Hello everyone, today I bring forth the second installment to my Ski Lodge murder story from the forum board I am a part of. Just as a reminder, this is written in an odd way for a particular reason, it is the fashion of all ski lodge stories. Also be warned that T.F.D’s personality is extremely odd, and do take note he is not sarcastic. For anyone who has yet to read the first part, feel free to check it out here. Now let the second day begin, and please do tell me if you enjoy reading this:
Day 2 –
It is oddly spectacular that when someone dies the whole world seems to stop. Poor Quantum spends her evenings crying, writing depressed poems, and crying some more. Wingnut sits hidden among the books flung to the ground in pain, tapping the Pencil of Logic against the ground, thinking.
“Wht if we leave?” Wignut asks.
“No! I will not leave dear Malachite’s body alone in that… that… maze,” Quantum says, sobbing.
Wingnut gets up and wanders to the window, looking out to the Rose Maze beyond. Such a beautiful place, Malachite would love it if she were still alive.
~ ~ ~
September, Kestrel, and the CAPTCHA Chester were all gathered in the dining room, enjoying a quite festive activity of eating sandwiches.
“Did you know sandwiches were invented when a man so big in his poker would play all day and wanted to eat something non-messy that could be held in one hand?” September says cheerfully.
“That’s… interesting,” Kestrel says between a mouthful of her very protected caramel ice cream. “But why the name?”
“4h erl of snandwih,” Chester says.
“Ah, okay. Hey, Gossamer, Zeon, why don’t you two come join us!” Kestrel shouts, waving to the passing AEs in the hall.
Unfortunately, unfortunate events were very prominent in that hotel. Too prominent. Zeon races in, slipping unintentionally on his own sandals, and falls flat on his face. Gossamer, running in her heels to keep up, slips and steps right on Zeon’s head.
A flash of darkness rushes over the room as the lights are suddenly stolen from their youth.
“Ahhhh!” Numerous voices, both unfamiliar and known cry out.
A gasp, moan, and a thud was heard within that interval as someone pulls open the curtains of the cafeteria. Glass shatters, footsteps heard, as a flood of beautiful mountain sunlight floods into the large room.
Near the door was Zeon, unconscious, the back of his green-dyed hair soaked with blood. Gossamer kneeled at his side, holding her ankle with one hand and pressing against Zeon’s wound with the other. She let out a deep moan and suddenly passed out from the pain.
“Zeon!” Quill shouts, racing into the room with Ashlee quickly behind. “Oh, my goodness, who did this?”
No one answers. Ashlee looks around the room and sees numerous things at once: Gossamer and Zeon unconscious, September wide-eyed and paralyzed with shock, her CAPTCHA nowhere in sight, broken lightbulbs, and Kestrel… dead. Two clear puncture wounds marked neatly on her neck, swollen and soaked with her own blood.
At the sight of all this, Ashlee faints, collapsing against her unconscious AE. Quill, unafraid of such dismays, slowly approaches the dead girl.
“Kestrel?” She whispers, afraid to break the silence of the room. “Kestrel?”
Now, there are times where being quiet are good, needed in fact. Then there are times where the silence penetrates one’s brain, makes them paranoid, every creak of the floor, break of a branch, sets them scrambling for a weapon. This was one of those times.
The squeal of an old wooden door rung out ever so slightly, and Quill jumped. She grabbed the only weapon available, a butter knife still with soft butter on it in September’s hands.
“Who are you? Come out you… you foul, desolate-brained beast!” Quill cries, spinning around aimlessly in panic.
Someone puts a hand on her shoulder and she screams, whipping around and whacking the now-not-paralyzed September in the face with the knife.
“Ouch!” She cries, holding her cheek. “What… What happened here? Where is Chester?”
The first thing someone needs to hear after a catastrophe is that it was all a dream, everything will be okay. Not that there is another crisis.
“You’ve got to be… Got to be… You are not serious, right?” Quill asks, her face going stony white. “Poor Kestrel…”
At the pronunciation of the hated word poor – for often relating to death – the assistants and The Fortune of Death race into the open cafeteria.
“Oh my, not another one! This is just absolutely frightful, isn’t it, my friends?” T.F.D asks, frowning. “Ah well, when their time comes, their time comes.”
“Not by a brute murder! And my dear Zeon, h-he’s…” Ashlee starts, having woken up.
“Dead? Not in the least!” T.F.D exclaims, spinning with his arms in the air. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“What? Kestrel being dead? Zeon being-?” September starts.
“Hmm? No, no, I moved on from that topic already. Catch up with the present, my friend! I was saying this hotel, isn’t it wonderful?”
“I think not,” Ashlee mumbles, lifting Zeon into her arms. “Zeon, are you okay? Zeon?”
As the assistants took away Kestrel’s blood-soaked, limp body, everyone held in their screams of torturous pain and sorrow.
“Wh-Where am I?” Gossamer asks, sitting up.
“Gossamer!” Quill cries, running up to the AE. “Are you okay? You fainted!”
“I am well, but my ankle has been wrecked, I fear. And Zeon- I… slipped and my heel stabbed him.”
Ashlee’s face goes blank, and she turns, stone-faced.
“You stabbed him with your heel?!” Her anger, frustration, and pain were released all in a flooding wave. “He’s my AE, my sweet, sweet AE! He means the world to me.”
The Fortune of Death coughs into his gloved fist, trying to get everyone’s attention. He repeats the action for the effect.
“Ashlee! Enough, please, my friend. Zeon will be fine, it’s just the slightest of puncture wounds about two inches wide and half an inch deep in his scalp. He’ll be okay! It’s a wonderful day, as I said.”
Ashlee stands up, and Gossamer struggles to keep her down. September rushes forward and holds her back.
“How is this a wond-” Ashlee begins again, furious.
“I shall be going. Assistants, take my friend, will you not?” T.F.D asks, turning on his heels and walking out of the room. He closes the giant wooden doors behind him.
“Ah, such a wonderful day,” he says to himself. “I love days like this. It’s such a shame no one else enjoys them as much as I.”
The assistants take Zeon’s weakened, bloody body out the doors, chattering to themselves. Left with nothing, nowhere to put her anger, Ashlee sinks to the ground, sobbing. Quill sits by her side, comforting her sweet CBer.
September helps Gossamer out of the room to rest her ankle, and as they say, all’s well that ends well. But where is the well in this seriously not-so-pleasant situation? That group of AEs, CBers, and CAPTCHAs has yet to find out. News spread quickly of the death and injuries that afternoon, leaving everyone more solemn than before.
But all’s well that ends well. Or at least, they say.
Death Toll: Rest in sweet peace, Kestrel… and Zeon? Or does he live another day?
When death touches one’s heart, it leaves them broken. Unless, of course, you make their death a time of celebration as I have done for so many. Rest in the sweetest of peace, my friends. ~ The Fortune of Death.