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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 15:53:24 GMT -8
"You do like the sound of your own voice, don't you?" Another crash. He was starting to make the climb harder for her - forcing her to avoid the holes in the grating, forcing her to watch for the support beams that marked safe passage. If she looked down, she would see nothing but smoke, fire...the place was heating up considerably, but the fire seemed...controlled. He was funneling her upward, that much was certain.
"I seem to remember the first time we met, you weren't quite so chatty."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 17:43:41 GMT -8
“Well, if you were a more stimulating conversationalist...” Charlotte retorted. The smoke was swirling around her and beginning to irritate her throat, and she was fighting the urge to cough. It was getting a little difficult to breath, and going back was definitely no longer an option. All she could see below her was smoke and flames. And he was having ‘fun’ with her now, making the path more treacherous (the how of that she didn’t want to contemplate). The desire to punch him in the face was intense. Of course, that would mean getting close enough...
She lost her balance, her foot slipped through a hole in the grating that she hadn’t been able to see through the smoke and she hung, balanced precariously on the edge for a long, tense moment... before she regained her footing and fell back, away from the gap. Fuck... She scrubbed a trembling hand through her hair.
“Nothing’s quite like the first time, is it,” she called.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 23:32:35 GMT -8
"Oh? Do I bore you? My apologies...."
He laughed when she almost fell - he was watching, probably through one of the smoky grates above. His footfalls stilled when hers did...he was right above her, visible if she looked closely through the haze. He crouched, head and shoulders still swathed in smoke. He tapped his cigarette out, letting the ashes fall through.
"No. It isn't. To think...it's only been a few short days. And look at us, now."
The flames below were crackling loudly...and then, just a flight down, visible through the gap in the floor...one of those barrels that seemed to be everywhere...exploded loudly with the heat. One of the same kind of barrels that stood just a few feet from Charlotte at this moment...one of the same that seemed to be every few feet or so in this tower.
"Just...trying to climb back out of the rabbit hole."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 23:41:50 GMT -8
“Oh, no, not at all,” she responded, “You’re just not the best conversationalist.”
Charlotte glanced down as a barrel exploded a floor below her. Then her gaze slid to the barrel merely feet away from her. It was identical to the ones she passed on her way up. Like the one that just exploded.
Ah, FUCK.
She began running.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 0:01:10 GMT -8
As soon as she started running, he took back to his feet, too, picking up his own pace as he climbed the flights of stairs. All the rooms were the same, one after another - grates in various states of disrepair, barrels, crates, ashes and smoke....
But as she ran, she might spot something out of place - a small figure, hiding behind one of the crates, just barely visible through the haze. Once she ran past, a barrel crashed through the ceiling above, knocking a gap between the figure and where Charlotte stood. A harsh, rather manic laugh sounded from above.
The Smoking Man...wasn't kidding around anymore.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 18, 2011 0:09:10 GMT -8
Charlotte took the stairs three or four at a time, pushing herself hard. One floor, after another, all the same. The Smoking Man’s harsh, almost manic laughter drifted down from above. He definitely wasn’t kidding around anymore.
“Does that bother you,” she called, a little breathlessly. She could feel another cough building, but she forced it down. “Being a shitty conversationalist?” She probably shouldn’t have kept using her words as weapons... but that was all she had to use. So she would use them.
How much further to the top?
And where do I go once I get there?
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 0:22:51 GMT -8
"Not particularly. I'm...used to it, in a way. You don't need conversation much when those who speak to seem...not to be breathing quite right. I do wonder why."
The rooms passed by, one after the other - but if she looked up, she could see the gigantic gears of the clockwork through the grating just a couple floors up. She was getting close...there would have to be a door to the roof. A way out.
But the grates were getting more broken...he was making it very difficult, forcing her to try and run along the support beams.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 18, 2011 0:32:34 GMT -8
“Probably because you’re a twisted son of a bitch?” Charlotte retorted, “Just guessing.” It was getting very hard to breath, between the smoke and the running, but she was doing her damndest to hide that from him. Obviously she wasn’t doing the best job. But it was the principle of the thing.
She glanced upward. She could see the gigantic clockwork gears a couple floors up. There had to be a way out. Please let there be a way out. She kept running, making her way carefully along the support beams. She was certainly putting her gymnastic ability to good use, wasn’t she.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 0:45:16 GMT -8
"Twisted? I'm only trying to HELP, Charlotte." The sound of his footfalls changed...he was running past the gears now, leading her up, leading her out. The sound of the machinery should have drowned him out...but still his footsteps, his voice, his laughter were all clear, even amongst the rhythmic clanking of the clock's gears.
"You're still so caught up in your little caucus race you can't see that, can you?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 18, 2011 0:53:29 GMT -8
He was leading her, and she had no choice but to follow. And it sort of pissed her off. Anger was better than fear, so she embraced it.
