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fandomtownies2015-03-24 12:29 pm
needfully-yours.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomtownies2015-03-24 12:29 pm
Entry tags:
Inside Needful Things, Late Tuesday Morning
All was proceeding according to plan. This island had its complications, but the web he had spun was growing thicker by the moment. The poison was deep, and the island herself was faltering.
He was interrupted from a rather delightful glass of Bordeaux by a sharp feeling, as if one of his many tendrils had abruptly been severed. He focused, following the links out, and grimaced in frustration.
One of the links in his chain had been broken. One of those ridiculous fools had broken the curse.
He threw the Bordeaux against the wall, pleased by the angry splash of wine against the wallpaper, moreso by the exultant crash as his glass shattered.
There. He felt better, now. This was a setback, to be sure -- the first crack in the dam was always the worst. His grasp was beginning to slip on the others; those near enough to the brink would be able to break free. And, of course, the girl would tell others, the mob would appear, and related dull matters.
But the fight was far from over. He simply needed time. And, of course, a little protection.
He reached out through his many spiderwebs and sent a message, sharp and clear, to any who might be listening:
I AM IN DANGER. HELP ME.
That ought to bring the fools running. A little cannon fodder, to stand between him and the angry pitchfork-waving locals, who would no doubt come stumbling forward to save the day.
Stumbling because even now, a dark, thick fog was sweeping in, blotting out the sun. Enjoy that, residents. If he had to be in a foul temper, Fandom, then so did all of you.
(Immediately following Kenzi's post, and introducing the thick fog! The message is going out through the cursed items themselves, so it's only to be heard by any of the buyers, and NFB! From here, it's open season -- other players can break their items, or head to Gaunt's to protect him (see: next post!) or curl up and become desperately sick. Muahahahaha. NFI, but broadcast is fine. GAME ON!)
He was interrupted from a rather delightful glass of Bordeaux by a sharp feeling, as if one of his many tendrils had abruptly been severed. He focused, following the links out, and grimaced in frustration.
One of the links in his chain had been broken. One of those ridiculous fools had broken the curse.
He threw the Bordeaux against the wall, pleased by the angry splash of wine against the wallpaper, moreso by the exultant crash as his glass shattered.
There. He felt better, now. This was a setback, to be sure -- the first crack in the dam was always the worst. His grasp was beginning to slip on the others; those near enough to the brink would be able to break free. And, of course, the girl would tell others, the mob would appear, and related dull matters.
But the fight was far from over. He simply needed time. And, of course, a little protection.
He reached out through his many spiderwebs and sent a message, sharp and clear, to any who might be listening:
I AM IN DANGER. HELP ME.
That ought to bring the fools running. A little cannon fodder, to stand between him and the angry pitchfork-waving locals, who would no doubt come stumbling forward to save the day.
Stumbling because even now, a dark, thick fog was sweeping in, blotting out the sun. Enjoy that, residents. If he had to be in a foul temper, Fandom, then so did all of you.
(Immediately following Kenzi's post, and introducing the thick fog! The message is going out through the cursed items themselves, so it's only to be heard by any of the buyers, and NFB! From here, it's open season -- other players can break their items, or head to Gaunt's to protect him (see: next post!) or curl up and become desperately sick. Muahahahaha. NFI, but broadcast is fine. GAME ON!)