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illusionist
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 Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 8:29 am Post subject: No End In Sight - Chapter Two now up! |
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note so i know it's not very smart of me to start a new sg, but gosh darn it! DMW is evil and got the idea started. enjoy. 
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CHAPTER ONE
Susan had been the first of the five of them to die, and this rested well with the one who had orchestrated the group’s demise. Carla had been the second, Fever the third. The fourth had been Max. But while Alexander, who took particular pleaseure at seeing them all fall and knew better than anyone not to underestimate anyone of them, was surprised at the last for holding out so long, he should not have been thus.
Five simple graves rested at the bottom of the hill. The rain that day fell hard and beat down on Alexander’s strong shoulders. He had left them purposely unmarked so that they might never be at rest, that even in death they might be unworthy of the title ‘saignant’. He turned away from the first grave and slowly made his way down the line. At the last mound of earth he paused and kneeled down, the tip of his right forefinger lightly etching the name of the girl that slept there, ever restless. L was the first letter scratched in the soaken earth before his eyes grew red-rimmed and reluctant tears found their way down his cheeks.
He then rose and walked away, looking back only once, until the graves were nothing more than a misshappen lump at the bottom of a noble hill, and the first and last letters of the girl’s name had been washed away from the earth by the unforgiving rain, along with everything in between.
I laugh. It is a merry joke, and I cannot help not laughing. Max’s eyes dance as I laugh, showing me his delight at my reaction. I laugh again and settle myself in his lap, his arms around my waist and my head cradled on his broad shoulder. Alexander does not grace us with a look, and I can feel his anger. Susan looks at me, shaking her head exasperatedly, while Carla hums tunelessly under her breath while the bartender leers at her lecherously before speaking to Fever.
“Wot a pretty passel o’ ladies ye’ve got ‘ere, mate,” he says. His voice is a coarse and dry as gravel. Fever fixes him with an impassive stare while my eyes narrow of their own accord and before I can stop them, the snappish words are out of my mouth.
“Thanks for the compliment, sir, I’m sure your mother would appreciate the comparison. Pity she didn’t carry on her looks to you.” Carla stifles a giggle and I can see the outline of Susan’s shoulders shaking with repressed laughter as the boisterous men around us laugh at the bartender’s expense. He points a finger in my direction, small black eyes narrowed to slits, and I cannot help but notice that his hair – a flop of mousy brown hair – folds over his ears and makes him look rather like a pig. The folds of fat added to his jowls and jaw only emphasize this similarity, and I bite my lip to keep from grinning impishly.
“Listen ‘ere, ye,” he starts, jerking his head in direction of the door. “Oi could easily ‘clude ye from the mix, and if ye don’t pipe down right quick, Oi’ll have to ask ye ter leave.” I open my mouth to retort ‘right quick’ but Alexander’s hand is around my wrist and I settle myself reluctantly back in Max’s lap. Carla leans over and declares herself bored.
“I don’t know what we’re doing here, quite frankly,” she says bravely. “I’m rather tired. Are we going home soon?” She yawns for effect. “This bar’s atmosphere is quite tedious.” Her voice is loud, and it carries across the room. Several men turn their heads to look at her, but she simply tosses her long brown tresses and smirks.
“Hush, Carla, someone will hear you,” Susan chides. Carla snorts into her mead.
“I don’t care if they do. They’re so tiresome. I want to go home. I’ve had enough of this pub.” I roll my eyes and stretch my legs out till my foot bumps Fever’s knee.
“Fever. Wake up.” It’s no use. Fever, the poor dear, has had the least amount of sleep of the whole of us and has fallen plumb asleep during the interesting conversation I had with the bartender. Carla wraps an arm around him.
“Fe-ver,” she sing-songs. She tuts and makes a whining noise that I know is supposed to be a sign of affection or endearment. She usually makes it when she sees ducklings or kittens, but why it might be applied to Fever is beyond my comprehension. I content myself with lifting an eyebrow and engaging Alexander and Max in a battle of wits that I know I will win.
The night passes easily, and at three in the morning we make our way back, Max and Carla completely drunk and singing merry folk tunes that are sure to wake the neighbors. We hush them, for as we near the corner, St. Andrew’s and Windermere come into view, and we must go our separate ways and make sure not to be caught out of bed.
