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| The Not-Particularly Excellent Adventures | |||
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| 2008-09-13 22:02:32 | |||
ADMIN  Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | of the Keanu-Spawn What happened before, for those of you who haven't been following the story on Club-Keanu -> www.whoaisnotme.net/others/TNPEAOTKS_FDIP.doc --- SO IT CONTINUES. Group A: O'Neill, Constantine, Utah, Moss, Sutton, Higgins, Walker, Kip-of-the-Unknown-Surname, cornflakes guy + Group E "...Were you in Kenselton Hotel?" Paul asked, after a period of stony silence in which Tom and John appeared locked in some sort of staredown. "Yeah," Tom said, not removing his gaze from John. "Block L, 29th floor. You?" "Block F, 4th floor." Tod laughed. "They ran out of space-" People stared at him. He shut up. Nelson muttered something about how they should have done that earlier and saved him the uncomfortable humiliation of sleeping on the floor. "How long have you been here?" Conor asked as Tom released an increasingly pissed-off John from his glare and started walking towards the fire. "Five days. Wouldn't have lasted one if that squid hadn't tried to attack us." And now they saw that the source of the fire was not firewood, but a merrily burning tentacled monster with too many eyes. "Flammable things," Tom continued. "They catch fire when they die. Some kind of post-humous self-defence. Ortiz found out the hard way." The fire had been started right next to the cave wall, such that its flames licked up the stone and heated up a series of narrow ledges, on which several dead fish were being slowly cooked. Near it, a group of five or six teenagers were staring suspiciously at the newcomers. One turned his head and muttered something at the others. They continued staring suspiciously at them, and one leapt to his feet as Tod reached out a tentative hand to the fish. "That's ours," the teen said, and Tod reluctantly withdrew his hand. "This has gotta have been planned," Johnny said to no one in particular. "What?" asked Eric. "Both groups of us end up in the same place within walking distance of each other, just four days apart. What are the chances it's a coincidence?" "*hungry*," vibed the cornflakes guy, but no one was paying attention to him. He felt sad. He missed not-Tim. Not-Tim looked after him. Not-Tim understood him and didn't ignore him. ":(," he concluded. "There might've just been a small pool of possible destinations," Conor said. Tom snorted. "If you're hoping for rescue, you can forget it. No one knows where we are, thanks to the f**hing morons who kidnapped that actor and got us all into this s**." "Hey, that's-" Tod started, then stopped and stumbled back in pain when Johnny and Conor kicked him to shut him up. "At least we're free now," Johnny pointed out. "D'you have any food to spare? We're starving," Conor said at the same time in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "The fishing pond's that way," Tom said. "Get Marlon to catch something for you if you want. Keep your f**hing hands off our own food." ** Marlon James was in charge of the fishing. No one else seemed able to catch any fish; the little things were smart enough to swim away from signs of life. They had considerably larger difficulty in telling the difference between Marlon and an inanimate object. Most of the time, they were too late. The fishing hole was located farther back in the cave, where the air was warm enough for liquid water to flow. Kip dropped down beside it and got his much wanted drink. "...You're... disturbing the fish," Marlon said in mild protest. The fish in question were strange eyeless creatures that looked more than slightly alien, but Tom claimed that they were edible, and no one wished to argue. Throwing the fish through the flames proved to be a most inefficient - albeit fun - way of getting them cooked, and they finally resorted to acting like civilised humans and placing the fish next to the other cooking fish. They tasted like chicken. ** Group D: Anderson, Talbot, Reeves Eventually, not-Tim got off the bed and headed for the door. Neo stepped aside to let him pass, watching as he went into the common room. Crackly noises were soon heard from that direction. Not-Tim poked his head out. "Anybody hungry?" he asked. Neo looked at Eddie and motioned out the corridor before going out himself, hands in pockets. Eddie got up and joined them. A small pile of potato chips, biscuits and other assorted snacks were on the kitchen counter. "Lunch," not-Tim explained. "I don't think they've resumed the food supply." Eddie picked up a packet of chips and tore it open. "The cooks might still be there," Neo said. "We could ask them-" "Then they'll know I'm here. They'd take me away and leave you two behind." "Who was that old man just now?" Neo asked. "I don't know. He says his name is Dem." "What does he want with you?" A pause. "He wants me never to have come here," not-Tim said. "Apparently it interfered with his plans for multiverse domination or something. He said he could... rewind time, back a week, and this time I don't set foot here. So the whole operation continues, more of you get brought over, get killed now and then by the public..." "And if you say no, he kills us anyway?" "Yeah. But it's twenty or thirty lives against thousands." Not-Tim ripped open a packet of coffee with a bit too much force. "I thought the others got out," Neo said. "Apparently they didn't." ** to be continued. | ||
| 2008-09-14 02:41:28 | |||
| Forum Posts: 4842 Comments: 381 Reviews: 13 | YAY!!! billion thanks... must confess I saved the previous installments in a word file.... couldn't resist. I like this story too damn much  | ||
| Personality_Disorder | 2008-09-14 04:33:17 | ||
| Forum Posts: 52 Comments: 0 Reviews: 0 | I saved them too, all of them. Then read them all in one sitting.  Thanks for the update! | ||
| 2008-09-14 08:53:16 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 |  PD, what's your CK username? Random scene I wrote that I doubt fits in anywhere: ** "What are you looking at?" Tom asked with gritted teeth. John continued smoking, his gaze not leaving Tom. Tom lunged out at him, pinning him against the wall. The cigarette fell from John's fingers. He looked at it. "That was my last cigarette," John said. Tom let him go, bent down, took the cigarette and stuck it into his own mouth. "Tough." John kicked him in the head. Tom recovered from the blow and bashed John up. ** Snoring greeted John as he pushed open the door of Tom's room. He was lying on his back, his mouth slightly open. Perfect. John bent over him and muttered several decidedly un-English words. Then he left, the hint of a smirk on his face. Nobody messes with John Constantine. ** Angry yells woke everyone up the next morning. People pointed out that it wasn't possible for anyone to have put the maggots in Tom's mouth, and they must have got there on their own. Not-Tim looked suspiciously at John. John looked coolly back. --- Another random scene that might fit in somewhere (I still don't know where the story's going): Not-Tim interrupted. "Yeah, but-" Tom glared at him. "Did I ask you for your opinion?" Conor tapped Tom on the shoulder. "Uh, that's-" "I don't care who you are," Tom said to not-Tim. "Sit down and shut up." Not-Tim sat down and shut up. Tommy's mouth fell open. "He's so dead," Tod muttered from somewhere in the back. Not-Tim looked at him and smiled. Tom scowled. "And wipe that grin off your face." Not-Tim winced. "Yes sir." Paul hid his head in his hands. **  | ||
| Personality_Disorder | 2008-09-14 12:36:24 | ||
| Forum Posts: 52 Comments: 0 Reviews: 0 | (Anakin McFly @ Sep 14 2008, 08:53 AM) Same as my email that I use in most places- harmonicana80. I never posted anything, though (I think), so that probably doesn't mean much to you.  | ||
| TheRandomOne | 2008-09-18 13:08:16 | ||
Forum Posts: 1 Comments: 0 Reviews: 0 | I was following this via CK Lounge (with no replies) but you might know me through ff.net: yayme2012. Glad to see it hath returned! | ||
| 2008-09-19 06:31:11 | |||
| Forum Posts: 142 Comments: 1 Reviews: 0 | Keep it coming. Loving it. | ||
| 2008-09-25 16:13:17 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Shifting this back to CK. Latest installment is there. -> http://forum.club-keanu.com/index.php?topic=6.0 | ||
