Pairings: Soul/ Maka, Black Star/ Garlic, The Thompsons/ Rhyme
Rating: T, with Murder
Warnings: Mild Existentialism
Summary:
Kid D. Edwards receives an invitation to stingray two weeks at a luxurious hotel located on Death Island. He finds himself struggling to survive among a cast of peculiar characters – quite literally. A snobby, rich pro gamer, and his butler, a hacker and a detective on his tail, a stoner, several internet celebrities, ever rhyming rappers, a “vampire hunter” and the hotel’s own staff, all have him questioning his sanity. But when someone turns up dead, an isolating storm forces the remaining guests and staff to find the culprit themselves. It’s just a simple Murder Mystery, right?
Please enjoy the story and art previews below the cut!
I wrote this little story quickly while I was hung over after a fun evening.
A Chance Meeting in a Copenhagen Bodega
“Sorry, how rude of me, Klaus,” says my friend Rachel, “This is…”
“Katrine,” I interrupt. Katrine’s eyes widen and fixate on my own.
“Oh, so you’ve already met.” The surprise in Rachel’s voice was apparent.
“No.” I pause and light my cigarette before continuing, “We’ve never met.”
Looking at Rachel, I smile. “This is a fun little moment of mystery we have here. Let’s not waste it with a quick explanation. We have Katrine standing there,” — I gesture towards her revealing my watch from beneath my jacket sleeve, and I can see Katrine look up from my watch to me as our eyes meet — “confused about how she possibly could know this American man in a run down bodega in Nørrebro. Thoughts attempting to make the connection dart across her mind, ‘Was this a friend’s old hook-up?’ ‘Maybe Maria? She’s always dating those guys in suits’ or ‘Did I serve him once at the café and he thought I was cute so he remembered my name?’ Sadly, Katrine, no. While I am sure that the imaginary friend of yours I just made up is quite nice, I did not date her. And if you do work at a café, I do not recall ever patronizing it while you served me, but that doesn’t mean that I still don’t think you are cute.” My gaze turns back to Rachel, “No, you see, Rachel, Katrine here is a follower of my blog.”
“I didn’t know you had a blog. What is it about?,” Rachel asks.
“It’s a combination of aesthetics and recreational instruction,” I reply and return to look at the expression of anxiety on Katrine’s face. “Katrine doesn’t recognize me because I do not have any pictures of myself on my blog, but I certainly recognize her.” I take another drag from my cigarette. “She wrote to me the other day and her blog is filled with charming pictures of her.”
“What did you write Klaus about?” Rachel asks Katrine.
The message flashes in my mind: “Your blog makes me so wet, Sir.”
“Hydration,” I interject. I can see Katrine beginning to realize who I am and can tell she is growing increasingly worried that I will spill her dirty little secret to the room. “I won’t bore you with the details, Rachel. You know me. The exchange was likely just as philosophical and opinionated as I typically am.”
I think of my reply to her message and smile: “What good is that to me if I cannot see. A good little girl ought to always show, not merely tell.”
Rachel laughs, “Quite the coincidence?”
Katrine looks relieved at Rachel’s acceptance of this answer, but signs of nervousness persist in the short pause that follows. The label of her empty beer bottle has been picked apart into tiny pieces, which speckle the wooden table white.
“Well, I think I have tortured you enough for now. Let’s get something in those hands of yours. How about a drink?” I slap the table and we all stand.
As Rachel walks towards the bar, Katrine moves closer to me and answers quietly with the first words I’ve heard her say, “Yes, Sir.”
The old hotel sat dark, quiet and waiting. The windows were filmed over with dust, the red velvet curtains that were once a thing of pride they had been imported from France hung worn, and torn with time.
The grand ballroom that once held occasions for the well to do was covered in cobwebs, the walk in fireplace sat cold and silent without anyone to care for it.
Whispers could be heard up and down the dark hallways. The voices of the past, that had remained they waited for something, for anything a reason to feel alive again.
The icy wind roared through the trees in an angry, vengeful fashion where there were once beautiful gardens. The sky formed black clouds, a storm was coming.
Trend was a hot new rock group they had rented the old broken down hotel from the family of the former hotel owner for a rave party performance.
Posters had been posted and word had been spreading for weeks that they were coming. Trend was the front man, who wanted the group named after himself so they gave him his way.
He was hard to deal with, but talented and they couldn’t get another singer, at such a late date. Trend had arrived, ahead of time so they could set up their equipment and do a sound check.
Trend stepped off the bus and took a look around at the area. When he felt something looking at him, his eyes quickly darted to the top floor the last window on the left. A dark shadow stepped back away from the window.
