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"Metaphores" by Sylvia Plath
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I'm around but I'll be bowing out of the re-start. In the last month, I have joined a few other RPGs and my plate is over flowing.
I look up at the man who addressed me, my palms slick with sweat while my heat pumped so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest at any moment. In the dim light, it was hard to make out his features. He looked to be around 30 and had an air of authority like someone who’s used to being obeyed. I relaxed a little bit as he talked until he mentioned his job description. My eyes glanced towards the opening of the alley. It seemed miles away. Fleetingly I thought of making a run for it, bolting away like a scared rabbit but then the sound of the gun shot echoes through my mind. While it’s possible it wasn’t related to Prefect Wallace, I don’t want to take my chances.
Then he mentioned the note. ”Note?” I respond under my breath. He doesn’t seem to hear me. I wonder if he’s referring to the first of the second. Instead of calming me down, however, this new realization just increased my anxiety. Was this some sort of trap? Or was a Prefect really working with the Rebels? Either way, I was in way over my head. Suddenly a quick shot to the back of the head doesn’t seem like such a bad way to go. Hopefully it would be quick, if not painless. I doubted if the Rebels could cut me a better option. Rumor was a Rebel who got caught were tortured for weeks prior to their execution. That was, of course, if they didn’t just disappear into thin air, leaving not eve their dead bodies behind.
Silently, I walked behind Prefect Wallace, mentally tracing the quickest path to the exit if the opportunity arises. We stopped by a nondescript metal door flushed against the side of the building. Prefect Wallace pounds on it while I wait. Images ran into my mind about what could possibly be hiding behind it- a seedy club, a drug den, a crime boss’s lair, a torture chamber. The last thing I was expecting was a cook still in his food service uniform. I stood awkwardly, shifting from one leg to the other while I watched Wallace interact with the man. It felt like I was ease dropping on some family reunion, although the two men bore no resemblance that I could see.
What interested me the most was the book Wallace was handed. The golden letter sketched into the cover shone from the light behind the door. ”A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens” Was this book a fake some kind shell to carry things in? While I didn’t know every book in the world, I did know my literary classics and I knew for certain Charles Dickens hadn’t written that one.
"And you young man what is your name? I know his story now I want to know yours. Talk to us we brothers in arms."
The question started me out of my own thoughts.
I reached behind and scratched the back of my head. It was something I did when I was nervous. It drove my mother crazy. ”Well, I’m a librarian at the Main Library.” I waited to see if this was enough of an explanation. It wasn’t. ”I found a note in the book Great Expectations.” I paused again. I wondered how much these guys knew. ”It was checked out almost ten years ago, but there was a note inside that had the location…” I didn’t want to say what was on the note. I felt, between the police, and these two men, I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. But the words on the note from today race through my mind. ”We know that you know” ”The note had the location and time of the bombing on the seventeenth. It was an accident. I didn’t know it was there. I destroyed it when I realized what it was. And I didn’t tell anyone, I swear.” The last words came running out, full force. ”Then I got a note today to come here. So I here I am.”
I’d like to say my confession made me feel better. In truth, I wanted to vomit.
Alright. I should have the first IC post up soon.
Should I begin drafting u the first post or is there something else you would like to talk about? I figure we can put up more CS as we get to those characters (as need be).
Enrick Valdea
Her reply makes me feel even worse about the tone of my words. I watch her out of the corner of my eye scratch Parcheck while I serve up the two hotdogs she’s ordered. Despite her suggestion, I put the exact change on the plate I handed her. I might be struggling financially but it felt bad taking advantage of Kassie's charity.
”I’ll get the prints” I assure her. ”I just need a little more time. If someone has to take the fall, I’d just rather…” I struggle for an explanation that won’t make her angry again. ”It’d be someone more deserving. You know, give karma a helping hand.” I fully understood that what the Rebels did we did for the good of all. Still, that didn’t mean I always agreed with it one-hundred percent of the time. After all, what the government of Restraint did was ‘for the good of all’ as well, as long as you conserved “All” to include just the rich and powerful.
Around us there are a few still mingling in the streets. Like Kassie stated, the lunch hour is over and anyone still around either took their break late or is simply avoiding work. It’s almost time for my shift to end. I could stay out with my stand all afternoon but I’d hardly make any profit. Besides, one of the Rebel leaders was kind enough to hook me up with a small bar-tending job. It would be nice to take a break before I had to go back to work again.
”Tell you what,” I say and lean towards her. ”Let’s play a game. Look around and pick someone you think deserves to take the fall and I guarantee you I can get their prints in,” I look at my watch. My hotdog shift is just about over. ”Five minutes.”
Louisa Essair
I’m late. Again. My face is flushed as I push past the door of my superior’s office but it has nothing to do with the fact that I practically ran down the hallway. My eyes don’t meet his because I’m terribly afraid that he’ll find out my secret.
”Sorry I’m late,” I say and take the seat across the desk from him. Lifting my purse unto my lap, I dig through it until I find a small paper bag. It’s a tad bit squished but it's still warm. ”Here. I picked one up for you.” I place the wrapped chocolate chip cookie on his desk. Rumor in the break room was that Gabriel Lockheart had a weakness for chocolate chip cookies. I wasn’t sure if it was true or not but I figured I should try. My offering wasn't to make up for my tardiness. The reason I was late in the first place was because I’d stood in the long line at the pastry shop to but one. When my best friend Nym heard about my actions, I'm sure she'll tease me about it ruthlessly. I knew it was foolish, but I couldn’t help it.
