Dreadfully sorry about the lack of an update today, and I beg your forgiveness. This whole 'update schedule' thing is rather new to me. It's also something of a complicated post, as it introduces no less than 5 new characters who Lizard and I are trying to get to interact organically. It is, appropriately for the content of the scene, a bit hectic.
I swear on all that I hold holy, there will be an update by tomorrow afternoon.
You slowly open the door and peer out the crack. It creaks ominously. There is something that is just utterly wrong about this place, like the flashy veneer is only a thin covering to something you don't want to see.
The scream is not helping matters.
You spot a small crowd building two doors down in the hallway. It seems that you weren't the only one to hear that scream. The crowd muddles about impatiently, one tapping a pattern against the wall he's leaning on, another pacing. Cautiously, you begin making your way out of the compartment, stepping as softly as possible to mask your footsteps. Regrettably, the carpet seems to have other ideas and every step you take is amplified like you're walking on microphones.
As one, the crowd turns its attention to the source of the noise, and thus to you. The closest is a tall man in a dark suit of black feathers. His neck is long and pencil thin, running to a small head with a large, crooked nose ridged with bone. Beady black eyes widen and he ruffles as he sees you.
"Bloody finally!" He says, ceasing his nervous pacing and coming to circle you, "What took you so long? You've only managed to loop it. You know we can't do this without you."
He comes to an abrupt stop in his circling and you suddenly find his deformed nose nearly touching your face.
"He gets impatient!" he hisses.
You take a step back at this sudden invasion of personal space and a cat lands on his shoulder.
"Come now, Doctor, you're scaring the poor thing. Give the girl some space, would you?" The tone indicates this is less of a question than a statement, and sure enough, the deformed man steps away to reveal an amorphous mass of cats and jewellery uncomfortably forced into a dress. The thing lurches towards you, somehow maintaining a level of grace altogether uncommon for large groups of cats attempting to occupy the same space, and before you can react it has what you, for the lack of a better option, would call an arm around you.
"Come along, darling, you simply must meet the rest of the cast," It says from a few feline mouths crammed into a neck hole. You're having some difficulty following what's happening, as your mind recoils from the small crowd of monsters you've found yourself engulfed by.
You've been to enough meetings with your publisher to regain control of your sense fairly quickly, but the mound of cats has already steered you to the door. "The Barkleys enter last, of course," it says, gesturing to a grey piece of foliage pressed against the roof of the train car, "But the rest of us are due to enter at around the same moment. The leader doesn't matter right now. Your part is fairly simple, just do what comes naturally. I'm sure you're aware of the appropriate literature."
The tree shifts to allow better access to the door, revealing the police uniform suspended amongst its branches, and the cat mound pushes you into the room.
Inside, a pale-skinned man is slumped against the window with several still-leaking holes in his chest. A strange looking man in a red suit is standing over him, covered in blood. There is a brief, quiet moment as you step in.
How do you spend that moment?
[] Write-in
And then all hell breaks loose. "It's not what it looks like! Don't come in here!" Cries the bloody man. The thin-necked man in the feathered suit rushes in and kneels over the leaking man, "My word! He's dead!"
"Oh, good heavens!" Cries the collective of cats, slumping dramatically back into a convenient cot just as a rustling of leaves fills the cabin, which grows increasingly cramped when the uniformed tree forces its way inside.
"Hold up!" It says, a deep and raspy voice echoing from somewhere in its branches, "I am Constable Barkley of the Yard, and I must ask that no one leave this room until the Detective sees fit to allow it."
Another pregnant pause fills the carriage, the only sound the rumbling of the train for a few more precious seconds. All eyes are on you, even those of the corpse. "Go on," he whispers.
What do you do?
[] Play along
[] Make a scene
[] Dive into questions
[] Ask that Barkley arrest the blood-covered man
[] Run
[] Stand there mute. Their vision is based on movement.
[X] Play along
I am getting a seriously powerful vibe of 'bored nobles playing pretend' atm, and a hunch that so long as they're in 'costume' these guys will play ball with us if we play ball with them.
