orangetoughguy

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11th

[The audio begins right in the middle of some kind of dialogue?]

--just picked up the lantern. I'm putting it together...

[Some creaking creepy ambient sounds.] Okay I left the room.

I'm walkin'...

I'm walkin'...

I'm walkin'...

I'm--[The sound of some awful groaning.]--AHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD. [Groooooaaan.] AHHHHHHHHHHH. [Grooooaaaan.] AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

[Some asshole laughs.] You dumb fuck you're gonna die.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. WHERE DO I GO. WHAT DO I DO.

I'M GONNA DIE! I'M GONNA--[If "fklsajdlakscadfak" could be a sound.]

[ooc: Inspired by this, supported by this.]

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Don't move a fuckin' step.

[Click...the safety is off. Mr. White means business.]

OH FUCK--

[Someone just got spooked...right out of his chair. The floor is not kind to Freddy Newendyke.]

Get up.

[That one's for you, mister. Larry slowly moves to the lights and flicks them on to better see the attack---er what the fuck is this?

Mr. White is in his plaid pj pants and shirt, oh and he's quite armed.]

The fuck is all the noise about?

[Peering over the chair now.]

Fuck, you fuckin' scared me, man.

[Fumbling a bit with the network equipment on the table.]

[Since he woke up out of bed of all things, Larry takes a look around before he tucks the gun into his waistband of those pj pants.]

What're you doing?

[The old man rubs one eye with the heel of his hand. No answer still? He takes a look at the equiptment.]

I almost shit my pants.

[Almost, but didn't. Thank God. Freddy gets up to his feet, still a little shook up from the experience. Worst way to come down from a high.]

...Playin' a game.

[He backhands Freddy in the arm. Not too hard but it's audible.]

I about had a heart attack. Jesus.

[Arms cross as he leans over the gear, still examining.]

Don't look like so much.

[Ow. He gives Larry a pitiful look...which quickly dissipates when the old man's examining the game itself.]

Don't touch that don't touch that.

[It's on pause cause he was trying to buy time for an escape route, and not piss himself. Oh while he's at it, he turns the audio function off. Fff.]

Keep your shirt on. I'm not touching a goddamn thing.

[Looks like a person could step on through and be in the game. Huh. Arms remain crossed, surveying this.]

It sure don't look like it's gonna kill you.

[Actually he just has a tank on under an open hoodie...and his boxers. Yep.]

It's cause...it's cause...

[Freddy makes the weed tokin' gesture. That wasn't even too long ago, uh, was it? Yeah he'll blame that shit.]

[Still? Or did he find more for his own. The old man leans forward to take a whiff. It was not that long ago, not really. Still though...]

Uh huh. Well you gave me a scare too. Where'd you get that shit? [The game he means, kid.]

[Hands in his pockets.]

Mr. Pink.

[Ratting that guy out never goes out of style.]

Mr. Pink.

[Behold the face of displeasure.]

What the fuck is he doing pawning that shit off on you?

[Must have been some kind of a deal in there.]

It's enough to know he watches TV and goes out into the world. He plays video games?

[Have a big old SHRUG.]

I guess. It surprised me too.

He don't have a job to wake up in the morning to neither.

[Larry leans on the nearest wall. Get the point, kiddo?]

So are you almost done? [That's how games go right? You beat it or you die?]

[Uhhh....] Yeah, I'm almost done.

[Have a sheepish look, Larry. Aw hell, grow a pair, Newendyke. No thief ever got spooked by some ghoul with an unhinged jaw and a baseball mitt full of rusty nails.]

Cut the noise. Got it?

[He devours that sheepish look as sleepy as he is. And damn right no thief or thug would ever get that spooked by no game.

...at least not Larry who hasn't seen the ghoul with an unhinged jaw and his mitt full of nails.]

I don't wanna come down here again and put holes in the walls on accident.

Okay. [Nod nod.] Sorry, Larry.

[Wait!] ...You wanna finish it up with me?

[That has him turning back around, he hasn't stepped that far away.]

Finish it? I dunno how to play.

[His arms are crossed once again and his face isn't quite as stony in its expression.]

What do you do?

[That's more like it, and with Lawrence Dimick in the driver's seat maybe it won't be so fucking scary.]

Here sit down, lemme show you.

[One more yawn, and he takes a load off.]

This doesn't have a joystick like the arcade games. [He pays attention to that kind of thing. Sort of.]

You gotta use this.

[Impressive, Larry. But here's the mouse. Freddy points to all the proper buttons and keys.]

Use this jump and this to run. You're gonna be running a lot.

Which one was running again?

[Mouse rolls this way and that way, now he's getting his bearings.]

Where is my guy? I can't see him.

[Which would be because it's a first person game. Hey. This whole layout doesn't look fit to be wandering in unless it's to dump something unsavory then get out of dodge.]

Edited 2011-01-14 07:02 (UTC)

This right here. [Freddy presses down on the key for him, making this a team effort now that the game's gone live again. Without third party audiences, thank you.] You can't see him cause you're goin' through the whole thing like you're there.

[See that's what makes it scary. Fortunately with a light on it can't be that bad, right?] You gotta put puzzles together to make some of this shit work, like to get doors open. And the're these ugly motherfuckers just lurkin' around waiting to jump your ass.

[We're walking and walking and walking and walking and--Grooooooooaaaaaaaan.] Oh shit oh shit what the fuck. [How come the water's splashing but there's nothing there?! Freddy's not half-hiding behind Larry's shoulder or anything, a shoulder he might be clutching with his other hand.] Go go go go go go go!

[Oh, okay. Alright then. Here we go.] Why am I doing all of this? [Walking, walking. Creaking floor. Flickering lights. Okaaay. Walking.]

What the fuck was that? [The groaning sounds like a monster of some kind. Is it a zombie? Somebody dying?]

Shit. Okay. I'm goin'. Isn't there a button to run faster? [Larry's not looking away from the screen but it's impossible to ignore the clutch that may or may not be on him.]

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