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The Collector's Collection

The Collector's Collection

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A psychopath has been going around; and abducting victims with talent and special skills. But he isn't killing them; he's keeping them as trophies. Will the police catch him or will these victims remain apart of his collection?

395 readers have visited The Collector's Collection since Wonderland created it.

Introduction

[This roleplay was inspired by the movie "Kiss The Girls."]


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Five people have gone missing; and the police have so far found 3 dead all across the state of Maine. All they know is a psychopath has come to life, and all the victims that have been abducted have a special talent or skill that make them a unique trophy for this psychopath. And the police don't know how many more are to die or remain alive during the time they have.

With a sinister helper to complete tasks and help this dangerous man out, this psychopath is little known. But what is known; is he always is wearing a special mask, he is young, strong, and extremely intelligent. And he collects these victims as trophies, and keeps them alive so they can preform their talents to entertain him and give them what they each desire the most. From love; to fame. He will find the wickedest way to give it to these victims, even if they no longer desire it.

This psychopath has three rules. 1. Don't call for help. 2. Don't try to escape. 3. Do what you're told.

Can these five abducted victims find a way to work together and escape? Or will they end u joining the others who have died, tied to a tree or hanging on a branch? And in some chance of a miracle, Will the police find them in time and outsmart this dangerous and intelligent psychopath, known as the Collector??


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So; this is a roleplay based from the movie Kiss The Girls. About a psychopath who abducts girls who have special talent, not for their beauty. Whether they play the violin; or write, or sing. He keeps them alive in dark cells in some hidden mansion far in an isolated forest. While he has a special helper abducting these girls and taking care of them, he must blend into society.

It's a suspenseful and realistic roleplay; and it requires people who have exceptional roleplay skills.

Events and more of the plot will be developed once players are found.


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Character Descriptions:

The Psychopath: He must be intelligent; and wealthy, which means he should have had a job that gave him money. He is charming and always wears a special mask; and has a mental illness that makes him think humans with special talents are like trophies and he feels extremely special when he knows he has these girls in captivity. He can be extremely dangerous; he takes his rules seriously and the punishments for breaking them result in serious injury or even death. He must have a secret code name he leaves behind in notes or markings.

The 5 victims: I know these will probably be mostly girls; I was hoping for 1 or 2 boys to keep it more even and interesting. They are people who are special; and they can play the violin, sing, write... and have intelligence and other good qualities, and they don't have to be beautiful or attractive. But they must have specific personalities, and cannot be the same as everyone else. They must be different in ways. I will list personalities taken below talents; please make a description of the personality of your character so I can list it.

The Helper: This should be a male but can be a female if a male is not found. They also have a mental illness; either helping the Collector out of fear, money, or for his own amusement as well. He takes care of the victims when the Collector is gone, and isn't as vicious but thinks he could be as great as the Collector himself and is also thought as an apprentice.

The Police: In the movie; one of the victims was the niece of one of the police, who was working as hard as he could to find the victims. You can have someone who is like that but the police will most likely be played by a few people playing victims or even the collector. But some people can join these roles if they want to.


Victim Personalities and talents:


Talents taken by Victims:

Playing an Instrument- -Taken-

Writing books and poems- -Taken-

Singing and Vocal abilities- -Taken-

Dancing and Gymnastics- -Taken-

Art [Drawing, painting, ect.]
-Taken-




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Characters:


The Collector: Nikolas Schwarz played by Amaranta

The Helper: OPEN


The Victims:

Victim 1: Ariel Vivena played by Wonderland

Victim 2: Alexandra Hall played by crybloodredtears

Victim 3: Nadia Monroe played by DivineRequiem

Victim 4: Mayu Momoko played by xfaithyx123

Victim 5: Emery Corliss played by yuri-chan1018


Policemen:

1. Ekaterina Jordan played by Amaranta

2. Ben Hill played by Wonderland

3. -Reserved-

4. Open


Other:

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Character Sheets:

Code: Select all
[u][b]Description:[/b][/u]

[b]Name: [/b][First and Last]
[b]Gender:[/b] [Female or Male]
[b]Age: [/b]
[b]Role:[/b]
[b]Special Talent[/b]
[b]Location:[/b] [Where do they live.]
[b]Orientation[/b]: [Straight, bi, gay, ect.]
[b]Status:[/b] [Single, Divorced, Married, ect.]


[Picture goes here. Real life preferred. Go to Deviant Art for pictures.]

Below the picture; type a paragraph of what your character looks like. Include their height, weight, skin color, hair color, eye color, hair style, fashion, what type of clothes they wear, What makeup they were, ect. Be detailed so we know what they look like.


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[u][b]Personality:[/b][/u]

Here; type a paragraph of what your character is like. Include their moods; their natural personality, hobbies... tell us what they are like when they are happy, sad, angry. Include if they are shy, if they have a temper... all that stuff. Be detailed and creative.

[b]Likes:[/b] [At least 5]

[b]Dislikes:[/b] [At least 5]

[b]Hobbies:[/b] [At least 3]



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[u][b]History:[/b][/u]

Here you will type a paragraph of the history of your character. Explain what type of past they have had; important events that are significant to them, include injuries or fights or battles, if they've lost siblings. Include their family and other things they have done and what it was like for them growing up. Again; detailed and creative.



Toggle Rules

1. No drama. Be respectful.

2. No copying. At all.

3. If you want to reserve a spot; pm me or post in the occ thread.

4. I reserve for up to 1 day.

5. I have every right to reject your character.

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 7 authors

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Ariel's eyes slowly slid open; very slowly, very tiredly... they opened and stared up at a dark ceiling that she couldnt see much of. She noticed light from the corner of her eye; a dim light that was lightning only a fraction of where she was. It was a candle on a wooden nightstand; and she felt herself laying on something soft; covered in something warm... blankets. She felt a pillow under her head. She was on a bed. Relief came over her.... she was in her room.... but wait. She didn't have a beat up wooden nightstand... or any candles. She had a black stand with a blue lamp. She instantly shot up, sitting up straight as her heart started to pound... it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She thought it had been a nightmare.

She had been writing the last chapter to the Trapped in Elgoria Series; Jacky and her friend Kyle were just sliding down the rough and dangerous side of a cliff, down towards the underwater caves at the bottom of Elgoria lake. She had fallen asleep on the couch in her clothes and she had woken up to something in her living room; the lights had been off... and then she had felt a hand go over her mouth. She had struggled, slammed her elbow into a hard place and she had leaped from the couch and ran, but tripped over her coffee table and cut parts of her body but she couldn't remember where. She then had felt a sharp pain in her neck as she had been laying on the floor in pain, like a needle.Then she went black.... but she thought it had been a nightmare, a bad dream from all the stories she had been writing and the stress.

But it was clear; she had been wrong. She glanced around. The room was small; it was dark. She saw a toilet in the far left corner with a sink and a mirror, and a very strong door that looked like it was made with thick metal, but she couldn't completely tell. She could see bars covering small areas where you could barely see out of; and she slowly moved her legs... she felt so drowsy, a hand going to her head as she ran her fingers going through her hair. But then... a sharp pain hit her ankle as she slowly tried to get up and she looked down at her feet. There was a white bandage wrapped around her ankle, and band aids along her calf. She looked at her hands; and saw bandages around them too. Someone had bandaged her cuts... but who? Was it the person who had broken into her home?

She took a deep breath. "Calm. You just need to be calm. It's never smart to panic..." she whispered to herself and she got up, ignoring the pain in her foot... but it was too much. She fell backwards onto the bed, closing her head tightly in pain as she curled up on the blankets... but then she realized. She wasn't wearing her clothes... she was wearing a white came-sol she had under her shirt, and a pair of black shorts. She instantly covered herself with her blankets, her heart beating extremely fast as she became quite nervous.... almost going into a panic. She then cleared her throat and she kept the blankets tightly around her. So... she had been abducted and was locked in a room that was dark and was almost like a prison cell. She had struggled and had cut herself; someone had taken her here, changed her clothes, and put bandages around her... so.... it seemed like they weren't interested in killing her. But she might be speaking too soon.

She could only wait; and see what happened. She kept the blankets wrapped around her, propping herself against the head of her bed with her pillow under her back. There wasn't much she could really do anyway. She looked down at her wrist; and slowly pulled the bandage off, staring at the slice in her palm and she cringed at how deep it was, but it had been cleaned out well and had stitches in it. She was grateful she had been asleep;and it was obvious whoever had abducted her wanted her to be healthy... but why? What kind of person would do that? The fantasies of serial killers slicing up their victims made her stomach churn and she grew slightly pale. She hoped she wasn't in those kind of clutches; but she knew she had to be extremely cautious. She thought about the karate lessons she took as a kid; which probably wouldn't do much for her now since she was injured, and she hadn't done it in a long time. Ariel sighed and she gritted her teeth at how her fears started to overcome her, thinking about gruesome horror movies and other shows like Law and Order or NCIS about the psychopaths who abducted people and tortured them and left them dead for the police to find. This nearly brought tears to her eyes.

She slowly put the bandage back on like it had been, and she leaned her head against the wall since the head of the bed was against the wall. Her eyes slowly closed as she rested, but no matter what she did, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep now.

It was definitely the start of a nightmare.

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Nikolas whistled a jaunty tune under his breath as he adjusted his scarlet tie, making sure that it was impeccable in its straightness. He then brushed down the lapels of his dark grey suit and did up his cuff-links. Admiring himself in the mirror, he looked one way and then the other, noting how well he looked right then and there. He had all the characteristics of a human being – bone, flesh, blood, skin, hair – but that was as far as it extended. There was not really and genuine emotions to back it all up – just the vague ghosts of what should have been there.

That was not to say that Nikolas did not feel. He did. Oh, did he ever. But it was different from the others, or at least so he thought. It was like being on the outside of a house looking in, feeling the shallow afterthoughts of what those within it experienced. Like an alien, of sorts – one who could mimic oh so well and oh so convincingly. Pain, he could feel; the same with pleasure and rage – and disgust, if you really wanted to give it a thought. As for the rest? It was monotony – static sameness that left him restless and needing something to do – something to make up for the indifference.

