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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 1:53:28 GMT -8
The bottle shattered with the sharp, shrill sound of breaking glass, bits of crystal scattering across the table and the floor. The red liquid had a horrible, acrid scent to it...a familiar one. It had been wise of her not to drink from the little bottle...she would have been drinking blood if she had.
Rolled up and soaked in the crimson fluid was what appeared to be a playing card...the Queen of Clubs.
There was more laughter from just around that corner, another billow of smoke blown out into the open where she could see it. He was listening to every word she said, and he was amused by them all. No, the Vorpal Sword was really the least of his worries...he didn't much fancy himself the Jabberwock, anyhow. There was so little...grace to that creature. No, no. Certainly not the Jabberwock, even as well as his claws had caught Charlotte and dragged her here....
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 2:05:01 GMT -8
Charlotte rummaged in her pockets until she found a pen. Using that, she fished out the card from the bits of broken bottle and blood. Then grabbing the kerchief she had lent Brian earlier, she wiped the blood from the card. Well, one down...
Now it was time for the second piece. She forced herself to ignore the smoke billowing from around the corner, even though the desire to round the corner and face him burned strong. Instead she picked up the cake.
“Perhaps you don’t consider yourself the Jabberwock. What DO you consider yourself? The Queen of Hearts?? Tweedledee perhaps? Or maybe his brother, Tweedledum?” she laughed. “Those do seem more appropriate.”
She began breaking apart the cake. Will it be another playing card? Or something else?
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 2:39:09 GMT -8
The only response to her comments was more smoke and more chuckling. He didn't seem so keen to chat...not just yet, anyhow. He waited - he watched.
As it turned out, it was very wise not to eat the cake, either...baked in with the cake itself were tiny, sharp iron shavings, all too easy to cut oneself upon. Crumpled up in the center was another card - the Queen of Hearts, ironically enough, as if in deference to her question. He didn't really care to answer, honestly. Whatever allegory she wanted to draw for him was her own assumption.
And how very dangerous assumptions could be....
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 2:52:31 GMT -8
Well what do you know, Charlotte mused, turning the card over in her hand. The pieces were finally fitting together. Grabbing the first card, she then made her way towards the paintings. She stopped in front of the one of two men beating each other with large blunt instruments. She took the Queen of Clubs, and carefully slotted it into the appropriate spot on the nameplate.
Then she moved to do the same for the painting of a surgeon tearing into a man’s chest, again fitting the playing card carefully into the designated spot. Was this all to the puzzle, or was there more waiting around the corner with the Smoking Man?
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 2:59:36 GMT -8
As she slotted in the cards, she would immediately hear a series of clicks - the locks on all the doors for either side of the hallway disengaging, as well as a beeping sound for each card around the blind corners. Clearly, she was on the right track...but where was she being led?
Another curl of smoke. And finally...his voice, cold and raspy, carrying down the hall.
"Another round of the Caucus Race run. I do wonder how many laps you'll be able to handle...what with that leg of yours. You did take quite a nasty fall."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 3:06:30 GMT -8
Charlotte listened to the series of clicks and beeps... and wondered where she was supposed to go next. She was being led somewhere... but the where was ridiculously vague at the moment. She smirked. At last he speaks.
“What? Are you concerned your ‘toy’ won’t last? The number of laps won’t be a problem, I assure you. Unless you’re concerned YOU won’t be able to last. Have that problem a lot, do you?”
Squaring her shoulders, Charlotte rounded the right-hand corner. I think this direction will do for now.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 3:13:04 GMT -8
"Presumptive, aren't you? No one ever said that you were my toy, Charlotte...but if you insist."
As she rounded the corner, she would find herself looking down a shorter hall, decorated much the same as the longer one. At the end there was no Smoking Man...but there was a door. A door with an electronic lock that had already been disengaged, presumably along with all of the others. Lying on the floor were a few more cigarette butts...one of them still smoking where he had just dropped it.
Another chuckle...this one from behind the door. Egging her on. Daring her to keep walking.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 3:16:16 GMT -8
“You’re the one that left that fun little clue in the graveyard. And you so enjoyed toying with me at the lumbermill,” Charlotte replied. She continued moved towards the now-unlocked door, and the chuckle didn’t stop her in the slightest.
