marorda
Oddball and author
--->"Oh yeah, my bad, I'm new here." [Flash Student ID]
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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
Tie vote! Rolling a d2 gave 1. Giving us--
You swallow the cruller, making sure not to choke on it, even though, realistically, nothing worse could happen even if you did. Your voice is meek.
"Oh, uh, I guess someone told me they were for everyone? Yeah, it was that lady over there."
You waggle a finger in the general direction of the teller windows in the hopes that surely at least one person will fit that description. The demon merely lifts an eyebrow and looks aggravated. You whirl around, hoping that the gender distribution of the common Hell office was in your favor. Ah, no that's why he was giving you that look. All of the tellers are automated machines. As you nod your head, marveling at the automation in today's infernal society, you turn back towards the demon, ready to swallow your lies. You jam a bear claw into your mouth and shrug profusely, hoping to buy yourself a minute. The demon has no patience for this and yanks you by the arm, easily hoisting you off the floor.
"Miss, you are in a lot of trouble."
"Mmrmmph mmph mum."
"Don't talk with your mouthful, it's extremely rude."
You swallow, rolling your eyes incredulously. "Dude, I'm in Hell, what are you realistically going to do to me?" You dangle hopelessly, a good three feet off the floor, as he carries you back into what you presume is the main office. A gaggle of terrible creatures in black ties patrol the floor. You receive no answer from your captor, so you resolve to spend the next couple of seconds trying to enjoy your free little trip. You close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of weightlessness, and seconds later, you are abruptly dropped to the floor. You're getting really tired of this method of transportation down here.
You look up from your crumpled position, to see a large serpent, with flames racing and hopping across its scales. Slipping down the length of his body is a poorly fitted necktie. The demon stands back at the door as the Snake addresses you, speaking in a surprisingly resonant baritone.
"Miss Baker, I am sure that you are aware that your time here is not going to be spent eating donuts."
"No, I'm pretty sure that could be like, an ironic punishment. You know, like for gluttony? I mean, look at me."
You gesture downwards at yourself in the earnest hopes of eating garbage for eternity, but the snake barks out, cutting off your plea.
"Hush! Irene, your admittance test, or at least the first 10% of it you completed, showed that you are more marked by being a terrible, envious soul, determined to better your life, without the consideration of others."
You rub your foot into the shag carpet, and speak, timidly, "Hey, well, uh who isn't? You know? Can I go now? I learned a valuable lesson about thinking about other people."
As you turn around to walk away, you find the demon still barring the door. Well, I guess that never worked with your mom either. The snake leans forward, pressing into his desk.
"Irene, rarely have a seen a soul so young, and yet so tainted." He shakes his head, and begins extending himself, coiling high above you, head bumping against the ceiling. He bares his fangs, and lunges towards you, stopping inches in front of your face. He bellows,
"ARE YOU READY TO MEET YOUR ULTIMATE FATE, IRENE THERESA BAKER?!"
It's a good thing you've been sweating all of the liquid out of you, because otherwise you probably would have wet yourself. Your mind races. This situation calls for a delicate touch.
---> [Begin to cry uncontrollably]
---> [Deny that you are Irene Baker.]
---> [Run like hell.]
---> Reader's Choice?
You swallow the cruller, making sure not to choke on it, even though, realistically, nothing worse could happen even if you did. Your voice is meek.
"Oh, uh, I guess someone told me they were for everyone? Yeah, it was that lady over there."
You waggle a finger in the general direction of the teller windows in the hopes that surely at least one person will fit that description. The demon merely lifts an eyebrow and looks aggravated. You whirl around, hoping that the gender distribution of the common Hell office was in your favor. Ah, no that's why he was giving you that look. All of the tellers are automated machines. As you nod your head, marveling at the automation in today's infernal society, you turn back towards the demon, ready to swallow your lies. You jam a bear claw into your mouth and shrug profusely, hoping to buy yourself a minute. The demon has no patience for this and yanks you by the arm, easily hoisting you off the floor.
"Miss, you are in a lot of trouble."
"Mmrmmph mmph mum."
"Don't talk with your mouthful, it's extremely rude."
You swallow, rolling your eyes incredulously. "Dude, I'm in Hell, what are you realistically going to do to me?" You dangle hopelessly, a good three feet off the floor, as he carries you back into what you presume is the main office. A gaggle of terrible creatures in black ties patrol the floor. You receive no answer from your captor, so you resolve to spend the next couple of seconds trying to enjoy your free little trip. You close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of weightlessness, and seconds later, you are abruptly dropped to the floor. You're getting really tired of this method of transportation down here.
You look up from your crumpled position, to see a large serpent, with flames racing and hopping across its scales. Slipping down the length of his body is a poorly fitted necktie. The demon stands back at the door as the Snake addresses you, speaking in a surprisingly resonant baritone.
"Miss Baker, I am sure that you are aware that your time here is not going to be spent eating donuts."
"No, I'm pretty sure that could be like, an ironic punishment. You know, like for gluttony? I mean, look at me."
You gesture downwards at yourself in the earnest hopes of eating garbage for eternity, but the snake barks out, cutting off your plea.
"Hush! Irene, your admittance test, or at least the first 10% of it you completed, showed that you are more marked by being a terrible, envious soul, determined to better your life, without the consideration of others."
You rub your foot into the shag carpet, and speak, timidly, "Hey, well, uh who isn't? You know? Can I go now? I learned a valuable lesson about thinking about other people."
As you turn around to walk away, you find the demon still barring the door. Well, I guess that never worked with your mom either. The snake leans forward, pressing into his desk.
"Irene, rarely have a seen a soul so young, and yet so tainted." He shakes his head, and begins extending himself, coiling high above you, head bumping against the ceiling. He bares his fangs, and lunges towards you, stopping inches in front of your face. He bellows,
"ARE YOU READY TO MEET YOUR ULTIMATE FATE, IRENE THERESA BAKER?!"