He rather enjoyed being cruel. Cruelty was such a lovely thing. It brought about fulfillment and the pleasure of accomplishment, pacifying some inner need for control that churned within the confined of Nikolas’ mind. Or something of that sort.

Finally, with a smile of satisfaction, Nikolas reached for his hook-beaked mask and slipped it on over his face.

“And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths,” he quoted, his voice coming out in a growling scrape through the mask. “Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Spoken by Banquo in Act one, scene three, lines a hundred and twenty-two to a hundred and twenty-three.”

He strolled down the hallways of his vast estate, his feet taking him ever the closer down to the entrance to his vaults. As he walked, he passed by his helper. Turning to speak to the man, “I’d like to see my lovelies today. I think they are each and all due for a welcome party, no?” Nikolas grinned from behind his mask. “You did quite the job of getting them ready and prepared last time – I’m impressed. Sometimes I think I ought to pay you more. I’ll be considering upping your paycheck by a few grand. How does that sound?”

He would have never even made mention of such a thing had his investments not been sky-rocketing lately. Stocks were up, money was flowing. Nikolas was richer than ever. ‘And I have the FBI eating out of my hands – a quarter of their funds has come out of mine and my father’s pockets – they know full well who they ought to never touch.’ He thought to himself with a self-satisfied smile. He took pride in creating a mirage around him, an unbreakable and unbreachable façade that kept his true self well protected. It was a game, really. A fun little game in which he was capable of creating a reverse image of who and what he truly was – part of the game of life. All in good fun.

Image

Katya was not in a good mood at all . Actually, to put things in very frank terms – Katya was having a rather foul day. The fact that the team had hit yet another dead end with this investigation was what had brought about her sullenness, as well as the fact that she ripped her favorite tank-top that morning.

“We have to get shit together.” She said as she riffled through the case files for what felt like the twenty-fifth time since eight thirty that morning. “This is insane. We go through this all the time, still we are not close.” She threw the case files back down on her desk and leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her short unkempt hair.

“If Chief Benson says to interview again, I will eat own hands.” She missed a pronoun without noticing, her English not nearly as good as that of a native speaker. She’d only been in the US for three years and though she had learned English back in Russia, it had still not been enough. She looked over at Ayden with a look that said ‘you’re the abduction specialist, got anything useful yet?’. Katya was generally irritable that morning – sort of like a grizzly bear with a toothache, if one wished to make a comparison.

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Alexandra woke up slowly and sat up quickly as she tried to remember where she was. She put a hand up to cover her eyes, feeling disoriented and nauseous as the room around her appeared to spin. Stars seemed to explode behind her eyes and caused her head to ache but she stayed sitting up, closing her eyes for a moment behind her hand as she took several deep breaths. Perhaps she shouldn't have had so much to drink at the party the night before, she thought as memories came to her one by one. Quick flashes. Blurs. Many different emotions. She knew she had had a lot to drink, almost too much.

Suddenly she remembered something. A fight. She could vaguely remember having had a fight with her twin before she left the party. She didn't know what it was about, that part was fuzzy, but she knew she had been hurt deeply and this had caused her to leave. Alexandra had walked away from the house full of teenagers and loud music, walking until her feet hurt her but no tears had left her eyes since she had parted ways with her brother. She could only vaguely recall a quiet voice and her getting into a stranger's car but after this there was nothing. Blank. The drunken girl must have passed out in the person's car or something, she assumed as her memory refused to tell her anything more of the previous night's events.

Alexandra felt wrong somehow. Deep inside, her instincts told her she wasn't safe. She wasn't with friends nor family and thus the person, or people, could not be trusted. She wasn't even wearing the same clothes she had last night! She was wearing comfortable pajama pants and a spaghetti strap. Definitely not what she had worn the night before. She felt her heart speed up as she realized she had no idea where she was, her usually calm blue eyes appearing frightened as they glanced around the room and took in her surroundings. Alexandra was sitting in a bed that was pushed against a wall with a dark nightstand and a silver coloured lamp that had a pull chain sitting on it. There was a dresser across the somewhat smaller than average room that matched the nightstand's ebony colour. The dresser had a few regular items such as a hairbrush and body spray, coconut; her favourite. There seemed to be a toilet and mirror in the corner of the room and bars cover the tiny window she did seem to have. There was a large, heavy metal door that blocked the only entrance, and exit, to the room.

She felt her eyes widen as her fear grew and, though no one was in the room with her, she tried to push it away to clear her head and focus on what to do. She felt her head begin to ache even worse than before and slowly moved off the bed and from underneath the deep red comforter. The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet and the air felt the same on her bare arms. She had noticed something on the dresser, a book of a sort, and wanted to see what it was. She took a few steps and stopped, picking up the book in both hands as disbelief showed in her expression. Alexandra flipped through the pages, looking long and hard at each of the drawings inside before she dropped to the floor clutching the now closed book tightly to her chest. She felt tremors overtake her as one thought played over and over in her mind. By this time the young artist had realized she wasn't going to be able to leave.

My sketchbook.. It's mine.

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Mayu opened her eyes while lazily, she smiled to herself unaware for where she really was.
She closed her eyes as she turned to look at the ceiling, as she opened her eyes she blinked afew times as her vision was abit blurred and distorted and thought for a moment.
I don't remember my ceiling being wood.....or dark brown...I am sure it is white...
Then she thought some more before her lazy eyes became alerted and afraid.
She shot up and leaned her back against the walk that was behide.
She groaned in pain as she moved herself in a comfortable postion and held her stomach and spoke to herself out aloud.
''Why is my stomach so sore? where am I?''
She then ripped the covers from her petite, elegant body and her eyes glared in shock to what she found.
She had bandages onher stomach and one on her right lower arm, they both had some red liquid on them.
She touched her bandaged arm and moared in pain silently.
''Is this m-my blood? It is still fresh..''
She hesitated a moment as she opened the bandage and she gasped at the sight, there were fresh, black corse stitching in her arm.
She then had a flash back then spoke to herself again.
''I-I was walking...back from my friend's house...in the n-night. I was being followed...''
She then put the bandage back on and held herself and started to freak out.
''I was walking! I swear I got back to my house! Oh god! No!''
She then jumped up to get to the door but the pain on her stomach was to intense and she fell to the cold, harsh ground whining and crying.
''Help me! please! anyone!''
She cried out. After crying out abit she then staggered to the wall not able to get back up and rested against it then looked down.
She noticed her trousers, shoes and socks she only had her short light blue dress on and she screamed.
''Is this person a pervert!''
She then took afew deep breaths then she thought again.
I was walking home form a friend's house, I though I was being followed and went down a dark alleyway that I knew well, hoping the person would not follow. As the person pass I relaxed...T-then I turned around...a man was here..I can remember anythign else!
She then pulled her dress up and unbandaged a bit of it form her stomach and she gasped and started abit in shock.
''T-this is probably from what ever happened...but why are they so deep?''
She then wrapped the bandage back up and sighed.
''I need to remember.''
She said as some tears ran down her face.
''What did I do to deserve this? Did I do something wrong?''
She cries out then she pulled her dress back down and wrapped her slender arms around her illongated legs and put her face in her lap, she mmoaned from the pain but agnored it as she cried silently in her lap.

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There was a point in Nadia's life when she would have welcomed the darkness that now seemed to consume her.Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, and yet their was an oddly pleasant feeling about it. As if she was drowning in warm water, with a breeze wandering around and kissing her flesh. If this was dying then she no longer felt afraid. It was a simple as breathing.The feeling seemed to slowly ebb away however, leaving Nadia slightly disappointing.The darkness that filled her would lift slowly and she would be able to begin to see a very poorly painted room. She could feel a pillow beneath her head and a rough blanket over her body, causing an itchy feeling to pass over her. She rapidly blinked her eyes and shot up faster then most would have thought possible. She immediately regretted it of course as her vision grew hazy and her head began to pound. What had she been doing before all of this? The last thing that she recalled before all of the darkness was sitting on her Grand Piano .

She was about to practice for her concert when....something hit her in the back of the head? She wasn't sure but from the bump she had felt and the overall dizziness there wasn't a big need to think about all her options. She had been taken.
She decided to move more slowly now as she began to examine her lithe body for any signs of assault. No bruises, nothing. She didn't feel sore in "that" particular area either, and she was a virgin of course so she assumed whoever took her didn't do anything particularly nasty to her.She was wearing different clothing though, because she would have never been caught dead wearing what she was wearing right now. Blue Daisy duke shorts and a country looking plaid shirt that exposed her stomach. What the hell was this Urban Cowboy? She let out a sigh and shook her head.She could only assume it was a male that took her, or maybe an obsessed fan of hers.

She had those before, but of course this was her first time being kidnapped. One would consider she was taking all of this pretty well, but if anyone were to look closely they would spot the wild and worried look in her light eyes.
She stood up from the bed and walked towards the small door. She grabbed the door knob and gave it a small shake before rolling her eyes and sitting on the cold floor. Of course it would be locked, what did she expect? Her captor would write a "just kidding " sign and let her go? Not likely. There were no windows in the room. Nothing but a very old bed, a rickety looking bedside table near the bed. "Fantastic...." She mumbled to herself as she looked back towards the door. Could she break it down like those policemen do in drug busts? Probably now, and doing so would probably injure her which was something that wouldn't be good.

All she could do was wait and pray. Pray to God, Santa, and whoever else would listen to her in this shitty situation.

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. E M E R Y C O R L I S S .

“Emily?”

“Mommy!” A small girl jumped up from the corner from where she had fallen asleep, nearly falling flat on her face from trying to run after crouching for so long. She rushed up to the older woman and hugged her legs, a small, half-cautious smile on her lips.

“Happy birthday.” Her face was tired, dark circles under her blue eyes, her gray and tan clothes wrinkled and dishelved. She handed her a plastic grocery bag, which the little girl took eagerly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you a cake. I’ll get you one for your sixth birthday.” The girl shook her head, pulling out a stuffed rabbit with great finesse.

