (Stevenson), and the other is in the future (Ferrik).

Yep, that definitely needs to be made clearer. I think putting the character and the time (future/present) before the chapter number is a good idea, particularly if you are going to go back and forth between the two frequently.
But as for the story itself, I'm liking it so far.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.3

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 1:42 am

This is going to be quite long...
-----------------------------------QEFFAL
Ch. 2- Enter The Monitors
-----------------------------------
“What do you think about yesterday’s shooting, Chuckles?” Envidi asked in a serious manner.

“I’m glad that kid was shot, that bastard owed me some money, and if he hadn’t been shot, I would’ve done the shooting myself, with the help of my trusty revolver, of course,” Prescott responded.

“What do you think about the discovery of drugs in that student’s locker?” Envidi asked with slight ire evident in his tone.

“Give me some,” answered Prescott.

“What do you think about the woman who was raped yesterday in the afternoon?” Envidi asked with annoyance.

“Wish I could’ve been there. She wouldn’t have classified it as rape if I were there,” replied Prescott.

“What should we do about the broken windows?” Envidi asked irritably.

“Nothing. Now I can get in the building without having to remember the damn PIN,” said Prescott.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you out the window again,” Envidi demanded.

“The three hours aren’t up yet,” replied Prescott.

“Do you have any last words?” asked Envidi.

“Get me some more whiskey,” responded Prescott.

“See you tomorrow,” said Envidi.

“I didn’t get my whiskey yet,” Prescott yelled, crashing through the window, shattering the glass as his body pressed against the thin sheet of clear glass. Blood and glass scattered about and the blood that remained on the unbroken glass slowly trickled down, leaving only drying, red lines behind.

“Go to hell,” Envidi concluded, turning back towards the door, sighing in disgust as he twisted the door handle and exited Chuckle’s office. The principal was lying down, bloody and unconscious, on the warm concrete tiles, though his unconsciousness was due to drunkenness, and not injury.

Envidi returned to his cherry wood table and stared intently at the nearly empty calendar that lay before him, with only one date circled that represented the start of the school year, which had occurred a few weeks prior. His datebook also lay nearby, but the entries were intentionally vague so as to prevent any pests or blackmailers from being able to trail him throughout the day and use that information against him, not that he did anything that would diminish his reputation without the necessary precautions. The amethyst lamp sitting on the table contrasted heavily with its surroundings, as it was the only piece in the entire room that was from the cubist furniture set that Envidi made certain he removed from the office, judging the style to be unorganized and chaotic in general, only leaving the lamp because the replacement had yet to arrive.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a young girl whose hair glimmered like the sun and was slightly more orange than the color of a peach. Her attire consisted almost entirely of white, with khaki pants and two khaki-colored belts going across her chest diagonally. On her hands were gunmetal grey gloves with a white patch across the back of her hand, with gold buttons holding the patches to the rest of the glove. The inside of her shirt was jet black, which could be easily seen, as her outfit was too large for her. Small, circular glasses with green rims that matched her eyes rested on the tip of her nose, leaving whether or not she actually required them for her to see solely up to speculation.

“Ah, Gwen, I’m glad you’ve come. As I’m sure you are aware, they are playing Hotel California in the halls again. I’m certain that you understand what this means.”

“The hall monitors have begun their daily hunt for fresh prey,” answered Gwen immediately.

“Precisely. Although I expect you to have expected this, Persey has become incapacitated, and is no longer capable of executing his obligatory duty,” he said, placing emphasis on Persey’s obligation. “As such, though I know you’ve been working hard these past few days, we need you to take up this duty for an additional day.”

“I understand, and I accept. I will begin immediately.”

“Very good. We’ll be certain to reward you for your continued assistance,” he added after a second thought.

Gwen exited Envidi’s office and proceeded to travel towards her locker, where she stored the equipment she would require to carry out her duty.

-----------------
Ferrik and Thomas had been making a frantic dash through the halls, knowing full well that discovery would result in a number of increasingly dissatisfying situations, all of which the duo were hoping to avoid. Thomas tripped and slid across the floor, and Ferrik momentarily stopped to help him up, but then he noticed that he was beginning to see people. One of them stepped out into the main hallway just as Thomas was back on his feet.

