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Post by Atlas on Dec 26, 2010 20:46:03 GMT -8
Time: Day Three, Early Afternoon
Weather: Cloudy
Warnings: Nightmares, Letters from Mom, Internet Trolls, Smug Prosecutors, Kangaroo Courts
Characters: Atticus "Atlas" Lasseter, The Smoking Man [CLOSED]
Atlas drove across Greenvale, looking at the clouds. His visit with Mr. Stewart was…quite eventful. Although he learned a few things about the Shadows, he ended up having more questions than answers. Where did they come from? How could York see them?
However, one particular phrase echoed through his mind. “All have reasons for coming here?” Why did Atlas come to Greenvale? Whenever asked the question, he would give several excuses: “I like the scenery” “The cost of living is low.” However, he got very few clients, and most of them were small settlements. The last big case he had was back in LA. It was the reason he was here.
He tried to forget all about it, but it was no use. He especially remembered the public reaction afterwards. His client was acquitted, but just a day later, another murder was committed. And then the client’s body was found hung next to the victim. There could have been any number of explanations for this, but only one made the news: the killer had murdered her final victim, and then committed suicide so she would not have to answer for her crimes a second time. Because Atlas had defended her and got her an acquittal, another murder took place. The blood was on his hands as well.
He was not disbarred, but his reputation was in ruins. All he heard about for days after the trial was that he defended a murderer and because of that, another innocent life was taken.
The vehicle stopped outside his house. The one he called home since moving here. Admittedly, it was a nice place, but he wasn’t supposed to be here. He could have argued against the accusations, soldiered on and let the bad press die down. Instead he ran away.
The front door opened up and a blazer jacket flew onto the coat rack haphazardly. Atlas felt like collapsing on the floor and using the carpet as a blanket. However, it wasn’t raining, so he still had an office to run, even if the chances of getting any clients were slim.
He shuffled tiredly towards his office and slumped down into his leather chair. He took the carrot cake out of his pocket to place next to him on his desk, opened up his laptop and logged onto both of his e-mail clients. As expected, there was nothing on his work-related one, and, save for a letter from his mother asking how he was doing, nothing worth replying to.
With nothing else to do, he opened up a reply window. He had wanted to tell her that he was ambushed by limbo zombies and a giant dog the night before and had breakfast with an eccentric old man and his manservant Dr. Seuss, but his fingers as well as his mine dictated to tell her that he was alright and although business is slow, he feels that recent events will allow it to pick up.
He hit reply and was taken back to the inbox screen. His eyes were starting to fail him and his body felt like sinking into the leather chair. The comfortable, soft, leather chair.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 27, 2010 3:57:23 GMT -8
As he sat there, staring at his screen, a little alert would sound - he had just gotten another e-mail. The address was unfamiliar at first glance...but the username was familiar. AshesToAshes. The troll from Atlas's blog. Strangely, the e-mail's timestamp suggested that it had been sent some time ago, quite early in the morning...perhaps there had been some server lag? But no, that made little to no sense, really...he had gotten the e-mail from his mother just fine....
The subject line of the e-mail was simple, two words:
'Keep Digging.'
It waited innocuously in his inbox, just waiting to be clicked on. No attachments. Nothing remarkable save for how efficient this user had been in getting Atlas's e-mail.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 27, 2010 7:31:40 GMT -8
Atlas let out a yawn. The leather chair seemed to be swallowing his motivation to do anything but sleep. However, a beep from his computer indicated a new e-mail. He was surprised, but checked anyways.
'Keep Digging'
"What the hell..." he said in a tired voice? Digging for what? He was confused at first, but after finding out who sent it, it became clear.
"This guy again?" he added. It was the troll from his blog, once again tormenting him through e-mail. "I gotta block this asshole." he thought as he clicked to read the e-mail and send a reply.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 27, 2010 12:42:21 GMT -8
As he opened the e-mail, all he would find was two sentences of crimson letters, swimming on a black screen that seemed to swallow his monitor. They shifted impossibly on the screen, swimming across the monitor. Sure of yourself, are you?
