> Lucy: CAGED, FADE
causticAccolade
dead yet dreaming
- Location
- Silent Sound, Cipher Cove, Levoile.
You're not a VIOLENT PERSON. Your FISTICUFFS have never been especially high, and you've never once been in a FIGHT, even though you've dedicated YEARS OF YOUR LIFE to hunting down the WORST OF THE WORST in the world of CRIMINAL SCUM, the lunchbox-stealers and library-book-defacers and catnappers of your neighbourhood. Those kinds of people disgust you to your very core with their LAW-BREAKING DEPRAVITY, but you've managed to always treat even those DASTARDLY CRIMINALS with gentleness and civility. But this is a bit of a stressful situation, so you think that nobody could really blame you if you take it out on this portrait.
Plus, she does look really punchable. Pow! Blam! Wallop! You say these sound effects aloud as you brutalize the inanimate object, just so that anyone WATCHING can get the FULL IMPACT and understand how ANGRY YOU ARE. Hell yeah! You feel like nobody would even DREAM of messing with you after this! [+5 ÉLAN]
You take your TRUSTY SCREWDRIVER back into your and, and set about trying to PRY OPEN the GLASS DISPLAY CASE. Unfortunately, after a few minutes of struggling, it becomes apparent that the SCREWDRIVER is FAR TOO SMALL to get the LEVERAGE you'd need to open this.
Unfortunately, the TRIDENT is just a DANG INCONVENIENT SHAPE for this sort of thing, and your efforts prove completely fruitless.
It's quite a STRANGE AND CONFUSING READ - although you struggle to understand a lot of the more technical language about ORBITAL MECHANICS, you glean that the general gist of it is centered around a theory that ascribes irregularities in the orbits of planets to the gravitational pull of an ENORMOUS NINTH PLANET far further away from the Sun than the others. The AUTHOR seems prone to going off on a great deal too many ideological tangents about the weakness and corruption of mankind, and honestly, in your humble opinion, seems like a bit of an EGOMANIACAL NARCISSIST.
The HOLY BIBLE, as you cunningly predict before you even OPEN IT, has been HOLLOWED OUT in order to hide a SILVER KEY INSIDE THE PAGES.
[KEYS ENCOUNTERED: 2]
A passage in which an ANGEL appears before MARY AND JOSEPH has been ANNOTATED IN RED MARKER.
Bible passage said:
It seems FAIRLY INCONSEQUENTIAL. The thought of perhaps SWAPPING IT OUT for another GEM, crosses your mind, although you don't know where you could find such a thing, and this isn't really any time for fashion anyway. At least, not until you find a COOL TRENCHCOAT befitting a JUNIOR SLEUTH like you usually wear.
The MICROPHONE looks OLD-FASHIONED to match the AESTHETIC OF THE CATHEDRAL, but a careful examination reveals it to be EXTREMELY MODERN. It is EASILY MOVED, although the EXCELLENT ACOUSTICS here mean that you think it would PROBABLY PICK UP ANY MUSIC YOU PLAYED HERE ANYWAY. The VINYL PRESS happily accepts a BLANK RECORD, and after some intense TRIAL AND ERROR, you find the button to RECORD MUSIC.
You sit down at the PIPE ORGAN, stretch, and, with a curious sense of apprehension, play the nine notes on the keys. C, A, G, E, D, F, A, D, E. Caged, fade, you think to yourself. You picture yourself, trapped in a series of rooms, solving puzzle after puzzle in some great old ouroboros, never getting closer to escaping. You think about the labyrinth of legend, and the Minotaur that lives in it. Caged, fade. The notes keep reverberating through the cathedral, and the echoes go on for so long that you feel as if they're building up into some cacophony, like the frantic whispers of a crowd before the first person cries out and a riot breaks out. Like tiny spiderweb cracks spreading on the ice as someone has just enough time to regret a risky step before they plunge into icy water, never to be seen again. You think about angels. Caged, fade.
There is someone behind you. You have never been more certain of anything in your entire life. There is someone behind you. You can hear their breathing, or is that just the echoes of the notes? There is someone behind you. You think about fear. Your hands are shaking. You don't want to turn around, but you know that each second that you don't turn around will just increase this terrible sense of uncertainty and certainty at the same time, this feeling of dread. That if you wait too long to turn around, you'll pass a certain point and the fear of seeing what's behind you will prevent you from ever turning around. You'll end up a statue, bones and ashes made into stone like the fossils your dad always took you to see in museums. You think about people who died in the eruption of Vesuvius, ancient Romans turned into stone, captured forever in the throes of their death. Caged, fade.
You turn around.
There is no one behind you. You laugh, first a little, then a lot. Silly you! Getting so worked up over nothing! Still laughing, you go to TURN OFF the VINYL PRESS. It seems like someone has already- no, no. It seems like it's the sort that TURNS OFF BY ITSELF after enough time passes. Yes, that makes much more sense. Your hands NO LONGER SHAKING, you take the (CAGED, FADE) RECORD and insert it into the RECORD PLAYER. Once more, the NOTES SOUND OUT, and you hear a resounding CLICK.
The ROUND PLATE bearing the MERCURY SYMBOL has come loose.
[-100 ÉLAN]
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