Duped: Part 8
Alice runs a hand along the wall, relishing the feel of the wallpaper under her hand. It's been so long, so very long, since she could feel anything but the cold, hungry, glass of the mirror. A century and more of being unable to smell, or taste or touch. Catching only what fragments of other people's lives passed close to that thrice damned mirror.
She's finally escaped that prison, and she's not going back. Never, never, never. But she knows them, oh yes. They never let anything or anyone go. She needs that Artifact to keep out of their reach, and she's going to get it. By whatever means necessary.
She is, she was, a good liar. Practiced at playing the innocent, beautiful, child-like young woman, wearing her like a mask over her real self. A mask that accursed mirror had chosen to inflict on her while she was caged in it without any other shape to borrow. She likes this shape much better, and it's far more useful for her purposes. Men are so easy to manipulate when you can use their desire against them. Alice smirks. Pete never even noticed what she stole from him.
But that might not last. Alice glances at the hallways signs as she makes her way toward her quarry's room. "Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction," she murmurs to herself. How to get him to open the door, that's the question. Knock? It will do, for a start.
She knocks on the door, changing her voice and posture to that of a woman who's had far too much to drink. "Honey, my key's not working," she complains, voice slightly nasal. She sees him peer through the small opening and open the door. "Hi," she greets him with a falsely drunken smile. "Where's him?" she asks, putting on an air of confusion as he opens the door a little wider.
He looks at her, a bit incredulous. "Uh, he's not here. What room you looking for?"
"My room," she replies, smiling. "Who are you?" she asks, eying him in a speculative fashion. "You're cute." Lust worked so well last time, after all.
He frowns. "You're faking it. Never con a con." He moves to turn and close the door. He really shouldn't have taken his eyes off of her. She hits him in the face with her right fist, and he sprawls backward through the door, landing flat on his back on the floor. Alice stalks through the door after him.
She stands over him, all pretense of drunkenness gone. "You had your chance to walk away. You won't get another." She moves one hand behind her to shut the door. Best not to attract too much attention while she works.
It's not hard to subdue him, tie him up. He's no fighter, and Alice has no compunction about hurting him. Indeed, she roughs him up a little while she interrogates him. His fear and his pain are exhilarating. His helplessness intoxicating for the power it provides. Then the Farnsworth makes its siren like noise that indicates an incoming call. Alice snarls at the interruption, but puts on a pleasant face before she answers. She can't afford for them to get suspicious, not yet.
"Hey," she greets Artie with a smile. He'll get what's coming to him soon enough. They all will.
(OOC: dialoge taken from Lewis Carrol and Warehouse 13: Duped)
She's finally escaped that prison, and she's not going back. Never, never, never. But she knows them, oh yes. They never let anything or anyone go. She needs that Artifact to keep out of their reach, and she's going to get it. By whatever means necessary.
She is, she was, a good liar. Practiced at playing the innocent, beautiful, child-like young woman, wearing her like a mask over her real self. A mask that accursed mirror had chosen to inflict on her while she was caged in it without any other shape to borrow. She likes this shape much better, and it's far more useful for her purposes. Men are so easy to manipulate when you can use their desire against them. Alice smirks. Pete never even noticed what she stole from him.
But that might not last. Alice glances at the hallways signs as she makes her way toward her quarry's room. "Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction," she murmurs to herself. How to get him to open the door, that's the question. Knock? It will do, for a start.
She knocks on the door, changing her voice and posture to that of a woman who's had far too much to drink. "Honey, my key's not working," she complains, voice slightly nasal. She sees him peer through the small opening and open the door. "Hi," she greets him with a falsely drunken smile. "Where's him?" she asks, putting on an air of confusion as he opens the door a little wider.
He looks at her, a bit incredulous. "Uh, he's not here. What room you looking for?"
"My room," she replies, smiling. "Who are you?" she asks, eying him in a speculative fashion. "You're cute." Lust worked so well last time, after all.
He frowns. "You're faking it. Never con a con." He moves to turn and close the door. He really shouldn't have taken his eyes off of her. She hits him in the face with her right fist, and he sprawls backward through the door, landing flat on his back on the floor. Alice stalks through the door after him.
She stands over him, all pretense of drunkenness gone. "You had your chance to walk away. You won't get another." She moves one hand behind her to shut the door. Best not to attract too much attention while she works.
It's not hard to subdue him, tie him up. He's no fighter, and Alice has no compunction about hurting him. Indeed, she roughs him up a little while she interrogates him. His fear and his pain are exhilarating. His helplessness intoxicating for the power it provides. Then the Farnsworth makes its siren like noise that indicates an incoming call. Alice snarls at the interruption, but puts on a pleasant face before she answers. She can't afford for them to get suspicious, not yet.
"Hey," she greets Artie with a smile. He'll get what's coming to him soon enough. They all will.
(OOC: dialoge taken from Lewis Carrol and Warehouse 13: Duped)