It's a good thing you've been sweating all of the liquid out of you, because otherwise you probably would have wet yourself. Your mind races. This situation calls for a delicate touch.
---> [Begin to cry uncontrollably]
---> [Deny that you are Irene Baker.]
---> [Run like hell.]
---> Reader's Choice?
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> [Deny that you are Irene Baker.]
marorda
Oddball and author
---> [Begin to cry uncontrollably]
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
Tie vote! Rolling a d2 gave 1. Giving us--
You heart beats as hard as it can, slamming against your chest in an arrhythmic panic. You swallow, your mouth dry and trembling, and put your creative storytelling skills to use.
"Uh, I'm not that Ire--that person you said."
The snake retracts his fangs, and narrows his eyes, sinking lower towards the ground. "I find that extremely difficult to believe."
"Oh, well I can understand that confusion, I do have a twin sister after all."
Hey, that wasn't even a lie! Josie is your fraternal twin. I mean, you couldn't see her choking on her food, let alone going to hell, but until about an hour ago, you weren't able to very well imagine yourself going to hell. You further commit to the lie.
"Yeah, I'm Josie Theresa Baker. Big mistake there. We're twins. Happens all the time though, NBD friendo!" You fire a disarming smile, hoping for the very best.
The snake recoils deeply behind his desk, and his delicate tail comes up from underneath, and gingerly taps at some keys on his keyboard. He squints at the screen, pupils darting back and forth for several minutes. He grumbles to himself occasionally, but beyond that he seems to be reading something very intently. Is this working? His eyes pull away from the screen, and look you up and down. His eyes dart back to the screen once more. He mumbles some profanities underneath his breath.
"Cripes, do I hate these cases. Hey, Alfonso!" The demon standing by the door perks up, and lumbers over to the desk. "What do you think? The Bureau has such old pictures of these two, but the info's up to date." The demon, now known to be Alfonso, adjusts his thick rimmed glasses and reads over the screen, shaking his head. "No, Seymour, I'm pretty sure she's full of it, look at all this." He scrolls down. Seymour the Snake's eyes narrow as Alfonso summarizes some of the information:
"Yeah, you need to look at the 'recent tab'. If this is Josie, then..." He glares at you, arching an eyebrow. "So, you were last year's valedictorian?"
"Uh, yeah, sharp as a whistle."
"You volunteer in food kitchen's on a weekly basis?"
"Of course. I love those hobos."
"You're in track and field?"
You balk, and decide to feign taking offense. "Well, it's off-season. I'm uh, bulking."
"What were you doing back in high school?"
"I was volunteering."
"On the very same day, at the same time, that you volunteer at the food kitchen?"
"Well, yeah. Homeless students, dude. Don't be so, non-inclusive, or whatever."
Alfonso stands up and drums his fingers. Seymour flicks his tongue in and out, angrily. Seymour breaks the silence.
"Miss Baker. We only know for certain that you are at least, a Miss Baker. If you are indeed Josie, you were definitely processed incorrectly, and we'll need to get right on top of that. However, there is another discrepancy."
A bead of sweat runs from your neck, all the way down your back, sending shivers across your spine. A smile crosses Seymour's scaled face.
"If you're Josie Theresa Baker, why on earth were you eating waffles?"
Aw, crap. You never really listened to your sister's stupid rants about eating healthy, but you remember that there was a pretty specific reason she didn't eat waffles. Too bad you can't remember exactly what it was, but you'll just have to wing it, and pray. I'm sure those prayers will be heard down here. You clear your throat:
---> "Oh, no it was fine. I know I have a gluten-allergy, but they were gluten free waffles."
---> "I was just celebrating the end of my diet with a one time treat! Lay off dude."
---> "Locally sourced cruelty free waffles! I'd be doing my community harm if I didn't eat them. It was for the greater good."
You heart beats as hard as it can, slamming against your chest in an arrhythmic panic. You swallow, your mouth dry and trembling, and put your creative storytelling skills to use.
"Uh, I'm not that Ire--that person you said."
The snake retracts his fangs, and narrows his eyes, sinking lower towards the ground. "I find that extremely difficult to believe."
"Oh, well I can understand that confusion, I do have a twin sister after all."
Hey, that wasn't even a lie! Josie is your fraternal twin. I mean, you couldn't see her choking on her food, let alone going to hell, but until about an hour ago, you weren't able to very well imagine yourself going to hell. You further commit to the lie.
"Yeah, I'm Josie Theresa Baker. Big mistake there. We're twins. Happens all the time though, NBD friendo!" You fire a disarming smile, hoping for the very best.
The snake recoils deeply behind his desk, and his delicate tail comes up from underneath, and gingerly taps at some keys on his keyboard. He squints at the screen, pupils darting back and forth for several minutes. He grumbles to himself occasionally, but beyond that he seems to be reading something very intently. Is this working? His eyes pull away from the screen, and look you up and down. His eyes dart back to the screen once more. He mumbles some profanities underneath his breath.
"Cripes, do I hate these cases. Hey, Alfonso!" The demon standing by the door perks up, and lumbers over to the desk. "What do you think? The Bureau has such old pictures of these two, but the info's up to date." The demon, now known to be Alfonso, adjusts his thick rimmed glasses and reads over the screen, shaking his head. "No, Seymour, I'm pretty sure she's full of it, look at all this." He scrolls down. Seymour the Snake's eyes narrow as Alfonso summarizes some of the information:
"Yeah, you need to look at the 'recent tab'. If this is Josie, then..." He glares at you, arching an eyebrow. "So, you were last year's valedictorian?"
"Uh, yeah, sharp as a whistle."
"You volunteer in food kitchen's on a weekly basis?"
"Of course. I love those hobos."
"You're in track and field?"
You balk, and decide to feign taking offense. "Well, it's off-season. I'm uh, bulking."
"What were you doing back in high school?"
"I was volunteering."
"On the very same day, at the same time, that you volunteer at the food kitchen?"
