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| Tea Time; Bobby's Challenge | |
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| Topic Started: August 11, 2015, 6:48 pm (153 Views) | |
| Storyteller | August 11, 2015, 6:48 pm Post #1 |
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Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Bobby’s room of Murderworld ![]() ![]() The room Bobby entered into was a stark contrast to the factory he had just left. The place looked like a Victorian sitting room. There was dark wood furniture, a bookcase full of leather tomes, drapes, sconces, frills, bells. The walls were decorated with moss green wallpaper and the whole place smelled a little of old wood and dust. It also smelled of tea. On an end table next to padded chair was a tea service trey with steam rising out of the neck of the pot. Sitting on top of the teacups was a letter addressed to, “Mister Robert Drake.” It was written on browned parchment and looked to be done by hand.
In among the cups and cream and sugar dish was a small plastic baggie with a white powder in it And a label that read, “just add water”. One of the cups already contained plain room temperature water and there was a syringe resting next to the stack of spoons. Coiled around the sugar dish was a length of elastic medical tubing that could be used as a tunicate. Tag:Iceman |
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| Roman | August 16, 2015, 11:32 pm Post #2 |
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Character: Iceman Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Murderworld – Tea Room In a panting, gasping mess... Bobby collapsed into the room from the doorway that led from the cyanide-laced factory. Although he was as quick as any of the others to escape the gasses and exit into their own respective doors, it didn't take a whole lot of time to feel the oppressive and asphyxiating effects of the poison in the short amount of time that he'd stood in the other room. He let out a few choking coughs, still bracing himself against the floor of the room with two outstretched arms and his eyes squeezed shut to let loose burning tears that had coated his eyes. He took only a minute or so to let his breathing regulate back to something resembling human, and finally opened his eyes for the first time since spilling into the place. His hands were resting on a deeply dark-tinted stained, wood flooring. An expensive-looking and elaborate throw rug was only inches away from his grasping hands. He looked up and saw an environment that was not at all what he was expecting outside of England, let alone the chaotic and dingy surroundings of the factory room from before. “What the actual fuck...” His cynically-laced voice sounded out as he looked from side to side, around the intricate lace coverings, details wooden carvings and crown molding, and the eclectic collection of art pieces, books, as well as antiqued sitting furniture. He pushed himself up from the floor and took two very uneasy and stilted steps further into the room. Although this was the most crya-cray bizarre shit he'd seen in his day, Bobby still did not make the connection between the awkward vacuum of space and light from the factory interior only a short time ago and this room. At least not in that he could sense any reality distortions or space-building... though he did know that the two instances were related in some way. He also wasn't ignorant to the fact that he was led here. This is a fuckin' trap... His inner voice was incredulous and irked and he immediately began shaking his head. That's when he spotted the immaculate tea service tray sitting daintily atop the end table across from him; steam was still permeating from the pot and fragrance was saturating the room. He paced up to it, jarring his head from the left to the right in distrust at the room and what possible peril could be thrown at him at any given mother-fuckin time. He looked down at the paper atop the teacups and recognized his name written in really fruity font. He snatched it up fast and carelessly and read the contents faster than he'd probably read anything before. As he finally finished, he darted the paper through a flick of the wrist back onto the table. “I don't fuck with that shit!” He exclaimed out to the walls and to the ceiling. To whoever may be listening and keeping him trapped in here. To the asshole 'Arcade' who'd rushed them all to these traps in the first place. Who was currently trying to get Bobby to take heroin. In all of his life as a drug trafficker and a saleman... he had never tested the merchandise. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd taken a pill or snorted anything. Of course weed was a totally different story... The anger inside of him began to boil up and he kicked at the leg of a Victorian-upholstered chair. There was an only marginally gratifying 'crack' of wood splintering heard and felt before he picked up a vacant spoon from the tray and immediately turned to face where he'd come through originally. But there was no door. Not anymore. Where he'd entered previously, there only now stood another wall, papered pristinely and decorated with a large oil painting. “Ok...” He hissed out through clenched teeth as he was determined to pay it no mind and immediately rushed it. He tore the painting from the wall and tossed it without caution to the wall running to his right and began slamming his fists against it in an attempt to get a gauge on the thickness of the facade. And after only a few seconds... he found that this was no mere false wall dropped in front of his escape... it was solid. There was nothing but more wall behind it. As if the door vanished and never existed in the first place. “The FUCK!” For twenty minutes, Bobby used the spoon to scrape and tear at the wallpaper, in an attempt to find any hidden seams that might have hid a secret panel or entrance. He came up empty. For another ten, he smashed every wooden piece of furniture, every painting frame, and tossed every book from the shelf in an attempt to find a mechanism, lay bare any strings or evidence that would lead him out. He looked for vents, for weak points in the walls, for remotes, buttons, or levers. There was nothing that he found that said that this place should exist. But he did find one thing. Cameras. Positioned behind translucent, reinforced partitions and coverings on virtually every wall corner, ceiling mold, and painting frame. This place was wired to monitor every move. And it only took a moment in an attempt to use his mutant powers to frost up the camera lenses to obscure their view to note that it took way more energy than he thought to completely cover one. For every one he found, there were at least a dozen more hidden to act against him. He couldn't fake his way out of this. He knew it now. And that's what infuriated him the most. It was in that moment that he remembered something crucial in the letter that was addressed to him from his captor. 