“It’s a bunny rabbits!” she misspoke, grinning widely and hugging the pink plushie to her thin body. “Thank you mommy! Thank you!” The toy smelled sharply of plastic and cigarette smoke, but she didn’t care. She smiled, hugging the woman around the skinny jeans she was wearing. She didn’t have to ask about her daddy. She already knew he wasn’t in the house—he always left to a ‘drinking place’ after fighting with mommy. Her birthday had not been an exception, which had actually been yesterday. But she didn’t care about that either. Her mommy had gotten her a present—it didn’t matter to her that she was off by a day.

Her mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even her smiles looked tired—even her hair, thinning with stress and limp at her shoulders looked tired. “I have to go out, okay honey? Play with the bunny while I’m gone.”

Emily smiled back at her mother, already twirling around her bare room with the toy held high in the air. “Okay, mommy. Bye-bye.” But her mother was already gone, leaving her alone in the house. She looked down at the plushie rabbit in her hands and resumed prancing around with it.

“Little Bunny, turn around,
Little Bunny, touch the ground…”


She half sang-half chanted as she herself acted out the movements.

“…Little Bunny, wiggle your nose,
Little Bunny, touch your toes.
Little Bunny, rest your head,
Little Bunny, jump in bed!”


Emily leapt at the mattress that was sagging next to the wall, in time with the last line of the song. She bounced off the mattress and she lost her balance, knocking her head hard against the dry wash wall. She shrieked as stars exploded in front of her eyes, throwing her to the carpet. She landed with a thud, staring at the unnamed rabbit plushie before blacking out.

--

Emily. Wake up, Emily, it’s time for school.

“It’s Emery,” she muttered hoarsely to the faint voice. “I’m not Emily.” Her vision swam as she opened her eyes, that sickly-sweet smell of chloroform swamping her. She coughed, her hand twitching and slowly moving to her head—it pulsed and ached like that time. That time she had hit her head on the wall the day after her fifth birthday. She almost half-expected to see the tattered pink bunny next to her, the way she had found it next to her when she had regained consciousness. But there was no plushie. In fact, there wouldn’t have been to begin with, because she should have woken up in her mint green room, the one with the white striped curtains fluttering around the window that framed the view of the bustling city. Her room was never quiet because she lived in New York, and New York was never quiet. But to be honest, she liked it like that.

All of a sudden she realized that she did not hear the common city noises; the blaring horns, the sound of cars, the chatter of the people. It was…quiet. She bristled, trying to bolt up from her bed…that was not her bed. Her head spun and she leant heavily against the wall. A plain white, not her peaceful light green. Not her black metal wire daybed, but a wooden one. Not her pastel sheets and cover, but a somewhat faded yellow. Not her room. Not her room. Emery clutched at her head, trying to concentrate. It was too quiet to concentrate. She opened her mouth to make noise, her throat dry and tasting like the same sickly sweet chemical. Her mind wasn’t even that clear yet, but the fear and memories that came with the silence had to be turned away.

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously,” she started out, her voice weak and still scratchy. Greensleeves, thought to be written by the famous King Henry the Eighth… There, her voice was filling the dimly lit room. Emery attempted to clear her throat, almost gagging. “…For I have loved you well and long, delighting in your company…” She had to keep singing, as rough her voice was, it would keep the silence away.

“Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves.”


The longer she sang, there clearer things began to be. She could make out the lamp with the slightly cracked corner and the dresser painted white in the far corner. Her wits also began to gather; so where was she? This was not New York, for one thing. It was much too quiet, as she had noticed with some fright. But she did not stop her singing, but only continued, her voice growing in strength and smoothness. Emery slowly went through the things she had done until she had woken up—she had eaten cereal for breakfast, watched her foster mother Lynette go to work and gotten ready to go babysit for the Torrigans. They had two boys, three and one; named Daniel and Christopher—she had been walking to their apartment four blocks away.

The quickest route was crossing through the maze-like alleys of the city, the ones that her foster father Stephen always worried about her walking through. She had been singing another one of her songs when a rag had been shoved over her nose and mouth—and that was all she remembered. So she had been abducted. The realization did not stop her singing, because she knew that singing comforted her through the roughest of times. This certainly was not an exception.

She didn't know what was going to happen to her. But right now it didn't matter so much, because she could sing—some might think it ridiculous, but it was very much a fact to her.

“Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
but still thou hadst it readily.
Thy music still to play and sing;
And yet thou wouldst not love me…”


So she sang on.



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. A Y D E N J A C O B H A R C O U R T .


Ayden rested his chin on his palm, watching the Russian woman’s distress with faint amusement. Or perhaps blatant amusement. Either way, he was trying not to let it show, because he knew she would not take so kindly to his reaction and perhaps punch him in the face. And she did not punch like a girl.

“Calm down, or shit’s going to start flying,” he told her, though it was not as if he was without frustration. Ayden grinned in amusement at her incorrect grammar; one of the reasons she was fun to be around. “And if Chief Benson tells me to go along with you to interview, I will punch face,” he mimicked her grammar, slow smirk on his face. She was irritated by the way this case was going, and Ayden could not help but agree. It was like chasing after a phantom; the abductions happened and sometimes bodies were discovered.

He put on a more serious face, giving her his own analysis. “The victims aren’t badly treated when their bodies are found, and the periods that were taken for vary with each person. Though most kidnapping victims have less than 48 hours to live, that hasn’t been the case with these; ransoms are not asked for, either.” He tapped his well-kept nails on the surface of the table.

“What we need is for him to mess up,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “Unfortunately, he hasn’t messed up so far. He’s meticulous. And for him to mess up, we need more victims.” He furrowed his brows, flipping through the files and information they had gathered so far. The files was pathetically thin and the information inside was vague at best. How the hell did they think they could catch someone without information?

“The press is all over this now,” he muttered, his own expression darkening. More press coverage meant that people could be warned, but it made their job for stressful—people looked for things they could blame. And because they didn’t know who ‘Midas’ was, they blamed the agents working on the case. Namely, them.

He made a face and downed his coffee, which was already rather cold. It had not even an ounce of extra sugar in there, black and bitter. It wasn’t as if he liked bitter food, but coffee was the one thing he had to have black. No cream, no sugar. It left bitterness on the tongue—and to be honest, it was fitting of his job. It was always a joy when a case was successfully closed; the victim rescued and returned to the family, the culprit behind bars, but that was sadly not always the way things worked out.

If they ever caught the son of a bitch, he was going to have to keep himself from beating the shit out of the guy. His sister, Monica, was just around the victims’ ages. He knew that it was unwise to make things personal, as that would influence him emotionally, but by God, it was hard not to.

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Nikolas swept past a nearby antique vanity table – made of quality oak and dating back to the 17th century; viciously expensive – and paused briefly to grab a pair of black gloves which lay upon it. He then continued on walking, slipping the gloves over his hands as he went. It was not as if he was worried about getting fingerprints on the doors of his own house, the gloves were more for show than anything else. He patted the side of his hip, feeling the outline of the gun and decided that he was fully ready. Not that he would need bullets to subdue a bunch of drugged girls – he could do so quite capably with his body alone, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

His designer leather-shoe clad feet led him over to a harmless patch of wall upon which hung a painting depicting a quaint boating scene. He reached out and grasped the edge of the frame and swung the painting open like a cupboard door to reveal the sort of security lock one would expect in a bank. Nikolas typed thirteen digits into the keypad. He then slipped off his mask and leaned forwards so that the machine could make a scan of his iris. When that was done, Nikolas leaned away and put his mask back on.

“State name.” The machine whirred and clicked as the correct password had been entered.

“Midas,” Nikolas replied in his rasping tone.

“Password correct. Welcome, sir.” The screen blinked green and Nikolas shut the painting again. The wall swung open on hinges that had previously been nowhere to be seen. Made of steel, it was the sort of door that one could explode a bomb near and have it still be intact. The same sorts of doors graced the vaults in which he kept his trophies. The door opened unto a staircase which led downwards into a well-lit corridor.

Motioning for his Helper to follow him, Nikolas put his foot down on the first of the steps and then made the rest of the way down the staircase. And soon he was walking down the hallway, his feet making rather ominous noises as he drew ever the nearer to the cells. The hallways led to a high-ceiling and spacious circular room – which opened in the same manner as the door before it – the walls of which were lines by many heavy steel doors. Nikolas waved his hand at his Helper and motioned at the man to go and open each of the doors. He closed the doors of the circular room behind him, entrapping them all within – of course, only Nikolas could open it back up.

The circular room housed a comfortable set of armchairs in the middle. There was a grand piano, an art easel, a comfortable-looking floor pad for gymnastics, a microphone stand, a laptop computer (with no internet connection) which could only open Microsoft word…as well as a mini bar and fridge that was privy to a good choice of food.

As Nikolas stood there, in the midst of it all, waiting for his Helper to finished opening all the heavy steel doors, he noticed that a faint angelic voice came lilting out from behind one of the vault doors. It brought a genuine smile from beneath his mask. Ah, it was so pleasant to have someone already following his rules, which he would have to inform all his trophies of. This was what he had kidnapped them for – for the beauty that they could create.

Nikolas decided that he was already feeling rather endeared towards his little singer – but if she ever failed to sing to him…well, he would have to deal with things harshly. He could only hope that the rest of them would be just as willing to do as he would soon tell them to. For now, he had high hopes. As the last of the doors had been swung open, Nikolas spoke out, making sure to do so extra loudly so that his prized collection could hear his every rasping word.

“Welcome, ladies,” he boomed, his voice reverberating through the room, “please, do come out and take a seat. You will find the armchairs to be comfortable, I am sure. First on our list of to-do things is a chat about my expectations, and then all of you will be fed. I do hope that sounds reasonable.” His tone of voice left nothing to be debated. Though he spoke like a gentleman, his words were a command.