“Stop where you are! Reveal to me your passes,” shouted the hallway monitor.

Thinking quickly, Ferrik nudged Thomas in the direction of the corridor closest to them and he began, “They’re in our pockets, just let me reach in the—“

He immediately turned to run the instant the monitor lowered his weapon, which gave him and Thomas just enough time to turn around the corner. In a few seconds, the monitor would catch up to them, and they would almost certainly be horribly maimed, if not killed, and others were quickly approaching, as the pitter-patter of increasingly louder footsteps were quickly congregating on either side of the hallway.

“Yo, Ferrik! What do we do now?” asked Thomas, unable to focus enough to be able to formulate a suitable solution.

“Just open the nearest door and run in,” said Ferrik, twisting the handle of the fourth door in the hallway.

They slammed the door and immediately began scavenging the area for anything that was large and sensible enough to use for blocking, resulting in the rearrangement of many desks and chairs, as well as a lone television monitor that hung in the corner for no apparent reason. The tall pile of what could now be considered art by some now completely enveloped the doorway and the room’s entrance in darkness, and to complete the image, Thomas hung the poster of the cat with the caption, “Hang in there,” on top of the mound school furniture.

“Do try not to be too idiotic, Thomas. It decreases the already small amount of respect I still hold for you.”

“Hey, shut up, Ferrik. It adds to the total weight of the mass of jumbled desks,” said Thomas in defense.

“I didn’t say that, Thomas,” said Ferrik, twisting his head in the direction of the corner of the room.

A white-haired young man was leaning against the corner, with his arms folded and his eyes suggested that he had been sleeping only a moment earlier. His jacket was grey, with black lines around the collar and towards the ends of the arms and a white spade across the front. He was wearing comfortably fitting white pants with nothing truly exceptional aside from the many zippers on either leg.

“Salutations, friends. What brings you to these parts?”

“Mackwell? What are you doing here?” asked Ferrik, perplexed.

“Can’t you come up with something else? I mean, you said the same thing when you encountered me outside,” said Thomas, hanging a lampshade on the massive heap of wood and metal.

“I’m fairly certain that now is not the time for that,” asserted Ferrik.

“Well, Mack… Why are you here?” inquired Thomas.

“Cleaning my wig, what the hell do you think, you sack of dog’s bollocks” responded Mackwell, fairly annoyed by the query. “And why the bloody hell are you wearing a trench coat with a plaid shirt that looks like it belongs on a Scotsman’s kilt. Not to mention the fact that your maroon pants make about as much sense as water spontaneously catching fire without the assistance of any fuel whatsoever.”

“What’s wrong, Mackwell? You’re not usually so deprecating.”

“It’s my wig. It’s beginning to thin out… And I’ve no idea what’s happened to Fiona, as well. One day, we were pleasantly conversing in the courtyard, and the next day, nobody claims to have seen her. I fear something bad may have happened to her, but with those bloody bastards patrolling the grounds, searching for her is pointless.”

“Ah, that’s right. I had nearly forgotten that ol’ Mack didn’t want anyone to know that he’s an albino,” Thomas remarked.

“Shut up, Thomas,” commanded Ferrik. “There’s seems to be more out there than usual today. Do either of you two know why?”

“More than usual?” began Mackwell. “You’ve been practically unconscious for over two weeks straight. Some kid came to school with a local gang and proceeded to fill people with lead. Afterwards, they came to the conclusion that the school board would be safer if there were more people watching out for our safety. It’s a load of bull, really.”

“Hmmm,” Ferrik pondered insightfully. “Well, before we can even consider looking for Fiona, we have to find some way to get out of here without being noticed by the hall monitors.”

“What about the air vents?” asked Thomas.

“Too obvious, Thomas. I’m certain that they have a few people inspecting the pathways up there. I suggest we try underground,” said Mackwell, lifting up a flap of carpeting that had been covering a metallic trapdoor. “Even the school officials haven’t discovered the labyrinth below.”

The mess in front of the door began to fall apart as the monitors were forcing their way through, though they weren’t far enough to get a clear sight of anything inside the room yet.

