Places to Chat
The Disorienting Express
Chatterbox: Pudding's Place
The Disorienting Express
The Disorienting Express – The Return of RMS Tiny
You drink the last dregs of your tea, and then hand the teacup back to the fortuneteller. Her head bobs, and her frizzy red hair shakes as she examines the tea leaves. Suddenly, she gasps, and the cup drops from her fingers and SMASH!, breaks against the floor. "My best antique teacup! No! This is a calamity!"
You look at her, confused. "What did you see in my future that was so shocking?"
Her lips shook. "An invitation. An exclusive invitation, to any Cber who happens to recieve it, from The Ominous, that strange, hoodied captain of the RMS Tiny and the RMS Humbug, whose past adventures with CBers were chronicled here: http://www.cricketmagkids.com/chatterbox/inkwell/node/145605 "
"What's so shocking about that?"
"Well, I've heard of the RMS Tiny, and the story I heard had THE END at the end of it, so I thought that was the end of it all. Not to mention that sequels are often never as good as the original, and the story ended with The Ominous trying to dig the RMS Tiny out of the middle of a desert! Now that's what I call writing yourself into a corner!"
"Hmm. Perhaps they had a sledgehammer on them, and they escaped through the fourth wall."
The fortuneteller frowns for a moment, and then nods. "I suppose that's possible. Do you want to hear what the invitation will be?"
"Yes please."
"The adventure of a lifetime! Boundless fun! An express ride to anti-polar regions, aboard a ship aboard a train, surrounded by the most colourful of characters! You are hereby invited to the first railway passage from the Sahara to a handy mountain range (the location of which we cannot divulge at this time), and you'll have lots of fun!"
* * *
You leave the fortuneteller's tent, and go home. On your doorstep is a large package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with red and white striped string with purple fuzzy bits. You rip open the paper, and a puff of dark brown powder explodes in your face, permeating the air with a chocolatey flavour. Your eyes sting with the bitterness of the pure cocoa.
We would like to take a moment to thank our sponsors, the makers of pure, high-octane cocoa, made from fresh nyad springs on the plains of Latteland. Their only purpose in life is to make your day better – wait, nevermind, sorry, actually their only purpose in life is to make some money. And find enlightenment.
By your feet there is now a pile of cocoa powder, and in the middle of it lies a letter. You pick up, open it, and read the letter:
Dear CBer, the ticket enclosed in this letter will grant you passage aboard the last 13 coaches of the Disorienting Express, the train that will carry my dear ship, the RMS Tiny, on my journey to repair her. It is my wish that you would come along with me, as I believe CBers like adventures, and adventure seems to follow me everywhere. I give you my word, as a slightly shady individual who likes to lurk in alleyways waiting for my morning coffee to be delivered by vampire bat, that I will not let any of you murder each other, and the most dubious and sinister people of my acquaintance are not invited. Should they arrive, I'm sure your abilities of deducton will be able to be well used in apprehending them, as doubtless they will leave clues to their actions. Of course, if you accuse someone who is innocent, the actual murderer will likely choose you as their next target.
Anyways, here's some more words to convince you to come, thanks to my advertising agents, the Fortunetellers of Aura Alley: The adventure of a lifetime! Boundless fun! An express ride to anti-polar regions, aboard a ship aboard a train, surrounded by the most colourful of characters! You are hereby invited to the first railway passage from the Sahara to a handy mountain range (the location of which we cannot divulge at this time), and you'll have lots of fun!
- The Ominous
A NOTE: This is a murder mystery inspired by T.O.N's Ski Lodge and its various spin-offs, and it's sort of a continuation of the story of The Ominous and RMS Tiny detailed in the link above. However, for this we've changed some things about how it works so it's a bit more game-like, inspired (of course) by Clue.
A roll of the Die of Doom will determine how many people are killed each day, and their names will be drawn from Pandora's Fedora. The first death will occur on the third day.
All of you are innocent (at least as innocent as you can be, being yourselves), and you need to work together to discover which of the non-CBer characters aboard the Disorienting Express is the murderer.
Starting on the third day, there will be a few codes (think morse, first-letter codes, Sebald code, number codes) hidden (or not-so-hidden) in each day. The first person to find and decode each code will be granted, according to the Die of Doom, either immunity from death the next day or a clue in the form of a story snippet. Obviously, clues are given to everyone, while immunity is person-specific.
