Spicy Serious
Divinely Devilish
--->[Hit the town in hopes of raising your spirits]
-
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Multiple Settings "Whoopsie-Doodle! Looks Like I Went to Hell!": Chapter 1 of Against Her Tendrils
- Thread starter Hush Hush Storytime
- Start date
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100%(2/2) of the vote!...
You fumble around in the darkness for your proper clothes. If you can't lay about and watch some real cinema, then you might as well see what else Pandæmonium has to offer. As you fail to find your shirt, it dawns on you that without any cash, it might be a little difficult to have any fun down here. Seymour said something about receiving a stipend, but let's be honest you weren't listening. You find your shirt and throw it on. You then slip on your jacket, and then immediately take it off, because it's not like you're going to get cold down here.
You slam the door behind you as you huff and puff down the hallway, hoping to make a scene for no one in particular. You're not even sure if you can complain down here. I mean, isn't it being crappy sort of the point? As you muse over these mysteries, you cover your ears as you enter the elevator. Perhaps racing thoughts can drown out the muzak?
No such luck, that terrible tune is going to be stuck in your head for quite some time. The doors ring open and you storm into the lobby. Looks like someone is behind the desk this time. A bored looking demon idly flicks at some pencils in front of her. She takes notice of you, and resumes flicking her pencils.
Annoyed, you saunter over to the counter in hopes of receiving some guidance. You try to take a stab at what sort of amenities hell would have to offer.
---> "Hey, is there like, a murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
---> "Are there any...you know, Incubi, available to call? Because it's hot and dark up there, and I figured I might as well take that to it's logical conclusion.
---> "There's no electricity. It's hot. I'm bored. Entertain me or I swear, I'll kill myself all over again."
You fumble around in the darkness for your proper clothes. If you can't lay about and watch some real cinema, then you might as well see what else Pandæmonium has to offer. As you fail to find your shirt, it dawns on you that without any cash, it might be a little difficult to have any fun down here. Seymour said something about receiving a stipend, but let's be honest you weren't listening. You find your shirt and throw it on. You then slip on your jacket, and then immediately take it off, because it's not like you're going to get cold down here.
You slam the door behind you as you huff and puff down the hallway, hoping to make a scene for no one in particular. You're not even sure if you can complain down here. I mean, isn't it being crappy sort of the point? As you muse over these mysteries, you cover your ears as you enter the elevator. Perhaps racing thoughts can drown out the muzak?
No such luck, that terrible tune is going to be stuck in your head for quite some time. The doors ring open and you storm into the lobby. Looks like someone is behind the desk this time. A bored looking demon idly flicks at some pencils in front of her. She takes notice of you, and resumes flicking her pencils.
Annoyed, you saunter over to the counter in hopes of receiving some guidance. You try to take a stab at what sort of amenities hell would have to offer.
---> "Hey, is there like, a murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
---> "Are there any...you know, Incubi, available to call? Because it's hot and dark up there, and I figured I might as well take that to it's logical conclusion.
---> "There's no electricity. It's hot. I'm bored. Entertain me or I swear, I'll kill myself all over again."
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> "Hey, is there like, a murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
marorda
Oddball and author
---> "Hey, is there like, a murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
Spicy Serious
Divinely Devilish
--->["Hey, is there like, a
murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
murder-pit or something I could go watch? The power went out."
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100% of the vote! (3/3)...
You cock you head as you ask the question, hoping that, at the very least, if there isn't a murder pit, you can at least enjoy some witty snark with a demon! She yawns and picks at her fingernails, speaking with a nasal, vocal fry, "Yeah, Murder-Pit is like, a ten minute walk from here. Left on Benito, can't miss it."
You're slightly flabbergasted that "Murder-Pit" happens to be the exact name, but you've always been gifted at guessing things. That's what your math teachers always said. You press on for further information, drumming your fingers up against the counter.
"So, what kind of stuff happens at the Murder-Pit?"
"Murder. Murder happens at the Murder-Pit, honey." She takes a sip from her nearby coffee mug.
"I mean, do I murder someone, do I get murdered, or do I watch other people get murdered?"