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“All his victims have talent – singers, painters – like that,” Katya elaborated as she gestured with her hands to continue her stream of thought, “assumption is that he keeps them like trophies.” Some crazy man who probably thought that he was either entitled to owning others or one that was jealous of the accomplishments of others – the formed sounded more viable than the latter – a man collecting people and then disposing of the ones who displeased him. Katya found herself musing over the possibilities as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Then, suddenly, she was brought out of her thoughts and was turning her head around in search of someone. “Where is detective who we supposed to be working with?” She asked Ayden, still looking around for the man who they had previously been introduced to. When she did not find him anywhere in the bullpen, she settled back down again and frowned. The two of them were working partly alongside the police force of Maine, alongside with other detectives. The job was a big one, after all. And the stupid media was not helping anything either. ‘In Russia things would have been handled different, Katya thought to herself rather bitterly.

But, then again, she really had no reason to be bitter at all. She had wanted to be transferred to the US. She had wanted to follow her new husband overseas and live with him. And then he got hit by a car some years later and she was left here to work for the FBI. Ah, well, things could be worse – but they could undoubtedly be better as well. Katya felt the sudden desire to go shopping.

“I am going to mall tomorrow, need new shoes,” Katya said as she tapped the toes of her combat boots together. “There is pair of flats I’ve been looking at and cannot decide to get red or purple pair.” She looked at Ayden in a way that implied she wanted his opinion on things. “You should come and help choose.” Ever since she had met the man she had thought him to be of the homosexual persuasion. No man who dressed that nicely and noticed when women got manicures or haircuts could be straight, right? Katya was willing to bet a couple hundred bucks on that.

Though, the fact that Ayden probably liked getting it from other men was a rather unhappy thought. He was very good looking, she had to admit – and tall too. Damn it, if only straight men could be more like that. But she would not mind having a good gay friend either.

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Ariel instantly jumped. She had dozed off against the wall; and she heard a loud voice speaking from somewhere not too far from her room. She slowly saw the large heavy doors open, and she instantly jumped up as her ankle shot pain through her legs and made her cry out a bit and she gritted her teeth against the pain. She listened to the voice speak; it sounded so deep, unnatural... abnormal. But it sounded like a man; but she couldn't know for sure, until she saw him. The mention of being fed made her stomach growl; she finally realized how hungry she was. She hoped this would answer some of her question, and as her heart pounded, she kept the blanket firmly around her shoulders as she limped towards the open space where the door was and peaked out, her hair falling on her shoulders and in her face.

She saw other cells with open doors; a man moving and opening them up and he was covered in a dark coat. She saw a small hallway leading to a room filled with more light then the cells themselves and she slowly made her way down the hallway, limping and trying to walk as her ankle twisted with a sharp pain from the deep cuts. She heard someone singing as well;which made her nose wrinkle. How could you sing at a time like this? Waking up in a place you've never been in before, your clothes gone? She shook her head at the thought and only knew that her heart was pounding deep in her chest. She glanced about at the rest of the open doors; and figured anyone else inside of them was still gathering themselves to come out, and she knew it wouldn't help for her to wait. she walked down the hallway, the blanket dragging slightly on the ground as she made sure it covered her upper body and her slender legs were showing, goosebumps on her skin while her hair was a bit messy. She made her way down at the end of the hallway.... and she slowly looked inside.

She saw chairs in the middle of a large circular room, comfortable looking arm chairs and she saw other items around the room; like an art easel, and a piano ... a laptop. She raised an eyebrow, still peeking her head around the room and trying to keep herself pressed against the shadows before running a hand through her hair and trying to gather herself now to enter. She was scared; her fingers already trembling at the feeling, but she knew she should follow what the man said if she wanted any answers of where she was and why she was here. And she needed to see who else was here; if any even looked like they would have a stroke of courage to try to get out, or if any could help her. She looked down at her left ankle, staring at the bandage. If she stayed where she was she would most likely be dragged into the room... but the rebel in her was telling her to go back to her cell, stay there, and demand answers. But no. For now; she had to go by his rules. Whoever was in that room.

She slowly walked into the brighter light. She saw a fridge and a small bar on one side and she looked around at the chairs. Could she sit where she wanted? She saw a man standing in the room; he was tall, wearing a elegant suit that looked quite expensive.... but the thing that made her heart beat faster was his mask. She stared at it with her creamy brown eyes and then she looked down at her feet and limped over to a chair that was near the bar, and she slowly sat down, hoping this was alright. She kept the blanket around her shoulders, the air pressing against her, for it was quite cold down here. From what she could gather; she guessed they were underground, in a basement or in some safe house that was made in the ground. Because one thing she could hear were the water pipes running through the walls; and she could hear the water moving faintly through the walls. She rested her hands on her lap, looking down at the bandage and sitting herself against the chair as she stared at the man but then her eyes went towards the entrance to the room.

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Ben was sitting at his desk in the police station; staring down at the file case on this mad man who had been abducting young women and men for their talents. He already knew this; a boy with a special flare for telling hilarious jokes had vanished 5 weeks ago. And they had found a girl who had won the national championship in softball dead, hanging from a tree only 3 weeks ago. They knew the victims had a special talent; but they couldn't find where this psychopath was. And it was frustrating everyone; it was one of the hardest cases they had ever had.

He got up, drinking some of his coffee as he stayed silent and glanced around, police walking around and others at desks. He didn't really know what to think except that this guy may make the top of the list for psychopaths. And of course; thinking of his brother, Ben grew angry at this case. He grabbed a cigar, walking outside of the police station and lighting the cigar with his silver lighter. Ben was a thinker; he was always thinking. And this case was making his brain hurt.

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“Welcome, ladies,” As soon as Nadia's heard the voice her heart seemed to plummet to the bottom of her body. Falling much like a rock off of a cliff. He used the plural form of them word, and know Nadia knew it wasn't just her that had been taken from her home. She waited and listened calmly as the male voice continued speaking ."please, do come out and take a seat. You will find the armchairs to be comfortable, I am sure. First on our list of to-do things is a chat about my expectations, and then all of you will be fed. I do hope that sounds reasonable.” Nadia raised an eyebrow and immediately jumped up to her feet when the doors behind her opened. Nadia stuck her head out off the room and glanced around. It was certainly different then the shoddy looking room her captor had stuck her in, that was certain.
The pianist would walk towards where the voice was coming from with a grave look in her already cold eyes. Her eyes usually made people stay away from her. Cold, unfeeling, and almost vindictive looking, she had often wore sunglasses while in public as to not frighten her audience. She would look her captor directly in the eyes though, and pray that his heart would stop from her. She could only hope after all. The hallways was long to say the least. It reminded her much like the hallways used in Stephen Kings"The Shining" though she hoped dearly she wouldn't find a wave of blood rushing out towards her. That would just be the icing on the cake of shit she gotten into.

Nadia's hair moved in front of her face briefly as she continued walking down the long hallways. Whoever had taken her had clearly made a mess of her hair, or she messed it up in her sleep. Her brown locks were scattered about in a messy way and she sadly had no hair tie to manage it. The fact she was thinking of her hair in such a critical time could only make the girl chuckle darkly, but stop for she had finally made it to the large room she had heard the voice come from.
Of course the first thing she noticed in the room was the large grand piano . A Steinway Grand Ebony Piano. It looked very much like hers, only it was more then likely the newest version. Her eyes widened much like a child's both pleased and displeased at the same time. The second thing she spotted was ....Ariel. What in

God's name was the gorgeous Author doing here? Why had the bastard taking Nadia's only friend as well? These thoughts burned deeply into the girls head but she merely shook them and strode fast towards her friend. She wrapped her arms around her and then pushed her forehead against her own looking deep into the girls eyes. "Are you alright? " She whispered as her eyes began to wander, looking her friend up and down and then hissing when she took notice of the wounds.
She looked momentarily from Ariel towards the man who she presumed was her captor. She would not speak, but merely look him up and down in an angry fashion. Her steel grey eyes glistening with rage at her friends wounds who she assumed the man had caused. She knew the man had asked them to sit, but know taking notice that she was no longer quite alone as she had expected, she sat directly by her friends side, near her feet in a very protective manner. If someone would to see her they might conclude that she looked much like a guard dog protecting it's master.

A "You touch her and I'll bite your fucking arm off" sort of way. Afterall it wasn't just her life at risk now. It was someones life greater then her own.

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Ariel had slowly looked up, her head jumping when she saw Nadia coming over and wrapping her arms around her. Relief breathed out of Ariel's lips and she hugged her tightly, looking up into Nadia's eyes. "I could be better." Ariel said, her throat dry as her friend looked down at her wounds. "I'm fine, Nadia... the cuts are cleaned. I'll be okay." she said, before glancing around to see if anyone else was staring or coming inside. Ariel noticed there weren't any wounds she could see on Nadia; so at least she was alright, and not in too much pain unless she was hurting internally or had bruises... but Ariel couldn't examine her right now. When her friend sat down beside her, Ariel curled up in the chair and put her hand below the arm of the chair and held onto Nadia's hands, keeping her eyes casted away from the entrance or from the man in the room. She didn't want Nadia to get hurt from not sitting in a chair. So she hoped that it was okay for Nadia to stay close to her... Nadia made her much more comfortable; and feel safer. Nadia was like Ariel's big sister.

And she hoped Nadia could make this nightmare less of a nightmare.

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As Mayu heard a voice she staggered to her feet, the pain seemed to of disappeared but all was left was drowzy eyes and a limp body. She walked out to the room, the more she walked the stronger she came. She looked around and there were seats and all. Then she noticed the mat, the mat she would do gymnatics and dance on, she was confused but kepted quiet. She looked up and there was many poles and beams she could climb. Maybe she could get out, maybe. Then she saw other girls, seeming the same age and had talent like her. She understood now. She couldn't go now, not without leaving the girls and she sighed under her breath. She took note of the computer but she saw that there was not internet connection even from afar. Her talent maybe dance and gymnastics but she was smart, smarter than what she seemed. She even knew self defence. But in her condition she could not do much. Then she thought. Maybe she fought the kidnapper but lost, maybe that was how she got her injuries. She looked back and saw another man then looked forward again. There was two of them. She crossed her arms and glared at the man that talked with such manner and taking in all information she could. She continued to glare at him no matter what. If he talked to her directly she would not hold back. He was smart just like her, but maybe smarter but she would gladly challenge him. She may of looked timid and small from the outside but inside a bright flame burned in her heart, she was strong with great willpower and knoweledge. She was nervous at the moment but the more he talked the nerves seemed to ease. She was not scaried, she was interested in him.