'There are others waiting for you to help them'... What others? His teammates? Jean? Scott? The police that were trying to mangle them not so long ago? This wasn't right. This wasn't right. He whirled about in a fury, tensing his entire body. Cameras. Cameras everywhere. “I DON'T FUCK WITH THAT SHIT!” His voice was broken and stung in a salty way. Though he knew it was pointless. This had been so convoluted and set up in such preparation that he knew he couldn't shout, argue, or barter his way to safety. And even if he could... he knew not everyone else would be able to do the same. “Fuck...” He sat against the wall with his knees bent and his upturned arm resting straight out atop his left knee. The rubber tubing was already secure just above the crook of his arm. He had spent enough time around the hard shit to recognize that the heroin was already in a salt compound that didn't require additives or heat to make it usable. He looked out at the syringe with daggers of disdain and with helplessness. He knew enough about some of his old buddies who were users to know what to expect after he took the dose. But could his own willpower and consciousness overpower the high? If others relied on him, he had to. What fuckin' choice did he have? The pinching sting of the needle inserting into a plump vein shot in a numb arc up his arm. He pulled back a bit to see the needed blood to enter into the syringe reservoir saying that he'd found a good spot and closed his eyes in foreboding horror of what was to come. He didn't want to watch what he was doing to himself. The drug went in. The syringe cracked against the opposing wall. The rubber snapped and fell limp to the ornate rug. He waited to be free. "I don't fuck with this shit... I don't... fuck... with this shit..." Tags: Storyteller Edited by Roman, August 17, 2015, 2:51 pm.
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| Storyteller | August 19, 2015, 1:14 pm Post #3 |
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Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Bobby’s room of Murderworld Arcade hadn't given him a time limit like everyone else, because rushing Bobby's torture would have ruined it. Every time there was a lull in watching his other victims, he would glance back at Bobby tearing the room apart. It was a shame, some of that was quite old and unique in the world; a chair that was 300 years old. Eventually he caved and took the drug. Arcade had known he would. Even if he didn't know that others lives rested in his hands, taking the heroin would eventually seem preferable to starving or dehydrating alone in that room. It didn't take days to get to that point, only a little over half a hour. In the safety of his control room, Arcade looked to Mr. Chambers and said, "The ice kid is done, please reconnect his door." The man closed his eyes and felt out the spaces in his pocket universe and pushed that part of bobby's room into contact with the next one. Back in the sitting room, the wall where he had entered became a door again and there was a audible click as it unlocked. There was also a slight crackle as the speakers in the room activated and Arcade simply said. "Well done." The dose Bobby had taken was 15mg, not at the limit of safety for first time users, but definitely on the higher end. The drug coursing through his bloodstream was lighting up nerves in all parts of his body, sending a massive surge of pleasure signals to his brain. The effect was similar to that of an orgasm burning through every inch of his flesh. He would be free to leave the room as soon as he was able to pull himself out of the haze of the high. Tag: Iceman Note: Bobby's next challenge is a dual one with Kay. I have contacted Matt K but he hasn't responded. If it takes long enough, then I'll just assume Kay got stuck in his room and Bobby will have to solo it. |
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| Roman | September 6, 2015, 8:26 pm Post #4 |
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Character: Iceman Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Murderworld – Tea Room Sneakers scuffed and squeaked as his feet slowly dug under the ornate carpet with his legs extending out into an outstretched position with his back against the wall. He hadn't opened his eyes in forty minutes, or at least that's what it felt like. The sensation of sprawling out against the floor was heavenly. Almost like the contented fever feeling when you lie in bed and don't care if you never get out of it again. The heroin was a potent batch and even the dull ache of the needle-bruised inner crook of his arm gave off a pleasant, humming warmth. This level of physical comfort and mental peace wasn't anything like Bobby had ever experienced before. It was overwhelming. He let out satisfied groans with his hand placed in a languid motion over the injection site, intending to apply pressure in place of a cotton ball and band-aid that he was familiar with by going to routine doctor's visits since he was a child. He was unaware that he didn't have the cognitive fortitude to grip or press down. There was no need to worry, though. Everything was safe. Everything was incredible. His relaxed musculature gave him leave to fall into deep unconsciousness... while at the same time allowing to to stay awake with eyes carelessly shut and enjoy the feeling of the drug now kicking into full effect in his body. Then he saw the