A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Night 50: Main Hallway, 1-West
big damn heroes
heroesdontshave wrote in damned
[from here]

It looked like the hallway opened up over here. Guess he couldn't expect to just run around and follow a linear corridor forever, but now he had to figure out which way he wanted to go. Normally, he'd just run down whatever hallway he happened to lay eye on first, but again, he was running a liiittle blind here.

He still wasn't seeing any people anywhere. Maybe everyone was hiding. If everyone knew the staff turned into monsters and tried to eat them, then it'd make sense that they'd try to keep low. Thankfully, he'd be taking care of whatever was wandering around this place, so they wouldn't have to stay hiding for long. Once that was done, they could blast their way out of there and he could find his way back to the others. Couldn't keep everyone waiting on account of him, right?

[running across Rita, The Trickster, and hopefully, a freaking flashlight]

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[from here]

The usual milling round while people worked up the balls to go out of the save zones was in full swing. Like a homecoming, with swords and clubs instead of ties and Barbara Streisand. And less spiked punch.

Scarecrow wasn't here yet, so S.T. flicked on his flashlight and made himself obvious.

[for Scarecrow]

Edited at 2010-07-12 02:00 am (UTC)

[Annnd to here.]

Rounding the corner into the main hallway, the Scarecrow's eyes were immediately drawn to a light that conveniently led to Sangamon. He gave his friend a small wave as he headed toward him, turning on his own light- it flickered a few times before finding its strength. Oh! It hadn't been at all well the night before, either. As well as the player, he needed to find more batteries for his light- one more thing to ask about during their travels.

"How do you do, Sangamon?" he greeted, turning his light off for now. He held up his prize for S.T. to see. "I brought the movie, just in case we do find what we're looking for."

Edited at 2010-07-12 08:12 am (UTC)

The Scarecrow bounded up, spewing good cheer like a Walt Disney overflow pipe.  S.T. resisted the urge to drop a curtsy and merely grunted to indicate his continued good health.    

Sangamon Taylor could no longer remember being young enough that the relentless optimism of children's literature passed unquestioned.  The Earth he inhabited had been poisoned not only by industrial waste, pesticides, human waste (which made an accurate general descriptor, but in this case he was thinking of excrement), and war crimes, but by toxic levels of greed and cynicism.  Think Globally Act Locally was an effective slogan because making anything beyond a token effort to recycle was seen as neither reasonable or sane.

  This was ironic, given that, wisecracks and inappropriate uses of his enemies' credit cards notwithstanding, Sangamon had dedicated his existence to precisely that.  Not that he would put it in those terms without most of a six-pack or the injudicious editing of a reporter looking for a hero to anoint so that they could get a Pulitzer the next time Sangamon did something irrational like take on multinational corporation with less than a dozen people and a boat or two.  Everyone needed a hobby, he'd claim.  He just had the luxury of being paid (a pittance, but a livable one) for the privilege.  Like any other egghead, except he knew what the consequences were for pissing off the big boys.  He just didn't care.  

Tonight, however, his aspirations were much more modest.  One television, laserdisc player, and maybe some microwave popcorn if the Institute hadn't banned it from the employee kitchens on the grounds that it qualified as a bioweapon.  And unlike curry or fish sauce, could not be defended on ethnic minority persecution grounds.  First things first -- what kind of player?  He extracted the case -- smaller than a CD box -- from Scarecrow's grip and popped it open.  Same size as a CD, so the player would be what -- a VCD?  No, there.  A little logo by the studio branding. DVD. D-something video disk, by all odds.  Probably not "ding-dong VHS is dead" even if that was what the corporate execs had said before selling a new raft of Japanese electronics to everyone with electricity.  

"Good thinking," he said.  No irony intended.  "We should head upstairs to the staff areas."  The training room and the staff lounge both seemed likely spots.  Especially since S.T. doubted this place got cable.   

The Scarecrow nearly leapt from his skin as Sangamon opened the curious box with a snap, revealing something even more curious inside- a shiny, metallic disk. Was this the movie itself? Or some sort of a key used to make the movie work? It didn't look like anything he'd ever seen before, and certainly didn't seem like it could possibly do what had been described to him earlier in the day. Sangamon had made it sound as though there wasn't much magic involved in the making of movies, but it didn't seem possible that the entire story of Dorothy's journey to the Emerald City could be recorded on such a strange object. He watched as his friend examined it carefully, his eyes wide.

He took the box back once Sangamon was done with it, holding it as carefully as one would a precious possession. "Upstairs it is," he agreed, pulling his journal from his pocket as he headed for the stairwell.

[To here.]

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