"Um, like, all of the above?"
"Murder barely sounds like a word at this point. You could even say that I've murdered the word murder. I'm the murder murderer!"
She looks unenthused with your wordplay and flicks away a grain of dirt from her fingertips.
"Look, you're the goodie-two-shoes from Infernal Affairs right? I know you're not supposed to be here, so you can stop trying to blend in. I know you wouldn't want to see all that blood and gore. Why don't you, like, go back to your room and eat marshmallows, or whatever little angels do."
"The power's out, so I can't very well go do that; You know that."
"Yeah, but, um, I don't really care?"
"What kind of service is this?"
"Service from hell, in every sense of the word, stupid." She cocks her head, and takes another sip of coffee.
You pull away from the counter, biting your tongue. This is clearly not getting anywhere. You miss the subservient apologetic tones of Seymour. Well, it's not like everyone in hell could be mean, right? You begin to sort out your outing.
"So, how much does the Murder-Pit cost?"
"Oh, it's like, um, some sort of community project, so you just go in, and like, get the crap kicked out of you. Or like, watch, if you're not a fighter."
"Yeah, I'm more of a sidelines kind of girl."
"I bet you are."
"So, can I get the number for a cab company or something?"
She reaches for a phone, picks up the receiver and looks you over for the first time, staring you down. She drops the receiver with a smile.
"Nah. You could really use the walk." Your face contorts.
Irene, you were never a paragon of tranquility and tolerance. Now is the time to let those virtues shine.
---> [Jump the counter and attack the receptionist.]
---> [Dump her (hopefully) scalding hot coffee everywhere.]
--->[Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later.]
You cock you head as you ask the question, hoping that, at the very least, if there isn't a murder pit, you can at least enjoy some witty snark with a demon! She yawns and picks at her fingernails, speaking with a nasal, vocal fry, "Yeah, Murder-Pit is like, a ten minute walk from here. Left on Benito, can't miss it."
You're slightly flabbergasted that "Murder-Pit" happens to be the exact name, but you've always been gifted at guessing things. That's what your math teachers always said. You press on for further information, drumming your fingers up against the counter.
"So, what kind of stuff happens at the Murder-Pit?"
"Murder. Murder happens at the Murder-Pit, honey." She takes a sip from her nearby coffee mug.
"I mean, do I murder someone, do I get murdered, or do I watch other people get murdered?"
"Um, like, all of the above?"
"Murder barely sounds like a word at this point. You could even say that I've murdered the word murder. I'm the murder murderer!"
She looks unenthused with your wordplay and flicks away a grain of dirt from her fingertips.
"Look, you're the goodie-two-shoes from Infernal Affairs right? I know you're not supposed to be here, so you can stop trying to blend in. I know you wouldn't want to see all that blood and gore. Why don't you, like, go back to your room and eat marshmallows, or whatever little angels do."
"The power's out, so I can't very well go do that; You know that."
"Yeah, but, um, I don't really care?"
"What kind of service is this?"
"Service from hell, in every sense of the word, stupid." She cocks her head, and takes another sip of coffee.
You pull away from the counter, biting your tongue. This is clearly not getting anywhere. You miss the subservient apologetic tones of Seymour. Well, it's not like everyone in hell could be mean, right? You begin to sort out your outing.
"So, how much does the Murder-Pit cost?"
"Oh, it's like, um, some sort of community project, so you just go in, and like, get the crap kicked out of you. Or like, watch, if you're not a fighter."
"Yeah, I'm more of a sidelines kind of girl."
"I bet you are."
"So, can I get the number for a cab company or something?"
She reaches for a phone, picks up the receiver and looks you over for the first time, staring you down. She drops the receiver with a smile.
"Nah. You could really use the walk." Your face contorts.
Irene, you were never a paragon of tranquility and tolerance. Now is the time to let those virtues shine.
---> [Jump the counter and attack the receptionist.]
---> [Dump her (hopefully) scalding hot coffee everywhere.]
--->[Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later.]