"Well, yeah. Homeless students, dude. Don't be so, non-inclusive, or whatever."
Alfonso stands up and drums his fingers. Seymour flicks his tongue in and out, angrily. Seymour breaks the silence.
"Miss Baker. We only know for certain that you are at least, a Miss Baker. If you are indeed Josie, you were definitely processed incorrectly, and we'll need to get right on top of that. However, there is another discrepancy."
A bead of sweat runs from your neck, all the way down your back, sending shivers across your spine. A smile crosses Seymour's scaled face.
"If you're Josie Theresa Baker, why on earth were you eating waffles?"
Aw, crap. You never really listened to your sister's stupid rants about eating healthy, but you remember that there was a pretty specific reason she didn't eat waffles. Too bad you can't remember exactly what it was, but you'll just have to wing it, and pray. I'm sure those prayers will be heard down here. You clear your throat:
---> "Oh, no it was fine. I know I have a gluten-allergy, but they were gluten free waffles."
---> "I was just celebrating the end of my diet with a one time treat! Lay off dude."
---> "Locally sourced cruelty free waffles! I'd be doing my community harm if I didn't eat them. It was for the greater good."
Last edited by a moderator:
marorda
Oddball and author
---> "Oh, no it was fine. I know I have a gluten-allergy, but they were gluten free waffles."
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> "Oh, no it was fine. I know I have a gluten-allergy, but they were gluten free waffles."
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100%! (2/2) of the vote...
"Hey, so I know you may be thinking, 'Hey, this isn't Josie! Josie don't eat no waffles!' But that's where you would be very incorrect! You see, they were gluten free waffles!" You smile, confident with your answer. Seymour nods approvingly. Alfonso takes his turn to grill you.
"So, then why did you die from eating it?"
"Hey, look, I choked on it okay, and besides, my allergy wouldn't have been that bad anyway."
"It says that you've completed CPR training recently. How did you manage to die from this in a room full of people?"
"Uh, I was choking. Do you work at your best when you're dying?"
Concerned muttering between the two of them. They constantly gesture at the screen, and look back over you, with incredulous looks on their faces. Alfonso cocks his head and shrugs. Seymour sighs, reaches for a drawer underneath the desk with his tail, and drops a thick stack of dusty papers in front of himself. He groans.
"Alright, so it looks like we have made a serious mistake Ms. Baker, and we at Gehenna Corp. would like to apologize for the terrible inconvenience we have caused you."
"Corporation?"
"Oh, really, what else would we be, Josie, a non-profit?" Seymour chuckles as Alfonso dusts off a grimy counter on the wall, and begins adjusting it. The counter says:
"IT HAS BEEN 30,459 YEARS SINCE OUR LAST PROCESSING ERROR" Alfonso slowly, dejectedly twists the numbers to zero as Seymour continues.
"Unfortunately, mistakes of this magnitude take quite some time to travel up the chain of command, and our sister company, given the nature of things there, rarely gets around to boring paperwork."
"So...am I going to heaven?"
"Oh, of course, Josie, your record is impeccable. You are a paragon of virtue." He chuckles, and nudges a tail into Alfonso's side.
"Heh, you know, in a real dark way, it's a good thing that you died before your sister, because she seems like the kind of first-class shitlord who would have lied her way out of where she rightfully belongs. You know, she probably got flagged by the system, so that must explain the mix-up. Could you image someone like you ending up in hell!? Hah!"
You bite your tongue hard enough to make the blood well up, but quickly catch yourself before you fly into an apoplectic rage. You try your best to change the subject. "Well, uh, turn the other cheek and all that. So, what's the timetable look like then?" A deep frown crosses his face, as his voice dips even lower, into a bass dominated whimper.
"Ms. Baker, I won't beat around the bush. It is very possible that this error could take months, if not years to resolve. I am aware that this is not ideal, but we can arrange for some...livable arrangements during your, hopefully brief tenure here."
"So, what exactly am I supposed to do down here then?" You lightly stamp your foot with indignation, knowing that you have a little more leeway, seeing as your sister was, apparently, equivalent to the second coming. Seymour clears his throat, loosing a couple of sparks from his maw.
"Well, we have a couple of options, Ms. Baker."
---> "You could always help out administration in Limbo. You're in a pretty rare position to do a real bang-up job with that."
---> "Or we could always use your help right here in Infernal Affairs. You were an up and coming biblical scholar, Josie, so I imagine you are familiar with the theory behind the bulk of our work."
--->"And of course, we're always short on Punishment Supervisors. I am aware that that is rather unappealing to someone of your moral caliber, but you have to understand that we don't get many qualified people down here."
You briefly consider asking for endless hot wings and a cozy hotel room to watch forbidden demonic pornography in, but you imagine that sort of slip-up would give away your true identity.
"Hey, so I know you may be thinking, 'Hey, this isn't Josie! Josie don't eat no waffles!' But that's where you would be very incorrect! You see, they were gluten free waffles!" You smile, confident with your answer. Seymour nods approvingly. Alfonso takes his turn to grill you.
"So, then why did you die from eating it?"
"Hey, look, I choked on it okay, and besides, my allergy wouldn't have been that bad anyway."
"It says that you've completed CPR training recently. How did you manage to die from this in a room full of people?"
"Uh, I was choking. Do you work at your best when you're dying?"
Concerned muttering between the two of them. They constantly gesture at the screen, and look back over you, with incredulous looks on their faces. Alfonso cocks his head and shrugs. Seymour sighs, reaches for a drawer underneath the desk with his tail, and drops a thick stack of dusty papers in front of himself. He groans.
"Alright, so it looks like we have made a serious mistake Ms. Baker, and we at Gehenna Corp. would like to apologize for the terrible inconvenience we have caused you."
"Corporation?"
"Oh, really, what else would we be, Josie, a non-profit?" Seymour chuckles as Alfonso dusts off a grimy counter on the wall, and begins adjusting it. The counter says:
"IT HAS BEEN 30,459 YEARS SINCE OUR LAST PROCESSING ERROR" Alfonso slowly, dejectedly twists the numbers to zero as Seymour continues.