Susan, ever the etiquette master, dusts herself off and rearranges myself. For myself, I couldn’t care less about my disheveled appearance so long as I find my bed in the dark, and ‘right quick’, too. The phrase is a light one, and it’s gotten stuck in my head.
We hush up Carla and let ourselves in. Windermere’s main hall is as forbidding as the day I first saw it, thirteen years ago. I was four. Cautiously I step by the roaring fires and ticking grandfather clock, Carla still screaming silently against the palm that cups her mouth. I sigh, rolling my eyes, and with that small, innocent gush of breath, the ticking in the hall stops, and I hear steps come our way.
This is it. We’re done for.
I throw Susan a terrified glance, only to find that she’s already run up the stairs, light as a deer, and is rushing towards her room. Blast. Why couldn’t I think of that? The steps grow closer, and I am desperate to drag Carla along with me, but she’s fallen half-asleep and her head lols on my shoulder, eyes glassy and wide, mouth drooling just the tiniest bit. And just as I start to mount the steps, the light of a candlestick illuminates the room.
“Miss Anderson, Miss Hunt. What is the explanation of this?”
And there it is. That cold, aristocratic voice that is the bane of my entire existence. The voice of Windermere’s headmistress, Mrs. Howard. I turn slowly and dare not look at her imposing figure. My nails dig into Carla’s flesh, and in a flash she is awake. In an ill-favored state, but awake.
“Have words lost you, Miss Hunt?” Mrs. Howard asks me, and I shake my head no.
“We – we were –” Before I can finish or make up a sentence, Mrs. Howard interrupts me.
“You will look at me when speaking to me, of course, Miss Hunt.” Yes, I will. Jolly good. I raise my eyes sullenly to look at Mrs. Howard and once again take in the beaked nose and large brown eyes. They are kind eyes, but the strict lines that now grace her face have stolen any sympathy I might expect in them. I clear my throat.
“We heard noises.”
Mrs. Howard nods and walks forwards, though I can see she does not believe me. Her eyes take in my ghastly appearance and as she approaches, her nostrils flare. I can feel Carla trembling beside me.
“Miss Hunt, have you been drinking spirits?” Dear God. Her sense of smell must be more acute than a dog’s.
“No, Mrs. Howard.” I pinch the inside of Carla’s arm and she quickly reiterates my words. The frown on Mrs. Howard’s face deepens, but she waves us away.
“To bed, Miss Hunt, Miss Anderson. Do not let me catch you wandering again.” I gulp and nod quickly, and in a second we have darted up the stairs and into our room, chests heaving, too terrified to say anything, but the grins on our faces give us away, and soon we are collapsed on Carla’s bed, giggling. But we know our jollity must not last long, and within a few minutes we are in bed, with the sheets tucked under our chins.
Carla is asleep well before I am, but soon, sleep finds me. It is not a pleasant night to dream.
In my dream, bats beat their leathery wings against my face, and snakes twine themselves in my hair. There are deep gashes along my arms, thighs, back. I want to cry out in pain, but cannot, for no words will find me.
Want to breathe – No. Cannot. Must run. Hide. Seek. Scream.
I can see people on a hill, all staring at me, and I want to sigh with relief but the snake around my chest constricts itself and I can only stumble forwards. They do not move to help me. Too late I realize I am naked but it matters not – no, not when I am hunted by whatever lies in the woods.
Escape.
The single word pushes the air from my lungs like a bellows and I trip, falling face forwards on the grass. The grass, lush and cool, morphs quickly to hot, coarse sand and it is blown in my face.
Can’t see. Apples on a pear tree. Hide. Run. Escape.
There they are. Snakes – everywhere. Rising from the sand, dropping from the air – one slithers its way out of the wound in my arm. They lay across me, lowering me into the sand till I can breathe no more, till all I can do is hold my breath and close my eyes, and wait for death to find me.
Last edited by illusionist on Thu Jun 12, 2008 7:02 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Phantomfan
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| Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 8:38 am Post subject: |
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Wow, Illy. This is AWESOME!!!
I love it!
Can't wait to read more...
_________________
I've been pulled back from oblivion to lurk about the City once more. Though the music of the night always beckons...