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> [Dump her (hopefully) scalding hot coffee everywhere.]
marorda
Oddball and author
---> [Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later]
Deucalion
Firebringer
---> [Hit the town in hopes of raising your spirits.]
marorda
Oddball and author
There's new ones up already
Last edited by a moderator:
siren song
New Member
---> [Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later]
Deucalion
Firebringer
Ah crap! That's what I get for leaving the topic open without refreshing 
---> [Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later]
---> [Bump the receptionist to the top of your shit list, and deal with this later]
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 75% of the vote! (3/4)...
You grit your teeth. This demon, this insufferable, no-good....Karol? It's what her name tag says. What a stupid name. What a profoundly stupid name for anyone to have. Karol. The name is etched in your mind in a furious script, right above Benny Loman, and Ms. Galvez. Sure those two were terrible, but they're a little inaccessible at the moment...but this Karol?
Karol can't even comprehend how fed up with her you are. She will rue this day.
You turn around, bubbling with rage, half-considering entering the Murder-Pit yourself. You crack your knuckles dramatically and throw the doors open, into the blazing humidity of the underworld.
MEANWHILE...
Tears roll down your cheek. This wasn't suppose to be how it happened. She was just supposed to have broken her arm. Or gotten expelled. Or gotten pregnant. Anything but this. Your vision quivers. At first you just wanted all the messages to be pranks, but then they kept rolling in. Mom was hysterical. You kept hoping it was going to be a bad dream, and you could just startle awake, terrified, and be soothed by your sister's cacophonous snore, one more time. Never again.
You scream into your pillow. It's already soaking wet. You feel terrible about it, but you imagine that a therapist's pillows have to get cleaned pretty often anyway. You pull away and look at her, mucus dribbling down your nose. She smiles, albeit weakly.
"Josie, the grief must be overwhelming, I understand that."
You weren't even sure why you had come here. How were you supposed to respond to that? There would be no solace in here. There was no solace in the quiet of your room, nor in the solitude of church, alone with God. You stared blankly into the distance for hours, waiting for an answer, and there was none. You're doing the very same now. Your therapist coughs quietly. You can't even remember her name.
"Josie? Josie, talk to me. What's going through your head right now?"
---> "How did God let this happen?"
---> "I should have been there to guide her."
---> "Why couldn't she just chew her food?"
You grit your teeth. This demon, this insufferable, no-good....Karol? It's what her name tag says. What a stupid name. What a profoundly stupid name for anyone to have. Karol. The name is etched in your mind in a furious script, right above Benny Loman, and Ms. Galvez. Sure those two were terrible, but they're a little inaccessible at the moment...but this Karol?
Karol can't even comprehend how fed up with her you are. She will rue this day.
You turn around, bubbling with rage, half-considering entering the Murder-Pit yourself. You crack your knuckles dramatically and throw the doors open, into the blazing humidity of the underworld.
MEANWHILE...
Tears roll down your cheek. This wasn't suppose to be how it happened. She was just supposed to have broken her arm. Or gotten expelled. Or gotten pregnant. Anything but this. Your vision quivers. At first you just wanted all the messages to be pranks, but then they kept rolling in. Mom was hysterical. You kept hoping it was going to be a bad dream, and you could just startle awake, terrified, and be soothed by your sister's cacophonous snore, one more time. Never again.
You scream into your pillow. It's already soaking wet. You feel terrible about it, but you imagine that a therapist's pillows have to get cleaned pretty often anyway. You pull away and look at her, mucus dribbling down your nose. She smiles, albeit weakly.
"Josie, the grief must be overwhelming, I understand that."
You weren't even sure why you had come here. How were you supposed to respond to that? There would be no solace in here. There was no solace in the quiet of your room, nor in the solitude of church, alone with God. You stared blankly into the distance for hours, waiting for an answer, and there was none. You're doing the very same now. Your therapist coughs quietly. You can't even remember her name.
"Josie? Josie, talk to me. What's going through your head right now?"
---> "How did God let this happen?"
---> "I should have been there to guide her."
---> "Why couldn't she just chew her food?"
marorda
Oddball and author
---> "How did God let this happen?"
Deucalion
Firebringer
---> "I should have been there to guide her."