"Unfortunately, mistakes of this magnitude take quite some time to travel up the chain of command, and our sister company, given the nature of things there, rarely gets around to boring paperwork."
"So...am I going to heaven?"
"Oh, of course, Josie, your record is impeccable. You are a paragon of virtue." He chuckles, and nudges a tail into Alfonso's side.
"Heh, you know, in a real dark way, it's a good thing that you died before your sister, because she seems like the kind of first-class shitlord who would have lied her way out of where she rightfully belongs. You know, she probably got flagged by the system, so that must explain the mix-up. Could you image someone like you ending up in hell!? Hah!"
You bite your tongue hard enough to make the blood well up, but quickly catch yourself before you fly into an apoplectic rage. You try your best to change the subject. "Well, uh, turn the other cheek and all that. So, what's the timetable look like then?" A deep frown crosses his face, as his voice dips even lower, into a bass dominated whimper.
"Ms. Baker, I won't beat around the bush. It is very possible that this error could take months, if not years to resolve. I am aware that this is not ideal, but we can arrange for some...livable arrangements during your, hopefully brief tenure here."
"So, what exactly am I supposed to do down here then?" You lightly stamp your foot with indignation, knowing that you have a little more leeway, seeing as your sister was, apparently, equivalent to the second coming. Seymour clears his throat, loosing a couple of sparks from his maw.
"Well, we have a couple of options, Ms. Baker."
---> "You could always help out administration in Limbo. You're in a pretty rare position to do a real bang-up job with that."
---> "Or we could always use your help right here in Infernal Affairs. You were an up and coming biblical scholar, Josie, so I imagine you are familiar with the theory behind the bulk of our work."
--->"And of course, we're always short on Punishment Supervisors. I am aware that that is rather unappealing to someone of your moral caliber, but you have to understand that we don't get many qualified people down here."
You briefly consider asking for endless hot wings and a cozy hotel room to watch forbidden demonic pornography in, but you imagine that sort of slip-up would give away your true identity.
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> "Or we could always use your help right here in Infernal Affairs. You were an up and coming biblical scholar, Josie, so I imagine you are familiar with the theory behind the bulk of our work."
marorda
Oddball and author
---> "Or we could always use your help right here in Infernal Affairs. You were an up and coming biblical scholar, Josie, so I imagine you are familiar with the theory behind the bulk of our work."
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100% (2/2) of the vote!...
This is a pretty easy decision for you. After all, these two knuckleheads bought your story, and it'd probably be best if you had to keep your story straight with only a choice few people. Less people to fact check and all that. I mean, you're...pragmatic if nothing else, Irene, you've gotta keep this relatively cozy life going on for as long as possible. You curtsy graciously, for the second time in your life.
"Well, I think I would just love to work here in Infernal Affairs, making sure you never make such grievous errors ever again."
That came out a little harsher than you had expected, but it looks like the demons- or your new coworkers, you suppose are pleased with answer. Seymour gives a firm slap to Alfonso's back with the thick of his tail, and begins fishing around for some paper work. You take a moment to take a seat, and enjoy a second bear claw. This is going to be a piece of cake. Throw around some paper airplanes, look busy for a couple of months, and boom! Eternal Paradise! Everything's coming up Irene!
MEANWHILE...
Your phone buzzes angrily for what must be the umpteenth time this period. Your professor shoots you a glare, and you wither. It's really not your fault, you always have your phone set to silent in class, I mean this is Princeton! You need to be professional, after all. You couldn't imagine why it would still be ringing unless it was an emergency. Your heart skips a beat. Of course it's an emergency. Mom's liver wasn't doing so well, you should have known. You stand up in a rush, and quickly stride to the door, heart pounding. You pull out your phone and flip down through your missed messages. Well, you would if service here wasn't so spotty. Yeesh! I bet Yale wouldn't have had this problem, but you always knew that missing those 4 questions on the SAT would come back to bite you. You sigh. You've never been at the top, have you Josie? Well, at least you can read some of the preview text:
"JOSIE CALL MO..."
"JOSIE PLEASE ANS..."
"IRENE IS AT THE..."
Huh. I mean, mom always texts in all caps, but you can't imagine what's up that demands such response. Especially if it's about Irene. I mean, she's sweet and everything bless her heart, but she's always been a little...misguided. Well, mom did flip out last time they dragged her into the station for huffing all those whipped cream cans at that day care center. She probably just got busted for something equally as absurd. You sigh, cross your heart, and mutter a short prayer for your beloved sister.
You've still got ninety minutes of class left, what should you do?
--->[Leave class and call mom]
--->[Call family after class]
--->[Leave class and call Irene]
This is a pretty easy decision for you. After all, these two knuckleheads bought your story, and it'd probably be best if you had to keep your story straight with only a choice few people. Less people to fact check and all that. I mean, you're...pragmatic if nothing else, Irene, you've gotta keep this relatively cozy life going on for as long as possible. You curtsy graciously, for the second time in your life.
"Well, I think I would just love to work here in Infernal Affairs, making sure you never make such grievous errors ever again."
That came out a little harsher than you had expected, but it looks like the demons- or your new coworkers, you suppose are pleased with answer. Seymour gives a firm slap to Alfonso's back with the thick of his tail, and begins fishing around for some paper work. You take a moment to take a seat, and enjoy a second bear claw. This is going to be a piece of cake. Throw around some paper airplanes, look busy for a couple of months, and boom! Eternal Paradise! Everything's coming up Irene!
MEANWHILE...