paper. The instructions for him to inject the drugs in the first place and the amenities of the room he found himself inside. A courteous, sinister welcome from their captor, Arcade. His vision was slightly out of focus as he stared blankly at the paper... trying to remember what he had read on it only a short time earlier. He was certain that there was something he needed to remember. The drugs kept him in a cocoon of false safety that told him not to worry about it and to just enjoy being. And he wanted to do just that. Yet... there was something he couldn't shake. He finally looked out across the room over one shoulder at the location where he'd initially entered the room from. Where he found no door... there now was one. Lovely. Now, if he felt like getting up and moving, he could escape. This was wonderful. And there was no rush to do so! Maybe that's what he was supposed to be remembering about this place. After all, he did remember that taking the drug would complete his 'scenario'. He closed his eyes once more as his skin continued to buzz with tantalizing radiance that seemed to pop warmly and tingly in as much movement as he displayed in the shallow breathing that rose and fell subtly in his chest. That nagging again. In the back of his brain. Something that once again told him that he couldn't just relax and enjoy himself... that he could just lay there forever and be completely at peace with that. The door. It wasn't just a way out... What was on the other side of it? His eyes opened again, with uneven blinks and a slight scrunch of his facial expression. Something wasn't right. Wait. Why did he have to shoot up with a substance that killed at least two of his friends back home and left a trail of misfortune and regrettable decisions in the wake of his 'professional' life on the streets of New York City? What was behind that door? He remembered what the rest of the note had read. There were others. He had to help them. But why, though? Everything was going to be ok. The pleasurable sensation of the opiates were reassuring him of that. But the nagging. The function in the back of his brain that wouldn't fully allow him to enjoy the experience of his high. It was automatically forcing him back up to his feet, using the wall he was formerly braced against to sloppily stumble-walk back towards the door. Each step felt like forever and he wished he was lying down again. As he reached it, he put the full weight of his frame against the door and lethargically slapped a hand atop the knob. He had to do this. He had to push past the deceptive euphoria and be the hero, here. He was an X-Man now. That's what they did. He twisted the knob in an easy swing and fell through the doorway into the next room. Tags: Storyteller |
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| Storyteller | September 9, 2015, 1:33 pm Post #5 |
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Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Murderworld: Freezer The room the door lead to was a stark contrast to the finely furnished sitting room he had been in. From the looks of it, he was inside of a walk in freezer, the kinds used in restaurants. Plain metal walls and empty wire shelving was the only thing in there aside from Bobby and two frightened workers from the factory. There was no screen in this room, but Arcade's voice played through speakers. "Oh so you've finally pulled yourself off the floor and moved on. Thank goodness for these two poor fellows. Your friend, Kay, didn't make it out of his room so it all up to you to save them. Pity that he isn't here to help, it would be much easier for you all to survive if he was here. Well c'est la vie. Here's your new challenge. On one of the shelves you will find a digital thermometer and can note that the room is a brisk 50 degrees Fahrenheit. You will have to drop the overall temperature of the room by 100 degrees for half an hour to get out. Now I'm sure that won't be a problem for you, but I can't say the same about those two. If only Kay with his fire breath had made it out. Ta ta and good luck." The terrified men looked over at Bobby, trying to process what was going on. They didn't quite grasp that he was a mutant and would have to put them in a life threatening environment to save them and himself. Tag: Bobby |
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| Roman | September 12, 2015, 6:24 pm Post #6 |
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Character: Iceman Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Murderworld – Tea Room He didn't notice the blunt force of the impact of his body hitting the ground inside the metal freezer unit. All he was aware of was that he was finally stationary, albeit forcefully. He was able to enjoy the full effect of the high once more without having to worry about opening doors and going through them. Already, the opiates were busying themselves away wiping out the real reason why he had to go through that door... deleting short term memories and replacing them with deceptive warmth and phantom compassion from nonexistent sources. With his cheek jammed firmly in the cold flooring, he lazily opened his eyes to gaze across the tiny expansive of the metal box to reveal two more persons inside with him. It was hard to tell if they were real or not. Judging by the very uncool way in which their body language presented fear and uncertainty instead of blissful apathy... he was beginning to lean towards 'real'. The back-brain nagging churned up again inside of his head and he winced ever-so-slightly to the forceful remembrance of his priority. Yes... even now, in the throes of chemical ecstasy... he had a mission to complete. These men were in danger... the same as him, even though he felt totally fine. He had to save them. And he wanted to open his mouth to tell them as much as his gears started to turn in the way that was correct and not intoxicated. “Unnh.” He managed to grunt out in a sleepy and weak tone that probably read as annoyance. Both hands rooted themselves onto the surface of the floor and branched him up into an upright position, still on his ass. “You guys...” He managed to finally say with eyes appearing almost fully closed.