Are you? A strange scent began to fill the room, seeming to emanate from the tower of Atlas's computer...smoke. Cigarette smoke. It started to make the air hazy, wafting around Atlas as if to swallow him whole... |
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Post by Atlas on Dec 27, 2010 12:55:43 GMT -8
When he opened the e-mail, crimson letters greeted him. The sentences were short, to the point, and rather creepy. However, a black screen seemed to be flooding his monitor, first in the message box and then breaking out, consuming his message box, e-mail client and the rest of his laptop.
His eyes were wide at what was happening. What kind of strange computer virus is this. What do those words mean? What is this guy's problem? "What is this shit" he shook the monitor.
Then all of the sudden, he smelt smoke. Whoever this guy was wanted to fry his system. He took a whiff. Cigarette smoke? Computers don't make that scent. The longer he tried to figure out what was going on, the more the scent became stronger and the more the air became hazy. He gasped. "I have to get out of here." he thought and ran out of the office.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 28, 2010 12:09:45 GMT -8
As Atlas ran, he would find that the haze was getting worse...it was blinding him, the safe, familiar furniture of his house being swallowed by the smoke. The hallway seemed to keep going as he plowed forward, impossibly long for the floorplan that he knew so well by now...
Except that he was no longer in his hallway, was he?
The haze faded a little, allowing him to see where he had found himself...a long, straight hallway, beautifully lit, pictures of important looking people hung on the walls. People he had seen before. Lawyers. Was this some kind of courthouse...? The marble floor was a bit slick as the end to the hall came into view...slick with some crimson substance that had oozed there from beneath the double doors at the end.
If he tried to look back, the smoke obscured the hallway behind him...and in the smoke, writhing shapes could be spotted, desperately trying to reach beyond the haze but unable to. There were so many...so many pairs of broken, grasping hands...it would be suicide to try and go back.
Somewhere unseen, someone laughed softly, the sound echoing in the hallway.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 28, 2010 12:45:34 GMT -8
Running did little good for Atlas. He tried to escape from the smoke that consumed his computer, but it only got worse. It followed him. He began coughing heavily, his eyes burning and watery from the toxic cloud. The very little glimpses he could get were his entire house being consumed by the same smoke, seeming to spawn from other places, his couches, his plants, the windows the doors. He collapsed to the floor. Would he die from inhalation?
As the smoke began to clear, Atlas coughed and tried to squint his eyes. He patted his hand against the marble ground.
Wait? Marble ground?
It felt too slick and hard to be the carpet of his home. When his eyes came into focus, he realized it wasn't. It was a long straight hallway. Pictures of lawyers adorned both sides. "What is this...I recognize...Atticus Finch...my idol...Allison May...my old co-worker..." he glanced at the last one, with a hint of disgust as it glanced back with an arrogant smirk. "Cyrus. Prosecutor Cyrus Steele." The frame on his painting seemed much more ornate than the others, and the photo looked almost new.
Across from it was...a painting of Atlas. Unlike Steele's painting, however, the frame was worned and broken. The eyes looked torn out and a blood red smile was painted on his face. Across the top, the word "Murderer" was written. "Very funny, Steele." he said as he broke a piece of the frame and threw it at the Prosecutor's face. It bounced off harmlessly, causing him to recoil.
He had to get out of here. He looked in either direction. To the right was a door at the end. However, a threatening crimson substance was oozing from the door. He couldn't even see to the left, however. The smoke obscured his vision. He also could make out shapes. Writhing, broken shapes, reaching towards him.
"Uhh...I'll take my chances with the door." he thought. He reached for the broken piece of picture frame and tried to push forward.
However, he could hear a laughter echoing throughout the hallway. It didn't sound like the figures either.
He gripped his makeshift weapon. "Hello? Who's there? Show yourself!"
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 2:53:42 GMT -8
As if summoned by the call, a silhouette faded into view in front of the door, swathed in the smoke from his cigarette. It appeared to be a man - tall and slender, leaning in a rather devil-may-care fashion against the door and standing in the pool of crimson liquid. The smoke obscured his features rather tidily; though it could be seen that he was wearing black pants, a red dress shirt, and a pair of worn leather dress shoes.
"You don't even know who you're talking to," a cold voice chuckled, "And already you're making demands. Such manners."
The figure took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in curls through the hallway. It drifted past Atlas, feeding the cloud behind him...giving the broken figures more room to stagger forward, to reach and grasp at the lawyer's ankles. The Smoking Man chuckled again, casually tapping his cigarette ashes into the sticky red pool below him.