If you think you know who the murderer is, post your guess and tell us that it's an in-story accusation (we really want your input/interaction, so don't worry about us mistaking suspicious musings for in-story accusations, we'll double-check with you before making story-you accuse anyone). In the next day, the results of your confronting and accusing your suspect will occur. A Warning: Accusations of innocents will make the murder worry about your suspicions, and you will likely die (immunity will not necessarily help you here). However, accussations of innocents are still helpful because you now know the one you accused is innocent. Also, ghosts can totally help the other CBers guess and point out clues or codes they spot – and if they get immunity by spotting things, they can give it to someone who's alive.
The Disorienting Express starts its journey on January 20th. Sign up with a quote that you could be heard saying, and your packing list if you so wish. Any latecomers will be forced to walk.
Any complaints should be directed to The Ominous's editor and secretary, who will direct the complaints to John F.Q. and Pied Piper, along with all the other rubbish they send them.
* * *
You sneeze cocoa powder from your nose, and wonder if it's wise to trust this Ominous person. Will you accept the invitation? And if you do, how will you find this train? You wonder, and then a question mark falls on your head.
Then a comma hits the sidewalk, and you look up at the sudden rain of punctuation. A bracket and a quotation mark land in the cocoa powder, sending up a huge cloud of powder that seems tinted green in the sudden strange light. And then the King and Queen of punctuation, the interrobang & the ampersand arrive‽
Resplendent in their inky black armour and spiky crowns of accent marks, their presence announced by exclamation marks blaring trumpets, they walk towards you. The King waves, his infinity-sign moustache looking glorious. The Queen holds up her sceptre, mounted with a shining asterisk. They stop before you, and the King clears his throat.
A moment of silence.
The King coughs again, pointedly, and then two small tuxedo-wearing, upwards-pointing arrows run forward. The Shift keys. They carry a large suitcase that is a beautiful shining black - but not a boring black, this is the kind of black that galaxies are born in, the colour of a raven's feather, or of letterpress ink, holding all the possibilities of every written word. The King and Queen lift it from the hands of the Shift keys, which cling to it for a moment before dropping to the ground with small squeaks of dismay.
"Without hesitation, deprivation, aggravation, or mortification, we present you with this gift. Use it well." They pass the suitcase to you, and you stare at it for a moment. A hush falls over – or rather, into – the crowd (Aaaaah! THUMP! "sorry, sorry, shhh.")
With trembling hands, you lift the lid, and inside lies . . . your favourite pair of socks, folded perfectly. Beneath it a bunch of your other clothes are packed, and all sorts of travelling supplies.
"Oh yes – and I made you a nice warm drink." The King passes you a large thermos, and then blows his nose into his handkerchief. "We'll miss you, dear!"
The Queen pats your shoulder. "You're ready now, off you go. Goodbye, good luck, and have fun!"
submitted by The Ominous, age unknown, stranded in the desert
(January 6, 2018 - 6:28 pm)
(January 6, 2018 - 6:28 pm)
Toppish! Top-teen! Toppity!
(July 10, 2018 - 12:11 pm)
Top! Hazel says "uhph". Uh...
(July 17, 2018 - 11:32 am)
Top!
(July 19, 2018 - 10:06 am)
Top!
(July 19, 2018 - 6:49 pm)
Top
(July 28, 2018 - 9:27 am)
Chinchilla, would you ask the Ominous what they're doing?
(July 30, 2018 - 9:49 am)
Of course! Anything for a CBer. (Except maybe jumping off a cliff)
I think they may have forgotten about it. When they come back I'll remind them. Since things have stopped happening and they have some time (I think? Wait when does school start) before school starts, hopefully I will force them to post more. Or, uh, ask them politely with a sharp knife.
Whichever works, right?
Or just ask them to post soon!
(August 1, 2018 - 5:50 pm)
Why thank you, those were my thoughts exactly.