Your phone buzzes angrily for what must be the umpteenth time this period. Your professor shoots you a glare, and you wither. It's really not your fault, you always have your phone set to silent in class, I mean this is Princeton! You need to be professional, after all. You couldn't imagine why it would still be ringing unless it was an emergency. Your heart skips a beat. Of course it's an emergency. Mom's liver wasn't doing so well, you should have known. You stand up in a rush, and quickly stride to the door, heart pounding. You pull out your phone and flip down through your missed messages. Well, you would if service here wasn't so spotty. Yeesh! I bet Yale wouldn't have had this problem, but you always knew that missing those 4 questions on the SAT would come back to bite you. You sigh. You've never been at the top, have you Josie? Well, at least you can read some of the preview text:
"JOSIE CALL MO..."
"JOSIE PLEASE ANS..."
"IRENE IS AT THE..."
Huh. I mean, mom always texts in all caps, but you can't imagine what's up that demands such response. Especially if it's about Irene. I mean, she's sweet and everything bless her heart, but she's always been a little...misguided. Well, mom did flip out last time they dragged her into the station for huffing all those whipped cream cans at that day care center. She probably just got busted for something equally as absurd. You sigh, cross your heart, and mutter a short prayer for your beloved sister.
You've still got ninety minutes of class left, what should you do?
--->[Leave class and call mom]
--->[Call family after class]
--->[Leave class and call Irene]
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
--->[Call family after class]
marorda
Oddball and author
--->[Leave class and call mom]
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
Tie vote! Josie doesn't handle these sorts of things as well as Irene!
You slip to the floor, phone in your pocket, fingers digging into your scalp. There are too many decisions to chew over, and you just know that none of them are going to be right. You need to act swiftly, decisively, perfectly, and no matter what you do, it's just not going to be the right action. Your breathe grows shallow. You reach for your inhaler.
Two puffs. It'll be better soon. Calm, yourself. God is watching.
You straighten your hair and de-smudge your glasses. You're the one who'll pull the Baker family out of squalor, and in order to do that, you need to be the rock of the family...yet at the same time, they have to learn to handle things on their own. After all, it's not like you'd be able to get to Arbor Creek in less than four hours. You'll just, get through the class, and turn your phone off. You've always stuck your neck out for them, but they need to learn to handle little troubles better. If they still need help, they'll just call again after class.
Besides, you don't want to give Mom the idea that you'll come home at the drop of a hat. It pains you, but you have to give them some distance.
You wipe away at a budding tear, and walk back into the classroom.
---
You groan, letting loose a sickly belch, leaning back in your chair and staring woefully at the ceiling. Is that asbestos? Of course it is, I mean, look at the workplace. Well, you would look around, but you're feeling pretty terrible. You close your eyes and pray that all of those donuts digest as quickly as possible. I mean, you knew that was a bad idea, but being dead already made the idea of eating six donuts in half an hour seem a lot more appealing. It was quite the mistake though, and you had to wonder what the point of such a weak constitution was down here. You lazily open your eyes and move back to the seated position. You stifle a rush of vomit, and look around your new cubicle.
You've only been in here for an hour, but you're already fighting back the boredom, after the novelty of your gorging wore off. You have to admit that you spaced out during the introduction to your office. Seymour was very apologetic about the whole thing though, and from what you caught from the general tone, it seems like you were in a position that was just created to keep you busy. Suits you just fine. You drum your fingers and look around.
Besides your computer and complementary coffee mug, the cubicle is pretty barren. You sigh. Being an adult is boring. You contemplate on how to best spend your time.
--->[Waste the work day on the internet, assuming that exists down here.]
--->[Feign illness in order to go home early]
--->[Schmooze around the break room]
---
First of all, I'd like to thank the dedicated few who have stuck with the story so far, it has been a pleasure writing, and I look forward to seeing where we take the plot. This is just a little heads up about the incoming short break, since I'll be out and about at a convention over the holiday weekend. I'll probably be able to pop in occasionally, but I'm not going to go write an entry on a cellphone, like some savage. Expect the next entry on Tuesday!
You slip to the floor, phone in your pocket, fingers digging into your scalp. There are too many decisions to chew over, and you just know that none of them are going to be right. You need to act swiftly, decisively, perfectly, and no matter what you do, it's just not going to be the right action. Your breathe grows shallow. You reach for your inhaler.
Two puffs. It'll be better soon. Calm, yourself. God is watching.
You straighten your hair and de-smudge your glasses. You're the one who'll pull the Baker family out of squalor, and in order to do that, you need to be the rock of the family...yet at the same time, they have to learn to handle things on their own. After all, it's not like you'd be able to get to Arbor Creek in less than four hours. You'll just, get through the class, and turn your phone off. You've always stuck your neck out for them, but they need to learn to handle little troubles better. If they still need help, they'll just call again after class.
Besides, you don't want to give Mom the idea that you'll come home at the drop of a hat. It pains you, but you have to give them some distance.
You wipe away at a budding tear, and walk back into the classroom.
---
You groan, letting loose a sickly belch, leaning back in your chair and staring woefully at the ceiling. Is that asbestos? Of course it is, I mean, look at the workplace. Well, you would look around, but you're feeling pretty terrible. You close your eyes and pray that all of those donuts digest as quickly as possible. I mean, you knew that was a bad idea, but being dead already made the idea of eating six donuts in half an hour seem a lot more appealing. It was quite the mistake though, and you had to wonder what the point of such a weak constitution was down here. You lazily open your eyes and move back to the seated position. You stifle a rush of vomit, and look around your new cubicle.
You've only been in here for an hour, but you're already fighting back the boredom, after the novelty of your gorging wore off. You have to admit that you spaced out during the introduction to your office. Seymour was very apologetic about the whole thing though, and from what you caught from the general tone, it seems like you were in a position that was just created to keep you busy. Suits you just fine. You drum your fingers and look around.
Besides your computer and complementary coffee mug, the cubicle is pretty barren. You sigh. Being an adult is boring. You contemplate on how to best spend your time.
--->[Waste the work day on the internet, assuming that exists down here.]