| 2008-11-25 23:41:20 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | ...And back here again because CK set its forums to private, and there are non-CK members reading this. This is getting messy like whoa. Will eventually update the MS Word file to include the added stuff that was posted at CK. I'll do that tomorrow or something. Meanwhile, some more additional bits from the final draft: --- "He's up." Eyes staring, trying to focus; rolling onto his side, sitting up in bed, hand going to his head which kind of hurt. "Feeling better?" Paul asked. Jjaks rubbed his eyes and blinked. The other two in the room looked at him from where they sat against the wall, a moment ago in quiet conversation. "Where am I?" Jjaks finally managed. "Fourth floor of Kenselton Hotel," Alex said. "Conor brought you here." The words seemed to dredge up some vague memory from the recent past; but before he could attempt to reorganise his thoughts, he suddenly became aware of shouting going on somewhere outside the room- Alex stood up and opened the door, and the external commotion hit them full force. "You want to get out? Really? Why don't you try?" "They can't keep me here. They can't-" "Go look for Jack! He's trying to ICEPICK HIS WAY OUT THE FLOOR!" "And what about you, huh? You're just gonna stay here?" Conor spread his arms wide. "See any other option, kid?" The newcomer grit his teeth. "I'm not a kid. I'm an FBI agent." "Right..." Johnny Utah shoved him angrily against the wall. Conor caught sight of Alex and opened his palm in a stationary wave. Alex folded his arms. "How can you just stay here and not do anything?" Johnny hollered. Conor pushed him away. "Hey. There's free food. I'm not complaining." "Hah. You can get free food in jail!" "Are you threatening to arrest me?" Johnny swallowed. Feeling suddenly watched, he looked behind him and caught sight of Alex calmly watching the proceedings. "How many of you are there?" Johnny yelled. Conor shrugged. "I don't know. Never counted." The door behind him opened and Ted slid out. "Neo says to keep quiet or he'll totally prove that he knows kung fu." "What's he doing in there?" Alex asked. "Working on some computer thing," Ted said uncertainly. "There're these grey squares, see, with this face on top, and he clicks on the squares, and then they become numbers. He says it's to hack into the-" "He's playing Minesweeper?" Alex interrupted, going over. "Excuse me." He pushed open the door and went in to startle Neo. "I'm still here!" Johnny shouted, in case anyone had forgotten. "I noticed," Conor said, because he hadn't forgotten. He wandered towards the next door to see if Alex's departure mean that the drunk guy was no longer unconscious, when Johnny angrily grabbed the front of his shirt. "Don't you have any desire, whatsoever, to get out of here?" Conor looked at him. "We are in a box," he stated, sticking his hands out to illustrate two walls. "No windows. No exits. Just walls. Understand that? There's no way out. Deal with it." "You said someone named Jack was-" "Jack Traven is on the first floor of this building," Conor said. "He is trying to break his way out of the floor with a hammer, an icepick, and a stress ball. Let me go." Johnny glared at him a while more, then released his shirt and ran off in search of Jack, whom he had decided was the only sane person in this place. *** elsewhere in the chapter thing: "Hello, Jack." "Why do you keep following me?" David smiled. "You're a cop. I like cops." A pause. "Can we be friends?" Jack turned and jabbed a finger at him. "Stay away from me." David frowned slightly. "That's not a good start." "Yes it is." Jack continued walking, squeezing his stress ball for comfort. ** to be continued... | ||
| 2008-11-26 01:35:29 | |||
| Forum Posts: 4842 Comments: 381 Reviews: 13 | thank you, thank you, thank you. in an insane world, I rely upon this story to make some sense ... { errr... now that doesn't sound encouraging at all ....  } | ||
| 2009-01-05 23:28:19 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Catching up with the CK updates; nothing new here if you've been following that other thread. ** Group C: Shane Falco, Perry Lyman, Tommy Wernicke, Chris Townsend, Matt "Hey, what's that-" Speeding up the crawl, spurred on by the promise of a change in scenery, a way out of the labyrinth; brought to a halt by the sight of the metal grille, but beyond that not more corridor, just empty space, dark space, the rush of water suddenly audible- Desperate fingers clawing at the grille, feeling, exploring, another pair of hands join the first, grasping for a hinge, an opening- "Stuck," Shane said. "It's either rusted over or-" He got a better grip on the grille, shook it forcefully. It budged slightly. "Do you hear water?" Chris asked from next to him, peeking out through the grille for hope of a glimpse below. He made out the far-off sparkle of light on flowing water, a waterfall, perhaps, or river of some sort. "Move back," Shane said. "I'll try to kick it in." He got down on the ground and shoved his foot against the grille, again, again... on the third time it finally gave, its sides coming clean off the walls to land with a distant but distinct splash. Shane poked his head out the hole and peered downwards. Nothing much. He reached out a hand and felt along the side of the wall below them, feeling for grooves or handholds or- A ladder. He closed his hand over the cold metal of the top rung, then the rung after that, and gazed back out at the darkness. Shane withdrew his head from the opening. "There's a ladder there," he told the others. "I don't know where it leads." "A ladder?" Chris echoed. "Did we end up in the water system or something?" "Whatever it is, it's too late now," Perry said. He looked back the way they had come. "We can't retrace our steps." "So we go down," Shane stated. "It's dark," Tommy said quietly. Claustrophobia, homesickness, Jjaks' death, and now the yawning pit of darkness through which he'd need to climb, no ground below that they could see, perhaps the ladder broke off halfway and they'd be left clinging there until they fell- "Right," Shane said. He took a deep breath. "I'll go first. I'll see if it goes anywhere, and-" "I'll go," Matt interrupted. "...Sure?" Matt crawled over to the front, Chris moving back to let him through. He lowered himself over the edge, his feet finding the rungs of the ladder, hands moving down to grasp the sides. "Okay, just... give a shout every ten rungs or so, so we'll know you're still there," Shane said as Matt began his descent into the darkness. "Ten!" came the call several seconds later. "Twenty!", more distant than the first, echoing hollowly off the walls. "Thirty!" A pause. "It's wet." Several more seconds of silence, then a small splash, and: "Bottom! Thirty-six!" "What do you see?" Shane hollered downwards. "I don't know, it's too dark!" Shane turned to the others. "If any of you have a flashlight, now would be a really good time to say so." No one had a flashlight. Shane stuck his head back out the opening. "Matt, you still there?" "Yeah." "Great. Stay around the ladder. We're coming down." Shane dropped his feet onto the top rung. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go." Tommy looked uncertainly at the void beyond. "If we stick together we'll be safe," Shane added. "Keep together. We'll be fine." "What about what happened to Jjaks-" "Shut up about Jjaks!" Shane shouted. He swallowed. "That's over, okay? Let's go." The far-off reddish glow of the tunnel they had left cast a dim spot of crimson light around the vicinity of the ladder, just enough for them to make out each other's faces. Sprays of water hit them intermittently from what they now saw was not a waterfall but an open spout from which the liquid gushed to flow away past their feet into the dark recesses of the tunnel beyond. "Is this the sewage system?" Chris asked, stepping off the last rung into shallow water "Doesn't smell like it," Shane said. They looked out at the two tunnels leading away from them. "If we're in the plumbing, we can assume we're underground," Perry said. "We need to go upwards. There should be a ladder, or-" "We just came down a ladder," Tommy pointed out. "Another ladder, then," Shane said. "Both of those tunnels have to lead somewhere." "It's dark." Shane splashed his way towards one tunnel. "Keep to one wall. Human chain. Hold hands. Don't let go." *** to be continued. | ||