She opened the door.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 3:31:30 GMT -8
"Believe what you will. Continue running your little never-ending race. I shall be waiting at the finish."
Behind the door was...simply another short hallway, this one jutting sharply off to the left, another corner to the left just down the way. There was, yet again, no sign of the Smoking Man, save for the ashes scattered here and there on the floor.
If she walked just a few paces, she could see around the corner...a longer hallway. The other end turned off to the left and out of sight. On the wall to Charlotte's right was a large, ornate door with two small, round slots in it, locked tight and imposing. Against the wall to her left...was a desk.
A familiar desk.
The rabbit had now been fully cleaned and skinned, the white pelt stretched out with specimen pins against the wooden surface. The bones were scattered off to one side, lying in a sad sort of pile...and there was a little bump in the pelt. Something was pinned between it and the desk.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 3:37:12 GMT -8
Of course you will.
“Again with the rabbit.” I don’t think I’ll be able to read those books in quite the same way again...
Charlotte slowly approached the desk, and the rabbit pelt. She began removing the specimen pins from it. Once she had removed enough that half of it was unpinned, she carefully folded the rabbit pelt out of the way of whatever it was lying underneath.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 3:43:14 GMT -8
Pinned under the pelt, lying on the table, were a pair of glass eyes - fake ones, intended for taxidermy or sculpture. They shone strangely in the dim light, rolling a little when the pelt holding them down was lifted away. Compared to the last time Charlotte had seen this desk, it was almost sort of...considerate, really, that it should be so clean. The puzzle seemed almost half-hearted at this point.
Perhaps he really was just waiting at the end? Perhaps he was getting tired of waiting?
Or perhaps there was something more at play here than just a came of cat and mouse....
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 3:48:46 GMT -8
Charlotte picked the glass eyes up, turning around to study the large ornate door with the two small round slots in it. Just the right size for the eyes. This... was almost too easy. I may be in WAY over my head. But I’m not turning back now. There had to be more to this. She just didn’t know what. And that might very well cause her a lot of harm.
She took a deep breath before crossing over to the door. After a moment’s pause... Charlotte inserted the glass eyes into the slots.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 29, 2010 12:10:32 GMT -8
The eyes clicked neatly into the slots, the lock disengaging with a little beep. This was certainly too easy. It was...sloppy, like he hadn't really had time to hide the glass eyes properly. But sloppy or not, there was still that same soft laugh behind the door, cigarette smoke billowing from the crack beneath it.
Followed by the a loud rattling of wheels and something heavy hitting the the other side of the door with great force.
Now the REAL games had begun.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 29, 2010 12:18:50 GMT -8
The sound of rattling wheels and something heavy slamming into the door startled the shit out of Charlotte. She managed to stop herself before she did more than flinch away a little. FUCK. Tension knotted up her stomach. She had a sinking suspicion of what had hit the door. She hoped she was wrong, she WANTED to be wrong...
But the puzzles leading here had been nothing more than killing time, she feared... and now she had a feeling the real games had begun.
Charlotte flung open the door.
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 30, 2010 0:13:40 GMT -8
Behind the door was a rather large, darkened room - hazy with smoke, lights flickering in their sconces as if they were candle-flames. It seemed to be some sort of sitting room...dark leather couches and chaises littered about, all of them empty. A quick glance about the room would reveal a few facts -
There were two doors on the other end of the room, though whether they were locked or not was as of yet unknown.
There were a few tables, all of which appeared to be laid out with meticulous place settings. There was a faint sense of wrongness about them all, however...and if Charlotte took a better look, she would see that all the teacups were filled with a deep, dark red substance, all the plates laid out with what looked to be chicken bones resting upon them.
The sound she had heard had come from an empty wheelchair striking the door - it was now lying on its side, the wheel still spinning from the force with which it had been thrown....
And a thin curl of smoke was rising from an armchair that was facing the opposite wall, the body sitting in it just out of view for the time being. He laughed, knowing he was no longer alone in the room.
"Glad to see that wasn't too complicated for you." His tone was dry. He tapped out the ashes of his cigarette against the arm of his chair.
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