“Done,” said Ferrik hurriedly, “but won’t they know that we went down there?”

“Don’t worry, it covers itself up,” said Mackwell, sliding down the ladder beneath the metal panel, with his voice echoing as he went further down the corridor.

Thomas and Ferrik looked at one another and shrugged, and Ferrik said, "Looks like I'm not going to class anytime soon."
------That took forever to write, but I'm going to enjoy writing the next part, as I like writing in detail.
Last edited by Fievel on Tue Feb 02, 2010 1:44 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 11:42 am

Interesting... Am I the only one who thought of Heaven and Hell when the two options were suggested?
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 3:29 pm

You're very insightful, aren't you.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 5:42 pm

I just found it interesting that up, associated with heaven, is more dangerous than down, which is associated with hell.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 5:48 pm

Well, heaven has stricter rules, and once you're in hell, it doesn't matter what happens, because you can never leave... I think.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 5:56 pm

Yeah, but I believe there's more pain involved with Hell. A masochist would probably like it down there now that I think of it...
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 5:57 pm

Makes you wonder what kind of punishment they receive.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 5:58 pm

Denial of pain! That would probably make them miserable
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:02 pm

Actually, my sister has a masochist friend, and she doesn't seem very upset when she's not in pain.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:12 pm

Old joke my dad told me "What does a sadist say when a masochist says 'Hurt me, hurt me!'"




"No"
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:20 pm

That's pretty funny. Anyways, since there are some new characters, here's more themes.
Gwen: Stars- Dubstar
Mackwell: Every Planet We Reach Is Dead- Gorillaz
Most characters will have a genre of music attributed to them, but I'm still deciding on some characters.
Once a few more characters are introduced, I'll post some of their stats.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:29 pm

My dad has an odd sense of humour. My little sister (not Kei) has the same one.
Stars is a pretty song...
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:31 pm

I like your dad's sense of humor.

I was trying to decide between that one, and a remake by another band, but I decided to use that one for another character in another series I'm working on.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Tragedy_and_Comedy » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:35 pm

I don't get it most of the time. And then there'll be my 14-yearold sister giggling away like a maniac.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sat Nov 07, 2009 6:39 pm

Well, everyone's different I suppose...

Anyways, the next part will be put up either tonight or early tomorrow, but I doubt anyone will be able to guess what happens in Stevenson's story.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.4

Postby Fievel » Sun Nov 08, 2009 12:16 am

Time for the next chapter.
--------------------------------Which Way Is Left?
Ch. 3: The Molding Blaze
--------------------------------
Nothing but silence and music permeated the air at the moment, both equally disturbing and discouraging, especially when one noticed the nervous look on Mr. Stevenson’s face as he waited patiently for his destination to approach him, which was a slow and uncertain process. After having received his orders, Mr. Stevenson quickly lost nearly all confidence that he might have been able to complete his objective, and the only reason he remained was because he did not want to have to return and face the wrath of The Committee.

The metal plating of the elevator’s walls were divided into four separate panels, with the two on either end being half the size of the panels in the middle. The speaker was in the direct center of the ceiling, and the sounds emitted by it were enough to make one want to slit their own throats with a fish, though only a swordfish would be effective in that regard. In the bottom corner to Stevenson’s left was a message that had been scratched in, saying, “Tupac lives!”

The number overhead dictating the present floor had finally reached zero, and the thin, metallic doors slowly separated from one another, revealing to Mr. Stevenson the corridors before him. Crimson heat burst forth, and scorch marks were in the process of being formed by the remorseless flames that already consumed much of the area. What once appeared to be a colorful assortment of various knickknacks was now nothing more than another scorch mark with a few insignificant parts that were still perceptible but smoldering. The light fixtures had burst, shattering into thousands of countless pieces that were beginning to become malleable and twisted and curved to whatever shape the inferno deemed fit, and the filaments were sparking erratically due to not having been properly shut off yet. Filing cabinets and papers were indiscernible from one another, as both only left behind charcoal and a waxy, black substance that bled a trailing liquid that quickly encroached the carpeting that surrounded it.