| 2009-01-05 23:29:50 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Spin-off from The Not Particularly Excellent Adventures of the Keanu Spawn: Reunion The door pulled open, Johnny standing there in the rectangle of warm light, chewing gum, a grin of forced bravado on his face as he recognises him. "Yeah?" He hears the noises from inside, catches fleeting shapes of people having fun, the familiar voices raised in laughter or lowered sobriety. "Can I come in?" he ventures. "It's raining." It's a pitiful excuse and he knows it, and Johnny knows it too, for who would have walked all this distance in the rain knowing that this was the only shelter around for miles if there had not been some intent in getting in to join them. From behind Johnny's growing smirk, another voice: "Who is it?" and Johnny leaves his spot by the door to rejoin the others, Alex stepping in to regard the unwelcome visitor. For a moment Alex just looks at him in that way he's come to find familiar - that unwilling eye contact, the way he never quite manages to focus on his face without some subtle reflexive wince. "What are you doing here." It is a statement more than a question. Alex glances back at the others, but they don't seem to have noticed anything happening. The visitor falters for words. "I thought... I..." A pause. "Alex, please-" "You know they don't like you around." He nods. He knows that. He's always known that, from that first meeting and the first glare of fearful hostility, but at the same time he can't bring himself to forget about them, knowing they were still out there, somewhere, the children he'd never had... Perhaps it's the storm, or the hour of the night, but he sees Alex's resolve waning, and soon the door opens a little wider to let him in. "There's a... you can stay in my room," Alex says. "Until the rain stops." He mumbles his thanks, but Alex has looked away to shut the door and might not have heard, turning to lead the way. The others quieten as they pass; he feels their eyes on him; he looks up, briefly, and sees the involuntary steps back. He manages a smile that is not returned, and then he is out of the reach of their collective gaze. Alex motions him into the room. He stands around, uncertainly, aware that he's making the floor wetter than it was a while ago. "If you want to change out of that just..." Alex gestures in the direction of the closet. "Clothes are there. Help yourself." He nods his gratitude. "Thanks." Alex hesitates a while longer, then leaves the room and closes the door behind him, head bowed. He can hear them, still, muted behind the wood of the door. Alex's shouts as he returns to the others: "Tommy, get off the table!" and the muffled sounds of continued conversation. He finds a dry T-shirt and pants to replace his own, lingering for a moment on that curious feeling of having a stranger's clothes fit so perfectly. Wanders awkwardly around the room wondering where to dump or hang his own stuff, settling for the windowsill and hoping that nothing would rot. Alex trusted him among his private things. That has to count for something, he thinks, settling down beside the door, ear pressed against it trying to make out voices, words... At least he's actually here, just a room away, probably the closest he'd ever get in a long time. A spurt of frustrated anger rises temporarily in him - he has the right to be with them, among them, they wouldn't even be here if not for him... and the fact that they are out there having conversations he'd never hear, trading jokes and secrets he'd never be privy to sparks a sudden jealousy. But no hard feelings against them can last for long, and he tries to rid himself of that feeling of possessiveness. They are adults, after all, individuals with their own separate lives. He has no right to control them in any way. He hears approaching footsteps and moves away from the door, trying to look engrossed in the pattern of the wallpaper as his host enters the room with a cup and a plate of food. "Thought you might be hungry," Alex says. He puts the cup and plate down on a table, glancing at the actor with quickly averted gaze. "Thanks, Alex," he says, and then in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence with small talk: "Where's Kate?" Wrong question, perhaps; he sees the flicker of fear in Alex's eyes, that unasked question of how much exactly he knew about him and his life, but the answer nonetheless comes. "She's visiting family." "Does she know about this, uh, reunion?" Alex nods. "How many came?" "Just a few. Jack, Conor, Johnny... Shane... Tommy and Jesse... Tod, Jjaks... Perry dropped by for a while earlier. Ted dragged Neo along... didn't look too happy about it. They left just before you came... Chris... " Alex trails off. They are outside, he can hear them- "I'm sorry," Alex says eventually. He doesn't need to specify what for. He gives a small smile, wry and sad and kind, his eyes not quite focussing. "I'm sorry." And he would like to tell Alex that it's all right and that there's nothing to be sorry for, only that the pain is still there and can't be so easily denied. And then Alex leaves him to let him eat and drink in peace, and he wonders who cooked the food; whether it was one of them, or if it was catered from elsewhere; and whose hand had dished it out for him - Alex's, or someone else who cared... But then the rain stops, the rush of water down the windowpane slowing to a drop and then nothing, the midnight sky visible past the washed surface of the glass, the moonlight sparkling off the surface of the lake. "Keep the clothes," Alex says - a last gesture of friendship, perhaps, some shred of comfort amongst the purposeful avoidance from the others, and he thinks he sees pity in some faces, but it is hard to tell when they do not meet his gaze. And so he sets off alone into the woods, the ground still damp beneath his shoes; and he looks back at that small spot of light in the darkness and wonders if he'll ever get that close again. ** | ||
| 2009-01-06 01:41:54 | |||
| Forum Posts: 4842 Comments: 381 Reviews: 13 | *discreetly wipes her eyes* it's just the cold outside...and... and won't admit anything else... *sniff* | ||
| 2009-03-08 17:49:11 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Another update for those following it here; -- "I can't bring them back to life," Taxon said. "Company policy and all that... if they found out, I'd get fired and be sentenced to eternal toothbrush manufacturing duty or something." "Okay." "But yeah, if it's just you, you might have a shot at getting back and reaching the others... hang on, let me call someone." ** The cloaked skeleton loomed up before not-Tim, scythe in hand and grinning; not that skeletons are capable of any other expression. I mean, if fish think that Keanu is bad, what would they think of skeleton actors? All they do is grin: when happy, they grin, when angry, they grin, when loved ones die, they grin... CHOOSE YOUR GAME, Death said. "Um," not-Tim said. "Chess?" 15 minutes later... "Checkmate." THIS SUCKS, Death said. He sighed. OH ALL RIGHT, YOU WIN. YOU CAN GO. "Thank you." Not-Tim got up, when Death stopped him with his scythe. NOT SO FAST, he said. CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH? ** Group C: Shane, Perry, Tommy, Chris, Matt Fingers yanked suddenly as Chris slipped in front of him; grabbed tight, pulled him up again and let him regain his footing- Splashed on in the darkness, Shane leading, feeling his way against the cold rock walls. Then after an eternity they saw light; sped up towards it, up the ladder and through the open manhole - if it was a manhole - and into the red-lit street beyond. It was the same reddish glow of the tunnel, but lighter, and more still; and when they looked past the empty street lined with short buildings and turned their eyes upwards, they saw not sky, but more rock, spreading up and away into a gigantic cavern. "There's no one around," Chris said, and his voice set off a faint echo far above them. They stood facing outwards in a small clump near the spot where they had emerged, gazing at the strange dead world they had arrived in. The streets were cobbled stone reddish grey in the light, and the broken pieces rattled hollowly down the street when Tommy kicked at them. Eventually they made the instinctive move towards the buildings - Matt starting towards one and the others trickling behind him, growing sparser and further apart, for somehow this place felt safe, contained, untouched for many years. The buildings were houses - small affairs no larger than a single room, cube-like structures lined neatly in rows. Matt pushed at a door long rotted with age. It crumbled quietly at his touch into a heap of fine rubble on the ground. He stepped in. The others followed from behind. Bed, desk, some shelves, cupboards. Shane sank down on the bed and stared at the floor. He looked up at them, resignation on his face. "We're going to die here," Perry said quietly. Matt checked the stuff on the shelves for anything that might be of use - food, perhaps, to at least ease their hunger; Chris joined in soon after, but they found nothing other than strange foreign trinkets: hard beads glazed black, cloth that fell apart in their hands, ointments or liquids thick and almost solidified. Initially they returned the things once inspected to their original positions, almost not wanting to disturb the age-forced sanctity of