"That's no way to win a case, is it? The jury is rather hung in there. They are waiting for you and here you are...playing out in the hallways with the picture frames. Planning to let them down again, are you?"
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Post by Atlas on Dec 29, 2010 6:23:18 GMT -8
On cue, Atlas saw a figure form in front of him, as if it appeared from thin air, causing him to drop the broken picture frame in surprise. He studied the man's features, and saw the smoke coming from him. He appeared to be the source of the cigarette smoke.
Somehow, he looked familiar, but he couldn't figure out yet where he was from.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Atlas wondered. He was unnerved by the way he just appeared and started laughing, and even moreso by his shrouded appearance. He had to stand his ground though.
"Manners also dictate that laughing behind someone's back is rude." Atlas responded. Who did this guy think he was?
He watched the smoke lift from behind him. It felt as though this cigarette smoking man had some sort of control over it. As the smoke passed him, he coughed. The figures lurched forward, attempting to grab at his legs. He moved forward in order to avoid them.
The cigarette smoking man talked about a jury and a case. Atlas felt lost. One moment, he was trying to escape a burning house, and now he's defending a client.
"What do you mean, the jury's waiting? I haven't gotten a significant case in a year." he asked.
Too many things happening at once. Where the hell was he?
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 31, 2010 19:56:46 GMT -8
The Smoking Man clicked his tongue disapprovingly, taking another long drag. "You are quick to assume, aren't you? Your memory must be a little...fuzzy. The smoke must be going to your head." He sidestepped, leaning on the wall instead of the door.
"They're waiting for you. You really should go in there. Watch your step...it's a bit slippery, as you may have noticed."
Whoever he was, he was being so...calm. Too calm, really, for one in this place, in his position. He tapped out some more ashes, leering through the smoke.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 31, 2010 20:17:17 GMT -8
Atlas wanted to argue against this man. But then again, who was to say he wasn't right. All Atlas was thinking about was avoiding the smoke. What important details could he have missed along the way.
Then it clicked...he did have a trial today. A very important one. It was another one in the string of crucifix killings. But details were missing. Who was his client? What occurred during the trial? Why was the jury hung.
Whenever he heard this cigarette smoking man take a drag of this cigarette, he heard a familiar laugh echo in his brain. Cyrus was waiting, and as Atlas stayed wandering these hallways, he was charmed the jury into saying "guilty" by the time that he returned.
He had wasted enough time. He opened the door behind the cigarette smoking man into the room ahead. Before he did this, he had a question for the smoking man.
"I'll go, but answer me this question: who the hell are you?"
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 31, 2010 21:00:36 GMT -8
The tall figure didn't move, didn't bother to turn towards Atlas as the other man plowed up to the door - just behind it, the room was still obscured with a wall of smoke, waiting for the lawyer to enter before it would reveal its secrets.
...But then Atlas asked a question. One that he hadn't actually been asked before. Thoughtfully, he twirled his cigarette in his fingers, contemplating what his answer should be...before finally speaking up, his voice wry, cold. It seemed somehow that he must be smirking, the way his tone shifted...the amusement that laced through his words like thread through a garment.
"...Who am I? Well...that's a loaded question. For all you know, I am a figment of your imagination. Maybe I'm someone you've forgotten already. Who I really am...." He took a long drag, blowing it out, drawing in the cloud of broken figures again.
"...Is just...someone here to help you."
With that, he turned to walk straight through the door Atlas had opened, disappearing into that cloud of smoke just beyond.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 31, 2010 21:37:10 GMT -8
The last thing Atlas heard before going through the smoke was the phrase "Who I really am...is just...someone here to help you." However, he didn't trust the cigarette smoking man one bit. Between the arrogance of his voice, and his calm demeanor in an otherwise dangerous environment, there was something wrong with him. For now, he had no choice, but to watch the events play out.
When the smoke clear, he saw a courtroom. The first thing that caught his eye was the jury box. Pale, broken figures with glasgow grins and no eyeballs flailing around, moaning. The other figures were even more disturbing. The gallery was filled with an audience of still figures. The telltale lack of eyeballs and smiles painted on hinted at them being cruficix killing victims, though he didn't remember that many being listed in the case file. "What kind of trial is this?" he wondered.