People frantically ran back and forth, shrieking in pain and panic as they hurriedly set more of the quarters ablaze. Small embers blew wildly across the room, causing little real damage, as place was either already burning, or had previously been scorched. The sprinkler system protruding from the ceiling remained inactive, though for what reason one could only guess, as they appeared to be less damaged and scarred than much of the rest of the office equipment and furnishings. Countless bodies lay sprawled across the floor, stationary and brittle, with little slices of flesh peeling and revealing the rigid, scalded tissue beneath. Clearly these people were of significantly greater intelligence than the people who were presently frolicking throughout the quarters, as they all appeared to have been heading in the direction of the stairway and the elevator, which most other people in the area didn’t seem to have thought of yet.

Mr. Stevenson gazed vacantly ahead, with his hand still ready to press the “open doors” button, but he momentarily lost his motor skills and the mental capacity to react to the horrid images he was witnessing. After a few seconds of empty thought and a lack of movement, Mr. Stevenson raised his hand to the button for ground level, reasoning that all destinations for his assignment were either no longer accessible, or would eventually become so. The doors shut swiftly, blocking off the fires that were intent on making new friends out of Mr. Stevenson, and a soft bing was heard, along with the return of the bothersome elevator music. Mr. Stevenson looked down and then brought his right hand out, lowering the cuff to determine the time, and discovering that it was still early in the day, decided that he would simply go to Wasabi’s, a new local restaurant with Japanese style cuisine.

Mr. Stevenson could still feel the warmth from below, steadily falling as he gained altitude, and sweat began plunging to the floor below as he stood silently, watching the numbers above intently to know when he would be allowed to leave, but the number was at less than half of the desired floor number, increasing his anxiety. Now the music had shifted from the usual trying music to an instrumental version of “Enjoy The Silence” by Depeche Mode, which Stevenson was certainly not doing, though it did bring the thought that he would have to explain why he was returning to ground level after such a short period of time, a thought that only worked to increase his already relatively high blood pressure and apprehension.

Attempting to calm himself, he began managing his breathing, decreasing the number of times he breathed per minute, and he held his hand to his heart, a subconscious habit at this point. Another bing was heard as the elevator decelerated until it remained suspended at the specified destination, and the doors screeched as the scraped across the metal partition, as the warmth from before had expanded the size of the metal somewhat. The pathway before him was empty, spare a resting secretary with her head concealed in her paperwork, which was holding in a manner in which it was practically impossible for it to stand without support. Mr. Stevenson considered waking her to warn her of the ascending flames below, but thought it better to be seen as little as possible, so as to avoid being identified later. He quickly shuffled across the floor and rushed out the door once he was within a few steps, the secretary scarcely making a clamor as the doors slammed shut afterwards.

He approached his car and pulled out the automatic keys that unlocked and activated the car before he was within throwing distance, and the doors slid to the side, enabling easy entry into the stationary vehicle. The exact model he did not know, though he knew that it was some type of classic Mercedes Benz that was forest green, with unique spoilers that were painted black. The white upholstery was soft and smooth yet firm and tough, comfortable and perfect for his taste, as he could not stand the leather seats, the temperatures of which were subject to significant change in the summer months. A pair of tiny, green fuzzy dice hung from the rear-view mirror, just low enough so as not to distract him while he was driving.

The Benz lunged forward as he unintentionally stepped on the gas pedal, and he let go of the safety belt, flinging it back into its socket on the side of the vehicle’s interior, but he speedily wrenched it back and thrusted it into the red socket that clung to it like a koala to its mother. A red light could be seen as he drove off, having unknowingly accomplished nothing and everything he was supposed to simultaneously.
----I know it's somewhat anticlimactic, but I don't care.
Last edited by Fievel on Tue Feb 02, 2010 1:27 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.5

Postby Doctress Who » Sun Nov 08, 2009 5:43 pm

I didn't think it was that anticlimatic...although it is a shame he barely attempted to carry out his assignment. I'd like to see how he wriggles out of this.
Good contrast from the peaceful lift music to the caos outside too lol - I like comical moments like that, that have a twisted dark edge about them.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.5

