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Post by R. on Oct 20, 2020 14:10:38 GMT -5
I haven’t abandoned this fic, I just had writer’s block. I will update soon!
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Post by counto on Oct 21, 2020 3:50:16 GMT -5
Take your time
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Post by R. on Jul 26, 2021 13:51:27 GMT -5
Grabbing hold of her wrist, the man dragged her through a small door hidden behind a set of extravagant mirrors which lined the lobby wall. The door slammed shut with an ear-piercing crash, and several people looked up to find the source of the commotion. But Esmé and the strange man were long gone. He led her down a vast labyrinth of corridors, passing through the occasional towering storeroom lined with props and costumes of every kind imaginable. They raced up and down ladders and across bridges and balconies, and even trying to take it all in took all the effort she could muster. After about ten minutes of running, he finally slowed down at a beaten-down wooden door labelled ‘Lounge’ on a faded cardboard sign. Inside, it wasn’t much better. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the floorboards creaked so loudly she was afraid they would fall in. The couch in the centre of the room was the dustiest she had ever seen, with springs and stuffing poking out of numerous holes in inconvenient places. It was a far cry from the luxury and glamour the rest of the theatre showed, and Esmé wondered how much more ugliness lurked behind its perfect facade. ‘Take a seat,’ the man said with a grin, and Esmé reluctantly sat down. There was a moment of silence as he looked her up and down, until finally he said something that made her gasp perhaps a little more than she should have. ‘So, Ellington? Why are you lurking around under a false name in the Ned H. Rirger theatre of all places? I thought you would have perhaps gone somewhere safer, after everything that you’ve done for us’.
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Post by R. on Nov 28, 2021 10:03:53 GMT -5
“W-what do you mean?” “You know perfectly well what I mean. You killed Dashiell Qwerty and Hangfire, you helped Kit Snicket out of prison, and you no doubt have the Bombinating Beast statue right there in that bag. You’ve done far more for our cause than most of my associates combined!” Ellington paused. She had never killed anyone in her life, and indeed was slightly offended by the notion, and she certainly didn’t have the statue, but she knew if she told him that she might not get the answers she was looking for. So instead she gave him a nervous smile and asked the question that was playing on her mind. “I thought Qwerty was in VFD? Why would you want him dead?” The man gave her a wicked grin. “Not all of us in VFD follow the same paths of thinking, Ellington. There are those among us who want to rebuild the organisation, become stronger, fight fire with fire. Some of the most dedicated among us will be meeting at midnight at my house, and I want you to come. You can call me O, by the way.” Despite her fears. Ellington accepted the invitation. Hopefully, if she fooled them into thinking she had the statue for long enough, she would be able to find out the truth. “But where do I go until then?” She asked. “You can hide in the theatre’s wardrobe,” he replied. “There’s a lot of space in there and security don’t really bother to search it.” Grabbing her hand, O dragged her out of the dingy lounge and back through the labyrinth of corridors, before coming to a door, opening it and dramatically inviting her inside. Every inch of the wardrobe was crammed with costumes and accessories of all kinds: hats, masks, glasses, false beards and even the occasional prosthetic nose, so it was hard to find a place to sit. But Ellington eventually settled herself down amongst some dresses, and watched nervously as O closed the door behind her. She heard the click of a lock, and then all was quiet.
I know this part is terrible, but I’m feeling rather ill and I’m still learning to write dialogue, so please forgive me.
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Post by R. on Jan 2, 2022 15:19:18 GMT -5
It was best not to do anything, she thought. Enjoy this while it lasts, it might be the last quiet moment of your life. You don’t trust this man for a moment, but you need him to think you do. You know how to pick a lock anyway. And so she sat in the wardrobe in worried silence, scared to stay there but even more scared to leave. In the past, she had never cared whether people liked her or not. She had gotten used to being the girl sitting alone in school, quiet, mysterious, a shadow. And because she didn’t care what people thought, she wasn’t afraid of taking risks. She was alone, but she was in control, because she knew that if anyone or anything hurt her, her father would always be there. But then he wasn’t, and for the first time in her life she was alone in a world where there was nothing but questions without answers, and winding paths gleaming with promise that only led back to the start. Ellington had lost the only person she had ever truly loved, and now she was being blamed for it, and the worst part was that in a way they were right. She knew that it was Lemony Snicket who killed him and not her, but she couldn’t help but think that if she had done things a little differently, then maybe he would have lived. She felt herself crying, and she didn’t like it. She had no idea how long it had been, but it didn’t matter, because that was when the door opened.
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Post by R. on Mar 11, 2022 9:14:33 GMT -5
“Disguise yourself quickly and meet me in the car outside, we have no time to waste.” O threw a large plastic bag in Ellington’s direction and slammed the door shut once again, leaving her standing alone in the dark. Turning on the lights, she peered inside the bag and found it full of pots, bottles and jars containing every kind of stage makeup imaginable, as well as numerous tools designed to cut, shave, curl, straighten or dye hair. Ellington had had some experience with disguising herself before, but never had she had such a vast range of equipment to do it with. As she searched through the racks of clothing, she found herself unexpectedly excited at the thought of becoming someone different, someone who had never experienced the pain she had. She knew it was ridiculous to think that cutting her hair into an elegant chin-length bob, slipping into one of the peculiar, brightly patterned minidresses she knew fashionable young women in the city sometimes wore and putting on a pair of sunglasses she didn’t need would make any difference to who she was inside, but she couldn’t help but feel a burst of confidence as she slipped out of the room and made her way towards the front door of the theatre and the long black car waiting outside.
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