[x] Remembering the bad fiction you wrote as a teenager and wondering if being made to participate in this farce isn't some kind of karmic payback
[X] Play along
[x] Remembering the bad fiction you wrote as a teenager and wondering if being made to participate in this farce isn't some kind of karmic payback
[X] Play along
[x] Remembering the bad fiction you wrote as a teenager and wondering if being made to participate in this farce isn't some kind of karmic payback
[X] Play along
Our current leaders are "[X] Remembering the bad fiction you wrote as a teenager and wondering if being made to participate in this farce isn't some kind of karmic payback" and "[X] Play along", both with 4 votes.
I'll let the voting run for another day like I've been doing, but it does seem like voting tapers off after the first day. What do you all think, should I make the voting cutoff 24 hours in future, or keep it as is?
I'll let the voting run for another day like I've been doing, but it does seem like voting tapers off after the first day. What do you all think, should I make the voting cutoff 24 hours in future, or keep it as is?
Well, that's voting closed. I think I will shorten this to 24 hours from now on, since we have no changes from last night.
As a reminder, here's what we'll be doing next chapter:
[X] Remembering the bad fiction you wrote as a teenager and wondering if being made to participate in this farce isn't some kind of karmic payback
[X] Play along
This is a post just to make sure you're all aware that we are indeed working on the next update, and it will be available by 8PM tomorrow AEST. I am once again sorry for the delays and am very aware of the irony of the train quest having such a terrible schedule. Rest assured we are trying our best, and any blame falls on my shoulders.
Specifically the head on those shoulders. Specifically the brain inside the head on those shoulders.
This is a post just to make sure you're all aware that we are indeed working on the next update, and it will be available by 8PM tomorrow AEST. I am once again sorry for the delays and am very aware of the irony of the train quest having such a terrible schedule. Rest assured we are trying our best, and any blame falls on my shoulders.
Specifically the head on those shoulders. Specifically the brain inside the head on those shoulders.
The patter of blood hitting carpet fills the room as it oozes out of the wound. It's more blood than you're used to, collecting under the corpse in a blackish puddle, soaking into the fine upholstery. You just walked into the scene of a murder. A man in a red velvet suit is covered in blood. A weird corpse is next to him. There are monsters behind you. Cats in a dress, a deformed man, and a talking tree.
And despite all of that...
All you can think about is the bad, no, horrible fiction you wrote as a teenager. Your fan fiction and the drivel you think of as your 'original works' only to spare yourself a modicum of pride. You burned most of those. Others are stored in the ruined depths of the hard drive of an ancient Windows with mould infesting the motherboard. You are a professional writer now and you are determined that no one else will ever read that diarrhoea of the teenaged imagination ever again.
How many scenes like this have you written? Dozens, surely, none of them any good. All you need now is the entirely innocent butler and this trainwreck could pass for some of your Sherlock Holmes fanfic period. Worse, it seems like a parody of your work, everything taken to ludicrous lengths and allowed to crash about for laughs, except everyone here seems perfectly earnest. As time starts moving again, you feel yourself start predicting the story beats.
First, the one covered in blood claims he didn't do it. He acts more like he's been caught masturbating than caught in
a room with a corpse.
"This is not what it looks like! Don't come in here!"
Then someone with medical knowledge declares the obvious.
The deformed feather man kneels near the corpse "My word! He's dead!"
Like clockwork. Then he takes a strip of flesh and shoves it in his mouth while he thinks no-one's looking. That part's original, at least.
Someone with a delicate constitution is due to feint now, to show just how dreadful this situation is, and the cats seem happy to fill this role. It's odd watching a pile of cats feint. The lump becomes smaller and wider, and ends up engulfing part of the cot. One of the thin lines of cats forming her arms is draped dramatically across her forehead.
At some point, it begins to feel like a passive aggressive dig on you in particular, or at least your teenage self.
You bring yourself back from that tangent just quickly enough to predict the appearance of a police officer demanding that no-one leave the room.
"Hold up! I am Constable Barkley of the Yard, and I must ask that no one leave this room until the Detective sees fit to allow it." Says the tree.
