| Prologue: Stacy | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 30 2014, 14:46 (90 Views) | |
| FalseHumanity | Jun 30 2014, 14:46 Post #1 |
|
Administrator
|
You burst through the tangle of thorns around you, and stumble into the light. The world rushes back to you. There's the hum of traffic, the rumble of voices, the birds in the trees. There's a certainty, a firmness, in each sound and movement. It's like waking from a dream – the blurry thoughts, the dry mouth. Your eyes hurt. Nothing looks right. The movements are clean, swift. Nothing shifts in the shadows. There's no voices on the wind. You're looking left and right, straining to catch the shape of your Keeper lurking in the crowds. But these- these people, these things crowded in the streets... it's something you haven't seen in a very long time. None of them shine, none of them glisten. They don't look right. For a while, you stay like that, pacing the streets, staring these things down. They look familiar. Each bored, normal, human face brings back a shard of memory of a different time when you looked just like them. And the dream starts to fade. Your thoughts clear. Each minute of normal sunlight hurts a little less. You remember that you had a life here, once. That you had a family. You have to get back to them. And then from around the corner you see it. Something moves in the crowd that distinctly is not human. It has to be your Keeper. It HAS to be. Fuck. It is. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- You've got to do something. |
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 1 2014, 19:00 Post #2 |
|
A thought gives her momentary pause in her terror: the thought of those two soft white little faces; how they smiled when she tickled them, how they cried when they fell and skinned their knees, how they sat, eyes wide at rapt attention as she told them stories of witches and goblins. Those faces, those angels whose memory helped her maintain her sanity...she can see them again, hold them. But He is here, He will keep them from her! Like hell... And now she feels it. It was sitting there in her gut; it had sat writhing and festering but had never quite found its way out, until now. The rage seethes, her fists tighten, her fangs grind, and her ice blue eyes are afire. Stacy Watterson is a slave no longer, and she would rather die than return to the hellish waste of stone and madness to which she was bound. And so, with a roar ebbing with fury and her massive fists upraised, "Stacy Stonefist" charges at her mad captor, ready to duel to the death. |
![]() |
|
| FalseHumanity | Jul 2 2014, 03:06 Post #3 |
|
Administrator
|
You charge toward the shimmering form, heedless of the crowd around you. A few people cry out, but they're quickly lost in the chaos. As you get closer, you catch the heady smell of peppermint that somehow seems to bring the temperature of the day down by a good ten or fifteen degrees, and you see a woman with blond hair and lips like rose petals. She steps back slightly, into the shade of a nearby tree, and the very branches seem to reach down towards her, like a child begging to be picked up. Next to her, a man holding a cigar in his mouth pulls it out and exhales. The smoke is black and oily, and you could swear that the cigar hasn't been lit- And then the woman, still holding her ground, speaks to you. "You are alone." Her voice pierces through to your core, reminding you that your family has been taken from you and that you are lost and that there is no way home. It's almost unbearable. Spoiler: click to toggle
|
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 3 2014, 09:20 Post #4 |
|
She staggers; the words cut deep, piercing her heart. Her strength falters and she falls to her knees, fist on the concrete, tears raining down. It is all too much, was always too much. Can she ever be free? Is there no end? |
![]() |
|
| FalseHumanity | Jul 4 2014, 00:11 Post #5 |
|
Administrator
|
The woman speaks again, her voice carrying clearly over the crowd. "Oh, honey, we've been looking everywhere for you. I promise, it'll be okay." She knees down next to you as she talks, one cold hand on your shoulder. Spoiler: click to toggle The surrounding crowd starts to disperse, and she whispers to you, "Come with me, and I can protect you from Them." She offers her hand to you. "My name's Anna. Anna Frostmoore." |
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 4 2014, 01:00 Post #6 |
|
Not the master, good. Not sure who it is, though. Can't trust her, don't need her, need to get home. Stacy throws off the woman's icy hand, rearing up to her fullest. "I don't need you to protect me," she growls, her own voice sounding foreign, "Just tell me where the hell I am and then get the fuck out of my way!" Edited by Tengu1993, Jul 4 2014, 01:01.
|
![]() |
|
| FalseHumanity | Jul 4 2014, 01:09 Post #7 |
|
Administrator
|
"This is not the time or the place to have this conversation," she warns you. There's a chill in her voice that hardens the very air between you. "Unless you'd like someone to call the police." She indicates a nearby building, with a green sign reading "Panera" on the side. "When was the last time you ate real food? I'm sure it's been too long." |
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 4 2014, 13:06 Post #8 |
|
Food? Panera? Breadsoupwarmcalm, thoughts shotgunned across] her brain and her jaw dropped. She looked at the woman with smoldering anger God damn it, she's right, frigid bitch. She started toward the restaurant, feet hitting the pavement like slabs of concrete. "Fine, I'll eat with you, but I'm not staying any longer than I have to; I have a family to get back to." |
![]() |
|
| FalseHumanity | Jul 7 2014, 03:55 Post #9 |
|
Administrator
|
The three of you head inside, and you have a little more time to size up the two of them. The woman, Anna, is calm and quiet and reserved, and yet there's something about just being around you that threatens to put you at ease. You don't trust her, hell, you don't even like her, but there's a part of you that wants to. The man, on the other hand... he doesn't look slimy so much as melted. There's a subtle run to his skin that gives you the shivers, and the black smoke that floats out of his mouth definitely isn't coming from that unlit cigar. He looks old and worn, and his eyes are an unsightly putrid green. Still, they seem to be buying, so you order food, get it, and sit. Anna sits primly, arranging her napkin in her lap, and looks over at you. "Let me be blunt," she says. "I think that will be easier for us." She looks out the window with a sigh, and then back to you. Her eyes are hard, blue ice. "You were taken from your home and your family one day, by something that you couldn't explain if I paid you to. You were taken to a place that made less than no sense, like it chose deliberately to be impossible to understand. How am I doing so far?" |
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 12 2014, 18:52 Post #10 |
|
The sandwich, puny in Stacy's now massive palm, disappears down her gullet in seconds flat. Her tusks make short work of the bread, pulping it as soon as they clamp down. "Grade A, what's your point?" she huffs. |
![]() |
|
| FalseHumanity | Jul 22 2014, 00:43 Post #11 |
|
Administrator
|
"You're on the run, alone, without a way to get home. You might not even be from Iowa." She takes a couple of bites, and the words 'dainty' and 'breakable' flash through your mind. "We've been there. We all know what it's like. We're willing to help you." She flashes her wintry smile at you. "And I'll ask it for you - what's in it for us?" She indicates the somewhat busy restaurant around you. "None of these people know we exist. We look completely normal to them. We sound normal to them. We just flow around them. But any time that the quiet breaks, and the pond forms ripples, it's like a strand in a spider's web, and the Fae, the ones who took you, come dancing down the silken strings." Anna pins you with a loaded stare. "We're all at risk if we don't work together. They don't like being denied Their playthings, after all. But if they can't find us... what's the saying, ou chat na rat regne?" |
![]() |
|
| Tengu1993 | Jul 22 2014, 08:41 Post #12 |
|
Stacy raises her eyebrows, twisting her mouth into a mild sneer "I don't speak French, lady, and since you've confirmed that we're in Iowa, I'm now doubly sure that I need to get home, so if you'll excuse me..." With that the Ogre rises from the table, and slowly walks toward the door. Let's see where I am |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · The Story · Next Topic » |







6:50 PM Jul 10