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Post by Hermes on Dec 19, 2020 11:40:51 GMT -5
Oh, Bandit!
Also, very nice portrait of Jean. This does seem to confirm my guess about what WW stands for.
And the mystery deepens. Do the secret passages leading arround 667 correspond to anything real? Why was The Littlest Elf banned? And does my Great Uncle Alfie represent more than meets the eye?
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Post by Marlowe on Dec 19, 2020 15:23:41 GMT -5
We're nearing the halfway point, so perhaps it would be prudent at this time to assemble a list of possible clues. - "In the photograph, the building owner stood in front of a 667 Dark Avenue fully decorated for Christmas, laughing and smiling with people Sherry Ann didn’t recognize."
- Sherry Ann finds a "WW" in the file (along with FG, GL, LC, BR, WW); Jean's painting is called Willis Wonderland
- "Dante had gone away that day and wasn’t expected to return until tomorrow morning."
- Residential wing keys are behind the front desk
- Yours truly is oddly obsessed with using the exit doors to go somewhere else
- Hermes mentions discussing "Cat tails" with ewok40; Jean suggests ewok40 went missing looking for his cat; scratches mark the wood behind the lounge couch
- Ewok40's cocktail is "Festive Grape Cocktail" which according to Hermes is "oaky"; oak trees block light from entering the building
- Hermes has a Canadian uncle named Alfie - the Hermes business all seems so obviously suspicious I have to assume it's a big red herring... but still worth noting
- Willis thinks he heard someone singing "Jingle Bells" from somewhere
- Jean's painting is influenced by French Impressionism
And just some general questions to Sherry Ann: Refreshments will be handed out at 8:30. What time is it in the story at this point? Are these height references simply for the reader's benefit, or something we should keep a closer eye on? |
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 19, 2020 15:38:23 GMT -5
A fine assemblage of clues, Marlowe! It's between 8:30 and 9:00pm now, the refreshments all but forgotten in the wake of the disappearance. The height references are to aid your imagination, and are repeated in metric form for those unfamiliar with the imperial system.
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Post by Optimism is my Phil-osophy on Dec 19, 2020 16:02:32 GMT -5
Thanks for worrying about us! The imperial system is completely unfamiliar to me.
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Post by Dante on Dec 19, 2020 16:42:53 GMT -5
You've been updating more often than I anticipated, so I'm just catching up. What a cosy Christmas-week mystery this is, with a warm and comfortable atmosphere despite all those suspicious disappearances. I also have some ideas about what is going on, one of which will probably be confirmed in the next chapter or so; and I'll have to pay careful attention to follow up on the others.
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Post by Hermes on Dec 19, 2020 16:43:19 GMT -5
I should perhaps point out that I really am part-Canadian, so at first I thought my uncle was just local colour. But with his recurrence I am less sure of this. (Unsurprisngly, I have no living great-uncles.)
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 19, 2020 17:12:33 GMT -5
What a cosy Christmas-week mystery this is, with a warm and comfortable atmosphere despite all those suspicious disappearances. This is exactly the atmosphere I strove to create, and I'm glad it has come across that way! I should perhaps point out that I really am part-Canadian, so at first I thought my uncle was just local colour. But with his recurrence I am less sure of this. (Unsurprisngly, I have no living great-uncles.) Your comment about being part-Canadian in the Christmas song thread inspired Alfie's creation. I will say more about this at the conclusion of the story. |
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 20, 2020 10:34:39 GMT -5
667 Dark Avenue: A Blueprint
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Post by Optimism is my Phil-osophy on Dec 20, 2020 10:36:52 GMT -5
This is getting professional.