I feel like Josie having a bit of a superiority complex to go with her being great at everything would be interesting.
I feel like Josie having a bit of a superiority complex to go with her being great at everything would be interesting.
marorda
Oddball and author
I gotta admit.. option 3 is tempting also. Seems funnier xD
Argh... I can't choose
Argh... I can't choose
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
Tie vote! Josie doesn't handle these sorts of things as well as Irene!
You slam your head back into the couch, screaming, over and over again. There are no words to properly describe the chorus of voices in your mind right now. Your therapist runs up to you and grips you by the shoulders.
"Josie, come on, let's talk. That's how we work things through. With words." You break down into a hysterical crying fit. "My words couldn't have changed anything! There was nothing I could have done! It was just-just something that needed to happen!" Your therapist cocks her head, but you can't read her face. The world is spinning. You babble incoherently, and from the mess, form a sentence,
"All I wanted to do was be a role model, and that didn't even matter! Why even try if she's just going to be taken away like that?!" Your panicked breathing drowns out whatever your therapist has to say. You loose a primal, enraged cry, naught but fury and bereavement. A moment of peace washes over you. It is not a moment of resolution, or even understanding, but merely the acknowledgement of the void, now that everything else has washed out of you. You blink, slowly, gazing into the caliginous depths that extend behind your therapist.
You have seen the face of God, and it is unloving. You are broken.
"Josie? Josie? Tell me, how are you feeling?"
You speak with newfound clarity, "Fine."
"Josie you certainly didn't look fine a couple of moments ago. Let's explore what you just went through."
"No."
"Josie, please don't shut people out. Hardening ourselves on the outside is a fast track to--"
You stand up.
"I'm okay now."
You walk to the door, and pull at the handle. Does the therapist say anything? No. She realizes that there are forces that cannot be argued with. You step out of the room, and take a deep breath. The offices smell like chamomile. They smell like chamomile because man inflicted his will upon the world, and bent nature to do his bidding. Josie Theresa Baker cannot shape God's plans, but she can shape her plans. She can shape the world he created. You exit the Campus Mental Health Center, and walk towards student services. A fierce breeze whips about the campus today, but you do not feel it, for the building shields you from the elements.
You sit down in front of your counselor. He looks a little concerned about your grave appearance. You speak.
"I'm changing my major."
"Oh, well, that's alright, we all are exploring what we want to do with--"
"I'm changing my major to---
---> "Philosophy."
---> "Micro-Biology."
---> "Engineering."
You slam your head back into the couch, screaming, over and over again. There are no words to properly describe the chorus of voices in your mind right now. Your therapist runs up to you and grips you by the shoulders.
"Josie, come on, let's talk. That's how we work things through. With words." You break down into a hysterical crying fit. "My words couldn't have changed anything! There was nothing I could have done! It was just-just something that needed to happen!" Your therapist cocks her head, but you can't read her face. The world is spinning. You babble incoherently, and from the mess, form a sentence,
"All I wanted to do was be a role model, and that didn't even matter! Why even try if she's just going to be taken away like that?!" Your panicked breathing drowns out whatever your therapist has to say. You loose a primal, enraged cry, naught but fury and bereavement. A moment of peace washes over you. It is not a moment of resolution, or even understanding, but merely the acknowledgement of the void, now that everything else has washed out of you. You blink, slowly, gazing into the caliginous depths that extend behind your therapist.
You have seen the face of God, and it is unloving. You are broken.
"Josie? Josie? Tell me, how are you feeling?"
You speak with newfound clarity, "Fine."
"Josie you certainly didn't look fine a couple of moments ago. Let's explore what you just went through."
"No."
"Josie, please don't shut people out. Hardening ourselves on the outside is a fast track to--"
You stand up.
"I'm okay now."
You walk to the door, and pull at the handle. Does the therapist say anything? No. She realizes that there are forces that cannot be argued with. You step out of the room, and take a deep breath. The offices smell like chamomile. They smell like chamomile because man inflicted his will upon the world, and bent nature to do his bidding. Josie Theresa Baker cannot shape God's plans, but she can shape her plans. She can shape the world he created. You exit the Campus Mental Health Center, and walk towards student services. A fierce breeze whips about the campus today, but you do not feel it, for the building shields you from the elements.
