Eerie fic, part fourteen
Once again, enormous thanks are due to two amazing betas, chibimarchy and scheherezhad, without whom this fic would still exist, but in a much suckier, error-filled form. So if you find any mistakes, it is totally their fault and you should hurt them.
Title: Untitled
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Still not mine
Claim: Eerie Indiana
Prompt: 7, Lose
Characters: Mars, Dash, Simon
Word Count: for this part, 1105
Rating: PG13, though sadly only for language
Summary/Warning: Where else would you go searching for a lost past in Eerie? Also, not even SLIGHTLY finished.
Part Fourteen
Marshall’s first impression on seeing Area Five’s docking area was “that’s a lot of white.”
Unlike the joint reception room for Areas Two and Three, as well as the Index room that had connected Areas Three and Four, where the patina of dust and neglect in the air and the dark, heavy furniture on the ground spoke of a once-majestic office now allowed to go slightly to seed, and Area Four, where the worn fabrics in bright colours had given the impression of being inside the living room of some cheerful older relative, albeit one with the slightly bizarre habit of keeping metal cages filled with straw where most people would put a television, the first word that sprang to mind on arrival in Area Five was “stark”.
The floor was indeed concrete, whitewashed and scrubbed to within an inch of its life. The walls were white tiles, which gleamed almost painfully in the bright, and of course white, light. Mars squinted a little against the glare, trying to get a better look, and confirmed his nagging suspicion that yes, even the grouting was spotlessly white. The whole place smelled of disinfectant, and it was deserted but for the three of them.
A long metal table lay off to their left, completely clear other than a now-familiar keypad. Marshall reached into his cardigan pocket and retrieved the notebook Charley had tossed to them before… well, before. He unlatched the door of the Claw cage and slid it open, gesturing the other two to follow him. He left the backpack full of February Seconds Lost items on the floor, shooting a pointed glance first at Dash, then it, to make it clear that he was not going to be playing pack mule to “that kid with the grey hair”.
As he crossed the room, his footsteps echoed loudly in the vast, empty space and he found himself unconsciously walking on tiptoe. Simon followed in a similar careful fashion, but Dash hung back. His normally bloodless face had whitened even further and there were beads of sweat on his upper lip.
“Dash!” Marshall hissed, and the sound of his voice was so obnoxiously raucous in this silent place that it made him start. It had the desired effect, though; Dash picked up the pack and clumped noisily over to join them by console that presumably activated the Claws for Area Five.
Mars flipped through the pages of the notebook rapidly, cursing the lack of anything resembling chapter headings.
“Can you get it to work?” asked Simon.
Dash gave them both a disdainful look. “Of course he can’t,” he said mockingly.
Marshall could feel his nerves fraying. “You think you can do better?” he retorted.
“I never said that,” Dash said, but he said it in a jeering tone that was anything but an admission of defeat.
“Guys,” said Simon, forbearing as always. “What will we do if we can’t use the Claws?”
“What about those Vacuum Funnel thingies?” suggested Dash. “The Radfords use them to get around.”
“Exactly,” said Mars. “The last thing we want to do down here is bump into one of them.” He stared at the constrained handwriting in frustration, willing it to provide answers. It remained stubbornly uncooperative.
“Maybe we could just try hitting the buttons at random,” said Dash, reaching out. Before Mars or Simon could react, he began pressing the various symbols along the top row of the keypad. The console let out a series of high-pitched whines, each sound subtlety different and corresponding with each individual symbol. Mars grabbed his hand and yanked it away.
“Maybe you could stop that before you get us caught!” he sniped.
“Guys,” said Simon.
Dash shook Marshall’s hand away angrily. “I didn’t see you coming up with anything better!”
“Guys!”
“In case you’ve forgotten, the last time you started messing with something you didn’t understand, Simon nearly froze to death on an alien planet!”
Dash shoved him, not hard enough to knock Mars down, but with sufficient force to send him stumbling back a few paces. Mars turned red, then white with fury.
