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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 0:24:56 GMT -8
Charlotte gazed down at the overturned wheelchair, and the spike of fear was rapidly subsumed by the sheer anger she felt. HOW DARE HE. She carefully righted it, leaving it beside the door she just entered through. Mister Stewart would be needing it when she found him.
“You could use a little work on the puzzles. They’re kind of crap,” she told him. “Barely required any thought at all. And you repeated yourself. Lazily, I might add.”
She strode forward a few steps. “Where is he?”
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Post by The Smoking Man on Dec 30, 2010 0:47:20 GMT -8
"Well...they can't all be gems."
He chuckled softly, uncaring what she thought about the puzzles. As she walked, she would find that there was ash crunching underfoot...ash and broken glass. His voice remained level, his voice somehow cold even while his words were incendiary. "Where is...who, precisely?" He was toying with her now, all pretenses aside. His OWN personal brand of 'game.'
He laughed again - louder this time. The cigarette was discarded, dropped onto the floor and left to smoulder as a faint light suggested he was lighting a new one.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 1:02:16 GMT -8
“I think you know,” Charlotte, said her voice icy. “You pointed me in his direction, after all.” She kept moving, until she was only a few feet away from him. Not know what he’d done to the Mister Stewart, she felt she was rapidly running low on time. She studied the two doors on the opposite side of the room out of the corner of her eye. Was Mister Stewart through one of those doors? When in doubt...
“And honestly, I expected more of you,” she told him, putting as much disappointment as she possibly could into those words.
“Are you afraid? Hiding behind a man in a wheelchair. I never thought you were such a coward. I’m kind of ashamed to think I was terrified of someone so craven and gutless. Or... are you just unaccustomed to your ‘toys’ actually playing back instead of running and being terrified? Is that it? Is that why you’re using Mister Stewart? Afraid you’ll lose without him?”
She smirked.
“Or are you just not enough of a man to face me without a shield?”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 1:15:33 GMT -8
The Smoking Man only laughed...this time, actually a bit louder, quite amused by her statement - if only she KNEW -
THUNK.
Just after she had finished speaking, there was a sound from behind - the door being slammed open against the wall. The lights gave a flicker as someone tried to turn them on, but they only brightened by a fraction, leaving the figure in the doorway mostly illuminated from behind.
It was Michael.
He stared at Charlotte in surprise, his sharp eyes flicking about the room. First a cursory glance - then a glance to the broken glass on the floor...then his eyes feel on the wheelchair. The color left his face, his eyes sharpening and snapping towards the girl. When he finally spoke, there was no lyricism, no rhyme...just a dangerous, serious tone, low to disguise the shaking of his voice.
"...What is going on here?" He took a step forward, head tilting to one side. Something was amiss here. One hand slid behind his back. His shoulders were tense. He looked fierce. "WHAT are you DOING HERE?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 1:26:25 GMT -8
Charlotte’s mind was racing. He had set this up. That’s the only possibility that came to mind. He had known that she wouldn’t be able to leave Mister Stewart to face danger alone. I am a fool... And she knew how protective Michael was of his employer... Had learned more about it earlier this afternoon. She was in very real danger. And she was unsure as to whether or not she’d be able to get herself out of it.
She half pivoted towards Michael, eyeing him warily.
“I’m looking for Mister Stewart. I... had questions for him, and we met at the park earlier. Something happened afterwards... to indicate to me that he may have been in some danger. So I came here. The door was unlocked. I was concerned.” Charlotte studied Michael’s posture, and took a half step back. “I suspect now that it may have been a set-up. At the very least my being here.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 1:39:28 GMT -8
Stormy eyes hard, he took another step forward, his hand sliding out from behind his back with a little click; from beneath his coat he had pulled a short sword, the blade glinting in the dim light. His expression was one of deep scrutiny as he listened to her story...trying to decide whether he believed it or not. Mister Stewart had met with her? Alone? And now she had come here, convinced of some danger...the door had been unlocked. There were many things strange about this story - many things out of place. Mister Stewart meeting with someone privately...? He hadn't done that in a very long time. For him to do so with a girl he had only just met seemed...laughable, at best. For him to let someone else in so quickly. Didn't it?
