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Post by Lyall British on Mar 29, 2015 10:41:23 GMT -5
"Cricket," he said her name like it was a password. His hand dropped when she neared him. Once the distance was shortened considerably he reached out, grasping her by the wrist to pull her in through the door, "there isn't much time." For her, or for him? His hand felt cold when he touched her, his eyes unflinching and the grasp on her pulling, drawing her through the doorway.
"Hey! Wa--" Herald Five was trying to stand in time to be included, but Alex was already in the motion of turning from the doorway to leave him behind. The guide here was unnecessary for him.
Behind door number two. So far, nothing remarkable. Not even a light. It was black like an empty room without windows though Alex held a lantern to light the way. His features were strict, his thin, unforgiving lips turned in a frown.
His hand clamped around her wrist, and almost in the same moment, hers gripped his as tightly. She hadn't been surprised when he appeared, but she was surprised at his actions.
Neither reluctant or willing, she was drawn in to the dark space behind the door. Old Herald Five was on his own as far as she was concerned, being rather relieved to leave him behind.Where she had been, she did not know. Where she was going was as much a mystery. This did not bother her nearly as much as Mr. A himself. Blast the man, in one smooth second he had saved his own life. She was now in the company of someone she could happily slice to pieces and yet was the one person that could get her out of this. It was quite aggravating and she was somehow sure he knew it.
She pulled herself closer to the wily old collector, speaking close to his ear with an irritated growl. "I am finding less and less of a reason not to throttle your spotted old neck, A."
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 30, 2015 19:29:56 GMT -5
Herald Five was left behind the door, still scrambling to his feet like he wanted to be going where she was. Like her, Mr. A had little interest in his presence. The door shut and Herald was sealed away, back to the parameters of the world as he knew it once again.
The absolute darkness and lack of... anything... made the area much like a sensory deprivation chamber. Except them. They were the sun in the middle of an empty galaxy, the light of his lantern reaching out eternally and illuminating nothing. Her grasp as tight as his. His dark, thin eyebrow arched as he looked down at her hand and continued forward. Their grasp on one another like they both were handcuffing the suspect.
The voice at his ear was met with the arc of his thin, dark brow. "The feeling is mutual."
The grasp on her hand tightened. He turned and then started in a direction as if having seen something. He had seen something. It started off like a figment floating in the eye but became more visible as they proceeded. It was another door. When he reached it he turned, hand dropping from her wrist to reach into his pocket, pressing a key into it. The Collector was holding the lamp to eye level and then to the door, "Open the door, Cricket." Strangely enough, Cricket was reviewing what she had for breakfast before starting out this morning, wondering if the mushrooms in her omelet were of the hallucinogenic kind perhaps, because that was what this felt like. A drug induced trip. Doubtful it was, but she was assured that anything having to do with Mr. A was just as unpredictable and just as surreal.
At least, she thought, they agreed on something, even if it was wanting to kill one another.
When his hand tightened on her wrist, her lips twisted in distaste, but what choice did she have but to follow?
She found herself straining her eyes to make out what it was she was seeing and eventually it became clear it was another door. As they approached it, she felt as taut as a bow string, and although his hand released her wrist, she wasn't going to do the same to him. Her fingers remained clamped tight even as his hand plunged into his pocket.
As they stood before this door in a circle of lamplight in an otherwise empty void, her eyes shifted from that portal to his face. They were close enough to smell one another's breath. Her head cocked at an angle, considering his demand and he probably wasn't all that surprised at her reaction which was one simple questioning word.
"Why?"
Was she so stubborn that she was prepared to simply stay in this black void forever? One would say that the door was her only way out and she had not much of a choice, but touching doors one was not familiar with was not a wise thing either. She could very well go from the frying pan into the fire. She just hoped she could drag his scrawny ass with her.
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Post by Lyall British on Apr 15, 2015 8:16:17 GMT -5
"I have come to believe that what is on the other side of that door changes depending upon who opens the door." His eyes' observation was harsh upon her face. How... long had he been there? The Collector had never seemed quite as desperate as he did then, with a hint of sweat at the nape of his neck and something hungry behind his eyes. Alex turned his head and looked at the door and then back to her, "And now that you are here, what is there should change. It has to change."
And if it didn't?
They could circle in this repeating history together over and over. Since she had come, though, he was no longer rereading the same book. Her presence was... the change he needed. It was, at the very least, a disruption to the repetition and unflinching presentation of everything he saw. His eyes went down to the vice hold of her hand upon his wrist and then he looked to the face of the door.
"It should be a place you recognize." And a place that was new to him. Hand twisted. They were grasping one another by the wrist stubbornly again.
Those sharp black eyes scoured him as he spoke, her canted head slowly straightening. A single brow arched higher than its mate as he said it had to change. Did it have to? ..and change from what?
As his gaze shifted to the door, her's did as well. Why did these things always involve doors? She hated those simple panels of construction. She always had.
As he went on, her thoughts changed, and she felt a moment of fear. What if he were telling the truth? What if she opened this door and it was a place she recognized? What if it were her home and she drug this fiend with her? That was unacceptable and she would rather stay here forever than put her children at risk. This thought went through her head in the second it took for his wrist to retake its bony grasp on hers.
Hadn't he said they didn't have much time? Until what? The issue of time seemed to surround everything Mr. A was involved in. It was obvious he needed her. No .. that was wrong. He was using her and he needed something. The problem was that what you thought you saw was not always what you got with the Collector. He was a master of manipulation. The hand not upon his wrist was tightening on her cane, and she forced it to relax. She brought her cane up to horizontally catch beneath her arm and free fingers began to reach out for the door. A hairs breath from touching it, those fingers curled back and she stopped, shifting narrowing eyes back on him. She was not in the business of giving something for nothing. Quid pro quo. "Thee will explain, in detail, what the hell is going on, why we are here and what it is you are trying to accomplish." She leaned in, close enough that the hard onyx of her eyes revealed she was not bluffing, and whispered,"..or both of us are staying right here."
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