I, Louisa Essair, Assistant Technician for the Office of Security, one of the smartest and most logical women of her graduating class, was in love with her boss. Oh I knew it was impossible and not just because we worked at the same place or even because he was my superior. I had worked and crawled my way up the social ladder, proving that my genes were far superior to most citizens. I was now a white-collared worker. I was now a business woman and in time would be wealthy and well respected. I was now part of the social elite, even if I was towards the bottom end. My genes had proved themselves far too valuable to go to waste. I would be assigned a husband. It’s the reason why my mama cried when she’d heard what job I’d been assigned.
Even that knowledge, however, didn’t stop me from buying Mr. Lockheart a cookie or feeling nervous when I finally looked into his hazel eyes. ”You wanted to see me,” I said, clearing my throat a little to hide my nervousness. ”Is it about the cameras in the section 8 housing development? If so, I already took care of them this morning.”
”Woe the man who has to wait, on laughter or love or sex or fate.”
Name: Vert Riskel
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Occupation: Traveling Bard (Spy for the Black Collation)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Personality: On the surface, Vert is seem as a happy-go lucky kind of guy. He is a charmer, peace keeper, and lover of fine wines. Unlike most in his profession, Vert does not see the need to dandify himself and is often seen more as a cool headed confidant. Under neither, Vert is a bitter young man who despises the Delegates of Erimead and everything the stand for. Traveling throughout the Providence and seeing the struggles the common folk have had to deal with, has inspired Vert to work towards change.
So it looks like I can't go back and delete posts. For now, I just deleted most of the text (from the repetitive ones).
What the hell was I doing here? The answer was, of course, that I was crouched in a small alleyway, trying to hide myself behind the large dumpster I’d found there. At my feet were fruit peels, old news-papers, spent cigarettes and other kinds of imaginable refuse that hadn’t quite made it into the garbage container. The cool evening air was ripe with putrid smells. If I wasn’t so terrified of being caught I think I would have vomited. Then again, if I wasn’t worried about being caught, I wouldn’t be wedged up against this damned dumpster to begin with.
Things had started off well enough (which thinking back should have been a sign). The location on the note wasn’t close to the library, and since I’d over slept, I thought it would be a good idea and help pacify some of Gracie’s wraith by working later than usual. I’d arrived about fifteen minutes early and decided to wait around. At least, that was the initial plan until I’d heard the beginning of the police raid nearby and ducked into the alleyway. Now I was squatting in this putrid place while my work clothes became damp from nervous sweat. Even if I somehow managed to make it out of the situation alive, Nym would certainly have some questions. Part of me wanted to throw myself of the mercy of the law enforcement. The problem with this was that my first instinct had been to hide. If I’d come scrambling out of the alley at the beginning, I could have given the excuse of being lost but the longer I lingered about, crouching in the shadows, the guiltier I’d become.
”Damn it,” I whisper into the creeping darkness around me.
Nearby the police sirens continued to wail. Every now and then I hear shouting and what sounds to me like the police are trying to break down a nearby building, one wall at a time. I wonder what they’re after. Maybe there’s a Rebel base nearby or a drug strong hold. Rumor is the head of Resistant’s black market lives somewhere in the area. Then again, for all I know, it could be routine. Prior to the bombing, the government would often have random raids. Of course, they’d never admit they were ‘random’ but I sometimes felt these happened because the police grew bored or simply wanted to show they were working to fix the Rebel threat. For reasons no one ever seems to ask, the general rule for raids was that the poorer your neighborhood, the more likely it was to be targeted.
In my mind, the voice of my third grade teacher rings out. ”You think too much, Charles. If you don’t watch out, you’ll think yourself to death.” She always said those words with a smile, but the threat they portrayed crystal clear even to my eight-year-old self.
My heart skips a beat as a gun fires nearby. Despite my dark navy clothes, I feel like I stand out like a beacon. Looking around the alley, I search for a better place to hide but aside from a few broken cardboard boxes, nothing is big enough. The only better hiding place is inside the dumpster. Mentally I weigh the decision. On hand, its metal shell may provide a bit of protection or at least hide me from anyone who chooses to walk down alley. On the other hand, it’s bound to make some noise when I open it and the thought of having to be inside it and suffocating on stale rancid air (let alone sit in yesterday’s leavings) makes my skin crawl.
Thankfully I’m saved from making the decision. My entire body freezes as I hear the approach of footsteps.
My character's background tend to be short. I promise I will go into more detail as the story progresses.
”I’m not here for fun and games, I’m here because it’s my job. Let’s just leave your political BS out of it.”
Name: Laural Falco
Age: 23
Job: High Knight
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Personality: Laural is, above everything else, goal-oriented. She wants to be successful in the High Guards but she isn’t willing to give up her beliefs to do so. To her superiors she is known for be hard working and earnest. Those she commands would say that she is patient and loyal. It takes a lot to get out Laural’s bad side but once that happens, she won’t easily forgive the offense.
Bios: Laural has been part of the High Gaurd since her fifteenth birthday. Unlike most, Laural is not from noble birth and has worked hard to prove herself. Within the last month, she has been promoted to the rank of High Knight. Despite this her duties hadn’t changed much. Her first major assignment is to escort one of the delegates to the summit. The task itself seems daunting, especially since one of the delegates has already been found murdered and tension is rising across the country side thanks to the Black Collation. Nevertheless, Laural feels that successfully completing this endeavor will help solidify her place in the High Guard once and for all.
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