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Post by R. on Aug 25, 2020 9:34:27 GMT -5
The city was a vast entity, so big that many people saw it not as one place but three. Closest to the sea was the oldest part of town, with its large wooden buildings, small, pleasant shops and restaurants, and an overall sense of calm and quiet. The centre of the city was all skyscrapers and grand architecture, a place where everyone was always in a hurry. To work, to the shops, to whatever mysterious plan they were going to put into action. Here, it was what was on the outside that mattered; what you wore and how much money you made. And further away from the ocean still was a tangled mass of cobbled streets and buildings which, although built fairly recently, were already almost in ruins. And it was here that the young girl sat on the front steps of the Ned H. Rirger theatre; looking out of place in her stylish red dress, her dark hair immaculately styled.
(This is a work in progress, in order to write the next part I need to do some more ATWQ research.)
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Post by Optimism is my Phil-osophy on Aug 25, 2020 10:54:55 GMT -5
I liked that start. Quick descriptions and without much detail are my favorites.
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Post by counto on Aug 26, 2020 19:26:28 GMT -5
Interesting having the story start off at Ned H. Rirger theatre
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Post by R. on Sept 3, 2020 11:20:36 GMT -5
Sadly, she gazed down at the small green bag beside her and thought of everything she had lost and the few things she had gained. Following her escape from prison, aided by a mysterious girl she knew as Kit, she had set off towards the small apartment in which her mother lived, only to find that the place was in ruins. She didn’t know what had happened, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Hélène Baudelaire was a clever woman, but was always very distant from her daughter and from her nephew, preferring to spend her time alone in her study. This was why her husband divorced her, and this was part of the reason said daughter only cried a little as she picked up the only item that remained intact from whatever disaster had taken place. The other reason was that Hélène had left when her daughter was only three, and hardly even knew her. It was beginning to rain now, and the girl got up and ran for cover in the mysterious building that was her only hope. For decorating the windows on the grand door of the theatre was the insignia of an organisation that she had been looking for ever since she had met one of its members two months before. An insignia that to most people would appear to be an eye, but which she only saw as the letters VFD.
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Post by Optimism is my Phil-osophy on Sept 3, 2020 17:16:38 GMT -5
It is interesting that a certain surname suddenly appears here.
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Post by counto on Sept 3, 2020 20:25:17 GMT -5
Helene Baudelaire? Another relative or is that a fake name?
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Post by R. on Sept 4, 2020 9:27:38 GMT -5
It is interesting that a certain surname suddenly appears here. It is. That’s part of another theory.
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Post by Hermes on Sept 4, 2020 10:04:35 GMT -5
I think I know who the girl is, and I think I agree with your theory.
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Post by R. on Sept 4, 2020 10:06:41 GMT -5
Really? Tell me your guess.
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Post by Hermes on Sept 4, 2020 10:15:12 GMT -5
Does the girl's first name begin with B? And does her surname, even as a child, also begin with B?
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Post by R. on Sept 4, 2020 10:25:12 GMT -5
No
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Post by Hermes on Sept 4, 2020 12:41:01 GMT -5
Oh well.
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Post by R. on Sept 12, 2020 12:45:56 GMT -5
The lobby of the theatre was lavishly decorated, with green tiles on the floor and tinted lamps casting a green glow around the room. A performance had just ended, and men and women in extravagant evening dress stood around talking about this and that. Sometimes, she would hear snatches of conversation which seemed like they could connect to the unfathomable mystery she now faced, but they were soon drowned out by the chatter. ‘How is the project in Peru doing?’ She heard a woman say. ‘Unfortunately, my apprentice seems more interested in the wildlife than the investigation.’ She heard a man reply. Apprentice? Investigation? It all seemed a bit too similar to the few things she had learned about the VFD training process. She leaned back against the wall, which was decorated with the VFD insignia, and tried to listen to what they were saying. But before she could find out anything more, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around to see a tall, thin man with gleaming blue eyes and one eyebrow instead of two gazing down at her. ‘Good evening,’ he said, his voice sly and oily. ‘What brings you here, so late at night?’. Nervously, she looked up at him. Something about this man frightened her, but she was determined not to let it show. ‘My name is Esmé Baudelaire,’ she replied, using the name her mother would have given her, until her father intervened. She couldn’t bear to think about him, or the terrible sequence of events which had caused her to flee to the city. Noticing the tattoo on his ankle, she gave a small smile. ‘Do you, by any chance, happen to know of an organisation called VFD?’ He gave her a cunning grin. ‘I certainly do. Come with me and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.’
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Post by counto on Sept 12, 2020 23:19:28 GMT -5
Olaf?
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Post by R. on Sept 13, 2020 1:23:36 GMT -5
Yes
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