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twiststhebladeAlchemy, whilst very interesting, is also tedious - there is so much to memorise! So, Miho has given herself the night off. And nights off, require unhealthy food. She has a mini fridge-freezer and basic food preparation facilities in her room, but milkshake and pizza are a little beyond her capabilities. Also, she's eaten all of her ice-cream. Dangerous assassin she may be, but she's still a teenage girl. So she goes down to the Bar to pick up snacks.
Pizza in one hand, milkshake in the other, and the wirekitty on her shoulder carefully holding onto the carton of ice-cream, she makes her way back to her room. There's a stack of movies and graphic novels that requires her attention. Screw studying. It's a night for goofing off.
Her route back to her own room takes her past room 111, and she realises that she hasn't seen Goldy since she got back from O'Town, several weeks ago. Grinning, she pauses outside and listens for signs of life. Oddly, the only sound is a faint melodic chant in child-like voices:
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who comes on at five
She can tell you ’bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It’s interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry...
"You in, Goldy?" she calls, puzzled, not bothering to knock. Her hands are full, after all. There's a scuffle from inside the room.
"Goldy?" No answer.
She frowns. Silently, she steps back, and places the pizza and milkshake on the carpet. Then lifts the wirekitty off her shoulder, making 'shushing' motions with her finger to her lips. The wirekitty seriously sits bolt upright next to the food, trying very hard to look responsible. Miho carefully tries the door handle, which to her surprise opens. She flattens herself against the wall, and pushes the door open all the way. A moment later, she peers carefully around it.
Inside all is still and quiet--almost eerily so. Weak sunlight paints the floor and slants across a partially stripped bed. Miho frowns harder. She could have sworn she heard something in here, a moment ago. She steals across the room, opening the door into the bathroom carefully. Nothing. She comes back, still bemused, and notices a slight movement on the desk out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to look, but there's nothing there except a book.
Miho blinks. For a moment it had looked as if a ripple had passed across the page - as if the print had moved. She picks the book up, carefully, keeping a finger in it. It's an old book, battered and cloth bound. The title page proclaims it to be volume four of 'The Doctor', a collection of essays by Robert Southey. Still puzzled, she turns back to the pages it was open at. It seems to be in the middle of one of the essays, so she flips back a little way.
Strangely, the pages are hard to turn - it's as if they're sticking. They fight harder as she goes further back, until suddenly they slip from under her fingers, and return to the page she'd been at. For a split second, however, she glimpsed a title: 'Story of the Three Bears'. Scowling, Miho begins to read from the top of the first visible page.
And while they were walking, a little Girl named Goldilocks came to the house.
She continues to read the large print to the end of the page, a slight smirk starting to creep across her lips.
And then she sat down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard, nor too soft, but just right.
She flips over. The page turns easily this way.
So she seated herself in it, and there she sat till...
There's a slight tingling sensation where her fingertips touch the old paper. Another one of those ripples sweeps across the page. And even as she looks on through widening eyes, trying to make out the text, individual letters begin to shift with a life of their own. Slowly, they start to relocate; dancing around the page with each other, vowels and consonants alike, all twisting and pirouetting in languid courtship. The entrancing motion gradually increases in speed and intensity until the facing page is a blur of feverish black swirling.
She stares at the page, unsure, for a split second, of what to do. But only for a second, and then she throws the book back onto the table. Or rather, she tries to, but it's as if her hands won't obey her. Her hands, her arms, in fact her whole body, seems to be paralysed. She panics. The blackness on the page creeps out, slowly, blocking everything out, until eventually it reaches the edges of her vision, and the world is black. At the edge of her consciousness, she hears a crunch, as of wood breaking, followed by a thud and a disgruntled female voice.
"Oof!"
"For fuck's sake..."
The room is quiet and still, once more. The sunlight now laps gently at the feet of the figure standing, stock still, in the middle of the room, motionless, eyes fixed on the book she holds before her. One hand is poised, as if ready to turn a page.
Pizza in one hand, milkshake in the other, and the wirekitty on her shoulder carefully holding onto the carton of ice-cream, she makes her way back to her room. There's a stack of movies and graphic novels that requires her attention. Screw studying. It's a night for goofing off.
Her route back to her own room takes her past room 111, and she realises that she hasn't seen Goldy since she got back from O'Town, several weeks ago. Grinning, she pauses outside and listens for signs of life. Oddly, the only sound is a faint melodic chant in child-like voices:
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who comes on at five
She can tell you ’bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It’s interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry...
"You in, Goldy?" she calls, puzzled, not bothering to knock. Her hands are full, after all. There's a scuffle from inside the room.
"Goldy?" No answer.
She frowns. Silently, she steps back, and places the pizza and milkshake on the carpet. Then lifts the wirekitty off her shoulder, making 'shushing' motions with her finger to her lips. The wirekitty seriously sits bolt upright next to the food, trying very hard to look responsible. Miho carefully tries the door handle, which to her surprise opens. She flattens herself against the wall, and pushes the door open all the way. A moment later, she peers carefully around it.
Inside all is still and quiet--almost eerily so. Weak sunlight paints the floor and slants across a partially stripped bed. Miho frowns harder. She could have sworn she heard something in here, a moment ago. She steals across the room, opening the door into the bathroom carefully. Nothing. She comes back, still bemused, and notices a slight movement on the desk out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to look, but there's nothing there except a book.
Miho blinks. For a moment it had looked as if a ripple had passed across the page - as if the print had moved. She picks the book up, carefully, keeping a finger in it. It's an old book, battered and cloth bound. The title page proclaims it to be volume four of 'The Doctor', a collection of essays by Robert Southey. Still puzzled, she turns back to the pages it was open at. It seems to be in the middle of one of the essays, so she flips back a little way.
Strangely, the pages are hard to turn - it's as if they're sticking. They fight harder as she goes further back, until suddenly they slip from under her fingers, and return to the page she'd been at. For a split second, however, she glimpsed a title: 'Story of the Three Bears'. Scowling, Miho begins to read from the top of the first visible page.
And while they were walking, a little Girl named Goldilocks came to the house.
She continues to read the large print to the end of the page, a slight smirk starting to creep across her lips.
And then she sat down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard, nor too soft, but just right.
She flips over. The page turns easily this way.
So she seated herself in it, and there she sat till...
There's a slight tingling sensation where her fingertips touch the old paper. Another one of those ripples sweeps across the page. And even as she looks on through widening eyes, trying to make out the text, individual letters begin to shift with a life of their own. Slowly, they start to relocate; dancing around the page with each other, vowels and consonants alike, all twisting and pirouetting in languid courtship. The entrancing motion gradually increases in speed and intensity until the facing page is a blur of feverish black swirling.
She stares at the page, unsure, for a split second, of what to do. But only for a second, and then she throws the book back onto the table. Or rather, she tries to, but it's as if her hands won't obey her. Her hands, her arms, in fact her whole body, seems to be paralysed. She panics. The blackness on the page creeps out, slowly, blocking everything out, until eventually it reaches the edges of her vision, and the world is black. At the edge of her consciousness, she hears a crunch, as of wood breaking, followed by a thud and a disgruntled female voice.
"Oof!"
"For fuck's sake..."
The room is quiet and still, once more. The sunlight now laps gently at the feet of the figure standing, stock still, in the middle of the room, motionless, eyes fixed on the book she holds before her. One hand is poised, as if ready to turn a page.