You sit down in front of your counselor. He looks a little concerned about your grave appearance. You speak.
"I'm changing my major."
"Oh, well, that's alright, we all are exploring what we want to do with--"
"I'm changing my major to---
---> "Philosophy."
---> "Micro-Biology."
---> "Engineering."
marorda
Oddball and author
---> "Philosophy."
Deucalion
Firebringer
---> "Micro-Biology."
Aw shit we necromancer now
Aw shit we necromancer now
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> "Micro-Biology."
siren song
New Member
---> "Engineering
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
Josie's mind has spoken.
Your eyes dig forward, past the counselors head, straight into the little pores of his skin on his forehead, teeming with life. So much life thriving on every crevasse of the planet, and yet, your sister is taken from you. You have made your decision.
"Micro-Biology."
"Well, Josie that is quite a jump from religious studies. May I ask what made--"
"I will do what God could not."
"...er, well Micro-Bio is--"
You stand up in a hurry, your minuscule frame carrying much more gravitas than it is used to. Yet, it feels right. No more idle pondering over why the powers that be play their stupid games. It is time for action. You step outside to meet the first rains of the season, falling fat and thick from the sky. It is a bright new day.
MEANWHILE...
Okay, so maybe you should have just looked for a cab with your own resources. The murder pit is a lot farther than you had expected, and in these heat, your underarms are turning into murder-pits themselves. Well, at least all the sweat does a little to justify that donut feast. Your eyes catch a road sign in the distance:
"MURDER PIT! IT'S RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!"
Thank...God? You feel like that isn't the best one to trust in right now, but you feel like praising Satan would also be a poor display of judgement. You instead opt to take a classy middle road, and write an internal IOU to the next divine force that positively intervenes with your life. Regardless, you finally arrive, drenched and tired in front of the Murder-Pit. There is a very small line here, a churro cart running a buy 2 get one free deal, and a merchandise salesbooth labeled as "Legitimate" "Clothes". They have a large sign that indicates hourly giveaways. You think what sounds like the most fun.
--->[Waiti in line for murder]
---> [Wait in line for churros]
--->[Wait in line for free stuff]
Your eyes dig forward, past the counselors head, straight into the little pores of his skin on his forehead, teeming with life. So much life thriving on every crevasse of the planet, and yet, your sister is taken from you. You have made your decision.
"Micro-Biology."
"Well, Josie that is quite a jump from religious studies. May I ask what made--"
"I will do what God could not."
"...er, well Micro-Bio is--"
You stand up in a hurry, your minuscule frame carrying much more gravitas than it is used to. Yet, it feels right. No more idle pondering over why the powers that be play their stupid games. It is time for action. You step outside to meet the first rains of the season, falling fat and thick from the sky. It is a bright new day.
MEANWHILE...
Okay, so maybe you should have just looked for a cab with your own resources. The murder pit is a lot farther than you had expected, and in these heat, your underarms are turning into murder-pits themselves. Well, at least all the sweat does a little to justify that donut feast. Your eyes catch a road sign in the distance:
"MURDER PIT! IT'S RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!"
Thank...God? You feel like that isn't the best one to trust in right now, but you feel like praising Satan would also be a poor display of judgement. You instead opt to take a classy middle road, and write an internal IOU to the next divine force that positively intervenes with your life. Regardless, you finally arrive, drenched and tired in front of the Murder-Pit. There is a very small line here, a churro cart running a buy 2 get one free deal, and a merchandise salesbooth labeled as "Legitimate" "Clothes". They have a large sign that indicates hourly giveaways. You think what sounds like the most fun.
--->[Waiti in line for murder]
---> [Wait in line for churros]
--->[Wait in line for free stuff]
marorda
Oddball and author
--->[Wait in line for free stuff]
Clothes? Fit-for-hell clothes? That would save some sweating. And maybe raise less suspicion that I'm not actually Josie.
Clothes? Fit-for-hell clothes? That would save some sweating. And maybe raise less suspicion that I'm not actually Josie.