“GUYS!”
“What!” they snapped in unison, glaring at Simon, who pointed.
While each of the Areas they’d seen so far had certain cosmetic differences in the way they were decorated and furnished, the overall layout was identical in each: a central round room with a high domed ceiling, with a receiving area where the Claws picked up and dropped off their cargo, a desk holding a microphone and the Claw control mechanism, and a Vacuum Funnel that the Radfords apparently used to get around the Bureau. In all cases, radiating out from that room like a kind of stylised sunburst, were two dozen corridors which branched off in all directions and presumably lead deeper into the heart of the Area proper.
Area Five’s corridors had gleaming metal portcullises installed in each of these corridors. They terminated in wicked-looking pointy bits at the business end, and as the boys watched in horror, they reached the floor and kept going. There was a grinding of taxed motors, a faint smell of burning, and a dull crack as they pierced the concrete flooring and stuck there.
There was a sharp pop and hiss of feedback, and a bland female voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.
“Thank you for stopping at Area Five,” said the voice. “You have reached our Holding Pen. Please note that Area Five deals with mislaid or misappropriated persons only. Please stay where you are, and one of our friendly and helpful customer service advisors will be available to speak to you shortly.” The voice was replaced by a tinny and distorted rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
“Customer service advisors?” whispered Simon fearfully.
“No wonder those first two Radfords hate this one,” said Mars. “He introduced hold music.” Simon shook his head in disgusted agreement.
Behind them, the Vacuum Funnel whirred and began to glow red, tendrils of steam escaping from behind the closed door. Mars was uncomfortably reminded of the scene at the World o’ Stuff right before The Donald had vanished. He felt in his pocket for the new-and-improved disguise kit, and wondered frantically if there was a way to turn a fine array of false moustaches into a viable exit plan. He was just working out the logistics of hiding behind the Vacuum Funnel and using the oversized red box to bludgeon whoever emerged when he felt someone grab the back of his jacket.
He heard Dash say ‘Gale north by northwest, sea lashed to fury,’ and then the world distorted sickeningly around him.
Title: Untitled
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Still not mine
Claim: Eerie Indiana
Prompt: 7, Lose
Characters: Mars, Dash, Simon
Word Count: for this part, 1105
Rating: PG13, though sadly only for language
Summary/Warning: Where else would you go searching for a lost past in Eerie? Also, not even SLIGHTLY finished.
Part Fourteen
Marshall’s first impression on seeing Area Five’s docking area was “that’s a lot of white.”
Unlike the joint reception room for Areas Two and Three, as well as the Index room that had connected Areas Three and Four, where the patina of dust and neglect in the air and the dark, heavy furniture on the ground spoke of a once-majestic office now allowed to go slightly to seed, and Area Four, where the worn fabrics in bright colours had given the impression of being inside the living room of some cheerful older relative, albeit one with the slightly bizarre habit of keeping metal cages filled with straw where most people would put a television, the first word that sprang to mind on arrival in Area Five was “stark”.
The floor was indeed concrete, whitewashed and scrubbed to within an inch of its life. The walls were white tiles, which gleamed almost painfully in the bright, and of course white, light. Mars squinted a little against the glare, trying to get a better look, and confirmed his nagging suspicion that yes, even the grouting was spotlessly white. The whole place smelled of disinfectant, and it was deserted but for the three of them.
A long metal table lay off to their left, completely clear other than a now-familiar keypad. Marshall reached into his cardigan pocket and retrieved the notebook Charley had tossed to them before… well, before. He unlatched the door of the Claw cage and slid it open, gesturing the other two to follow him. He left the backpack full of February Seconds Lost items on the floor, shooting a pointed glance first at Dash, then it, to make it clear that he was not going to be playing pack mule to “that kid with the grey hair”.