the place; but then actions grew more frantic, urgent, boxes chucked to the ground, things dropped, Matt silently choking back angry tears. Tommy sat on the chair and stared blankly past Perry out the doorway, down the deserted reddish street that seemed to go on forever. And he remembered home; squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, visualised his house, his bedroom, his belongings scattered all over the floor where he had last left them; remembered faces of friends and family, now so far away in some unreachable plane of reality and yet still so close in his mind... just a week ago he had been there, home and safe with everything all right with the universe... Matt swept the last few items off a shelf in frustration and dropped to sit on the floor, glaring at nothing. Didn't want to die, wanted to fight, fight anything, whatever it was that had brought them here and held them here, just to do something instead of waiting quietly for starvation and thirst to take him... "All this way for nothing," he said, his voice tight. "We got out," Shane said, his words limp to his own ears. "We got this far. Better up here than down there." "Jjaks got lucky," Matt continued bitterly. "Quick death." The short conversation lapsed into silence. Shane brought his legs up to the bed and lay there, trying to hide in sleep. "I hate him," Chris blurted out with sudden force where he still stood before the shelves. "Where is Reeves now, huh?" He turned to the others. "It's his fault we're here!" Perry stepped towards him. "It's not," he said. "He was just doing his job-" "We wouldn't be here if not for him!" Chris yelled in retort. Perry grabbed him by his shoulders. "Who else do you want to blame?" he asked. "Your parents? You wouldn't be here if not for them, either." "It's not the same," Chris said, pulling himself away. "You know it's not!" He broke free and ran out the door. "Chris- CHRIS!" The teen ignored the calls, shoes pounding their way down the subterranean street, driven by blind frustration. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't care, it would make no difference if he was going to die anyway, if there was no way out- The place wasn't flat. There was a horizon in the distance, far off down along the unchanging street; and soon, when Chris stopped for breath and looked back, he could no longer make out the small house where the others were; and strangely they seemed now to grow faint in his memory, as though they had never existed and it was just him, here, always had been- It was cooler here in this part of the street, some cold draught of air blowing from somewhere... somewhere above... Chris looked up. And then he saw the far off glimmer of bluish light coming from a wide crack far above... and moving his gaze downwards, he could make out rough steps hewn into the rock, leading up... "Chris!" Someone running after him from behind, possibly all of them, still too far away for it to matter. Chris grabbed hold of a step and started his climb, working his way towards that spot of rippling light, the cold intensifying as he got closer... He poked his head out the crack at the top. He was at the side of some cave. Not too far from him he could make out the ripples of a pond, and sitting next to that, a fisherman. "Uh... hi," Chris ventured. Marlon stared at him. ** + Group A: Conor, John C, Johnny U, Paul, Nelson, Tod, Jesse, cornflakes guy, Kip + Group E: Tom L, Eric, Martin, Harry, Johnny M (too many Johns. I should kill one in the name of convenience), Rupert, Derek, Marlon, Heaver, Mike Riley, Jack not-Traven "WHERE THE **** DO YOU PEOPLE COME FROM?" Tom shouted, interrupting the short happy reunion that had proceeded among the fourteen Keanuspawn of Block F, 4th floor. The noise died down. Tommy and Jesse agreed that it would probably not be a good idea to poke Tom with a stick. "Same place you did," John Constantine said. He wanted a cigarette. He didn't have any. This did not make him happy. "I take it you're not a rescue party, huh?" Martin asked. "Yeah, we're not," Shane said. "Look, uh, do you have anything to eat?" "Yeah," Tom said, not done glaring at them. "We do. You don't." Harry glanced at him. "Come on, Tom..." "There's not enough," Ludlow continued. "We can barely feed ourselves as it is. You think you can just barge in here out of nowhere and take our food? We've been here five days. You've been here for less than one. Why don't you try getting out there and fending for yourself, instead of feeding off the resources that some of us have ****ing died to-" "Show some hospitality, will you?" Johnny Utah asked through gritted teeth. Tom looked at him. "Why?" "Because there are fourteen of us and only eleven of you, and if you wanna fight this out you're gonna lose-" Tom looked at the cornflakes guy and raised an eyebrow. ":(," vibed the cornflakes guy. Shane pulled the FBI agent back. "Johnny don't-" "Yeah, all right," Tom said once he was done intimidating the cornflakes guy. "You want to fight? Okay, let's fight!" He lunged at Johnny, sending them both to the ground, fists flying, Johnny yelling, and the surrounding people learning that it's always a painful idea to stand behind an angry FBI agent. "Look," Conor said. "Can we just-" Then he got a punch in his head and all peaceable notions violently deserted him. John Constantine calmly bent down and picked up the cigarette that had fallen out of someone's pocket. "Got a light?" he asked Perry. "Yeah." And John was happy again. He leant against the rock wall, blew smoke out his mouth and enjoyed the civil war. Then a ripple in the air; and suddenly a circular portal opened, and not-Tim stepped out. "..." he said, surveying the scene. "Uh, hello?" he said. Conor looked up; swore; let go of Rupert's hair and stood looking guilty, blood dripping from his nose. "And who the **** are you?" Tom yelled at the newcomer, giving the mostly-comatose Johnny one last kick for good measure. Not-Tim looked at him for a long while. "The rescue party," he said finally. "You can call me Chuck." * Not-Tim walked up to the semi-conscious Johnny and crouched down by his side. He glanced up at Tom, who still didn't look too happy. "What did you do to him?" Not-Tim asked. "The little punk was asking for it." Not-Tim looked back at Johnny. "Quarterback punk," he murmured. "Can we go now?" Tom asked tersely. Not-Tim stood back up. He surveyed the scene with its beaten and bloodied, his gaze meeting eyes that sometimes turned to look away. "Just one question," he said. "WHAT THE F*** IS ALL THIS?" He stepped over Utah. "Derek, let Nelson go. Yes, I see that you've got him in a half-Nelson. That's very clever of you. But will you please-" "How do you know my name?" Derek asked. Not-Tim laughed. "How do I-" A vaguely psychotic grin spread out on his face. He waved a finger in the air and jabbed it at people as he hopped about navigating bodies. "Tom," he said at Ludlow. "Martin. Harry. Rupert. Marlon. Johnny. Jack. Mike. And- uh." Not Tim blinked. "Who are you?" Eric looked crestfallen. "Eric," he said weakly. A pause. "Um, sorry. Eric, okay. Yeah. And-" "It was you guys?" Tom cut in incredulously. "You're the ones that started it, aren't you? Kidnapping that-" "Started what?" John Constantine asked. Tom stared at Not-Tim. "'Chuck', huh? What's your real name?" "Yeah, that's... that's a form of Charles. It's my middle name, see. K. Charles-" "What's the K stand for?" Not-Tim hesitated. "Kool Breeze Over the Mountain," he said. "Actor?" "Nah, you don't have to call me that. 'Keanu' is fine-" Not-Tim saw Tom glaring at him and decided that it would probably be a good idea to shut up. That was when the cornflakes guy broke free of Eric's grasp and bolted towards him, attaching himself firmly to Not-Tim's leg. He smiled. He missed Not-Tim. Not-Tim understood him. ":)," vibed the cornflakes guy. "Um," Not-Tim said, looking down at his left leg's newest inhabitant. "Can you, uh-" He tried shaking his leg to disengage the cornflakes guy. ":(," vibed the cornflakes guy, and held on tighter. ** Neo stood in the doorway of his room, arms folded as he calmly watched the sorry procession pass by into the common room in various states of injury. Ludlow's gaze lingered on the blanket-covered dead!Alex on the corridor. John followed his gaze. "That's what we do to people we don't like," he suggested darkly. Neo watched as Conor and Kip dragged the comatose Johnny Utah along the carpet by his hands. "What happened?" he asked. "Civil war," Conor said. "Who are the others?" "Found them in a cave and now they won't go away." Neo watched Not-Tim limp by, the cornflakes guy still hanging on to his leg. "Hi, Neo," said Not-Tim. "What happened to you?" Neo asked. "Hmm?" "You're bleeding." "Oh, that. Yeah..." Not-Tim wiped blood off the healing wound on the side of his head. "I killed myself earlier. Shot myself in the head. But I'm all right now. Uh... can you help me get him off?" He indicated the cornflakes guy. Neo looked at him. ":)," vibed the cornflakes guy. "I think he'll need to be surgically removed," Shane said. "Oi, Julian!" "I don't think we need to summon medical assistance just yet-" Julian popped up. "What is it?" Shane pointed at the cornflakes guy. "I'm thinking malignant tumour growth-" Kevin was busy trying to drag his sofa back into the room; he gave up, left it there in the corridor and plopped down on it. ** "All you do is sit on that couch," Nelson said. "Ever thought about doing something more useful?" Kevin sat up and jabbed a finger in his direction. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, not knowing what to say. He settled for looking angry and misunderstood and decided that defending guilty clients was far easier than defending his right to sit on a sofa and do nothing. Nelson smirked and walked on to the common room, where others were milling aimlessly in and out waiting for something to happen. A resounding scream broke the air as Julian succeeded in surgically removing the cornflakes guy from not-Tim's leg. "Hold him," he said as Shane willingly grabbed the struggling cornflakes' guy and dragged him further from not-Tim. ":'(," vibed the cornflakes guy, hands desperately flailing as he tried to regain his grip. Not-Tim shook his leg, enjoying the returned mobility. "Thanks, Julian," he said. He patted the cornflakes guy on the head. He jumped out of the way of a grasping hand. ":(" "Could we sedate him?" Shane asked, trying to figure out the best way to immobilise his captive. "I don't know," not-Tim said. "Neo? Know anything that might help? Just to keep him still, not injure him or kill him-" Neo shook his head. Conor emerged from the common room where he had just deposited Johnny Utah beside the kitchen sink. He looked at Shane and Julian. He looked at not-Tim. He stared back at them. Then he walked off to the sofa and an attempt at returning it to the common room. Shane looked awkwardly at not-Tim, remembering who he was. "Let's... take you somewhere else, okay?" he asked the cornflakes guy, and went off with him to the common room where people were accumulating. Julian stood around looking nervous, then he followed Shane. Not-Tim looked sad. He looked down at his shoes for comfort. He decided that they were falling apart. Time to bring out the duct-tape- "Where's Jack?" Not-Tim looked up to see David standing there. "He died," he said after some time. A disappointed nod. "Miss him?" not-Tim asked. "I liked Jack." "Liked him or wanted to kill him?" "Is there a difference?" "For most people, yeah, I think there is." Griffin stuck his hands into his pockets. "Jonathan and Eddie, huh?" not-Tim pressed on with measured tone. "Planning to do the rest of them in, too? And me?" "Not you." Not-Tim laughed. "And why is that?" Griffin looked at him. "Because you're the only one who understands me." * The common room was the most crowded it had been, but still large enough to accommodate the thirty or so people hanging around waiting. Tom stood by the table and talked quietly with Conor, the latter with arms folded defensively, yet willing to listen and exchange necessary facts. Martin listening from behind Tom; John Constantine leaning against a shelf, smoking and attempting his best to make Tom angry just by looking at him. Most of the others sat scattered about the floor in smatterings of uninspired conversation, the group divided between those from Blocks F and L, casting the occasional suspicious glance at each other. Johnny Utah lay unconscious by the kitchen sink for all to see. Away from both groups, David Allen Griffin leant against the wall by the television screen and watched them. Bill S. Preston Esquire felt highly out of place. He got a bunch of curious glances, which didn't make him feel any better, and instead joined Ted in an animated discussion of what they thought Sid was up to, and how he had gotten so orange in the first place. Near the back of the room, Tommy and Jesse were discovering the extreme dissatisfaction that came from poking Marlon with a stick. All he did was look at them, and sometimes not even that. The door opened. Not-Tim walked in, and the conversation from the Block F side of the room suddenly died down into nothing. Tom looked up to see the source of the sudden quiet. "Hi," not-Tim said, and tried to look inconspicuous. Tom walked towards him; he stopped at an arm's length away and stared at not-Tim with an intense calculating gaze. Not-Tim fought the urge to look away. Tom turned to face the others. "Why're you all so afraid of him?" he asked. No one said anything. Tom turned back to not-Tim. "He's just like the rest of us," he said. In a sudden motion he grabbed not-Tim and slammed him face-first against the wall, ignoring the yell of pain as he grabbed hold of the actor's left arm and twisted it. "Don't feel so powerful now, huh?" "Let me go!" Paul and Shane jumped to their feet and dashed forward. Shane tripped over the cornflakes guy and fell. "I'm taking over this bunch of f***ing inept morons, you understand that?" Tom continued, elbowing Paul in the nose. "Okay," not-Tim gasped. "Okay. Let go my arm. Please," he added. Tom wasn't finished. "And you'll do what I tell you, same as everyone else." "Yes!" not-Tim shouted. "Let go my arm!" "Yes sir," Tom hissed into his ear. "YES MR. LUDLOW SIR!" Tom released him with a shove, not-Tim stumbling to regain his balance, massaging his arm and blinking back tears of pain. "Sit down," Tom said. Not-Tim sat down, still wincing and rubbing his arm. "I'm okay," he said quietly when Julian gave him a concerned look. Tommy realised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. People from Block F looked nervously from not-Tim to Tom. "Okay," Tom said, sweeping the room with his gaze. "The issue here is how to get home. Can they get us home?" he asked, looking pointedly at not-Tim. "I don't know," not-Tim said. "You'll have to ask them." "How do we do that?" "Get out... March on their headquarters..." "I think they're already doing that," Bill said. "That's why they started shooting." "Who are you?" Tom asked. "Bill S. Preston Esquire..." "You're not one of us." "He's my friend," Ted said firmly. Tom gave up. "Fine. So we go out there and join them-" "I think you missed the part about the shooting," John Constantine said drily. A bump at the door. Everyone turned. "Hi, sofa coming through!" Another bump. Paul got up and opened the door for Tod and Kevin and the sofa and helped them attempt to drag it through the door, whereupon it got stuck and refused to budge unless they tilted it diagonally. They decided they couldn't be bothered, so they left it there. Tom Ludlow was not happy at his plans being interrupted by a sofa. He glared at it. ":(," vibed the sofa in the language of the cornflakes guy. "Can we get b-" And then a Mysterious Old Man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rudely cut-short Tom's sentence. He gazed casually at not-Tim. "I see you're alive," he said. Tom glared at him. "Who are you?" "Could have fooled me," Dem continued, ignoring Tom. "I even sent Winston home." "You can send them back?" not-Tim asked. "The question is not if I can, but if I want to." Dem smiled. "What do you want?" not-Tim asked. "You haven't exactly been very cooperative, have you?" Dem asked. "Do they know what you did to Jjaks?" Everyone looked at not-Tim. "What did you-" Shane started. "I didn't do anything to him." "You let him die," Dem said. "You could have stopped it." "Then other people would have died!" "Noble fellow, isn't he?" Dem asked the others. "Willing to sacrifice the lot of you for the greater good-" "Look-" "What?" Conor demanded. "Okay, see-" "Since when did you speak for us? Huh?" Not-Tim looked at him and repressed the urge to say, "In your case, 2001." Conor shook his head. "I've had enough of this," he said. He stormed out the room. He found his way blocked by the sofa. He kicked it. It wouldn't move. He climbed over the sofa and finished storming out the room. They heard various loud noises and swearing from outside as Conor went around hitting things. "New deal," Dem said cheerily against the background noise. "I offer to either bring those dead guys back to life, or they stay dead and send this lot back home." "Hey," Tom said. "Who told you you could just barge in here and-" "I'm not talking to you," Dem said. "Well, Mr. Reeves?" Not-Tim hesitated. "It's their call." | ||
| 2009-03-12 08:32:24 | |||