Charlotte couldn’t stop the harsh laugh that burst forth.
“Help?? Oh please,” she spat. “You’re deluding yourself if you think that’s what you’re actually doing. All you’re doing is needlessly torturing people. It’s completely fucking pointless.”
She kept running, but it was getting harder to fight back the cough building in her chest.
“I can’t see it because it’s not fucking true!”
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 1:03:02 GMT -8
His footfalls stopped - he was standing in front of the door to the roof, leaning against it...cruel eyes glaring through the smoke and the haze of the heat from below. Her words made him stop laughing...he flicked his cigarette butt away, pulling another from the pack with his teeth and speaking in a hiss.
"It IS true, Charlotte - you just don't see it. You refuse to. That's why I'm here - for reasons you refuse to acknowledge...." He sounded irritated - his motions were sharp as he lit his cigarette, taking a long drag from it to try and steady himself.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 18, 2011 1:17:13 GMT -8
Charlotte heard his footsteps stop, but she kept running. She thought (hoped) that she... they, were nearing the top. And for better or worse, this was the direction she was going. Right into the lion’s den.
“I don’t refuse to see anything. You just keep telling yourself that. Still won’t make it true.” Her voice was a little hoarse, but it still carried up to him. “You’re not as noble as you think.”
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 1:27:20 GMT -8
'You're not as noble as you think.'
The eyes that glared back through the smoke sharpened - he said nothing. Had she struck a nerve? With a loud thunk, the door behind him was kicked open, the Smoking Man himself disappearing out the door along with the cloud of smoke that poured forth.
The roof of the Clock Tower was plain, wide-open and under the cover of a roof held only by pillars. The town stretched out around them, well-visible on all sides...at least, where the smoke was not hanging in thick clouds, obscuring the figure who had just escaped out here. It was easier to breathe in the open air, less stifling...but the breeze didn't seem to be moving the cloud away.
He was hiding in it.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 18, 2011 1:40:45 GMT -8
The smoke had started to fill her lungs and burn her throat. She couldn’t breathe, could hardly SEE. Emerging out on the roof was literally a breath of fresh air. She could no longer hold back the cough that had been building for a few floors, and she pressed a hand to her ribs until it passed. She remained near the door leading back the way they came, watching the clouds of smoke warily.
In her coughing fit, she turned her body slightly, and slid a hand in her pocket. Very carefully, and as discreetly as she could, she dialed a familiar phone number. And with a couple more button presses (navigating by feel) she muted it so the only person that would hear anything would be David. She hated involving him... but something told her that this was going to be bad.
That done, she straightened and took a few steps forward.
“What exactly is your purpose? Beyond lighting things on fire and being absolutely fucking useless?” she asked. Her voice was harsh from the smoke, but it didn’t hide the bite in her voice. “Is it just that you’re bored, and torturing and generally traumatising people psychologically seemed like it might be fun? Here’s an idea. Read a book. Take up crochet. Find a slightly more useful hobby.”
She barked a laugh.
"Oh. Right. You're 'helping'."
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Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 18, 2011 2:29:56 GMT -8
Charlotte's words were sharp, inflammatory as the matches he used to light his cigarettes - they fueled his temper, moving him into a prowl around her. He started, very slowly, to circle her where she stood, the smoke drifting around him. Slowly, features could be made out, bit by bit, though his head and shoulders were still fully obscured in the dark cloud - the ash-covered black dress pants he wore, the cracked leather shoes, filthy with blood and grime, the untucked red button-down shirt....
A hand lowered from the smoke to tap ashes from his cigarette - his skin was pale, sallow, fingertips and nails caked with ash and filth. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows...displaying for the world to see a mottled mess of scar tissue from burns, cracked and bleeding in places, snaking from his wrists to where they disappeared beneath his shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was bitter - that saw-blade edge usually present in his tone just a little sharper than normal. She was getting to him.
"I am NOT USELESS, you IDIOT. I told you already - I am here to bring to light things that you refuse to acknowledge."
...Aren't I?
"I have a purpose - I am trying to help before you become no more than one of those other stupid, broken things lurking around on the edge of Sight. You and others - but no one can see that!" His tone shifted - there was a wild edge to it now, a frustration...part of him could hear that what he was saying sounded preposterous, crazy (I'm not crazy. He is.). Part of him was...beginning to wonder. Part of him could see her point. He stopped circling, turning and planting his feet.
He took a drag from his cigarette, his hand disappearing momentarily from sight as he did so.
"The concept itself...my purpose itself...it is not my design, but I follow it. If it all seems cruel - it reflects upon Him, and it reflects upon you, but I - I am...merely...." His fists clenched at his sides, the cigarette dropping to the ground. His composure...his temper was lost now. He didn't finish his sentence aloud.
...A pawn.
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