As he crossed the room, his footsteps echoed loudly in the vast, empty space and he found himself unconsciously walking on tiptoe. Simon followed in a similar careful fashion, but Dash hung back. His normally bloodless face had whitened even further and there were beads of sweat on his upper lip.
“Dash!” Marshall hissed, and the sound of his voice was so obnoxiously raucous in this silent place that it made him start. It had the desired effect, though; Dash picked up the pack and clumped noisily over to join them by console that presumably activated the Claws for Area Five.
Mars flipped through the pages of the notebook rapidly, cursing the lack of anything resembling chapter headings.
“Can you get it to work?” asked Simon.
Dash gave them both a disdainful look. “Of course he can’t,” he said mockingly.
Marshall could feel his nerves fraying. “You think you can do better?” he retorted.
“I never said that,” Dash said, but he said it in a jeering tone that was anything but an admission of defeat.
“Guys,” said Simon, forbearing as always. “What will we do if we can’t use the Claws?”
“What about those Vacuum Funnel thingies?” suggested Dash. “The Radfords use them to get around.”
“Exactly,” said Mars. “The last thing we want to do down here is bump into one of them.” He stared at the constrained handwriting in frustration, willing it to provide answers. It remained stubbornly uncooperative.
“Maybe we could just try hitting the buttons at random,” said Dash, reaching out. Before Mars or Simon could react, he began pressing the various symbols along the top row of the keypad. The console let out a series of high-pitched whines, each sound subtlety different and corresponding with each individual symbol. Mars grabbed his hand and yanked it away.
“Maybe you could stop that before you get us caught!” he sniped.
“Guys,” said Simon.
Dash shook Marshall’s hand away angrily. “I didn’t see you coming up with anything better!”
“Guys!”
“In case you’ve forgotten, the last time you started messing with something you didn’t understand, Simon nearly froze to death on an alien planet!”
Dash shoved him, not hard enough to knock Mars down, but with sufficient force to send him stumbling back a few paces. Mars turned red, then white with fury.
“GUYS!”
“What!” they snapped in unison, glaring at Simon, who pointed.
While each of the Areas they’d seen so far had certain cosmetic differences in the way they were decorated and furnished, the overall layout was identical in each: a central round room with a high domed ceiling, with a receiving area where the Claws picked up and dropped off their cargo, a desk holding a microphone and the Claw control mechanism, and a Vacuum Funnel that the Radfords apparently used to get around the Bureau. In all cases, radiating out from that room like a kind of stylised sunburst, were two dozen corridors which branched off in all directions and presumably lead deeper into the heart of the Area proper.
Area Five’s corridors had gleaming metal portcullises installed in each of these corridors. They terminated in wicked-looking pointy bits at the business end, and as the boys watched in horror, they reached the floor and kept going. There was a grinding of taxed motors, a faint smell of burning, and a dull crack as they pierced the concrete flooring and stuck there.
There was a sharp pop and hiss of feedback, and a bland female voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.
“Thank you for stopping at Area Five,” said the voice. “You have reached our Holding Pen. Please note that Area Five deals with mislaid or misappropriated persons only. Please stay where you are, and one of our friendly and helpful customer service advisors will be available to speak to you shortly.” The voice was replaced by a tinny and distorted rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
“Customer service advisors?” whispered Simon fearfully.
“No wonder those first two Radfords hate this one,” said Mars. “He introduced hold music.” Simon shook his head in disgusted agreement.
Behind them, the Vacuum Funnel whirred and began to glow red, tendrils of steam escaping from behind the closed door. Mars was uncomfortably reminded of the scene at the World o’ Stuff right before The Donald had vanished. He felt in his pocket for the new-and-improved disguise kit, and wondered frantically if there was a way to turn a fine array of false moustaches into a viable exit plan. He was just working out the logistics of hiding behind the Vacuum Funnel and using the oversized red box to bludgeon whoever emerged when he felt someone grab the back of his jacket.
He heard Dash say ‘Gale north by northwest, sea lashed to fury,’ and then the world distorted sickeningly around him.