--->[Feign illness in order to go home early]
--->[Schmooze around the break room]
---
First of all, I'd like to thank the dedicated few who have stuck with the story so far, it has been a pleasure writing, and I look forward to seeing where we take the plot. This is just a little heads up about the incoming short break, since I'll be out and about at a convention over the holiday weekend. I'll probably be able to pop in occasionally, but I'm not going to go write an entry on a cellphone, like some savage. Expect the next entry on Tuesday!
marorda
Oddball and author
--->[Schmooze around the break room]
----
No problem~ We can wait, I assume. I know I can. Besides, it gives me some time to write up a proper next entry for my quest
----
No problem~ We can wait, I assume. I know I can. Besides, it gives me some time to write up a proper next entry for my quest
Last edited by a moderator:
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
--->[Feign illness in order to go home early]
--
yeah no problem, its been really enjoyable to read. i'm fine with a break, i can easily wait haha.
--
yeah no problem, its been really enjoyable to read. i'm fine with a break, i can easily wait haha.
siren song
New Member
--->[Waste the work day on the internet, assuming that exists down here.]
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
Tie vote! Rolling a d3 gave us a 2. Giving us--
An idea crosses your mind, and you begin nodding in agreement with yourself. You did it all the time back in school, and that was when you hadn't stuffed yourself to the gills. This time, you were really method acting, and it'd probably be a lot easier to sell it. I mean, in all honesty, you really could use a day off. Dying is pretty stressful stuff. You pull yourself to your feet, and glance at your reflection in the monitor, hoping to gussy yourself up enough to look truly sick enough to head home early.
You do look a little green around the edges, and that's not just your vibrant green hair doing that. Speaking of, you certainly hope you don't have to dye down here, because that was always such a hassle. Your eyes are bagged from a seeming nonstop stretch of partying into the morning light, and there are flecks of chocolate and Bavarian creme across your face. You look like a mess. You'll be out of here in no time. You walk out of your cubicle, faux-groaning up a storm. You hope for a little attention and sympathy from your fellow cubicle drones, but they all seem pretty absorbed with their work, and now that you think of it, you probably just blend in with the ambient tortured screams of the office. You silence yourself, opting to reserve your energy for the big performance.
You rap on Seymour's door, pause, and then realize that that probably isn't the protocol in hell. You swing the door open, and lurch into his office. He seems to be caught off guard, tail wound around a gargantuan stamp, running through reams of paper work. His look of surprise quickly transitions into one of concern.
"Josie, you look terrible. Everything alright? I mean, I know this isn't your preffered--"
"I need to uh...I need to go lay down for a bit."
You punctuate your line with weak sighs, and wipes at your forehead, slumping down into the open chair. Things are looking pretty solid so far.
"Hey, I know that this isn't ideal for you, I really do, and if you need to go home early then--"
"Oh, yeah, that'd be just, just great. I'll be a lot better tomorrow, I swear. Just need to...de-stress."
His tail flips open a drawer and flings a ring of keys into your lap. It's a little too hot, and it bites into your flesh. You quickly scoop up the keys before you get some sort of infernal burn.
"Alright, you're suite 1406 at The Cerberus. You can't miss it. See you tomorrow at six Josie!"
Gross. You can't remember the last time that you acknowledged six in the morning as a time that actually existed. Well, that's a problem for tomorrow's Irene. Today's Irene just got out of work. You lower your head in some show of admiration, and leave the office. You'd jump up and click your heels if it wasn't so much work, but regardless, you are elated! Looks like you've got a free day on your hands! You could always go to the mall and...well, guess you can't really do that.
You stand before the front door, a little solemn. What do you do with your free time in Hell?
---> [Go to your room, see how much you can charge to room service.]
---> [Wander around aimlessly in Pandæmonium, and catch an Uber later or something.]
---> Reader's Choice?
An idea crosses your mind, and you begin nodding in agreement with yourself. You did it all the time back in school, and that was when you hadn't stuffed yourself to the gills. This time, you were really method acting, and it'd probably be a lot easier to sell it. I mean, in all honesty, you really could use a day off. Dying is pretty stressful stuff. You pull yourself to your feet, and glance at your reflection in the monitor, hoping to gussy yourself up enough to look truly sick enough to head home early.
You do look a little green around the edges, and that's not just your vibrant green hair doing that. Speaking of, you certainly hope you don't have to dye down here, because that was always such a hassle. Your eyes are bagged from a seeming nonstop stretch of partying into the morning light, and there are flecks of chocolate and Bavarian creme across your face. You look like a mess. You'll be out of here in no time. You walk out of your cubicle, faux-groaning up a storm. You hope for a little attention and sympathy from your fellow cubicle drones, but they all seem pretty absorbed with their work, and now that you think of it, you probably just blend in with the ambient tortured screams of the office. You silence yourself, opting to reserve your energy for the big performance.
You rap on Seymour's door, pause, and then realize that that probably isn't the protocol in hell. You swing the door open, and lurch into his office. He seems to be caught off guard, tail wound around a gargantuan stamp, running through reams of paper work. His look of surprise quickly transitions into one of concern.
"Josie, you look terrible. Everything alright? I mean, I know this isn't your preffered--"
"I need to uh...I need to go lay down for a bit."
You punctuate your line with weak sighs, and wipes at your forehead, slumping down into the open chair. Things are looking pretty solid so far.
"Hey, I know that this isn't ideal for you, I really do, and if you need to go home early then--"
"Oh, yeah, that'd be just, just great. I'll be a lot better tomorrow, I swear. Just need to...de-stress."
His tail flips open a drawer and flings a ring of keys into your lap. It's a little too hot, and it bites into your flesh. You quickly scoop up the keys before you get some sort of infernal burn.
"Alright, you're suite 1406 at The Cerberus. You can't miss it. See you tomorrow at six Josie!"
Gross. You can't remember the last time that you acknowledged six in the morning as a time that actually existed. Well, that's a problem for tomorrow's Irene. Today's Irene just got out of work. You lower your head in some show of admiration, and leave the office. You'd jump up and click your heels if it wasn't so much work, but regardless, you are elated! Looks like you've got a free day on your hands! You could always go to the mall and...well, guess you can't really do that.