Oh what a surprise, you were right!
And the tree is from the Yard, isn't that delightful? Oh, what wit your tormentors have!
Now it is time for the detective, smug and insufferable, gleaning clues from impossible nonsense or from divine providence of the author themself, the awful, edgy neuroses included to help them feel deep.
You are the last person left. You are the detective.
You realise with horror that this detective is a self insert.
God exists, or some other higher being, and is now punishing you for the atrocities you committed against literature. In your teen years, of course, not today. You're a professional now.
Then the corpse says "Go on", might as well right, talking fucking corpses!
Well if you are a literal self-insert, you might as well make teenage you proud and do what you used to do best.
You place your hand on your chin in your best thinking pose.
This would be better if you had a pipe. The dead man offers you a cigar instead, and you suppose it will have to do.
You grab the large cigar and the matchbook from the limp, cold hand and light the cigar.
"Bon Soir. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Marie Rodier, you have doubtless heard my name or read my work. I have been summoned here, quite rudely, I might add, in order to bring closure to this case." You say and you cringe inwardly. The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you find yourself unable to stop once you've started
If you were your publisher, you would have surely been able to wrangle these unruly words!
You are not your publisher, however, and thus you continue.
"I am afraid that in this case, none of you can be considered above suspicion. Be assured, it is only good procedure to consider all possibilities. The train has not stopped moving, which means that the one who murdered this man..."
You lean ever so slightly closer to the corpse.
"It's Ace. Ace Cold is fine." The deadman whispers, catching your drift.
"Ace Cold, who has been murdered in cold blood!"
God damn it.
You ignore the names of these things as best you can and continue "The one who murdered this man could not have escaped, and thus the killer must be someone aboard this train."
The non-monstrous man tilts his head. "Then, of course, we cannot rule out the fact that you did it, can we, Miss Rodier?"
That took you off guard. Was he meant to do that?
"But we can. You see, I have a particular trait that makes me unique amongst the inhabitants of this train."
You feel a smile worming on your face
"Everyone in this room can confirm that I arrived from my room slowly, with utter shock at murder, of course, but more importantly to the matter at hand, I only boarded this train at the last station, scarcely minutes ago, and was immediately ushered to my compartment. Simply put, sir, I have an alibi. I simply did not have time to commit this atrocity." You scan the room with your eyes "I don't believe any of you share that quality, do you?"
You take out your cigar and blow out some smoke "Now, as I said, everyone here is a suspect of the murder of Ace Cold. I will take all of your testimonies. Constable, watch the door please."
You put the Cigar back into your mouth, when you feel on odd feeling run across your spine.
An odd feeling of… Contentment? No, approval.
The passengers, with the exception of the man in the red suit, seem satisfied and fan across the room as much as they are able in the cramped confines. It's all very rote, like they've all done this before.
As you scan across the room, you feel a cold presence near your boots.
"That was good, kid, better than my first try." He whispers, "Could you give me that matchbook back? I've been feeling kind of cold lately."
You look down at the corpse, who has surprisingly emotive eyes for a man who is dead.
===
Do you give Ace his matchbook back?
[] Yes
[] No
[] Ask if you can borrow it
[] Sorry, its evidence
[] Write in
Who do you interrogate first?
[] The bloody man
[] Deformed doctor
[] Catpile
[] The tree constable
[] The corpse
[] ...yourself! Maybe you ARE still a suspect
[] Write in
Things are getting fun. I wonder if our Benefactor demands we keep the story true to its genre, or if we could throw it completely off the rails and still entertain them.
We'll get you the next update as soon as possible, thank you for reading and voting.
Edit: My Co-QM asked my to close the vote but upon re-reading the votes it seems that interrogating the doctor and the corpse is even.
I'll discuss with my Co-QM what to do.
Asking the doctor to give his statement seems in line with the 'detective script'.
Talking to the corpse seems like a step towards derailing things a bit, which could also be good.
I can go both ways. If the tie doesn't get resolved through other means, you can consider me switching my vote.