Michael narrowed his eyes, taking another step forward. He pointed the sword towards the empty wheelchair.
"...Who set you up? Where is Mister Stewart?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 1:44:36 GMT -8
I just buggered this beyond all hope.
Charlotte took another step backwards, eyes not moving from Michael and his sword. He carries a sword. Of course he carries a sword. He didn’t believe her, either. And she couldn’t tell him ‘oh this Smoking Man left me a message in the graveyard that meant penance, and there’s only one person in town that is associated with penance in Greenvale. So I ran over here, did a few puzzles, snarked with said Smoking Man... only to have him vanish seconds before you appeared’. FUCK.
“I don’t know where he is. I told you, that’s why I’m here. Looking for him.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 1:59:31 GMT -8
Never taking his eyes off of Charlotte, he drew the sword in towards himself again, turning it neatly in a few quick and graceful arcs around his shoulders. Oh, yes, he carried a sword...and no doubt from his carriage he was handy with it. Another step forward - he was changing his footing, leading with the right. Adopting a stance to strike if he must. There was a harshness in his face, in his voice that seemed so...uncharacteristic of the young man. But then, Mister Stewart had said that he hadn't been quite his normal self lately, hadn't he?
"And who 'set you up,' then?" He didn't exactly sound as if he bought her story. "Who? Followed the fucking white rabbit, I suppose?" He jerked his head back in a gesture towards the hallway before...of course, of course he had come through and seen the mess in the previous hall...the blood on the floor. There was something...strange in his eyes - a sort of disbelief, a sort of confusion.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 2:07:05 GMT -8
Charlotte stopped moving away from him. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it head on. No more retreating. No more running. The steel in her was visible to anyone who would care to look. She could help the sharp laugh when he mentioned the white rabbit. She was tired, sore, and worried about Mister Stewart, and Michael had absolutely no fucking clue.
“Oh, you have no fucking idea. This is the bloody rabbit hole.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 2:18:59 GMT -8
She was laughing. He was sure she was laughing at him - she had to be. His nerves shot, he swept forward, lashing out to one side with the sword and knocking one of the tea sets to the floor with a loud clatter. The blood the teacups held splattered against the ground, against his suit - he didn't seem to notice it. Didn't seem to see it. Couldn't he smell the smoke that still hung in the air? See the ashes on the ground? His voice had a rattle to it as he raised it, snarling a little as he swung the sword around his shoulders again.
"Do NOT PRESUME TO TELL ME what I DO and DO NOT KNOW unless you are going to be FORTHCOMING WITH WHAT YOU DO. I am NOT PLAYING WITH YOU, Miss Jacobs - if there is SOMEONE HERE who is putting Mister Stewart in DANGER, then you had BETTER FUCKING TELL ME WHO IT IS." There was fire in his stormy gaze...but there was also moisture there, starting to prick at the edges of his dark lashes and trace tracks down his cheeks. "So help me, if ANYTHING has happened to him - ANYTHING-"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 2:38:25 GMT -8
Angry, and having been through something of an ordeal that didn’t seem to be ending with Michael’s appearance, Charlotte growled at him – GROWLED, and stalked toward him a couple steps. If she had been thinking clearer she would have tried a different tact, but after the games the Smoking Man had played... her mouth moved faster than her brain.
“You can’t fucking SEE HIM! You can’t see anything. So it doesn’t matter if I tell you or not!” And it didn’t matter. No matter what she told him... he could not see what he needed to see. But still the words came. “I TRIED. All I wanted was to make sure Mister Stewart was all right. I was the only one who knew, the only one who had SEEN. And I could not stand by and do NOTHING!”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 2:56:02 GMT -8
As she advanced, Michael brandished the sword, prepared if she should try to attack him...but she didn't. Not physically. He listened to what she had to say, the blade wavering...then lowering. He couldn't see him? What was that supposed to mean-?