Forum Posts: 28 Comments: 1 Reviews: 0 | Oh, my gosh, I'm loving this so much. I love how you can always say something a$$holish for John Constantine. Keep up the excellent work!  | ||
| 2009-03-13 00:48:49 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | More! -- So it was that the one-for-one deal was forged, and Winston Connelly found himself rudely returned to the place he thought he'd escaped for good. "Hi, Winston," someone said, as Dem trudged out to the corridor, followed by a trailing line of Block F Keanuspawn. He pulled out a boot from his coat pocket. "It's the Boot of Life," he explained when asked, and delivered a sound kick to dead!Alex lying in the corridor. Nothing happened, except the body got bounced around a bit. "Oops," Dem said. "Wrong boot. That's the insomnia one." He pulled it off and stuck another one on and gave another swift kick to dead!Alex. A bullet fell out onto the carpet. Wounds healed shut. Colour returned to skin. Alex coughed and lay still. Dem decided that another kick wouldn't hurt. So he kicked him again, and Alex's eyes flew open with the confused terror that one is wont to experience upon being brought back to life only to see some old guy kicking you with a boot. He swore and rolled out of the way of the next kick. Dem shrugged. "Guess that's it for now, then." He vanished. Alex looked up at the people staring at him. They looked down at him. "...Welcome back," Conor said. Alex got slowly to his feet. He dimly recalled being exploited as free labour in some strange afterlife place that needed a new recreational wing. The details were growing fuzzy in his mind. He needed to sit down. He sat back down on the carpet. "Okay," Shane said when it looked as though no further interesting thing was about to happen. "Lunch." "More like dinner," Conor said. "We can have both," Tommy suggested. "What time is it?" Chris asked, but everyone was too lazy to look at the clock. It was probably around six. Jesse poked his head into the common room. "Who's hungry?" he called out. Several people decided that they were. So they got up, to the decided displeasure of Tom, who wanted everyone to just sit down and cooperate. The group went enthusiastically out into the stairwell in search of the cafeteria and food. Sitting on the floor, Alex still felt uncomfortably like a zombie. It didn't help that he was kind of covered in blood. He left for the central block, returning soon after with a free change of fresh clothes, then headed duly for the bathroom and a good shower. Back in the cafeteria, the chefs stood around in a deactivated sort of way. The food embargo was still on. The place was eerily still, and clean, and white, the rows of empty tables freshly cleaned and gleaming, the work of the small cleaning robots that now lay dormant by the walls. Their footsteps echoed as they entered. Tod prodded one of the chefs. Nothing happened. But there were ingredients lying about in the cooking areas, and some of them knew how to cook, and others didn't mind eating raw ingredients, and so they got themselves sufficiently full, although the food didn't taste a quarter as good as it would have if Adam Jones had been among their number. * Alex held out his hand. "Alex Wyler." "Tom Ludlow." They shook hands. "Where were you guys from?" Alex asked, tossing his towel onto the sofa to dry. "Block F. The 29th floor." Alex gestured vaguely at the door. "Have you met Keanu?" "Yes," Tom replied shortly. "Okay." "What's he doing here?" Tom asked. "I don't know." "Trying to build some f***ing kingdom of his own?" Alex shook his head. Tom snorted. "F***ing pathetic." Alex just looked at him. "He walks in and suddenly everyone's on their best behaviour-" "It's partly fear. And respect." "For what?" Tom demanded. "What the f*** has he ever done for us? I've spent my whole life getting by on my own. He had no f***ing say in it as far as I was concerned. He might as well never have existed. Why should that change now?" Alex just looked at him. "All he's done so far is to get us stuck in this place. This prison. And since then he hasn't done a single f***ing thing to get us out of it." "He didn't have much of a chance," Alex said. "He got locked up in a room the moment we found out who he was." "Could have done something earlier, couldn't he?" "Look around," Alex said. "I think we're the only ones left in this place. Everyone else got out. Because of him." "Did everyone miss the part about the shooting?" John Constantine asked rhetorically from a corner. He didn't need food. He had a cigarette. "We don't even know what's going on outside," Martin said in a fit of eavesdropping-turned-intervention. "We weren't the only ones that ran back. There were lots of people who would've got sent... who knows where. Most likely they're still there now." * Forced friendliness at the table where they sat down to eat; that mix of fear and pity, the tensions running high, and not-Tim thus excused himself to let them breathe more freely. Bill and Ted exchanged a glance. They got up and joined him. Not-Tim returned the smiles. And the vegetables that Ted snuck onto his plate. * Dinner eaten, stomachs full, the whole of Kenselton Hotel free to roam; down lighted hallways and winding stairs, past silent bartenders that did not move. Together again, anarchy high; they mourned the loss of those who died; and vowed that they'd get home some day, against all odds, and come what may. * Alex found him in the dark of the common room, sitting at the small table between the shelves engrossed in a book beneath the low desk light. "You're still up?" Alex asked. The clock ticking in the shadows said 2 am. Looking up; a shrug. "Yeah." A hand closed the book. The Collected Works of William Shakespeare. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb-" "It's all right." Low snores from the sleeping others filled the silence of the room. "Alex-" "Yeah?" The cracked whisper. "Tell me this isn't a dream." The face that looked up at him held a haggard weariness; tired from insufficient rest, perhaps, or just the toil of the previous week; and somewhere in that gaze came to Alex the sudden conviction that they were equals, after all, equally powerless, equally human, and a wave of compassion washed over him. "It isn't," he said. The actor nodded. He buried his head in his hands and did not move for a while. "Can I get you anything?" Alex offered. "Water would be fine." The gush of the water cooler dispensing clear water into a cup; Alex's footsteps padding back across the carpet, and the hand gently placing the cup before him. "Thanks," he said, and raised his head from his palms. Alex pulled out the spare chair and sat adjacent to him, watching as he took a sip and put the cup back down, gazing unseeingly at the shelf before him and saying, "I'm sorry." "What for?" Alex asked. "Anything. Everything. All of you being here. For coming here myself and making things worse-" "You don't know that things would've been better if you hadn't come." "Jack might still be alive... and Jjaks. That was part of the deal. They could be alive now. I just had to agree not to come. Other people would have died, but..." A pause. "Who am I to speak for you. Why should it be my decision." Alex was listening intently, hands clasped on the table before him. "You did the right thing," he said. "Did I? I don't know if I did." A gulp of water, then a pause, and quieter: "There was a contract. A few months ago. They sent it to a few of us, asking for consent to bring our characters into this world." Another pause. "I said yes." Alex narrowed his eyes. "I didn't know. I didn't know what they... how... I didn't think it would be like this. I just... thought... it would be nice to meet you guys and..." He broke off, looked Alex in the eyes. "I'm sorry." "You had a choice," Alex said, his voice terse. "I didn't think you were real." Alex looked away from him to the table, brow furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry," the actor said again. "They deserve to know." A rueful smile. "Tom will kill me." Alex nodded. They sat in silence for a while. "Don't tell them," Alex finally said. "It'll only make things worse." The actor barely registered his words, both hands gripping the cup of water, just looking at it. "Keanu." His head turned slightly towards Alex. "Get some rest," Alex suggested. "It's late." He got off the chair and pushed it back under the table. The other hadn't budged. "C'mon. You can take my bed. I'm not tired. My whole sleep cycle's been thrown out of whack." Finally the actor got up, cup in hand. Alex reached around and turned off the desk lamp, then led the two of them across the common room and out the door. The corridor was silent with night, its light hanging still in the air. Alex pushed open the door to his room and motioned in. Paul was fast asleep in the lower bunk. The actor paused at the doorway. "Thanks," he said quietly. Alex took the cup from his hand. "You're welcome." Paul stirred slightly as the door shut and the newcomer padded across the carpet. "Alex?" he asked groggily, eyes shut. "No." Paul opened his eyes. He made out the dark figure as it passed him and climbed up the ladder to the top bunk. "Who are you?" he asked, a little more awake now. The upper bunk creaked as someone settled into it. "Good night," came the voice from above him, not answering the question. Paul Sutton got no more sleep that night. * to be continued. | ||