Postby Fievel » Sun Nov 08, 2009 6:07 pm

Damn, I should have included in the fourth paragraph that the elevator music could still be heard in the background. Enjoy the Silence is Stevenson's theme now. It suits him, but his cowardly nature will be the focus of much of his story.
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Re: Fievel's QEFFAL (Original Work PG-13) Ch.5

Postby Fievel » Mon Nov 09, 2009 2:51 am

Sorry to double post again, but here's the next chapter.
--------------------------QEFFAL
Ch.3: Screening
--------------------------
Water constantly dripped from the ceiling, forming small puddles on the stony ground below, which was asymmetrical and made of some sort of stone, most likely granite, and the stone blocks were lined up haphazardly. Grass managed to wrestle free from the earth below and pierced the air above, forming small cracks along the edges and allowing tiny insects to come and go as they pleased, assuming they could avoid the mice that scampered along either edge of the dark corridor. The dried skeletons of various small creatures and a penguin were scattered about randomly throughout the halls, having already fulfilled their duty of providing nutrients for the plants that were insistent on growing in the darkness that permeated the air, with the only source of light being the sparse torches hung from the walls every few meters, though the torches were actually just sticks with orange and red fire-shaped light bulbs attached. The burning sound effect could still be heard though, but where it came from could not be discerned, as the sticks supporting the light were wooden, and there didn’t appear to be any other sign of technology present.

“Hey, would either of you two care to purchase some school supplies?” asked Thomas.

“Now is certainly not the time for that,” responded Ferrik.

They continued to walk for another ten minutes in utter silence, aside from the footsteps of Ferrik and Mackwell, which created quiet echoes than rang throughout the passageway. Thomas, having much experience in stealth, treaded lightly and made little noise as he ambled alongside the others at the same speed. Ferrik began to become bored of walking silently, as after a while, the scenery was no longer fascinating and was fairly repetitive, as long hallways tend to be when they aren’t painted randomly or aren’t historically significant in some manner, though even those became tiresome after some point.

“Hey, Mackwell, where are we right now?” asked Ferrik.

“Well… I think we’re underground right now, Ferrik,” said Thomas.

“Shut up Thomas,” Ferrik responded with apathy.

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure,” answered Mackwell, making no attempt to hide the fact.

“But I thought that you knew your way around here,” said Ferrik, confounded.

“Just because I knew about this place doesn’t mean that I know anything about it.”

“There is an error in logic concerning your statement,” said Thomas.

“Shut up Thomas,” replied the other two.

“So then how do you find your way around here?” inquired Ferrik.

“There should be something around this corner…”

As the three of them leisurely made their way through the hall, a light steadily grew brighter, until the faint outline of some sort of screen could be seen that illuminated nearly everything in the immediate area, as well as for a few meters past that. When they were within arm’s length of the screen, it instantaneously shifted colors and laid out a diagram of the underground labyrinth, though it gave no indication as to their current position, and instead posted the words “You are somewhere” at the top of the screen in a single color that was shifting indiscriminately with an ellipses following the statement. A scarlet arrow appeared on the screen and pointed at a point that was quite a ways removed from the actual area that represented the labyrinth.

“Umm… How is this supposed to help us?” asked Ferrik, perplexed.

“That’s strange… It didn’t do this the last time I was here?” Mackwell remarked.

“Maybe it hates you,” Thomas joked.

“Shut up Thomas,” replied the other two.

“He’s quite right, actually,” said an unseen voice that seemed to have come from a small speaker directly above the monitor.

“That thing just talked,” Ferrik pointed out.

“And you’re developing the completely useless ability of pointing out the obvious. Congratulations, soon you will tell me that I die when I’m killed,” said Thomas mockingly.

“Shut up Thomas,” said Ferrik and Mackwell.

A face began to materialize on the monitor in the shape of the hippies’ symbol, though instead of gladness, it appeared to be generally indifferent, as the mouth was merely a straight line, and the eyebrows suggested a lack of concern for the world around it. The background color shifted to green, dimming the lights and covering much of the surroundings in darkness.

“You know,” the screen began, “you come off as someone I might hate.”

“What?” Ferrik responded.

“I said you come off as someone I might hate.”