But then it hit him, the realization dawning across his face and taking the fire from it. He couldn't see it. Of course. This was another of those things - those things that Mister Stewart spoke of, wasn't it? The Shadows. It must be. She could see them, too, and that was why the older man had met with her. To talk about something Michael couldn't see. Perhaps after the morning that had transpired, Mister Stewart had meant to spare his aide having to talk about something he clearly didn't understand....
His voice lowered from the snarl to an exhausted rasp, his eyes deadening a little.
"...Of course. I can't see him." Running his free hand back through his hair in an exasperated motion, he shut his eyes a moment, trying to collect himself. "...From this room, if you take the door on the right, then the second left in the next hall, you will find yourself in the dining room. There are two doors on the left side...the one in the corner is a service door. Take it and follow the hall to the end. There is an office there. Usually where Mister Stewart is this time of day. I will check the other place I believe he might be. Go."
He sheathed the sword, not troubling himself to wipe the tears from his face. He needed a moment to himself.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 3:04:48 GMT -8
Charlotte took a deep, steadying breath, scrubbing a hand tiredly through her hair. She had had one hell of a fucking day. And it’s not over yet.
“If you want to know all that happened, I’ll tell you. Just... later. After Mister Stewart’s safe.” Making mental note of Michael’s directions, she started towards the first door he’d told her. Hand on the doorknob, she paused, looking back over her shoulder at him.
“I’m sorry. I... It’s been a very long day.” Then she opened the door and walked away.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 3:23:00 GMT -8
Michael said nothing more as the girl left the room - standing there, watching her leave with absolute exhaustion in his eyes. He was just so tired - tired of being misunderstood, tired of not understanding, tired of long days and strange happenings. Steadily he was reaching the end of his rope...even he could feel the cracks forming within, and they frightened him. Once she was gone, out of earshot, he rounded on one of the tables, snarling into the silence.
"DAMN IT!" With a sweep of his arm he bowled over a tray, watching it all clatter to the floor and scatter in every direction. "DAMN IT! DAMN IT DAMN IT DAMNIT!" He kicked the table over and tore off the tablecloth, tears coursing down his face.
It wasn't fair. He was vigilant, wasn't he? He stood by and did everything he could, relayed every message, listened to every warning - but the one thing that was the most dangerous, the ONE THING that Mister Stewart made quite clear was more dangerous than ANYTHING ELSE...and he couldn't even see it.
He couldn't protect him from it.
He could fail the one person who meant the most to him.
Furiously, he stalked across the room, the crunch of broken glass underfoot. He had to resort to sending a girl he hardly new to make sure Mister Stewart was all right - because he wasn't even sure if he could see if something was wrong. He was useless. He was useless because there was still some part of him that just didn't believe in these things that supposedly haunted the town...things he had been expressly warned about.
It was his fault he couldn't see them. Of course it was.
Furiously scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, he sunk into the armchair at the end of the room. What would he do? What COULD he do? He knew what the answer would have to be. Pick himself up. Clean himself off. Pretend none of this happened. Be 'fine' again. That was how it always was. But if there was just some way...SOME way that he could do SOMETHING...some way he could reach that White Room that Mister Stewart spoke about, where he accepted things, where he no longer felt guilty, where he could HELP....
But he couldn't quite make it there, no matter how he tried.
Exhaustedly, Michael leaned on the armrest - and was almost startled as he felt something hot scorch his sleeve. Looking down with bleary eyes, he picked up the offending object, turning the cigarette over in his fingers...
...And then taking a long drag from it, blowing the smoke out and watching it curl through the air before he shut his eyes.
If only.
If only there was some way he could get at these Shadows, too.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 30, 2010 3:34:32 GMT -8
Once Charlotte was out of the room, she took off at a run, mentally repeating Michael’s directions. ‘If you take the door on the right, then the second left in the next hall, you will find yourself in the dining room. There are two doors on the left side...the one in the corner is a service door. Take it and follow the hall to the end. There is an office there’.... PLEASE let him be there.
She took every door at a run, and didn’t stop until she had reached the office, where she finally slowed. As she had been told she would. She tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. Slowly, cautiously, she opened the door.
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