As he got closer, more figures faded into view. The baliff looked like some sort of bear on its hind legs, except with a red glow and purple slobber coming off its mouth. The only normal looking figures were that of Prosecutor Cyrus Steele and the Judge. Cyrus looked smug as he and the judge looked straight at Atlas.
"MR. LASSETER! This court does not have time for you to mosey around at your own convenience." the judge bellowed to a confused and lost Atlas. "Take your place at your desk and be grateful that I'm allowing you to continue without being held in contempt of court." he added as Atlas stumbled towards the defense's bench
"Your honor." Cyrus spoke up. "I don't think Mr. Lasseter here is in any shape to continue this trial. Look at the man. So pitiful, so lost. I think you should just hand down your verdict now and save that poor man." he said in a voice laced with faux-pity.
"I'm afraid I can't do that yet, Mr. Steele. Not until I've heard the defense." the judge responded. "Besides, it is rather amusing to watch him squirm, don't you think?"
Cyrus nodded in agreement. Atlas tried to think. He knew that the defendant was being charged with being the Crucifix Killer, but who was the defendant?
He straightened his tie and looked up. If he were to win this trial, he needed to at least look like he knew the score. But the fog of smoke in the air made it easier said than done...
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 1, 2011 3:24:15 GMT -8
Amidst the haze of the courtroom, Atlas would meet a cold gaze when he looked up - the only set of eyes starting back from the Jury. It was the Smoking Man he had just met, sitting amongst all the writhing bodies as if they scarcely bothered him. One of them got too close for his liking and he kicked them hard against the banister, their spine snapping so they hung awkwardly backwards over the edge.
He lit a new cigarette, watching the proceedings from within the fog.
"Better get on the ball, Defense." He spoke quietly, but his rasp was clear as day somehow, perfectly audible amidst the howling of the rest of the 'jury.' "You're not afraid of your client, are you? Can't you look her in the eyes...?"
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Post by Atlas on Jan 1, 2011 13:55:22 GMT -8
Atlas looked up towards the jury. The man he met before, the strange cigarette smoking man, was among the rest of the figures. He could hear the moans among the jury. There were the same ones he heard in the forest.
"GUIIIILLLTTT...."
"CONTEMPTTTT..."
"KIIIILLL..."
The cigarette smoking man didn't seem at all bothered by his fellow jurors and their demeanor. Neither did Cyrus or the Judge for that matter. The smoking man in the jury only reacted when one of the shadows got too close, so he snapped their spine over the banister. However, no one in the court room except for Atlas reacted.
He could hear a voice in his head. It sounded like the smoking man, who sounded clear amongst the moaning of the shadows. He turned to look at his client.
It was his mother, only with her eyes removed and a smile painted on her face.
She stood motionless, but breathing. Atlas took a step back. First, his father, now her. "Hmm, it seems your entire family is full of murderers, Mr. Lasseter." Cyrus sneered. "I wonder if one day, you'll have to come to your own defense?"
He tried to stare down the Prosecutor, but the smoke was getting to him. He felt ready to collapse at any second.
"I believe we've seen most of what can be seen today. The prosecution and the defense will make their closing statements. Mr. Steele, you may go first." the judge said.
Cyrus straightened his tie and looked up.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of this court, I firmly believe that the case against Sara Lasseter is straightforward, only dragged out by her son's pointless rambling and needless antagonism of witnesses. Not only do I have the murder weapon, with the blood of the victims and her fingerprints all over it, but the motive is quite clear: the Lasseter family is nothing. They are social outcasts that cannot possibly be productive in anyway, so they murder in order to gain attention for themselves. We've seen it years ago in the last rash of Crucifix killings with Kyle Lasseter, and we seen it again today. So what if she wasn't related to any of the victims; she didn't need to be. They could have been one of us and the results would remain the same. I recommend that not only do we put away this miserable woman for life, but also that lawyer sitting in the defense's chair as well as his brother. Who knows when they will snap?"
The judge sat calmly, and nodded afterwards. "Well said, Mr. Steele. Mr. Lasseter, you may now make your statement. Remember, you are on thin ice. One wrong step, and your mother won't be the only one walking away in chains..."
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