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. E M E R Y C O R L I S S .


Singing for a long time was never something that had given her trouble. She rarely ever stopped singing or talking, after all. Silence brought fear and pain. Silence brought back memories. Unwanted memories. Nobody particularly knew that about her, even the foster family she had lived with for nearly a decade—most assumed that she either loved to sing or was a loud person. Emery did love singing, but because it was her refuge from bad things, back in her childhood and even now. If some things could not be erased, they had to be drowned out—and singing was the only thing she knew how to drown out bad things. While most people accepted that she had to sing, she recalled her last ex’s words; “You never shut up! You love singing more than me!” She had simply told him with a straight face; “Singing keeps things away. You do not.” It didn’t take much after that for their relationship to fall apart. But she did not mind so terribly.

After all, look where a relationship had gotten her real parents into. Some people were better off without them.

She was probably one of them, anyways. So that was why she had decided to stay single and focus on her studies; it was better that way. Majoring in voice was quite fun, and learning music theory so she could make out a melody for song lyrics—well, it was all in good fun. She sang many varieties of music, including classics, folk songs, and then the more modern songs. You had to sing differently for each genre, and Emery was happily being taught how to expand her repertoire. She had no interest in being famous; it seemed like it would be stressful. She was content staying as a local performer, and maybe when she became older, she could be a voice teacher at a university, like her foster mother had often suggested.

“Well, I will pray to God on high,
That thou my constancy mayst see,
And that yet once before I die,
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.”


Even the people mentioned in love songs sounded rather unhappy, didn’t they? A large percentage of songs had something to do with love to begin with, and then most of them were about sadness or heartbreak. Some people were happy in relationships; her foster parents were proof to that. So it was not as if she didn’t believe in love—it was somewhere out there…probably. After growing up in the defective relationship of her real parents, it was hard not to view relationships through tainted glass.

Emery was exploring the small room without much caution. The white drawer contained regular things, which wasn’t too surprising. What, was there supposed to be severed body parts in there? But what she found in the bottom drawer made her briefly halt singing, sucking in a breath before hastily launching into song again. It wouldn’t do to stay quiet for long.

“…Your vows you've broken, like my heart,
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?”


What had surprised her was the fact that there were her multiple songbooks; the pages dog-eared and well seen, with multiple pencil marks annotating and putting reminders in for herself. There were even handwritten lyrics for the children’s songs she had learned when little. Yes, these were hers indeed. In fact, the song Greensleeves was among the songs in these books. She flipped through them with near tenderness, a faint smile hovering on her lips as she sang to fill the room.

“…Now I remain in a world apart
But my heart remains in captivity.”


Suddenly she heard something other than her own voice; steps. Footsteps. Somebody was coming near—her abductor? And yet her voice did not falter, and Emery simply placed her books back into the drawer gently, padding back to the bed she had woken up on. Suddenly she heard doors opening—doors, as in plural. Then her own swung open and she merely blinked at the change in lighting, briefly pausing her song. And then there was a loud, rasping voice—one that called the ‘ladies’ out to sit outside. There were other girls, too? Emery slipped off of the bed, walking over to the exit and peering outwards and singing a bit softer to herself. She saw a glimpse of a girl, and then another, and then…another. Emery stepped out as well, now her song reduced to an undertone. Ah, how fitting—she had come to the last verse of her song.

“Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,
To God I pray to prosper thee,
For I am still thy lover true,
Come once again and love me…”


Her eyes fell on the tall man with the long, bird like mask on his face. She realized that it was a voice-modifier—but the main thing she focused on was that it looked like a bird. She had a fascination with birds; every single weekend she drove to Maine to watch birds and take pictures with her little blue digital camera. She had half a mind to ask what sort of bird the mask was modeled after but stopped herself. That would be…stupid, no? She sat down in one of the arm chairs, looking wordlessly at the two girls that had embraced each other. They seemed to already know each other—but when she looked about, she did not see anyone she knew. Then something else caught her eye, the assortment of equipment in the room. A piano, an exercise mat, a laptop, an easel…and a microphone. She could tell it was the model that she had been researching for a couple months; the AKG 420—the one with 5 Selectable Polar Patterns, elastic capsule suspension, bi-color indicator LEDs and three Bass Cut Filters and pads… Yes, she had done her research well…and knew that was very, very expensive.

But then again, they were in a vault of sorts and the man was dressed in a nice looking suit. He was probably rich anyways. So she simply looked him in the eye (or more like where she supposed his eyes were behind the birdy mask) and spoke without even the slightest tremors in her voice. “Who are you?”



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. A Y D E N J A C O B H A R C O U R T .


Ayden nodded to her words. “We can assume that he keeps them around until they no longer amuse him or are unable to do so. Then he kills them and disposes of the bodies—and looks for a new trophy.” He raked a hand through his hair in thought, this time tapping his pen on the desk top. They had assumptions—but they were assumptions. The thought that ‘Midas’ abducted people with talents was quite solid, however. “We don’t know how he takes them or when he takes them. All of the victims are low-risk; healthy young women and men without drug usage.” He frowned again and tilted back another gulp of the bitter coffee.

He glanced at Katya at her question. “Who, Detective Ben Hill?” he shrugged, setting his cup down. “Who knows. Probably out smoking..?” The scruffy guy was a bit quirky in his opinion, but he seemed like a nice guy if not one addicted to coffee. Ah, he couldn’t blame him; he was pretty much the same way. And he didn’t smoke, but he had gambled. And when he won, he won big—but then lost even bigger. A bad habit to get into, he knew, but he had been crushed after his wife had divorced him. It hadn’t been like they had fought—just drifted apart. He would have tried to work things out, honest to God, but Shannon wouldn’t hear any of it.

“Hm, flats, eh?” Ayden quirked an eyebrow, glancing below the table to look at her combat boots. “A nice feminine touch,” he said and nodded almost sagely. “I think red would suit you better, but like you said—I’ll have to come along and see for myself. I also saw a pair of silver pumps I thought you would look really nice in…” he said, chattering on about…shoes. It wasn’t a wonder why Katya thought him of the homosexual persuasion. In fact, he wouldn’t have even let her see the side of him that was an expert fashion advisor, but one day he had told her without thinking that her black-and-silver earrings would go better with the outfit she had worn.

Oh well, he guessed he didn’t mind…too much. Katya was a unique and special woman, and he knew she mostly would have punched him in the face if he ever tried to hit on her directly. By somewhat allowing her to think he was gay (neither denying or confirming), he was hoping to get closer to her and maybe find out exactly what she liked before making his moves. A sacrifice, but he could sacrifice some of his ego to get to know her. He had a feeling she would be totally worth the pain in the ass.

“But yes, the mall—tomorrow, you said?” he confirmed, giving her one of his devilish smiles. God, the things he did for this woman.

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Alexandra had been sitting curled up on the floor holding her sketchpad in front of her with glazed eyes. Suddenly, she snapped out of this as the sound of her door being unlocked and opened seemed to 'wake' her. The artist stood quickly, sketchpad still held tightly in her left hand, grabbed the pencil from the dresser and moved to the door cautiously. When she felt it was clear, she stepped out into a long corridor that was quite well lit.

“Welcome, ladies,” Alexandra heard a man's low and raspy voice call out, seemingly from her left. " Please, do come out and take a seat. You will find the armchairs to be comfortable, I am sure. First on our list of to-do things is a chat about my expectations, and then all of you will be fed. I do hope that sounds reasonable.” Alexandra heard the command in his voice and decided she would obey it. She walked quickly in the direction she had heard the voice, stopping as she came to stand in the doorway of a circular room with several girls sitting in a few of the chairs the man's voice had mentioned. Thinking about the man made her glance around warily with her pale blue eyes, stopping at the sight of a man who was dressed expensively and wore a long bird mask to hide his face.

Even though she felt fearful, the young artist wiped her expression completely free of any emotion before she entered the room. Her eyes scanned the objects as she took a seat in one of the armchairs, spotting a mini fridge but she skipped over that quickly. She made note of the grand piano, floor pads for some sort of sport, a microphone stand and a laptop. The last thing she noticed was the most beautiful art easel that Alexandra had ever laid her eyes on. These items told her that these girls, she glanced around quickly at them before she looked to the sketchbook she held on her lap, were all talented in different ways. One was a singer, another a pianist.. And so on.

And she, the artist, was now trapped in this sick man's own version of a trophy cabinet of beautiful, and talented, women.

Alexandra, feeling anxious, opened her book to a fresh page and began to sketch. Lightly tracing lines that would soon show a beautiful fairytale fantasy, the type all children believed in, as desperately wished she were there. Safe. Not imprisoned.

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OOC - Katya's post will come a little later; I got really carried away with the Collector. He is evil. D:

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Ah, and finally they were all assembled before him and their first meeting could begin. Nikolas was about to say something when suddenly he was asked something. “I am Midas,” he replied rather good-naturedly when the redhead asked him for who he was. “That’s what you will refer to me by.” She was the singer, he recalled her face from the photos he had seen and he had heard her voice filling the room only moment before.

“Greensleeves – believed to have been composed by Henry the eighth for his love, Anne Boleyn; pity that she was beheaded on the 19th of May, 1536,” Nikolas commented about the song that she had sung, unable to keep himself from throwing in a random fact to go along with it. “You hit the notes very well.” He gave her a nod of satisfaction and then refocused his attentions on the others.

“As I have just introduced myself to our Nightingale, I am Midas. Within the confines of my home, I have three rules,” Nikolas said as he addressed the young women before him, standing with his hand clasped behind his back. He would not tolerate any dissension from them and hoped to make that point crystal clear for one and all. “Do not call for help. Do not try to escape. Do what you are told to.” He fixed them each with a rather pointed stare and allowed a few moments of silence for his words to sink in.

