Hmm, ok, I think I can work with this prompt. Probably not what you're hoping for, but it moves the story along :)
The Leader I pushed harder on the door and it gave just a little, so I put my full weight against it -- not that that's saying much. There's food on the ship but we're all losing weight. Even the guys on the tribes who've commandeered the weight-training room are looking lean rather than bulky. Up until now I didn't think much of it, it's not like we're here for a vacation. Now I'm wondering why we're all losing weight on a ship where there's practically unlimited, if boring, food and drink. Well, if not unlimited, I don't see us running out for a year at least, and I'm damn certain no-one's rationing themselves. Yet. The door gave a little more, then it scraped a bit, then it gave enough for me to force my way through the gap. Behind the door were three tables pushed up against each other, now a bit higgeldy-piggeldy due to my efforts. I paused, catching my breath, and frowned. No random wave had moved the tables like that, so someone had pushed them there, and then left. And clearly not by the door, either. Looking around the entertainment room, it was a ball-room of sorts. It was large enough for a stage at one end, only two steps up off the floor -- on a ship you don't want too much height to fall off for anything -- that could have held a string quarter or so, a dance-floor that probably managed thirty people or so, and then the usual collection of round tables and squat chairs for the elderly and the reluctant. There were portholes along one side, and two of them were open, so that explained, probably, how the table-mover had left. It didn't explain why they wanted the room closed off to casual passers-by though. There didn't seem to be much else though, and nothing worthy of the name Proteus, so I walked around, looking at anything and everything hoping that clues, whatever they looked like, were clearly labelled. There was nothing that I could see though: torn sheet music littering the stage when I got close, blood stains on the back wall to remind me that some of the tribes had different ideas of 'entertainment' to the rest of us. The portholes looked out onto a six metre drop to the deck below this one, so whoever had gone out that way was clearly serious about not letting anyone else in, which made the emptiness all the more weird. And then, just as I thought there was nothing else here, I spotted a small door behind the stage, mostly hidden by a curtain or sheet hung there with a beach-scene painted on it. And the door was locked. I sat down on what had been the Band Leader's chair -- the only one unbroken as it happened, and pushed his (or her) music stand aside so that I could rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. No doors on this ship were locked. It made no sense to lock them since nothing worked anyway and we'd just have broken them door when we found them locked. So why was this door artfully obstructed and locked now? It made no sense. "You're the Leader now, are you?" said a familiar voice, and I looked up. Kraulik was standing in the doorway. I looked down at the chair I was sat on, and grinned. "I guess so," I said. "I played drums in school for a while, but it turned out I was better at percussion on bones than skins." "I don't think the drummer ever gets to be the leader," said Kraulik. "Not unless he loses a drumstick and has to be the conductor instead." It was a lame joke but it made me smile. "I found a locked door," I said, gesturing. "Can you believe that?" "That might explain why Chuckles had a key on a chain around his neck then," said Kraulik.
2 comments:
Hmm, ok, I think I can work with this prompt. Probably not what you're hoping for, but it moves the story along :)
The Leader
I pushed harder on the door and it gave just a little, so I put my full weight against it -- not that that's saying much. There's food on the ship but we're all losing weight. Even the guys on the tribes who've commandeered the weight-training room are looking lean rather than bulky. Up until now I didn't think much of it, it's not like we're here for a vacation. Now I'm wondering why we're all losing weight on a ship where there's practically unlimited, if boring, food and drink. Well, if not unlimited, I don't see us running out for a year at least, and I'm damn certain no-one's rationing themselves. Yet.
The door gave a little more, then it scraped a bit, then it gave enough for me to force my way through the gap. Behind the door were three tables pushed up against each other, now a bit higgeldy-piggeldy due to my efforts. I paused, catching my breath, and frowned. No random wave had moved the tables like that, so someone had pushed them there, and then left. And clearly not by the door, either.
Looking around the entertainment room, it was a ball-room of sorts. It was large enough for a stage at one end, only two steps up off the floor -- on a ship you don't want too much height to fall off for anything -- that could have held a string quarter or so, a dance-floor that probably managed thirty people or so, and then the usual collection of round tables and squat chairs for the elderly and the reluctant. There were portholes along one side, and two of them were open, so that explained, probably, how the table-mover had left. It didn't explain why they wanted the room closed off to casual passers-by though.
There didn't seem to be much else though, and nothing worthy of the name Proteus, so I walked around, looking at anything and everything hoping that clues, whatever they looked like, were clearly labelled. There was nothing that I could see though: torn sheet music littering the stage when I got close, blood stains on the back wall to remind me that some of the tribes had different ideas of 'entertainment' to the rest of us. The portholes looked out onto a six metre drop to the deck below this one, so whoever had gone out that way was clearly serious about not letting anyone else in, which made the emptiness all the more weird. And then, just as I thought there was nothing else here, I spotted a small door behind the stage, mostly hidden by a curtain or sheet hung there with a beach-scene painted on it. And the door was locked.
I sat down on what had been the Band Leader's chair -- the only one unbroken as it happened, and pushed his (or her) music stand aside so that I could rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. No doors on this ship were locked. It made no sense to lock them since nothing worked anyway and we'd just have broken them door when we found them locked. So why was this door artfully obstructed and locked now? It made no sense.
"You're the Leader now, are you?" said a familiar voice, and I looked up. Kraulik was standing in the doorway. I looked down at the chair I was sat on, and grinned.
"I guess so," I said. "I played drums in school for a while, but it turned out I was better at percussion on bones than skins."
"I don't think the drummer ever gets to be the leader," said Kraulik. "Not unless he loses a drumstick and has to be the conductor instead."
It was a lame joke but it made me smile.
"I found a locked door," I said, gesturing. "Can you believe that?"
"That might explain why Chuckles had a key on a chain around his neck then," said Kraulik.
Greg - hah! Hoping for? Don't think I was hoping for anything in particular. Expecting? Absolutely not :)
And Chuckles having a key to (potentially) the locked door is an exciting discovery! Maybe!
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