Here's some stuff I started writing a long time ago. Orb. Nexus.
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shy_blu_eyes
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| Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 8:53 am Post subject: |
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| ditto.
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illusionist
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| Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 6:57 pm Post subject: Chapter 2 |
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thanks everyone here's the next chapter for you.
CHAPTER TWO
Alcohol is no happy substance, but it is a lesson I learned a while ago and still my vices are not cured. In the morning, though I have a pounding headache and my limbs are leaden, Carla and I put on brave faces and sweep into the dining room, where breakfast is being served.
Louisa and Mary, the twin daughters of Lord Highmore, turn up their noses and frown disapprovingly at us. I saunter past them and tweak Mary’s braid while doing so. She lets out a shriek and attracts Mrs. Howard’s attention, but as she cannot prove what I have done, she is merely deemed a skittish sight.
The day passes quickly at Windermere Finishing School for Young Ladies, and soon Carla, Susan and I are all huddled in Susan’s room after dinner, debating whether or not to regain the inn that same night, or at least gambol about in the village.
Carla is desperate to go.
“They’ll be waiting,” is her argument, and Susan and I know full well who she means. Max and Alexander could not hold less charm for her. It is Fever she wants to see. Susan and I share exasperated glances, and I braid Susan’s hair gently while looking at Carla in the mirror.
“You go, then,” is my indifferent answer, and immediately Carla’s eyes go wide.
“Ellie! You can’t be serious! You’ll not come?” I shrug my shoulders, wrapping Susan’s dark, silky hair around her head.
“I’ve no reason to.” Susan turns around to face me, her lovely wide face skeptical.
“No reason to? I haven’t seen you as frisky as you are with Max since – since the docksworker!” Carla giggles, and I know Susan has told her the story. I narrow my eyes and drop the thick braid of Susan’s hair. It frays at the bottom but I cannot bring myself to care.
“Have fun at the pub, then.” I turn to go, but Carla’s hand is on my wrist and at the look in her eyes, I sigh, my shoulders sagging. It’s horridly unattractive, but there you have it.
“Fine. But we’re back at one in the morning, and not a minute later. If so, I’m never going with you again.” It’s an empty threat, and we all know it, but Carla nods quickly and I can feel her pulse beating fast in the vein at the close of her wrist.
That night, we are fleetfooted, but I’m in no mood to frequent the pub. Alexander and Fever hover by the door. When they see us, Alexander whistles and Max comes stumbling out of the inn, a pint of beer in one hand. I roll my eyes, and let the hood of my schoolgirl’s cape drop onto my back. My dark blonde curls have already started to tumble out of my braids and with a small cry of exasperation, I tear out the ribbons, and in that instant I am free.
I look at Susan to catch her watching Alexander, her eyes wet and large and shining. I’ve never seen her more beautiful, but he does not look at her. With his disconcerting black eyes he watches my every move and it is all I can do not to run away, though I know him well. Carla’s gone off to embrace Fever. It is a bold move but he welcomes it. Her back arches against his dark form and I turn away, not sure of what is happening and not entirely certain I want to know.
I pout and sigh, feigning boredom.
“We’ve played this scene so often,” I complain. “I’m in no mood to go to the bar tonight.” Alexander’s dark eyes appraise me darkly and he takes my hand, leading us away from the noisy inn.
“Come on, then. I – We’ve something to show you.”
Max slumps against Susan and she laughs heartily. Fever and Carla follow a little ways away. For ten minutes we walk away from the village and soon we are encircled by thin woods and find ourselves in an airy clearing. I turn around to look at it and exclaim in delight, letting Alexander’s hand drop.
“Oh, it’s marvelous!” It’s lovely. I could kiss him, were he not so brooding and reclusive. Susan spins around, her cape a dark shadow. She’s beautiful, and I do not know why Alexander does not prize her like other men do.
We frolick for an hour or two before Fever calls us to stop. He invites us to sit in a circle and I cannot fathom what idea has passed through his head. He looks at us all mischievously, and Carla bounces her foot in anticipation.
“What is it, Theodore?” she asks irritably, and I know she is quick to anger tonight thanks to her use of his full name. He glares at her, but the second before he speaks, I can see his smile. He looks at Susan.