“I am not a patient man, but I can be a kind one,” he went on to say and swiveled his body so that he was facing the two girls huddled together – the writer and the musician. “You two are friends? Very good. If one of you disobeys me, the other will pay. If you, my little Drummer Girl, don’t play me sweet music – I will break one of Jane Austen’s teeth, and perhaps cut off a few toes with garden shears if I’m feeling particularly cross. And vice versa, of course.” He shrugged his shoulder in a languid manner, as if to say that it really would not be much of a hassle to him to have to physically mutilate or harm them.

“All any of you are here to do is that which you are good at,” he continued, turning his back from the two young women who had found solace in a common friendship, “provide me with your talents – amuse me with your writings, your art, your dancing, your music, your songs – and in turn I will be good to you. I will buy you whatever your hearts desire, within reason, and I will make sure that you are all comfortable. But, fail to do so, and I will be forced to exact punishment. Punishment involves the removal of body parts, painful torture, breaking bones, as well as being forced to watch another being tortured – oh, and rape if the other options are not enough.”

His feet brought him over to the small dancer girl – the one who had not taken a seat as the others had. He made a soft tutting noise and reached out to cup the chin of the girl who he knew was good at gymnastics, as well as dance. “And I do so much hate raping – I leave that to Geist.” He jerked the beak of his mask in the direction of his helper, just to make his point clear. “Now, speaking of punishment…you and I, Tiny Dancer, have already gotten off on the wrong foot. I said to take a seat and you, love, are still standing.”

He suddenly grabbed at her hair, the gloved fingers of his hand twisting viciously through her locks and jerking her head back at an awkward and doubtlessly painful angle. “I do not tolerate disobedience.” He told her in rather pleasant tones as he walked her backwards over to the nearest chair. “Sit. Down.” Nikolas paused a few feet away from the chair – then, without any warning, he let go of Mayu’s hair and backhanded her sharply across the face. The slap echoed through the room and Nikolas was well aware of its force – getting struck by him was roughly equivalent to being hit with a brick.

“Now, I would hope we are all understood,” he gave the dancer girl a warning glare and turned away from her, leaving her to do as he had instructed her to, “there are two more things I wish to speak of.” Nikolas let out a laugh, which came out as a strangled growl through his mask, and reached into his belt to withdraw a gun – a nice Glock 19.

“I’m always armed, so coming at me in attempt to attack would be silly” he waved the gun in front of them, almost as a taunt, and found himself grinning behind his mask. There were no bullets inside – it was empty, merely a distraction to provide them with the smallest sliver of hope that perhaps they could steal that gun away from him and use it to get out. Ah, how he would love to toy with their fears. He put the gun back into its holster. He did not need a gun to subdue people – not with his physical strength.

“And the second bit is – Chuckles. You ladies absolutely must meet Chuckles.” Nikolas looked over his shoulder at Geist, and gestured for the man. “Do bring Chuckles out of the cooler to say hello – I do hope he won’t smell too bad at this point.”

Nikolas turned back to the girls and let out another laugh. “You ladies are lucky! Normally I have the bodies disposed on the first day, but I thought maybe you all would benefit from meeting with dear Chuckles,” he let out a quiet laugh and circled in on the artist, leaning over her to peer at what she was sketching, “good girl, drawing already! You see, the difference between you and Chuckles, Da Vinci, is that he refused one day to do that which he was good at. Chuckles used to tell the best jokes…what a pity.

He reached out to give Alexandra’s shoulder a comforting pat. He would never refer to any of them by their real names, not if he could give them new pet names. Nikolas rather disliked it using real names. “Chuckles will be sleeping over with one of you tonight, just so that the message sinks in. And…I think I know just the person who would benefit from his company,” as he said this, he looked over at Mayu, “didn’t you ever want to have a corpse at the foot of your bed?”

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Ariel's face was blank the entire time as she stared at the man, observing him carefully. He reminded her of Thoratogan, an evil wizard in one of her child series she had wrote a few years back when she first started publishing books. He was merciless; evil, with no sympathy. Ariel could only imagine this man was the same as the evil character from her book; and now... she finally understood. This was the same psychopath she had read about in the newspaper. The same one who was abducting talented girls and boys to keep as trophies... and the police said they were on the case, but she had learned from her uncle that he heard rumors... they weren't even close. She could only look down at her friend with fear.

"The Collector." she said in a voice that was a whisper, a soft whisper. She instantly jerked her head towards the man as he looked towards them... and the threat he made made Ariel's heart pound at the sound of the words... toes being cut off, teeth broken.... it made her teeth ache just to think about it as her hand squeezed Nadia's tightly and she bit her lip as she was tempted to speak but would only do so when he was finished. Ariel rubbed her thumb across Nadia's thumb, knowing his threats would only made Nadia more protective and more likely to challenge him. Ariel looked at the man with a cold but blank face. So. He wanted her to write. Nadia to play music... and the others to do what they did best. The idea that two of these girls already were doing what he wanted made her give an expression of disgust. How could one sing or draw at a time like this?

Ariel shook her head a little at the thought and then flinched when she heard a slap and saw the man had backhanded one of the girls and had ordered her to sit down. It made her squeeze Nadia's hand even harder. She had opened her mouth to tell the man to shop but she then kept it closed, and looked down at her lap. It might only get her slapped as well if she called at him. She needed to think of a plan; and she needed to think of one fast. For now she had to write... but what was she to write? Would he give direction to them all?

Her stomach growled. The sight of the gun made her heart flip... he had a gun. In a sense; it was bad. In another; it was good. A gun... it was good to know he had one, it gave her a feeling of hope for some reason. She knew someone would probably try to leap for that gun... but she could only imagine the horrific consequences if someone failed to get it.

At the mention of chuckles.... her eyes went wide. The boy in the paper; who was on his way to fame for being the next star comedian of the nation. She instantly knew... Chuckles was dead. And now this man was going to have him in the cell of the danger? The one who had rebelled by standing? How cruel... so vicious. Ariel knew for now; all she could do was comply... And she had questions in her head. She slowly raised her hand up, the good hand, the one without the bandage as she stared at the man with a face that was struggling to be blank but her other hand shook slightly.

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As the masked man grabbed her by her hair she winced in pain under her breath then as he pulled her to a seat he backhanded her, from experience it was the most painful of the slap, with the palm it reverses some of the pain to the one who does it. But with the backhand it is given with not remorse to the victim of it, yes, painful, but it was not the worst thing to her. Without a face nor sound of pain she sat down and faced him, still not afraid. Then as he showed the gun, a Glock 19 to be exact. It looked loaded so it made her shifty but she kept herself still composed.

Then she looked away into her lap as he told her of chuckles and that he will be in her room tonight then she spoke bluntly without fear, it was quite laided back.
''I don't mind really, I have had worse. One more thing, I love your Glock 19, Reminds me of my father.'' She said almost allowing rage come through as she mentioned her father. He was a evil father, hitting her and her mother like that, of course when he died she smiled and laughed at his grave, her mother was shocked but then again she didn't stop her from doing it.

She continued. ''My first sleepover actually, so it will be interesting to have a puppet at the end of my bed.'' She then reached into her pocket and unscrewed the lid, she the got to tablets from it and threw them into her mouth and looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. Those tablets were for her depression, she see she was ill, in the mind. She was only diagnosed a month ago, that was when her mother died she she was put into a foster house. So she was exposed to madness and dark thoughts, that was why she was not so afraid as most of the girls in the circular room. She then slipped the tablets into her pocket again. They were running low but she was not worried, it had been a long time since she became her 'other' self.

''Midas, Did you know there is two shades of madness? One is mania, This one is over-dulguence, mood swings negitive though and extreme arousal the one rapists are prone too. Then there is Dementia, this is addiction, despration and instant hallucations, making murders the perfect candidate. Feels like I know you already.'' She then stayed silent as she continued to look into her lap without fear of him attacking her more, just made him more like the demented man she labaled him as.

((Awwww!! damn it! I changed the gun thingy sorry and she is still wearing her dress just not the componates with it like: Leggings, shoes, socks, cardagin ect; she always keeps her pills in her dress pocket, I kinda said that she was still in her short dress in the very first post, but maybe i should of made sure I mentioned the pills too...sorry..I fail...))

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[[OOC - Post coming soon! Have it half-written out, but need to be getting off compy to finish an experiment - I will edit my post into my OOC note. Anyways, what I wanted to mention is --> how would Mayu even notice that the gun was not loaded? :3 If you wouldn't mind, I'd rather have it be thought of as being loaded - because there really is no viable clues to cause her to decide that the gun had no ammo. Just sort of screws up a possible plot point that would have been interesting were it to occur. :)
Oh, and also - if her clothes were changed - where did she get those pills from? :P Sorry, just makes no sense to me. XD But I do love her interactions with Midas, he'll be pleasantly thrilled to banter with her.

D'aww, look at me, being all passive aggressive. <3]]

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" I am Midas," The masked man had responded when he had been asked, " That's what you will refer to me by." At this Alexandra has paused in her drawing for only a moment before she continued again, knowing she could listen well and sketch her idea at the same time. He mentioned rules the girls must obey; Do what you're told, do not call for help, and do not try to escape. The frightened artist lifted her eyes to glance around as a it became silent for a few moments, obviously a pause for effect.

The dark haired girl noticed he wouldn't call the girls by their names. Nicknames such as 'Nightingale', 'Drummer Girl', and 'Jane Austen' were the ones she heard within a matter of minutes. The singer, musician and writer all targeted in practically one breath. She felt herself almost sigh, somewhat happy to not have a threat above her head already.. Other than the ones that counted against all of the 'guests'.

The mention of torture immediately had Alexandra's blood run cold. Of course he wouldn't mind hurting them.. He had stolen them from the safety of their homes, even the street. Midas appeared to be quite the cautious and ruthless man as he then moved to make his point about this particular topic. Alexandra paused in the strokes of the pencil to stare up through her lashes with ice blue eyes. Midas had walked over to an Asian girl who had the form a dancer might. She held her breath as the masked man grabbed the girl by the hair and took her to a chair, slapping her with an abrupt movement that Alexandra had almost missed seeing as she blinked. She could only imagine how much the slap had hurt the girl and also had no doubts that she, herself, would find out eventually exactly how much it hurt.

