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writetomyheart2021-03-06 12:16 pm
yrindor) wrote in writetomyheart2021-03-06 12:16 pm
Entry tags:
[Team Three] 'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night
In which Gentarou tells a story. Hypnosis Mic, G, 500w
Faces watched him as he passed. They peered through windows and hovered in the shadows of doorways, hurried by with faces buried in newspapers or shielded by umbrellas.
None of it mattered. The fog obscured them all, snaking around ankles and swirling under sleeves. The damp crept under doors and through gaps in windows despite the best efforts to keep it out. It worked its way into every corner and down every street, and once it took root, it was as stubborn as the fog that had rolled in three decades before and never left.
In a city of mist and shadow, no one noticed one more face on the street. He slipped in among the hurried shadows that filled the evening streets, and the fog accepted him as one of its own. There was no reason for anyone to pay him a second thought as he traveled in their wake from main streets to nearly-forgotten back alleys and narrow side streets that seemed to disappear into shadow.
At last he came to a door, and he paused before it. Light shone from two front windows casting an almost ethereal glow into the ever-present fog.
The stranger made no move to announce his presence. He reached into his bag, but instead of a key, he drew out several slender pieces of metal that he set to the lock. Indistinct chatter and the occasional peal of laughter from inside muffled the soft, metallic click of lock pins catching.
After some indeterminate number of seconds, the lock slid open. The stranger caught the door before it could move. He returned his tools to their place and straightened the cloak around his shoulders. One hand strayed to the wire-wrapped hilt at his hip. The other eased open the door as the man whispered greetings to the fog and urged it to curl around the hinges and keep the telltale signs of his presence for itself.
The fog obliged, wrapping around his feet and stealing away even the quietest echoes of his measured steps as he drew near the doorway that spilled light and chatter into the hall. He waited, hidden in the shadows, until he judged the moment was right, and then--
Gentarou leaned in closer for effect.
Dice scrambled backward, knocking the candy dish off of Ramuda's coffee table in his attempt to flee. "I don't want to know!" he said. "Why do you always have to pick the scary stories?"
"Oh? Was this scary?" Gentarou asked. His notebook hid his mouth, but he couldn't keep his smile from his eyes. "I believe this story has a happy ending. Or was that a lie?"
"Just get on with it," Ramuda whined. "We don't have long before company's expected, and somehow I don't think they'll be looking for a story."
"Very well. I will continue. Dice, please try to contain your reactions. It interferes with the flow of the story, and I have only now, after many years of labor, brought this story to its conclusion."
Ziskandra is up next!
Faces watched him as he passed. They peered through windows and hovered in the shadows of doorways, hurried by with faces buried in newspapers or shielded by umbrellas.
None of it mattered. The fog obscured them all, snaking around ankles and swirling under sleeves. The damp crept under doors and through gaps in windows despite the best efforts to keep it out. It worked its way into every corner and down every street, and once it took root, it was as stubborn as the fog that had rolled in three decades before and never left.
In a city of mist and shadow, no one noticed one more face on the street. He slipped in among the hurried shadows that filled the evening streets, and the fog accepted him as one of its own. There was no reason for anyone to pay him a second thought as he traveled in their wake from main streets to nearly-forgotten back alleys and narrow side streets that seemed to disappear into shadow.
At last he came to a door, and he paused before it. Light shone from two front windows casting an almost ethereal glow into the ever-present fog.
The stranger made no move to announce his presence. He reached into his bag, but instead of a key, he drew out several slender pieces of metal that he set to the lock. Indistinct chatter and the occasional peal of laughter from inside muffled the soft, metallic click of lock pins catching.
After some indeterminate number of seconds, the lock slid open. The stranger caught the door before it could move. He returned his tools to their place and straightened the cloak around his shoulders. One hand strayed to the wire-wrapped hilt at his hip. The other eased open the door as the man whispered greetings to the fog and urged it to curl around the hinges and keep the telltale signs of his presence for itself.
The fog obliged, wrapping around his feet and stealing away even the quietest echoes of his measured steps as he drew near the doorway that spilled light and chatter into the hall. He waited, hidden in the shadows, until he judged the moment was right, and then--
Gentarou leaned in closer for effect.
Dice scrambled backward, knocking the candy dish off of Ramuda's coffee table in his attempt to flee. "I don't want to know!" he said. "Why do you always have to pick the scary stories?"
"Oh? Was this scary?" Gentarou asked. His notebook hid his mouth, but he couldn't keep his smile from his eyes. "I believe this story has a happy ending. Or was that a lie?"
"Just get on with it," Ramuda whined. "We don't have long before company's expected, and somehow I don't think they'll be looking for a story."
"Very well. I will continue. Dice, please try to contain your reactions. It interferes with the flow of the story, and I have only now, after many years of labor, brought this story to its conclusion."
Ziskandra is up next!