| 2009-03-18 11:23:24 | |||
Forum Posts: 28 Comments: 1 Reviews: 0 | Oh, my goodness, I just now noticed the site banner at the top with everyone's signature...isms. I love it! You're so creative! | ||
| 2009-03-18 14:14:19 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Thanks! Was that Guest comment by you by any chance? | ||
| 2009-03-19 01:11:22 | |||
Forum Posts: 28 Comments: 1 Reviews: 0 |
Oh, and look there, I just did it again. I'm not completely idiotic; I promise, it's just that I use two different computers and forget that I'm logged out on one of them. This is embarrassing. | ||
| 2009-04-30 18:37:48 | |||
ADMIN Forum Posts: 3074 Comments: 405 Reviews: 1 | Update to get back in sync with the CK update; nothing new if you're following the thread there: -- First Combined Meeting Thomas Ludlow presiding Minutes taken by Martin Loader in shorthand, transcribed into longhand post-meeting Start of Meeting: 9:50am Time Collecting Names and Drawing People Map: 4 minutes Actual Start of Meeting: 9:57 am Proposed Agenda: - To discuss current situation - To discuss options and feasability - To decide on best plan and how to carry it out - To decide what to do with Reeves Persons Present: 34 9:57:36: - Ludlow opens meeting, summarises current situation: - We are probably the only ones still here - Scouting report from Marshetta says that stairs to outside world are still there - Earlier reports from Logan and Preston say that outside world is chaotic, full of "people running around and getting shot and stuff." 9:58:42: - Constantine rolls his eyes, entirely unprovoked - Ludlow glares at Constantine, demands to know "what the f*** was that for". - Constantine takes another drag on cigarette, does not answer question 9:58:53: - Ludlow continues: - Many Kenselton Hotel personnel still around, though deactivated - He found a shotgun off the fifth floor janitor - Ludlow produces said shotgun from behind kitchen sink and lays it on table 10:00:14: - Anderson twitches. Gaze fixed on shotgun. 10:00:16: - (cont'd) - Ludlow concludes it will be too dangerous to go out unarmed - Proposes we search KH for other usable weapons after the meeting - Suggest we arm ourselves, then go out there and shoot anything that tries to stop us - Destination is Kenselton HQ 10:02:36: - Falco asks what we'll do when we get there - Ludlow says we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. - Logan asks "what bridge?" - Preston says "the San Francisco Bridge". - Logan says "oh". 10:02:53: - Wyler asks what about Reeves and the hostage situation - Ludlow says he can just stay here and get the f*** out of our way, because it's all his fault that we're here in the first place - Constantine, entirely unprovoked, calls Ludlow a "f***ing asshole". - Ludlow tells Constantine to go to hell. - Constantine says sure, but first he'll need a cat. - Logan says "I thought we were in Los Angeles" - Preston says "good observation, dude. Then it's the Los Angeles Bridge." - Sutton buries head in hands 10:03:25: - O'Neill says "right, so basically we just go out there and shoot people. Why didn't we think of that before?" - Wernicke asks when we can start, and if he's not allowed to use a gun can he just poke people with a stick? - Reeves says that there's probably a better way to go about things. - Ludlow says he didn't ask for his f***ing opinion, and why didn't Reeves come up with a better plan then. 10:03:42: - Lomax points out that Kenselton HQ don't know that Reeves is still alive, and could we work with that? - Constantine said we could, if not for the fact that Ludlow is a trigger-happy asshole. - Ludlow tells Constantine to "suck it, pretty boy". - Constantine says "that's what your mom said". - Ludlow tells him to go to hell. - Constantine says sure, but he still hasn't given him a cat. - Ludlow says that Constantine never makes any f***ing sense. - Wyler says can we please all calm dowN? 10:03:56: - Anderson offers to start collecting guns - Wernicke says he'll go with him - Reeves says "I don't think so" 10:04:03: - Riley says "okay, okay, so they don't know he's still alive, so maybe-" - Wernicke asks what's wrong with the shooting people plan - Mercer mutters something about more work for doctors - Talbot stands up and leaves the room - Ludlow asks him where the f*** he thinks he's going - Talbot ignores him and slams door shut 10:04:18: - Moss points out that the hostage thing didn't work the last time. - Lomax says that's because KH managed to get everyone else against them by cutting off the food, and they can't do that now because no one is likely to come back in to stop us now that they're out - Riley says okay, so what are our new demands? - I say "send everybody home." - Ludlow says "Martin, shut up and write." - Favor says "Tell them to send everybody home or we kill him." - Moss says "I think you're overestimating how much they value his life." - Utah suggests we kill him first to show that we're serious, and then kidnap another actor to hold hostage. - Reeves says something about Point Break 2. - Utah shuts up. 10:04:41: - Ludlow says "Reeves stays alive." - Reeves looks somewhat happy about this - Higgins raises his hand - Ludlow says "What?" - Higgins points at Griffin and says "I don't think it's safe for him to be out here" - Ludlow asks why. - Higgins says "because he killed people and stuff". - Griffin says "I didn't kill any stuff". - Falco says "One out of two's enough. Lock him up again." - Utah suggests we kill him and save the trouble, and Reeves while we're at it - Reeves clears throat. - Utah shuts up. 10:04:59: - Ludlow takes out handcuffs, tosses them at Falco, says "Chain him to a bed or something" - Ludlow misses, handcuffs hit Lomax on head - Lomax doesn't look happy, looks about to attack the origin of the flying handcuffs, presumably considers the source, doesn't do anything 10:05:10: - Falco and O'Neill take handcuffs and Griffin out of room to chain him to a bed or something. 10:05:23: - Wyler says "Can we just come to some kind of conclusion about what to do?" - Marshetta says "We find a bunch of guns, we hold Reeves hostage, we go out there and tell 'em about it, and wait until they do something." - Moss says "This plan sucks." - Ludlow says "You got a better idea?" - Moss doesn't have a better idea. - Townsend suggests we "just stay here and let the other people work it all out" - Marshetta asks "what if they don't work it all out?" - Townsend says "at least they tried, and at least we'd still be alive". - Mercer says "only until the water runs out, and then we'd be dead of dehydration." - Lyman says "your patients must really love your optimism." - Mercer says "most of them live." - Lyman says "all of mine live." 10:06:08: - Wyler says "I think it would be safer if we just stayed here and continue trying to reach them through the... radio link, and maybe come to some sort of compromise-" - Moss says "like that worked the last time." - Wyler says "I don't know. Did it? Sorry, I was dead." - Utah says "we're still here, aren't we?" 10:06:25: - Falco and O'Neill return and sit back down - O'Neill asks "so what happened?" - Moss says "nothing important." - Wernicke says "can we start looking for the guns now?" - Walker says "please?" * They ran around the hallways stripping bodies of their guns; here is one that's made of silver, here is one that only stuns. Handled different makes and tried them, having mock fights in the halls; fingers slipping on the triggers sent stray bullets raking walls. "Stop wasting the f***ing ammo!" Ludlow yelled. They collected themselves back in the common room and dumped the loot on the table. Ludlow located a box and emptied it of its white tablecloths. Not-Tim looked at them. He walked over, crouched down, and picked up a white tablecloth from the floor. He looked at it for a long time. Meanwhile a few people were checking the guns for ammo, chucking the sufficiently full ones into the box. Shane tossed a seemingly empty gun aside. It hit the wall, went off, and blew a hole in a cornflakes box. The cornflakes guy burst into tears. Neo dodged the cornflakes rain and picked up the last