You stand before the front door, a little solemn. What do you do with your free time in Hell?
---> [Go to your room, see how much you can charge to room service.]
---> [Wander around aimlessly in Pandæmonium, and catch an Uber later or something.]
---> Reader's Choice?
marorda
Oddball and author
---> Chill in the room and see if Hell has some form of Netflix. There's still some series I'd like to binge watch now that I might just have to spend a small eternity here.
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
gotta second this (curious to see what sort of movies and tv shows hell has)
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100%! (2/2) of the vote...
You figure that if you'll be down here for a while, you might as well get used to your new place, wherever that may be. You swing open the doors, and are almost knocked down by what seems to be the blast of furnace, but no, that's just the weather here. You idly grasp for your cellphone, hoping for directions, but to your dismay, you find that there's no service down here.
The more you think about it, the more you wonder why your phone is even down here. I mean, sure, you have clearly violated enough morals to end up down here, but you weren't even aware that your phone had a soul worth judging. You suppose that argument also stands true for your clothes, but then again, perhaps it's for the best. You would not be comfortable strutting around in your birthday suit down here. The again, the weather really is anathema to any form of clothing. You resolve to lay about nude in your hotel room, ideally, sprawled by the AC.
As you look around the Escherian streets sprawling throughout the city, you briefly wonder how in the hell (literally) you are expected to find your hotel. It is at this exact moment that you realize the neighboring skyscraper is in fact, labeled:
THE CERBERUS
You probably didn't notice it at first, writing it off as an extension of the Department. Hell should really look into diversifying their architects, because everything either looks like a sinister obelisk or a bombed out building. No variety. Real disappointing stuff. You saunter into the hotel, and are, to your relief, blasted with a gust of air conditioning. Tinny muzak blares from speakers above, and you reflexively cover your ears, walking to the elevator and banging all of the keys, hoping to expedite its arrival.
There is a gentle chime, and the chrome doors slide open, only for the muzak to intensify. You groan in fury, and mash at the fourteenth floor, hoping that you can at least drown out the music for the brief period of time the elevator takes to ascend. The doors slide open once more, and you rush out to your room, finally free of that dreadful music. The key sizzles in your hands as you pop the lock. You pull out the keys, toss them to the bed, and slam the door behind you, breathing heavily, and taking a moment to survey the room.
It is surprisingly inoffensive. There are the telltale signs of something unworldly, such as the faint smell of burning hair, and the reddish hue that spills across an apocalyptic eternal night sky, but beyond that, it's a nice four star hotel. You lock the door behind you and begin flinging off your clothes as you survey the amenities of your room. The minibar's selection is a bit lacking in earthly delights, but you're sure that Dr. Lucifer and Chocolate Beelzebars are a reasonable substitute. The sink runs a little hot, but at least it's a stream of water, instead of locusts as you expected. You flop yourself onto the appropriately sleazy waterbed and happily sigh, ready to sample all the joys of demonic television. You flip on the television.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
You stifle a laugh. It's your first taste of entertainment in hell, and it's just so wildly inappropriate, it lifts your spirits slightly. Still, the preview guide gives it some abysmal ratings, so you decide to flip to the next channel.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
Your heart sinks. I mean, surely the natural denizens of hell have something to enjoy other than this. After all, you fully understand this film as punishment, but still this seems a little extreme. You flip the channel once more.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
You flip through the menu, looking for pay-per-view options, or ideally, a streaming service. Surely enough, there's an option for something called Heckflix. You rub your hands and kick your feet up as you wait for it to load. You have to imagine that it's all sex and ultra-violence down here, that's the high art down here, and you can finally feel like--
You hurl the remote across the room as the queue fills with several copies of The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas.
Your entertainment options down here are off to a rocky start. What do you do?
---> [Call room service and ask about alternate entertainment offers]
---> [Trash the room in protest]
---> [Surrender to the powers of Hell, and watch The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas]
---> Reader Choice?
You figure that if you'll be down here for a while, you might as well get used to your new place, wherever that may be. You swing open the doors, and are almost knocked down by what seems to be the blast of furnace, but no, that's just the weather here. You idly grasp for your cellphone, hoping for directions, but to your dismay, you find that there's no service down here.
The more you think about it, the more you wonder why your phone is even down here. I mean, sure, you have clearly violated enough morals to end up down here, but you weren't even aware that your phone had a soul worth judging. You suppose that argument also stands true for your clothes, but then again, perhaps it's for the best. You would not be comfortable strutting around in your birthday suit down here. The again, the weather really is anathema to any form of clothing. You resolve to lay about nude in your hotel room, ideally, sprawled by the AC.
As you look around the Escherian streets sprawling throughout the city, you briefly wonder how in the hell (literally) you are expected to find your hotel. It is at this exact moment that you realize the neighboring skyscraper is in fact, labeled:
THE CERBERUS
You probably didn't notice it at first, writing it off as an extension of the Department. Hell should really look into diversifying their architects, because everything either looks like a sinister obelisk or a bombed out building. No variety. Real disappointing stuff. You saunter into the hotel, and are, to your relief, blasted with a gust of air conditioning. Tinny muzak blares from speakers above, and you reflexively cover your ears, walking to the elevator and banging all of the keys, hoping to expedite its arrival.
There is a gentle chime, and the chrome doors slide open, only for the muzak to intensify. You groan in fury, and mash at the fourteenth floor, hoping that you can at least drown out the music for the brief period of time the elevator takes to ascend. The doors slide open once more, and you rush out to your room, finally free of that dreadful music. The key sizzles in your hands as you pop the lock. You pull out the keys, toss them to the bed, and slam the door behind you, breathing heavily, and taking a moment to survey the room.