“Susan,” he starts boldly. “You know of those warrior cults, right? The Mousquetaires and the Knights Templar and Darius and all?” She nods her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She puts on a serious face before answering with perfect gravity.
“Aye,” she says, before I dissolve into giggles against her, for it is so unlike her to say anything so wholly common. Fever is impatient.
“What if we were to create our own group of warriors? Soldiers? You know us, we don’t believe all that poppycock they feed us at St. Andrew’s about women being delicate!” He’s impassioned now, and nothing can stop him. “What say you we run away? Together, there’s nothing we can’t defeat! We’re educated enough for anything, we’re brave enough to face the whole of France’s army, and we’re intrepid.” There’s a fire in his eye and I shan’t be the one to put it out. Not when it’s caught on to my spark.
I jump up. “We’ll sail across the seven seas!”
Susan joins me. “We’ll go to Spain! Russia! America!” Max, Alexander, and Carla come up as well, all excitedly chattering, alive with the flame of a newfound purpose. After ten minutes, we sit down again, and Carla chews the inside of her cheek.
“But we haven’t money,” she comments, and Fever rolls his head back in exasperation.
“Thievery, my darling!” he exclaims, jumping up and grabbing her hands. He spins around for a full five minutes while we all lie about, laughing. Carla stops him.
“Are we really to do this, then?” Fever’s smile is brilliant.
“Of course.” She lets out a squeal of laughter and in a moment, her lips are upon his in a full, tender kiss. Alexander clears his throat and throws me a glance, but I am determined to look ahead.
A sound in the forest breaks the two of them apart and causes us to whirl around, just as a dark, stooping form makes its way out of the bramble. My eyes narrow at the unfamiliar sight, and Fever moves in front of Carla, shielding her from sight. Max does the same with Susan.
“Elizabeth,” Alexander whispers, and steps in front of me, and I know he is scared.
We all expect to see a highwayman, a robber, or a deserter from the army. What comes out is more frightening still, and we all tremble before we hear it speak, and when it does, we are afraid.
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shy_blu_eyes
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| Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 8:53 pm Post subject: |
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| Well, you caught me. I was not expecting this to turn into historical fiction. The writing is good, but normally the readers are given the chance to offer suggestions for the poll options, so you might get some complaints about that. Still, I'm interested to see what youhave planned next.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2008 9:22 pm Post subject: |
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... What was this idea that i gave you?
well it seems it was a good idea.
Good writing.
But Lewis Mitchell!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!!?!??!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!??!??!?!?
Next Time I see you, you = 
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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illusionist
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| Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2008 7:26 am Post subject: |
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ah, sorry about that, shy.
i'm a bit new to this as you can see, but phan did offer some suggestions via the phone. i'll keep that in mind next time, sorry. XD
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ashkent
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| Posted: Sat Jun 14, 2008 1:03 pm Post subject: |
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I like this one too. And i just noticed I broke the tie on the votes...everyone wants to see a bad guy, it's only natural.
I'm interested to see how this one progresses...*loses self in thought* mmm, supernatural elements on the way.
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Follow Grim's travels on Twitter -
A Christmas Carol Retold – Available now.
Become a fan of the author and keep up to date with the blog at 
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Head Eater
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| Posted: Thu Aug 07, 2008 1:21 am Post subject: |
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Thisss ssstorygame isss worthy for the HEM district.
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Heads.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Aug 07, 2008 3:31 pm Post subject: |
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COngrats Illy.
YAY you.
First promoted SGAME!!!
(and on the topic of first promoted storygames, read Into the Fray, an epic tale of darkness)
[/shameless advertising]
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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| Who should be the person coming upon the group? |
| James and William Hough, two American bounty hunters who will take up the group and tutor them in the supernatural (William's disposition is sweeter than James') |
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14% |
[ 1 ] |
| Only William |
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0% |
[ 0 ] |
| Only James |
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28% |
[ 2 ] |
| Lewis Mitchell, the sg's "bad guy" |
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42% |
[ 3 ] |
| a group of mountain men who will kidnap and trade off the group to the Hough brothers |
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14% |
[ 1 ] |
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| Total Votes : 7 |
| Who Voted: ashkent, DeadManWalking, illusionist, LordoftheNight, Phantomfan, shy_blu_eyes, Tipico |
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