savetheearth | Entry #A-1: "A" [Text]

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Entry #A-1: "A" [Text]

[It's his first time posting to the network, and he doesn't realize it yet. Because he has taken out a clean sheet of paper, titled it a number that is almost as comforting as his birthdate as a working title, and has begun draft 18 of Chapter 9 of his detective novel's sequel.]

"But, Jonathan," she whispered, leaning close and hugging embracing him happily like she never wanted to let go. "I don't want you to leave. It's too dangerous. He didn't care about the danger, but he cared about Joann Sophie Florence Abigail Esmeralda Marie. "I love you," Marie said, sincerely like she meant it lovingly. "I

[At this point, the struggling unpublished mystery writer scribbles to vent some frustration.]

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"don't want to lose you." And she embraced him as well, pushing him back against the bed. "Stay with me." Was the last thing that he heard her whisper before a tissue with chloroform was pressed over his mouth and nose. "I will make you stay."

[Entertain her, distract her from all her trouble.]

[...well that's mildly alarming.

He's so startled that the point of his pencil breaks. This is exactly the type of thing his therapists would tell him to ignore.

Because words didn't just appear on paper. He must have written them... there was no other explanation.

He finds a pen, continuing where the ghostwriter left off.]

Johnathan woke up hours later, each limb tied securely secured to the mattress. He couldn't believe he'd been so trusting foolish. His eyes searched around for Marie He looked for Marie, eyes glancing furtively around the room, at all the dark corners. She could have been anywhere... and so could the man she was working for.

[His literal ghostwriter is surprised for a moment, she didn't expect this to not have a... different reaction.

But this is fun. Let her see where she can push this... though it would be helpful to have a few more details about those characters to play with them. Not that there doesn't seem to be all the leeway considering how the mystery author couldn't even decide on a name for the character.]

And he was right. Cursing internally, he went still as someone sat down on the mattress. That must be him, the mattress was dipping too low for her light, graceful figure...

But when he turned to look at her, his blood froze. This was his ~~aunt~~ twin brother. "You are dead!" He had died four years ago in a cruel accident, how could he be here?!

[A plot twist a alteration or something... she should probably slow down, but throwing him curve balls is too much fun and she really expects him to stop just continuing to write any moment, so she will have to do what she can.]

Oh, Bertholdt is going to love this.

[he has a document open in which he was copying out notes so when he sees the writing on the network - and reads the poor novel in works - Shou just switches over, using his stylus like he would a pen. to the trained eye, it looks like someone use to writing in a language other than English.]

"I love you but I cannot live with you."

He felt the prick of the needle as it was jabbed into his arm. He pulled away and she smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

"Don't worry, it will all be over soon."

[The only predictable thing about L's reactions is how horribly unpredictable they are. Maybe it's sad, but it's wholly believable to him, seemingly, that he's either hallucinating these responses or that he's swiftly forgetting that he wrote them at all.

Even so, it doesn't feel like something he'd write. He tended to change his mind about word choices mid-sentence, quite a lot, but a departure from aunt to "twin brother" was somewhat extreme. And he knew he hadn't written Jonathan with a twin brother in the prequel.

So he adds his own plot twist. If this is a cruel trick of his own brain, a punishment for being off his meds, perhaps, he'll just end it here.]

It was at that point that Jonathan spontaneously combusted.

Edited 2013-11-21 23:08 (UTC)

[He is starting to get legitimately freaked out by his paper talking to him. Ignoring it isn't an option, as much as he wishes it could be.]

What is this?

[His heart leaps in his throat as a possibility occurs to him. Maybe this is terrifically advanced technology, beyond his understanding. They've been spying on him, he's half-convinced, and if they're finally going to offer him a job, he can't behave like he's surprised.]

...CIA?

[well.]

And, setting the bed and then the house on fire, he took all its secrets with him. [and, for added pretentiousness] And the skies wept, but they only could cool down the ashes.

[ Oh. Ellie pauses midway through grabbing the link to the newbie FAQ. Because is this person for real. ]

Do the CIA often contact you via sheets of paper?

Or at all?

[This went from weird to really, really upsetting. Much faster than he thought it could.

He draws a long, thick line, separating the languishing story from the other things he wants to say.]

How is this possible? If you're trying to screw with me, I applaud your method, but if I need to call the doctor now, it might be good to know.

Never. But were they to contact me, I would only expect the manner to be both unexpected and extraordinary.

Who are you, and how are you even seeing this?

Ever heard of ghostwriters?

You have a point. Even if I think "talking sheet of paper" is a little whimsical for the CIA's taste.
You may want to read the FAQ.

I wouldn't call a doctor unless you really want to get thrown into a mental ward - not that it would stop any of this. Sorry about messing with you but I couldn't help it.

Welcome to the Secret Numbers Club. You are here because of a string of numbers you can't stop thinking about had finally been written down either on a sheet of paper or on the computer. No, we don't know how it works, but we do know that once you're in the club, the only ways to get out of it include death, leaving the city forever, or forgetting the numbers.

<That isn't funny. If that's true, and I'm not saying I believe you, is there any way to prove that it's not a hallucination? Could someone else read this paper, for instance?

Hey, a mental ward would be nice compared what we think is happening to the numbered that get caught.

Only a Numbered can see stuff on this network. However, if you want, you can also put your number into any search engine and open up the whole network. You can also call your number, write it on a bathroom mirror, heck even tap it out like our pony does.

[He's skeptical. But he devours the FAQ, nevertheless, and he hardly feels better once he's done reading.

It sounds implausible, even insane.

It also makes more sense than a lot of what's happened to the young man in years.]

How long has this been going on? Since April 1, no earlier?

Just have him say "I love you too!" It's not that hard.

[eh, what the hell. she's bored. so here we are. in spidery handwriting in red pen, after an arrow appears pointing to the constant strikes on the lady's name--]

Decide working names for your main cast before starting a draft.

Apparently so. I wasn't around then. I can't imagine the timing made the situation any more plausible.

Yes, that makes a lot of sense. No one was supposed to see this yet.

I know how the process goes.

[... hm. it is November, isn't it.]

NaNo?

I write every day. It is virtually all I do. A month focused around the activity is not really a novel concept to me.

[See what he did there.]

If I have, it's no guarantee that I'll believe you are one.

[He actually might.]

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Entry #A-1: "A" [Text]

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