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Thread: The Vault

  1. #1
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    The Vault

    Hullo folks! It's been a while. I wonder if any of you remember me?

    Anyway, I'm back with my new labour of love, and I thought I'd share a teensy weensy piece of it. Simple, short, and sweet for now. I'm intimidated by getting back into this again. But, I haven't been this excited about writing in a very, very long time.

    ***

    Melting like black stars into a great canvas of white, Chance kept shooting until they molded together into a gaping blackness that a man could fit through. He appraised his handiwork. The rather messy hole in the wall didn't seem to affect the structural integrity of the room. He smiled and tossed the gun aside, removing his sound-protection earphones. They bounced off of the ground as he stepped into the hole, his shiny black shoes clacking against debris, rocks, and grains of sand. There was something about darkness that gave him an urge to whistle. He heard a scraping sound that restrained him. He flicked a switch on the side of his glasses, turning off the infrared. As he turned towards the sound, he saw something he wasn't expecting. Amber eyes glared up at him from a mess of curly red hair. She was cowering in the corner of the vault.

    He froze, unsure.

    ''Hi there!'' He said finally, raising a hand in a friendly wave and walking towards her. She ran, darting to the side. He swept out a long arm and caught her, spinning her along to stand in front of him. She crouched down low, eyes darting wildly from left to right.

    ''I'm not gonna hurt ya, and you're really not gonna last long out there, just so y'know.'' He tried to smile as sincerely as possible. She stopped squirming.
    ''What are you doing here?'' He asked. He frowned and proceeded to examine her for wounds. He knelt down, sliding the small, round lenses down with an index finger. He peered over them with an air of professionalism.
    ''You're lucky. Not even a scratch.'' He got to his feet, ''I wouldn't have used the gun if I'd known somebody was in there. How'd you get in, anyway?''

    She had been silent, and cowering up until that moment. It was then that she gathered some chutzpah. Her fist flew, catching him on the right side of his face. He blinked, rubbing his jaw with surprise.

    ''Owwww! What was that for?'' He looked down, but she was gone. Puzzled, he whirled around. He caught a glimpse of curls as she darted out of the messy hole he'd made, and into one of the many corridors in the main structure.

    Shrugging, he switched on the infrared again, gazing calmly at the interior of the room. There was no ventilation-- That wouldn't make sense inside of an air-locked vault. But... Ah. The opposite wall had been melted straight through, showing a near-perfect oval shape, with much more finesse than his semi-automatic. The edges showed up on the infrared as bright red-- Fresh. He continued into the core of the vault, and the blanket of calm suddenly had burning nettles in it.

    It was empty.

    ''S**t.''
    Last edited by BookBeauty; 07-17-2013 at 01:07 PM.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

  2. #2
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    Shifty eyes from left to right: Bump.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

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    Yep. This a piece of something larger?






    J

  4. #4
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts View Post
    Yep. This a piece of something larger?






    J

    Yes.

    I'm hoping to keep the inner-critic silent until I'm finished, but you know... I'm starting to think the first 10 thousand words are the easiest.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

  5. #5
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by BookBeauty View Post
    Yes.

    I'm hoping to keep the inner-critic silent until I'm finished, but you know... I'm starting to think the first 10 thousand words are the easiest.

    I hope there's more too. Get on with it, GIRL!

  6. #6
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    Oh. I never even thought I'd end up pasting more than that. Writer's paralysis?

    Okay, I will! Thanks for your encouragement.

    --

    Estelle kept running. She was wheezing, and her chest ached. She clutched her hand tightly around the small bottle. It had been the only treasure in the vault.
    She glanced over her shoulder, just once, to see if he had caught up.
    The hallway was empty behind her, but as she turned back around, he dropped right in front of her like an acrobat from the pipes above.

    She ran right into his gangly arms.

    ''Hullo again!'' He said cheerfully. ''I'm kinda thirsty, do you have a little, round blue bottle by any chance?''

    She lunged at him, gripping his shoulder and giving him a good knee to the groin.

    At least, that would have happened, if he hadn't used her own momentum against her, causing her to stumble past him as he dodged nimbly to the side.

    The next fist that flew at him ended up flowing into his palm. He spun her around gently, whirling her around with him a few times, gripping her hands as she struggled. He gracefully dipped her like a ballerina. She clenched her teeth.

    ''Stop!'' She hissed. ''Let me go!''

    He ignored her.

    ''You're pretty light on your feet!'' He showed her a toothy smile, and finally let her go. She pulled away at the same time, nearly falling over from the effort. The bottle was no longer in her hand, so naturally, she glared at him.

    ''I'll tell you what-- You can come with me, but only if you teach me to dance.'' He winked, the bottle balancing on the tip of his index finger.

    ''Er... You have a vein in your forehead, and it's... Kinda movin' a bit.'' He ducked as she tried to hit him again, with the satisfaction of ripping out a few strands of brown hair.
    He winced and backed off slightly, rubbing at his scalp with a grimace.

    ''You sure are mean.''

    ''You talk too much.'' She growled.

    And then her amber eyes started to glow. Her hands started to tremble. A low hiss rattled from between her teeth. She looked oddly like an angry cat; even her bouncy curls were frazzled. In another circumstance, Chance might have thought it was funny.

    As it was, panic crossed his features. His eyes widened and he quickly secreted the bottle and produced another one, green, with a spray-top. He sent mist right into her face. Her face froze, she stiffened, and fell. He caught her with his shin before she hit the ground, rolled her up into his arms, and hefted her up over his shoulder.

    ''Silly girl,'' he sighed, ''Don't do things you'll regret.''

    He turned on his heel, and carried her back down the corridor. As he walked, he began to whistle.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

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