It is surprisingly inoffensive. There are the telltale signs of something unworldly, such as the faint smell of burning hair, and the reddish hue that spills across an apocalyptic eternal night sky, but beyond that, it's a nice four star hotel. You lock the door behind you and begin flinging off your clothes as you survey the amenities of your room. The minibar's selection is a bit lacking in earthly delights, but you're sure that Dr. Lucifer and Chocolate Beelzebars are a reasonable substitute. The sink runs a little hot, but at least it's a stream of water, instead of locusts as you expected. You flop yourself onto the appropriately sleazy waterbed and happily sigh, ready to sample all the joys of demonic television. You flip on the television.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
You stifle a laugh. It's your first taste of entertainment in hell, and it's just so wildly inappropriate, it lifts your spirits slightly. Still, the preview guide gives it some abysmal ratings, so you decide to flip to the next channel.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
Your heart sinks. I mean, surely the natural denizens of hell have something to enjoy other than this. After all, you fully understand this film as punishment, but still this seems a little extreme. You flip the channel once more.
The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
You flip through the menu, looking for pay-per-view options, or ideally, a streaming service. Surely enough, there's an option for something called Heckflix. You rub your hands and kick your feet up as you wait for it to load. You have to imagine that it's all sex and ultra-violence down here, that's the high art down here, and you can finally feel like--
You hurl the remote across the room as the queue fills with several copies of The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas.
Your entertainment options down here are off to a rocky start. What do you do?
---> [Call room service and ask about alternate entertainment offers]
---> [Trash the room in protest]
---> [Surrender to the powers of Hell, and watch The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas]
---> Reader Choice?
budgieboo
And they said it changes when the sun goes down
---> [Surrender to the powers of Hell, and watch The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas]
marorda
Oddball and author
---> [Surrender to the powers of Hell, and watch The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas]
Hush Hush Storytime
A Friendly Ear
With 100%! (2/2) of the vote...
You groan as you peel yourself out of bed and carry yourself over to the remote thrown across the room. You've had quite enough time in your head for one lifetime today, and frankly, no matter how bad the option is, you welcome the opportunity to rot your brain. You set the movie to play, and work on getting comfortable.
You pop open the can of Jumbo Dr. Lucifer, and listen to the cackling moan that shoots from the can. That's a little different, but hey, a sodas a soda. You take a swig as the Universal Studios logo flashes across the screen. It's not half bad for something that is probably, in all likeliness, carbonated blood. You pensively eye the Chocolate Beelzebar. I mean it looks delicious, but you're also pretty sure that you would explode if you shoved anything else down your throat. You decide to prop yourself up during the movie on a pillow, idly flailing your legs about.
Twenty minutes in and you are bored to the brink of tears. It is an impressively bad film, and truly is a testament to infernal cinema. You rub at your paunch as you try to stifle throwing up at how awful it is. You fling your head back and stare at the asbestos tiled ceiling.
In some ways, this was a lot like life. I mean, you complained a lot, slept, ate and watched garbage. But, without a higher calling to ignore, you can't help but feel a little empty on a cosmological scale. You sigh. What would Fred Flintstone do? Probably make some sort of rock pun, but he was a boulder person than you were; those things must have come naturally to him.
You smirk, and sniffle. You'll probably never see your friends again. Well, when you get to heaven, you imagine that you'll see them eventually. I mean, Karen never smoked so that had to give her some girl scout points. You scrounge around the dressers looking for a mess to make, and find some complementary pajamas. They are not a flattering fit, but the material feels fantastic against your skin.
You kick back once more, and veg out with the Flintstones. Thirty minutes further into the masterpiece, the power flickers out, and you are left in total darkness. Alright, you'll change your rating to two stars if this keeps up.
You pout in the sullen darkness for a little less than five minutes before you spring into action.
---> [Storm down to the front office and demand that The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas continues playing.]
---> [Break into an adjacent room in hopes of a working television.]
---> [Hit the town in hopes of raising your spirits.]
You groan as you peel yourself out of bed and carry yourself over to the remote thrown across the room. You've had quite enough time in your head for one lifetime today, and frankly, no matter how bad the option is, you welcome the opportunity to rot your brain. You set the movie to play, and work on getting comfortable.
You pop open the can of Jumbo Dr. Lucifer, and listen to the cackling moan that shoots from the can. That's a little different, but hey, a sodas a soda. You take a swig as the Universal Studios logo flashes across the screen. It's not half bad for something that is probably, in all likeliness, carbonated blood. You pensively eye the Chocolate Beelzebar. I mean it looks delicious, but you're also pretty sure that you would explode if you shoved anything else down your throat. You decide to prop yourself up during the movie on a pillow, idly flailing your legs about.
Twenty minutes in and you are bored to the brink of tears. It is an impressively bad film, and truly is a testament to infernal cinema. You rub at your paunch as you try to stifle throwing up at how awful it is. You fling your head back and stare at the asbestos tiled ceiling.
In some ways, this was a lot like life. I mean, you complained a lot, slept, ate and watched garbage. But, without a higher calling to ignore, you can't help but feel a little empty on a cosmological scale. You sigh. What would Fred Flintstone do? Probably make some sort of rock pun, but he was a boulder person than you were; those things must have come naturally to him.
You smirk, and sniffle. You'll probably never see your friends again. Well, when you get to heaven, you imagine that you'll see them eventually. I mean, Karen never smoked so that had to give her some girl scout points. You scrounge around the dressers looking for a mess to make, and find some complementary pajamas. They are not a flattering fit, but the material feels fantastic against your skin.
You kick back once more, and veg out with the Flintstones. Thirty minutes further into the masterpiece, the power flickers out, and you are left in total darkness. Alright, you'll change your rating to two stars if this keeps up.
You pout in the sullen darkness for a little less than five minutes before you spring into action.
---> [Storm down to the front office and demand that The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas continues playing.]
---> [Break into an adjacent room in hopes of a working television.]
---> [Hit the town in hopes of raising your spirits.]
siren song
New Member
---> [Hit the town in hopes of raising your spirits.]