“Fuck you, I found a new floor...” His tone was degenerating into an even more enhanced version of his prior somnambulist's tone. With enough time now elapsing between his reaction to Arcade's speech and to the speech itself, he focused on one thing at a time, as best as he could. “Kay... is... okay?” He asked, even though in his right mind he knew Arcade nor the two other men in the room with him would answer. He felt his pulse quicken, rippling through the previously untouchable high effect of the heroin. People aren't ok, Bobby... It's this fuckin' shit in your veins. You gotta keep it together, kid. His mind knew what his body did not. How was he supposed to save these two? How was he supposed to help Kay? It now became more apparent as the game was unfolding that this wasn't just a really stupid plot to get him hooked on drugs by a stranger for no reason... this guy... this Arcade was attempting some kind of shitty horror movie plot- but for real “Ok...” He was attempting to use what brain power he still had left to navigate the situation. He turned to the two wedged in the corner and held a sluggishly-raised hand up. “Try not t'panic... I'm one'a the good guys...” He slowly shambled in his movements to come to a stand and took a bleary-eyed look at his surroundings, still rolling over the instructions of the challenge as he did so. His brain was not nearly as sharp as he needed it to be right now. “Ok, I gotta make it cold in here y'guys...” His lazy gaze was met with terrifying beaming from the two. He started to nod with eyes closing. “Oh yeah.” They had to live through the cold. “So it's like... 50 degrees he said, or some shit? What's that minus a hundred?” He absolutely wasn't an idiot. The heroin made him Jughead. “Negative fifty.” One of them started with a terrified vocal inflection. “Are you on fucking DRUGS, or something?!” “Ayup... Heroin. Y'gotta try it...” He didn't mean that. Or... his correct brain wouldn't mean that once he'd sobered up. “Ok, firs' things firss... You guys gotta stay toasty...” He didn't even bother to look around the stark environment for insulation or things to wrap up in. He may have been high as a kite, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy, or Arcade that incompetent. But the only thing that Bobby could think of to keep a person warm when all they had to work with was cold things... was an igloo. “Any'a'yoos know how ta build an igloo?” One hostage said to the other one, “Fuck, we gotta figure a way out of here. This dude is stoned out of his mind.” “What about the guy with 'fire breath', man what the FUCK is going on?” The other started to panic. Obviously, Bobby would just have to ignore the lack of help and just go from what he remembered igloos looked like, all brick-stacked and such. He had no concept of caution or concern for his own physical safety in exposing himself as a mutant in such a way, so he immediately went to work. He fell hard to his knees with no real grounded concept of gravity at the moment and hovered his hands outstretched about a foot off of the surface of the ground. Bluish, translucent blocks of thick ice started to form in perfect symmetry, much to the probable horror of the hostages across from him. Any screaming, outrageous remarks, discriminatory slurs, or threats were promptly ignored as were any instances of extended stunned silence or (god forbid) praise and support for what he was attempting to accomplish. He didn't stop moving, even despite the drugs in his system, until he had completed a full circle of stacked blocks that mimicked the pattern of bricks, all the way up to the dome-like roof that only required one more brick to complete it. As he went, he ran his bare hand along the outside of the make-shift igloo to smooth out and shape the ice, absorbing excess and filling in gaps to make it hold in heat better as he went along. After almost falling asleep while bowed over the side of the makeshift igloo to punch in two or three breathing holes, he finally pushed himself back to a standing position and turned to face the two. “Climb inside. I'm Iceman... So I'll be fine. I gotta make it ruhl comfortable for me up in here...” He ended on a playful tone as he picked up the digital thermometer with one hand and held out an open free hand to start filtering in the cold. Once they were inside, he would plug the entrance and do his thing so he could finally get back to enjoying his high some more. Tags: None as of RO |
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3:20 AM Jul 11