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 20, 2020 10:38:02 GMT -5
Chapter 6. Acrimonious AdministrationHermedy sat in his office on the fifth floor. Through his window he could see past the branches of one of the oak trees that shielded 667 from the rest of the city. Other buildings on Dark Avenue had put out multicolored lights and glowing stars and Nativity scenes. Why hadn’t he? “Because Christmas is for chumps,” he mumbled to himself. He wished he could believe it. Behind his desk hung his two most prized possessions: his framed diploma from the University of Cambridge, proclaiming him as a Doctor of Medical Science, and his framed diploma from Harvard University, proclaiming him a Doctor of Chemical Biology. “Tragedy Palermo, M.D., Ph. D.” read the golden nameplate on his desk. The one on his door read “Dr. Dr. Tragedy.” He heard footsteps running up the stairs to his office. About time. “Enter,” he replied to the frantic knocking. There were three entrances to his office but, boringly, most people only ever used the one. gothicarchiesfan and Sherry Ann burst into the room, panting. “Elevator … was ... down …” gothicarchiesfan explained. “We have … a problem …” Sherry Ann added. “And so you come running to me. What do you want?” “Bee is missing,” gothicarchiesfan answered. “We were in the theater, checking in between seats for ewok40, and we realized she was gone.” “We couldn’t find her anywhere,” Sherry Ann continued. “We shouted, we called, we re-searched every corner of the theater and outside it,” she caught her breath, “and the doors are still locked in the lobby. Those are the only exits. Someone should look into that, by the way - it’s a fire hazard.” Tragedy sighed. “All right, I’ll make another announcement on the intercom,” he said reluctantly. “No!” gothicarchiesfan and Sherry Ann shouted. “We think whoever is doing this used your intercom message as a distraction,” gothicarchiesfan emphasized. “Really?” Tragedy asked, intrigued. “Bee disappeared shortly after you came on,” Sherry Ann agreed. “What exactly do you want me to do, then?” Tragedy crossed his arms. Sherry Ann pulled a file from her bag. “Have you seen this?” It was the file from Dastardly Documents, with “SUBJECTS” written in large red letters on the top. “Where did you get this?” demanded Tragedy. “Dastardly Documents.” “How did you get into the Dastardly Documents vault?” “I’m the administrator?” “Oh. Right. Potato,” Tragedy cursed. “I’ve never seen this document before in my life.” “Really?” gothicarchiesfan asked doubtfully. “Really. Now both of you get out of my office. You’ve wasted enough of my time.” Tragedy ushered them out and slammed the door. He sighed. How many clues was he going to have to spoonfeed these idiots before they caught him?
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Post by B. on Dec 20, 2020 13:15:13 GMT -5
Omg
I love this so much
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Post by Dante on Dec 21, 2020 4:54:06 GMT -5
The plot thickens. I enjoyed the fire hazard gag, too.
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 21, 2020 9:45:08 GMT -5
Chapter 7. Ruefully RestrictedWhen Tragedy was alone once more, he drew a key from his neck and unlocked the large walk-in closet he’d converted into a lab behind his desk. There, along with all his medical equipment, were Bee, baudelaiire, and ewok40. Each was hooked up to an IV and several electrodes so Tragedy could monitor their brain activity. Tragedy clicked off the sleeping medication. “Wake up, fools,” he demanded, as the three groggily came to their senses. “Please, Tragedy, not again,” ewok40 begged. “We’ve been singing for hours. I can’t go for a single more chorus of ‘Jingle Bells.’” “It hasn’t been hours, you ickling fool,” Tragedy spat. “It’s just felt like hours because you’re a terrible singer. Anyway, you won’t be singing this time. I want each of you to come up with 10 gifts you would buy me for Christmas if I let you out of here. You have 10 minutes.” Where was his associate? His fourth subject should be here by now. As if on cue, the secret back door of the closet opened. Tragedy’s associate tossed the fourth subject into the room, who protested, “Hey! Cut it out! I’m very claustrophobic!” Tragedy and his associate nodded at each other, and the associate left again through the secret door. Satisfied, Tragedy hooked up his latest victim - who didn’t put up much of a fight, realizing there was nowhere to run - then he repeated his instructions to the four 667ers and slammed the door. The electrodes were painless, but the trapped 667ers groaned at the tedium of brainstorming gifts for Tragedy. He organized the papers on his desk. The words “Santa Neuron,” “IQ132,” “merriment?”, and “Toil” were repeatedly handwritten in the margins. He picked up a small, empty glass vial from his desk and rotated it to see it glint in the candlelight. Just a few more hours, and his plan would be complete.
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Post by Christmas Chief on Dec 21, 2020 9:47:41 GMT -5
Thank you, Dante and B.! The posting schedule, taking us to Christmas, is included in the first post for those who haven't seen it yet. On that note, stay tuned for today's double update, coming in just a few hours! |
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Post by B. on Dec 21, 2020 10:59:45 GMT -5
132 IQ isn't that high imo
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