gun to check it. "Okay," Ludlow said after that was dropped into the box as well. "Everyone who knows how to use a gun, take one. ...ONE, Anderson! ONE!" Neo sadly returned the other five. "And can someone tell him to shut the f*** up?" Ludlow demanded, glaring at the cornflakes guy, still in tears. Not-Tim sighed. He released the white tablecloth and joined the others on the floor. The cornflakes guy grabbed hold of him. ":(," he vibed, burying his face in not-Tim's jacket. Not-Tim attempted to retain as much of his dignity as was possible with a cornflakes guy attached to him. ":(," the cornflakes guy continued. "How old are you?" Ludlow asked suspiciously as Ron picked up a gun. The teen scowled. "Old enough." "Riiight." Ludlow pointed at the sole remaining cornflakes box. "Hit that." Ron duly complied. Cornflakes flew out everywhere. The cornflakes guy re-burst into tears, falling into sniffles when not-Tim covered his eyes. Ludlow looked reluctantly impressed. He let Ron be and looked over at not-Tim. He took out another pair of handcuffs from his pocket and gestured towards the door. "Get moving." "Where?" Ludlow held up the handcuffs. "You're not coming with us, and I'm going to make sure that you don't. Got any problems with that?" Not-Tim looked at him. He looked at the cornflakes guy. He looked back at Tom. "What if I promise not to go anywhere?" "Not good enough." Not-Tim sighed. He pulled the cornflakes guy off him and stood up. ":( !," vibed the cornflakes guy. "You'll be safer here," Alex said doubtfully, then winced as the cornflakes guy attached himself to him instead. "Just... yeah. Hey, um, can someone help get this fellow off me?" Julian went to answer his call of duty. "You'll be all right," Alex continued as Ludlow led not-Tim out the door. ** Griffin isn't the only one in the room; they find Eddie seated inside by the side of the door, looking up as they enter, suppressed anger in his eyes. "What're you doing here?" Ludlow asks. "Nothing." "Get out and join the others," Ludlow says. "Everyone goes out except these two." "You don't tell me what to do." "Huh." Ludlow's eyes rove over the rest of the scene, takes in Griffin where he's been cuffed single-handedly to the bed by Conor and Shane, looks at not-Tim, then turns towards the door. "Keep him here," he tells Eddie. "I'll be right back." He walks out. "...Hi," not-Tim says. "Hi." Silence. "I don't want to go home," Eddie suddenly spills out, desperate, pleading. "I mean I-... I want to get out of here, but I don't want to go home either, and...." He takes a shaky breath. "...and I don't know, I don't-" He lapses into silence. Ludlow returns with a chainsaw. He tosses it on the ground, then casually drags not-Tim closer to the bed, grabs his right wrist, and handcuffs it to Griffin's left. Not-Tim looks at it; Griffin's hand moves instinctively away, recoiling, a sudden quickly-hidden flash of anger as he stares up at Ludlow. Ludlow nudges the chainsaw a little closer to them, just within not-Tim's reach. Its metal blade shines dully on the carpet. "If you want to get out," Ludlow says to not-Tim, indicating the chainsaw with an uncharacteristically sadistic glee that might have resulted from too much time in John's presence, "chop off his hand." "And you," he says to Eddie, "get out of here." The teen reluctantly obeys. The door booms shut behind them as they leave. Not-Tim glances at his fellow captive, the other's head bowed in what might have been resignation. Eventually he looks up and meets his eyes "Do you want to get out?" Griffin asks. It's not so much a question as a repetition of Ludlow's last words; they hold no offer of friendly alliance, taunting, almost; a dare tinged with false bravado. "I don't want to hurt you," the actor says. His words ring with a perfunctory hollowness. Lip service to the unspoken obligatory contract between creator and created; one does not wilfully destroy one's own work. The chainsaw lies untouched on the carpet. Had their positions been reversed, Griffin might have struck by now and be off, free; or perhaps not, for such crudity might have been below him; he would have savoured the power over him a little longer, the presented threat always there but not quite seen all the way through, hanging like a spectre in the night invading dreams and haunting wakeful sleep, tormenting his future victim with the knowledge that he might not wake to see another day. Weariness moves the actor to sit, slowly, his right hand's descent tugging Griffin's left after; the other joins him on the carpet in silent compliance, looking down at his shoes, just thinking... thinking... The quiet starts to get to him, dogging him with a curious feeling of insecurity. It is too quiet. Griffin is too quiet, his tongue temporarily tied by present company, currently powerless, waiting for his next move, calculating the possibilities... Not-Tim tentatively reaches out his left hand to scratch his ear. He dare not move too freely. "What are we waiting for?" Griffin finally asks. His gaze leaves the carpet and regards the actor with what might have been bemusement. A dark intelligence shines in his eyes. Not-Tim tries to look away. "There's nothing we can do," he replies flatly. A smirk. "You could kill me and escape. I could kill you and stay here. There's no sense in wasting a perfectly good saw. Of course... do you want to escape? What are you going to do out there? Join the others? You know they hate you. Us. That's why we're in here and they're out there." Now that the silence is broken, not-Tim wishes that Griffin would shut up. He doesn't like the way his voice creeps up on him, invading a mind tricked into believing it is his own. "Give up on them," Griffin continues. "There's no use. They're on their own. And we're far safer in here than they are out there." Griffin's hand lies on the carpet next to his, handcuff round the wrist; take the saw, sever it, and he'd be free, but just the thought of doing so brings up revulsion in his mind. The hand looks too much like his own. He briefly moves his own fingers just to be sure of where he ends and the other begins, and he wonders at the mind that controls that other hand; how it thinks, where it's from, where it's been. * Computer... gun... computer... gun... Neo gazed desperately at his beloved computer as he fingered the awesome shotgun in his hand. If he went out there, he might never come back again. He could die. He might get home. He might get home and then die. And he'd never be able to once again roam the Internet of the 21st century. On the other hand, if there was going to be a shoot-people fest, he kind of wanted to be part of it. He swallowed. The dilemma was driving him nuts. People were milling about in the disorganised mess that tends to result when thirty or more are gathered in any one spot. A few had possibly run off to other parts of Kenselton Hotel to avoid what might have been irreversible death. John Constantine hung around the corridor looking out for subtle ways to irritate Ludlow for the lulz. * to be continued. I think I have written myself into a hole. I have no idea what happens next. This is bad... anyway, to last you until the next update, here's a random bit from an earlier part of the final draft. -- "...Hi," Alex said tentatively at Julian. "Hi," Julian said in return, thus continuing the scintillating conversation that David wouldn't have missed if he'd just stayed on a little while longer. "Where were you before you got here?" Alex asked, forcefully extending the conversation past its natural shelf life. "Train station," Julian said cryptically. "You?" "I was... walking," Alex said vaguely. A pause. "I'm Alex," Alex said. "Julian. Julian Mercer." Alex nodded. They went back to staring awkwardly at the floor. Unbeknownst to them, this so happened to be one of the rare moments when someone was actually watching the footage from the surveillance camera trained on the fourth floor corridor of Block F. The viewer in question was listening with increasing delight to what he decided was probably undeniable proof that Keanu's characters were generally monotone and incapable of intelligent conversation. He clicked off the footage and went to call a friend to spread the news. It was at this very moment that Neo entered the corridor tersely spouting deep and profound insights into the workings of Minesweeper and how playing the game would enable him to eventually hack into the system, get them all out of here, and unravel the deepest mysteries of the universe. Which is why he kept playing the thing. Ted tailed after him and into the common room, hanging on his every word, completely enraptured and asking too many questions. * | ||
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