“Hey, if you can talk, why don’t you tell us which way to go?” Mackwell suggested.

“Well, if you grab a knife and slit your throat you can go to hell, but I’m fairly certain that you are well aware of that. I strongly suggest that you consider that as an option, however.”

“I mean directions for traveling through this place,” said Mackwell.

“Ah," started the screen. "Well in that case, I would suggest something called walking. It helps move you forward, you see, and you did that to arrive at this location.”

“That’s not what we meant, dammit!” shouted Mackwell

“You seem like a nice person,” said Thomas, “but I think we would probably be better off on our own.”

“You seem like a nice person,” said the monitor, “but the road bifurcates along either direction you take which is different from the one you came from, and those paths diverge into a few more somewhere along the way.”

“Well if you’re not going to help us, then I’ll just have to take my chances,” said Mackwell. “I don’t have much time to waste conversing with a demented machine.”

The green light shifted to a type of blue that was even darker than the green that was present before, and the face began to display annoyance in manner that implied a mixture of boredom and irritation that most likely came from speaking with Ferrik and Mackwell. A mouse in the corner scurried across Ferrik’s range of vision, carrying with it a small piece of Black Forest cheese, which is actually a type of ham, along the passage and into a tiny hole in the left side of the wall beside Ferrik. Squeaking and squealing flowed out of the hole as the mouse was greeted by its family after a long day at work with the scientists who had it performing menial tasks such as walking through mazes and eating cheese, which he felt he wasn’t getting paid enough to do.
------------------------------------
Gwen sat quietly on the bridge extension on the third floor; with a sniper rifle in standby position should any student appear who didn’t have a hall pass or some other approved note to allow them passage. She swung her legs back and forth in an attempt to alleviate her boredom. After the first few minutes of her work today, the excitement immediately began to head downhill, as most of the perpetrators of the various crimes had been eliminated by her, and the rest were being hunted down by her fellow hall monitors. The music was no longer playing and instead she had to make due with a portable radio that had been completely charged beforehand and had been playing various dance and trance songs for the past half-hour. At the moment it played “Stars” a song that she had always enjoyed and always considered somewhat fitting for her work, as she enjoyed playing it in her head whenever she was tracking down one of her targets.

She found the absence of activity down below to be aggravating to some extent, much preferring the exhilaration that came with her other duties, which typically involved assassination or tracking somebody, basically anything that required proficiency in whatever one decided to do, or involved some risk. She received much solace in the fact that she was an essential part of the school governing system that was currently in place, being highly regarded by friend and foe alike as among the best, though lately she hadn’t been able to see her friends as much, though that was by choice, and when she thought of them, she instantly became angered and pushed the thought aside, so as not to interfere with her work.

She occasionally received messages from her allies every once in a while, typically reporting that they had encountered one of the targets or someone who did not have a hall pass in their possession. Either way, they were entirely pointless as she was nowhere near enough to provide any real assistance, and they usually escaped from her colleagues before she managed to arrive, but she had come to expect this from her incompetent coworkers. It no longer bothered her. Every once in a while she could hear gunshots in the distance, obviously coming from her colleagues vainly attempting to halt their foes to no avail, but fortunately they weren’t loud enough to disrupt her listening to music, which retained a calming effect over her, and emitted blissfulness.

She put all her hair to one side, with a small part placed in a ponytail, which she only had on her left side, though it wasn’t very long, with the length of her hair not quite reaching her shoulders, though her friends frequently told her that they preferred it that way, saying it gave her a cuter appearance. At the moment, in addition to the usual spectacles she wore, she was sporting a pair of green goggles that were the same color as her glasses, and were presently resting on her forehead, as they were currently unneeded and somewhat uncomfortable to wear.

Her seemingly endless boredom could find no release other than humming and singing along to the music, which she did quietly, in case there was somebody nearby who could hear her over the radio. Deciding that nothing of interest was going to happen anytime soon, she lied down and shut her eyes, still listening to the moderately peaceful music that happened to be playing.
---Meh. I've got nothing to say this time.
Last edited by Fievel on Tue Feb 02, 2010 1:44 am, edited 3 times in total.
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