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just-horrible-things · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 12 : What Could Go Wrong?

‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: Just Acting

Points of Failure [ First | Prev | Next ]

The windows are large, set in ornately molded frames. Stylised leaves and flowers of painted wood conceal the structural steel beneath. The panes themselves are shatterproof and bulletproof. Liv has seen thinner walls – albeit only in the kind of shitty prefabs that probably don't legally count as fit for human habitation.

Her reflection is a mess, makeup smeared dramatically across her face. Self-conscious for a rare moment, Liv wipes her cheeks with the backs of her wrists before shaking herself out of the distraction. Time’s wasting.

There's no key on the sill – she should be so lucky – but there are lockpicks built into the structure of her bodice. It's the work of a moment to tease them out of the fabric.

She's sailed cleanly through every one of Gil's "points of failure" so far, but this is another – and the first one after the deed is done, the first where she has little to no hope of deniability if she's caught.

Her fingers tremble on the picks, making the task more difficult than it should be.

No one, she reasoned, invests in the highest tech locks on windows that only open from the inside. Right?

Someone knocks at the outer door. The sound is muffled by the intervening door, but Liv still jumps nearly out of her skin. She drops a pick and has to hurriedly crouch to grab it from the thick plush carpet.

Once the first pin clicks, the rest follow soon after. The window is unsurprisingly heavy as she heaves it open. Night air rushes in, shockingly cold across damp, nearly-naked skin.

One more failure point cleared, but the next follows immediately – will anyone see her exit? The plan allows for being seen, so long as she isn’t seen and then caught.

There’s another knock behind her. A male voice inquires apologetically after Ma’am.

Liv presses her face to the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to exclude the light from the room. She can’t see anyone looking at the house – but she can’t see much in the dark.

She glances back.

Will they let themselves in, if their mistress doesn’t answer, or will they take her silence as a dismissal and go away?

Her nerve breaks.

She swings her legs over the sill, lowers herself – with trembling arms that almost refuse to bear her weight – and drops.

Air rushes past her for a vertiginous second. Then her feet hit the ground. Her legs fold, absorbing momentum, and she rolls. The jolt shocks through every bone in her body, but she’s fine.

The crushed petunias – or whatever these plants are she landed in – will be treated as evidence in the morning. That’s okay.

As she finds her feet, one ankle protests. It feels like it’s going to be unhappy with her for days – but it’s not broken. Sprained at worst, probably not even that. Liv brushes stray bits of plant matter from her clothes. There’s mud smeared up one leg, but it can’t be helped.

Her heart is pounding. Adrenaline takes the edge off her exhaustion, but it can only do so much for the ache of overworked muscles. She didn’t expect to dance for an hour or more before she made her escape.

Swallowing back the unhelpful impulse to run, she picks her way daintily out of the flowerbed and begins to tiptoe across the lawn, picking her bare feet up as if uncomfortable treading in the wet grass. Her disguise is much better armour than any mad dash for freedom could be.

But she’d rather not test it too hard. The pavillion is directly between Liv and the outer wall. Voices and laughter from that direction suggest that it’s just as busy as it was on her way in, so she avoids it.

Instead she follows the shadow of the house towards the koi ponds, then turns left to strike out across the fancy little geometric zone that Gil called the parterre.

She regrets her choice no more than ten steps onto the neatly raked gravel. It’s not like the mostly smooth-edged pebble gravel at her childhood home, across which she used to run carelessly despite the winces of the adults. This stuff’s a lot sharper, and discomfort soon turns to enough pain to see her veering right towards the much-more-tolerable-looking paved path that winds beneath the wisteria trellises.

Low orange lamps imitate candles, casting a soft and romantic light across the foliage. It would be a very pleasant place to walk, even though the trellises aren’t in flower, if not for Liv’s racing heart that beats so hard in her chest it almost hurts, as if she was running flat out – even though she is still walking daintily, playing the part of a worried pet trying to hurry without sacrificing elegance.

She turns a vine-wrapped corner, and almost walks bodily into Jude Barncroft.

“Oh,” she squeaks, imitating Smith’s startle. A hand flies to her lips, she flutters her fingers, then tries to reach for her hair – forgetting that it’s braided tightly tonight. “Liv Ramone,” Jude exclaims, “as I live and breathe.”

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#whumptober2022 #no.12 #what could go wrong?#oc #bbu #fic #pet whump #nsfwhump #implied noncon #death tw #(warnings are mostly for the story and situation)#(neither death nor noncon happen in this piece)#my writing #just acting #liv ramone #jude barncroft #blingalingaling #it's act three!#excited to get back to this after the break

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cavewretch · 5 months

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i've been shadowing portuguese since july lets test my skills by translating felps clips i have in my phone

felps: there's something (nonsense words? idk) BLINGALINGALING i'm going back I'M GONNA BE ATTACKED HERE PEOPLE i'm gonna get attacked here let's go im going wRONG i don't know ah cuz i can't see cuz the flashlight turned around . lets go lets go i'll look at this house i'll look at this place lets go i don't want to but ah inside here inside here ah the inside of the—

demon: i'm surprised to be seen

felps: ai no i'll go then . lets go ne? i'll go then! we'll see you later i'll come back i'll go i don't want to i don't need to be here understand ? (something he says fast and high pitched i can't figure out)

chat: shit

felps: shit ......... shit

demon: i am hungry

felps: what do you want

demon: can you give me something

felps: something

demon: something that smells good. smells of death.

felps: ah he wants the bird.

demon: do this for me.

felps: he wants the bird huh. lets go lets get some food for mr demon. thats it man. mr demon who lives inside the toilet. how incredible, how incredible. a game about feeding a demon who lives inside a toilet. lets go then

#the big wretched quiz of the year #<-trademark pending #felpsposting #felps

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