Cry Wolf
Cry Wolf is a brand new forum focused on the forum version of the deception game Mafia/Werewolves
EPILOGUE __________ SHE’S GOTTEN USED to the sight of him leaning against shelving and combing through old books. The posture has become just another facet of him, like sarcasm and dark hair. She forgets, or perhaps it never crossed her mind, that there may have been a reason for it in the first place. From the next aisle over, she hears a loud, “God damn it,” followed by the muted slap of paper striking the wooden floor. Always ready to tease the religious studies major for taking the Lord’s name in vain, she peeks her head around the bookshelf. He’s standing there glaring at a volume on the ground like he just caught it in a three-way with his girlfriend and his mother. It takes him a second to register her presence, but when he does, the stormclouds fizzle into a sheepish smile. “Hi. Yeah. Sorry. I dropped a book.” It’s closer to her shoes than it is to his, so she picks it up. Catches a glimpse of the title and author. Some things click. Not everything. She waves the book in one hand. “This what you’ve been looking for all this time?” He gets that same deer in the headlights look as on that day of their first conversation. This time, though, he sighs and holds his hand out to reclaim the book. “Yeah. That’s mine.” In platforms, she’s taller than him, and she takes advantage of every inch. She dangles the book high over her head, keeping it out of his reach. “I’ll give it back, just tell me what the deal is with this book anyway.” He frowns, in the way that communicates that he’ll tell her the answer, just not with the first words that come to mind. He looks at her. Looks at the book. Looks down. “Keepsake from my grandfather. He owned the store before you. He uh, apparently, or so his will said, has some wealth set aside. And sent me on a fucking treasure hunt to figure out how to access it.” “So this is one of the clues,” she surmises. “It’s the answer, actually. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” He looks a lot grumpier than someone who’d just found his allegorical pot of gold. It’s a far-fetched but believable story. She didn’t know the old man very well, but people always called him something of an eccentric. Treasure hunt for an inheritance? Sure, why not. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she lifts the cover and flips through the pages. Written on the back cover, in the familiar looped handwriting of her predecessor, the answer to her part-timer’s financial woes: “There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate’s loot on Treasure Island.” —Walt Disney She shuts the cover, hands the book back, and just about dies laughing. |
Last edited by Cure on Tue Mar 15, 2016 10:47 pm; edited 1 time in total
high seraph wrote:WHO TEH FUCK LET AVIAN IN HERE
Last edited by Avian on Tue Mar 15, 2016 10:49 pm; edited 1 time in total
S☆mmiya wrote:
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