She had already decided that she would obey the man when he pulled a gun from his waist. Alexandra's already light skin tone seemed to turn white as she somehow managed to keep her expression calm. Now, she definitely knew he meant business and that it would be in her own, and everyone else's, best interests if they would all just do as they were told. Alexandra quickly dropped her eyes back to her sketchbook and continued to draw, trying to focus on the pencil meeting the paper as she breathed slowly and calmly.

The young artist had lost track of where 'Midas' was standing and suddenly paused only for an instant as she realized he now stood behind her. She continued her flawless pencil strokes as she felt his eyes on the paper, suddenly the man spoke up to her.

“ Good girl, drawing already! You see, the difference between you and Chuckles, Da Vinci, is that he refused one day to do that which he was good at. Chuckles used to tell the best jokes…what a pity." Alexandra figured her particular nickname was any artist that just popped into his head. Considering her talent in that particular field, Da Vinci had obviously meant her. She kept herself still as he patted her shoulder.. was that supposed to comfort her?!

She kept her eyes down on the pad that rest on her legs, on her fingers holding the pencil that moved gracefully over the page.. On anything that was not Midas.

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“I am not a patient man, but I can be a kind one." He was barely talking and already Nadia could see the lies dripping like venom from his mouth. A kind man? Would a kind man snatch women and men from their homes and force them to stay with him or else die? Nadia did not think so. “You two are friends? Very good. If one of you disobeys me, the other will pay. If you, my little Drummer Girl, don’t play me sweet music – I will break one of Jane Austen’s teeth, and perhaps cut off a few toes with garden shears if I’m feeling particularly cross. And vice versa, of course.” Nadia made no movement except grinding her teeth quietly while he spoke. Perhaps it had been foolish to run out towards her friend and make it known that they knew each other.Now he would use her as leverage to get Nadia to do whatever he wished and Nadia could only comply. Maybe dear old Orson Scott was right when he wrote "Personal affection is a luxury you can have only after all your enemies are eliminated. Until then, everyone you love is a hostage, sapping your courage and corrupting your judgment."

Nadia could feel Ariel hold onto her tighter as the man known as Midas continued speaking. She was about to turn towards her friend and whisper words of comfort when she watched the their captor slap the Asian girl across her face. "CRACK!" Almost like the sound of a whip hitting the ground, the mans hand almost seemed to brush across the girls delicate face making Nadia shudder. Was she really to play for this "creature" for she dared not even begin to believe he was a man of any kind.

The Asian girl seemed to be fine after the slap, even going so far as to speak.Idiot.''I don't mind really, I have had worse." Nadia shook her head and several strands of brown hair made their way in front of her face, shielding anyone from seeing her eyes now filled with pity. That girl would probably be the first to go. She had too much will inside of her for the man. The musician had to both admire and pity the girl for that particular attribute.


The girls' thoughts melted away when she lifted her head up and saw Ariel raising her hand in the air."What are you doing? " She mumbled quietly to her friend while watching the man walk over towards the girl drawing and pat her on the shoulder as if praising a dog for fetching a stick. Knowing Ariel she would probably keep her hand up even if it killed her, so all Nadia could do was move closer towards her friend, putting herself in front of her like a mother Tiger would do with her cub.

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“Had worse? Excellent!” Midas clapped his hands together in delight – ah, so she would be one of the durable ones. That was fantastic. “I won’t hold back, in that case. My, I can already see you and I will be lovely friends. And I do fancy my Glock 19 as well – it is not my favorite semi-automatic, but one of the ones I am quite fond of.” Midas could talk quite a lot when he got a chance to. He was narcissistic enough to love the sound of his own voice, even if it was coming from behind a mask.

“Two shades of madness? No, no, there are certainly more of them. A whole spectrum, in fact! Silly girl, you should stick to dancing.” He let out a laugh and then strolled back over to her and plucked the pill-bottle from out of her pocket. “Ah Geist, why would he leave this with you? Tsk, tsk. Naughty girls don’t get to take their pills. But yes – your first sleepover – my, that will be exciting. I’ll have Geist pop some air freshner into your room so that the smell of florals can overcome that of decaying flesh.”

He dearly hoped the girl would learn her place soon, or he would have to get rid of her. Pity. Ah, but even the hardest could be broken and, if Nikolas felt like it, he would break her too. Oh, how he loved to take something beautiful, fuck it up, and then watch to see how well it would survive.

He let out another laugh, feeling himself to be in rather high spirits that day. It was then that Midas saw that Jane Austen had her hand up in the air – a nice, meek gesture. He felt a sudden surge of approval travel through him and he was reminded of a schoolchild asking their teacher permission. Such good manners! See, now this was the sort of behavior he liked and expected. “Yes, my darling, you wish to say something?” He asked as he strolled over towards where she and Drummer Girl sat.

He paused for a second as he looked at the young woman who had moved closer to her friend out of some sense of wanting to protect her. “You know, I am considering renaming you ‘Fiddler’ or ‘Keys’, but ‘Drummer Girl’ just has such a lovely ring to it. It makes me think of Christmas and going around caroling.” He thought it over for a few seconds and then nodded his head – yes, he was going to stick with ‘Drummer Girl’.

“Anyways, you wanted to say something?” Nikolas reverted his attentions back to Jane Austen as he slipped his way around to one side of her chair and perched on its edge, invading her private space without a second thought. He tilted his head to one side, looking somewhat like an inquisitive bird as he surveyed her with his green eyes – the only part of his face visible from behind his mask.

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Ariel's eyes had moved to the dancing girl.... she was being stupid. That's all Ariel could say. Did she want to get herself killed? Murdered? It sure seemed like it as the girl was standing up still, rebelling and talking back. And she was surprised the man didn't back hand her again, but she knew something was going to happen later on. Her hand was growing tired but she remained still, glancing down at her friend with a face that was blank. She looked back over at the men when he addressed her. If she wasn't in such a dark place with such a dangerous man she would have blurted out; so it's best to take precautions.

As the man walked over, now talking to her friend, Ariel slowly put her hand down since he had come over. The questions she did want to ask played through her mind. Where are we? Who are you? Will we get new clothes? While he had his attention on Nadia; Ariel had to pick which question to ask first; and the consequences of what they would result in made her stomach churn. She looked up at him as he was perching on the side of her chair, staring at her, invading her space and making her want to get up and run. But she looked at him with a calm expression and then she licked her lips and she spoke.

"I have... many questions. As I'm sure... others here do as well. But... I... was mainly just wondering... are we going to have schedules to follow?" she asked, blinking. Was it a stupid question? No. She wanted to know; and for her own reasons, and reasons that the other girls should think of as well. But she could only look at him; wondering if he was going to slap her for asking a question... or if he'd answer. Was she necessarily already giving into his plans? No. Her questions were all asked with good intentions, for herself and others. And she hoped they would be answered.

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#, as written by Cypher
Snikt. Snikt. Snikt.

The rhythmic sound of the balisong's dual handles flicking open and shut, open and shut, in the room as Michael Vision - hereon referred to as 'Geist' - flicked his wrist and spun the butterfly knife skillfully through the air, keeping himself busy as Midas introduced himself. The relationship between the enigmatic millionaire and the sociopath often went like this; Midas would add the theatrical flair and Vision would stand in the background and generally be quiet and imposing. It sometimes put people on edge, but this time it wasn't working. Vision shrugged it off. If first impressions didn't work, he could always just create a mark later.

Time passed, and Vision observed, still absentmindedly spinning the handles of his balisong. He said nothing when Midas mentioned his rules. He said nothing when he threatened his punishment. Inwardly his mind did a quick double-take when Midas mentioned 'Geist' and 'Rape' in the same sentence - even Vision, the demented sociopath, had standards - but then he remembered that Nikolai was a pathological liar and calmed down. Outwardly, he didn't even bat an eyelash. He allowed the right side of his mouth to move up a microscopic amount when the Collector backhanded the dancing girl, but other than that registered no emotional response.

More time passed. The blade continued flashing. Up, down, left, right, around and around and around, a hypnotizing circle. He gave it a toss, up and over his head, behind his back, spinning and singing the quiet, quavering song of metal slashing air. Vision extended one hand behind his back and plucked it out of the air, as easily as one might pluck an apple from a tree, and continued his little acrobatic charade.

Then Midas called for him to bring out Chuckles. Geist allowed himself to crack a smile, then - somehow the most threatening thing he had done all day, despite the knife-show - and nodded. "Of course, sir," he intoned flatly, and made his way out of the room.

The cooler sat in an alcove a ways away from the main 'living area', connected to a power supply keeping it just cool enough to preserve dead flesh. It was used for storing corpses, but Geist supposed that in an emergency he could store several days' worth of food, or hide inside it. But right now, it was occupied by Chuckles.

Geist didn't remember what Chuckles' real name was - for some reason the man thought it started with 'W' - but he easily picked the boy out of the cooler by the pattern of wounds on him alongside his physical appearance. He pulled the body out, not bothering with the black body-bag laid out next to the cooler, and lugged the stiff fireman-style up to the atrium where Midas was still entertaining his "guests". He moved quietly, as he always did, a shadow of death carrying another victim. When he arrived in the atrium, he stood quietly by Midas's side, and propped Chuckles up next to him, an arm around his shoulders. Almost as if he was palling around with an old friend.

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. E M E R Y C O R L I S S .


She was pleasantly surprised (or at least as much one could be pleasantly surprised while being kidnapped) by his knowledge of the song she had sung under her breath. This man was no dumb suit, it seemed; he must have a very good education and intellect to boot. But what sort of kidnapper was…nice? That didn’t really make sense in her head.

Nightingale. Emery had to take it that he had a thing for nicknaming people. She was Nightingale, and the other girls were Jane Austen, Drummer Girl, Da Vinci, and the other girl, Tiny Dancer.

Emery didn’t flinch as the man grabbed that girl’s hair and made her sit down, his hand meeting the face of Tiny Dancer the only girl who had not sat down. She watched, her eyes showing no surprise or concern in particular. That sound of a hand striking a face was not so uncommon in her memories, but her parents had never engaged in one sided abuse. They abused each other; if he gave her a black eye, she would scratch his skin raw. It was how things were, and the places they couldn’t reach with teeth, claws and fists, they attacked savagely with words.

The girl said she had been through worse, and Emery let one eyebrow rise questioningly. Why would you say that? And as she had suspected, the man who was to be called ‘Midas’ only seemed to think of that as permission to strike her without a second thought. Emery wasn’t sure what those pills were or how she had come by them, but why in the world would she blatantly show him she had them? If she had them, it would have been so much smarter to keep quiet about that—and just keep quiet in general. Emery understood—she herself had no qualms about speaking her thoughts. Sometimes they were impulses and she had to repress them for the sake of being polite, but taunting a kidnapper (especially one with an armed bodyguard or something) was…well. She decided not to judge the girl. She was probably trying very hard to be brave and was over-doing it because she was scared senseless—well, that or those pills were drugs like Ecstasy or something of the sort.

As weird as it may have been, she was glad that ‘Midas’ was chattering like that. It meant that there was no silence, though the raspy voice wasn’t the most pleasant thing to listen to. As long as there was something to distract her, that was fine. He spoke of a Chuckles—no doubt another nickname for some poor bloke that was in the same situation as them. But then it dawned on her that this ‘Chuckles’ he was speaking of…was dead. So this abductor did not mind killing, either. If they wanted to stay alive, they had best keep that man happy. She watched wordlessly, this time her eyes fixing onto the man in the background. He had a knife that he kept on flicking and catching, a constant rhythm like a tiny metallic drum that she would have sang along to any other day. The man didn’t say much—had Midas said his name was Geist? It probably wasn’t his real name.

She didn’t realize what sort of effect the corpse would have on her until she saw ‘Geist’ prop him up and throw an arm around his shoulders. The man was so pale, lifeless, dead, dead, dead. Her face went as bloodless as Chuckles as she continued to stare at the dead young man. She realized the feeling that was worming inside her guts—that sick fear that came over her when she recalled that day. Her parents lying, skin so white against the pools of red. Dead. Still. Unmoving. Silent.

Her lips trembled, unable to tear her gaze away. In her head, she could hear Emily’s voice, her little joyful singing from that day.

“A little snowflake fell out of the sky…
At first it floated then started to fly…”


Stop it, she screamed in her head. I don’t want to hear…!

“Mommy…? D-Daddy? Get up… Mommy? Mommy...Mommy? M-Mommy? There’s a mess on the carpet, I-I’ll clean it up…” Running and getting a towel, scrubbing at the red. “Mommy? I’m cleaning…wake up. Daddy?” It was so quiet. “I’ll be good! I won’t run around the house anymore, promise…Mommy?” Only death rang in her ears, so Emily started to sing again, almost mechanically through the gulps of uneven hyperventilation.

“It should have…m-melted the warmer it got…
B-But I will you, that…snowflake…would not…!”


I’m Emery. I’m Emery Corliss. I’m not…I’m not Emily! Stop it! I don’t want to hear! She tried to get the voice out of her head, the horrible refrain of that cheerful song ringing like a death knell in her ears. She stared at Chuckles and saw her parents instead, the reddened carpet even though he wasn’t bleeding.

Her lip quivered again, but this time her mouth opened and the song, strangled and strange in her throat, tumbled out weakly, the song that had so been her favorite but had been left unsung after that day.

“The little snowflake decided to dance.
It didn’t know how, but it took a chance…
It skipped and jumped in a rhythmic display;
It danced a waltz and a snowflake ballet...."
...

Hi, Emily.

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Mayu sighed under her breath as her pills were tooken away then she turned her face towards Geist and blinked at the boy and words slipped out. ''Poor soul....may you rest in peace as it is well deserved.'' She then smiled warmly at the corpse then turned around and looked back into her lap, her hair glided over her face and tears ran down ehr face as she held herself and she quietly talked to herself. ''I miss you Massiki....my brother..'' She cried silently to herself almost uncontrolably. Mayu was already broken, this was just going to be like another day her mother and father punish her for not being perfect of better than anyone.

She was a wilting flower anyways. She thought that phycial pain would probably be easier to handle then emotional pain. She then took the time to rub the redden area of her face then she she breathed and wiped her tears away and returned to her blank emotionless face and attitude like nothing happened, Like she was someone else. She then stretched out her arms and sloutched on the arm chair and looked up a the ceiling for a moment then she turned back to Geist then looked to Midas and she sighed as she put her hand up to wait her 'turn' to speak.

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“Schedules to follow? Not the sort you may think of.” He was not particularly keen on any of them learning that there would be a schedule of any sort – that only opened up opportunities for his precious dears to formulate their own little plans. The less they knew about what would happen, the better it would all play out. “I will come by during the day and let you all out to frolic in the main room, whenever I please to do so.”

Nikolas took a moment to think as he stood up from his previous spot beside Jane Austen. “Hm, but a talent show would be in order at some point soon, I do think. It would be ever so nice if you all could behold one another’s talents.” He let out a laugh – and just then spotted Geist coming back with Chuckles in tow.

Nikolas clapped his hands together out of sheer pleasure. “Ah, and there he is!” He gestured at the corpse with somewhat of a flourish. “Let Chuckles be an example to you all of what happens to those who break my rules.” Nikolas allowed his eyes to roam over the corpse, taking note of the state of the youth’s body - the pallid flesh, the slackened expression. A marvelous example of death, really.

The sudden welling of song from the lips of Nightingale made Nikolas grin behind his mask. It was a rather fitting tune for the situation and he found himself enjoying the sound. As the last notes of the song died on the girl’s lips, Nikolas slowly turned himself back around to face his lot. He remained silent, watching them with an amused curiosity from behind the barrier of his bird-like mask.

And then his Tiny Dancer began to cry and Nikolas could not help but feel a sickeningly devious sort of delight. After babbling a few things to herself about some brother she missed, the girl put up her hand as well. “Yes, dear?” Nikolas asked, turning his head so that the beak of his mask now pointed at her. “You wish to ask me something?”

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Welcome home, Promethean. Here, you can manage your universe.

Arcs

Arcs are bundles of posts from any location, allowing you to easily capture sub-plots which might be spread out across multiple locations.

Add Quest » Quests

You can create Quests with various rewards, encouraging your players to engage with specific plot lines.

Add Setting » 1 Settings for your players to play in

Settings are the backdrop for the characters in your universe, giving meaning and context to their existence. By creating a number of well-written locations, you can organize your universe into areas and regions.

Navigation

While not required, locations can be organized onto a map. More information soon!

Maine

Maine by Wonderland

None

Add Group » 0 Factions to align with

There are no groups in this roleplay!

Collectibles

By creating Collectibles, you can reward your players with unique items that accentuate their character sheets.


Once an Item has been created, it can be spawned in the IC using /spawn Item Name (case-sensitive, as usual) — this can be followed with /take Item Name to retrieve the item into the current character's inventory.

Mobs

Give your Universe life by adding a Mob, which are auto-replenishing NPCs your players can interact with. Useful for some quick hack-and-slash fun!

Mobs can be automated spawns, like rats and bats, or full-on NPCs complete with conversation menus. Use them to enhance your player experience!

Current Mobs

No mobs have been created yet.

Spawns

Locations where Mobs and Items might appear.

Events

You can schedule events for your players to create notifications and schedule times for everyone to plan around.

Permissions

Add and remove other people from your Universe.

The Forge

Use your INK to craft new artifacts in The Collector's Collection. Once created, Items cannot be changed, but they can be bought and sold in the marketplace.

Notable Items

No items have been created yet!

The Market

Buy, sell, and even craft your own items in this universe.

Market Data

Market conditions are unknown. Use caution when trading.

Quick Buy (Items Most Recently Listed for Sale)

Open Stores

View All » Add Character » 11 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Ariel Vivena
Character Portrait: Nadia Monroe
Character Portrait: Emery Corliss
Character Portrait: Ben Hill
Character Portrait: Ayden Jacob Harcourt
Character Portrait: Michael Vision

Newest

Character Portrait: Michael Vision
Michael Vision

"Geist. You'll be calling me Geist. Not that that's my name, but it's all you'll need to know me by."

Character Portrait: Ayden Jacob Harcourt
Ayden Jacob Harcourt

"Seriously though, come have a drink with me."

Character Portrait: Ben Hill
Ben Hill

"This guy is crazy... I need a smoke to think this through."

Character Portrait: Emery Corliss
Emery Corliss

"Do you ever wish you were a bird?"

Character Portrait: Nadia Monroe
Nadia Monroe

"Here's a lullaby to close your eyes..."

Character Portrait: Ariel Vivena
Ariel Vivena

"Let me write you a story of torture and blood."

Trending

Character Portrait: Michael Vision
Michael Vision

"Geist. You'll be calling me Geist. Not that that's my name, but it's all you'll need to know me by."

Character Portrait: Emery Corliss
Emery Corliss

"Do you ever wish you were a bird?"

Character Portrait: Nadia Monroe
Nadia Monroe

"Here's a lullaby to close your eyes..."

Character Portrait: Ayden Jacob Harcourt
Ayden Jacob Harcourt

"Seriously though, come have a drink with me."

Character Portrait: Ben Hill
Ben Hill

"This guy is crazy... I need a smoke to think this through."

Character Portrait: Ariel Vivena
Ariel Vivena

"Let me write you a story of torture and blood."

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Michael Vision
Michael Vision

"Geist. You'll be calling me Geist. Not that that's my name, but it's all you'll need to know me by."

Character Portrait: Emery Corliss
Emery Corliss

"Do you ever wish you were a bird?"

Character Portrait: Ariel Vivena
Ariel Vivena

"Let me write you a story of torture and blood."

Character Portrait: Ayden Jacob Harcourt
Ayden Jacob Harcourt

"Seriously though, come have a drink with me."

Character Portrait: Ben Hill
Ben Hill

"This guy is crazy... I need a smoke to think this through."

Character Portrait: Nadia Monroe
Nadia Monroe

"Here's a lullaby to close your eyes..."


Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » The Collector's Collection: Out of Character

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Most recent OOC posts in The Collector's Collection

There have been no posts in the OOC topic for this roleplay!