(August 3, 2018 - 12:25 pm)
op
(August 11, 2018 - 2:45 pm)
Hey, sorry for the wait, one half of us was abducted by aliens of the 'Summer Math Course' species, and the other suddenly had a job... Still, it's no excuse for the fact that we completely forgot to check up on the thread and let you know what was up. Sorry again. At any rate, we have a minisode here for you now, and Leafpool, for decoding the code of Day 3, you win . . . *rolls Die of Doom* . . . a story snippet! We'll post it in the next couple of days!
Minisode 3 – In Which The Ominous’ Small Publishing Staff Attempt To Proceed To Phase Two Of Their Plan
Gandalf groaned and tried to readjust his hat without crushing it in the small space.
The Editor sighed. “Well, here we are, yet again trapped in a closet-like place, hiding from the management. At least this time we can sit on this powdered stuff, it’s like being at the beach.”
In the dark, the Editor could just make out the face of the Secretary glaring at her, and she amended, “Well, I mean, it’s somewhat like being at the beach. Minus the sun and water and tourists and icecream, and with the addition of cramped spaces and the terrifying thought of continued low wages if Gandalf’s ridiculous plan doesn’t work. But still, it’s not all that bad.”
“It is all that bad!” said the Secretary, “When I signed up for this job, I didn’t expect this! First hiding in cupboards while officious legal persons rampaged outside, then all the manuscripts and communication with the Ominous ceased – along with our pay, I might add – and then there was that awful ride in the mail delivery crate, and then the awful business with the guinea pigs, and all of that on top of Gandalf’s disguises. I mean, who wears a fake beard when they’ve already got one!”
At that, Gandalf pulled off his beard. The Editor and the Secretary gasped. “Humph. You fools! I’ve got another beard under this one, I was merely finishing removing my disguise. Do you think that I really wanted to be a janitor? Humph. Why, I could have gone into the skyscraper business like Saruman, but for my moral standing that small people, and therefore small buildings, are capable of the biggest things. Why, I could even have become a masseuse like Obi-Wan, but you can’t arrive late to your own business, and my tendency to whisper hoarsely at people somehow made them think that I couldn’t cure them of the common cold. And of course, none of my friends from Wise Old Men(tors) Collegiate want to end up like poor Vitruvius, selling candy and designing motivational posters...” He paused for a moment to contemplate this horrific fate, and then brightened up. “And so that, my dear Bilbo, is why I decided to become a janitor for The Ominous.”
The Editor sighed. “We’re not Bilbo, Gandalf. But you have to admit, it’s all very strange. How do we really know who we’re working for when we’ve never even met him? Why, we could be working for the same secret organization that Aldo was working for when he was a waiter in the Alps!”
“Trust me, you’d know. We’d see their sigil or logo or initials spammed everywhere. Why, I remember when Sauron was outfitting the orcs, he wanted to put his eye symbol on everything from their helmets to their socks – dirty socks those were, you’d think that by the third age of man they’d have figured out how to clean their socks, but anyways – but he scrapped that idea when Saruman beat him to it by putting the white hand right on the Uruk-hai’s faces! You should have seen the angry letters!”
“Gandalf! Were you reading private mail? Isn’t that illegal?” The Secretary gasped.
“He was the enemy! All’s fair in love and war. Besides, it wasn’t my idea, Elrond oversaw the whole thing. But it didn’t make him any happier, unfortunately. Why, that man’s frown could peel paint… Trust me, I often used it when Bag End needed redecorating. I’d just call, ‘Hey Elly, take a look at that wall would you? The wallpaper’s stuck.’ And he’d frown at me and say ‘That is very out of character, Wizard. Never before has the language of plain English been spoken to me’ but the wallpaper would come off! Ah, those were the days...”
The Editor pulled a stopwatch out of her pocket and looked at it. “Alright, you’ve reached your rambling limit for the day. Please shut up until we can move to Stage Two of the plan and get out of here. Judging by the few cracks of light coming through the lid above us, there’s nothing on top of us, so we should be able to get out easily.”
The Secretary wrung her hands. “Uh, you do remember that someone came by and locked us in a little while ago, right?”
The Editor frowned. “Hmm… Aha! Gandalf! Use your mop to magic us out of here!”
“It’s not a mop, it’s a staff! It only looks like a mop. Why, I remember the days when...”
The Secretary plugged her ears. “No! Nope! Nu-uh! No remembering, you’ve reached your rambling limit, remember?”
“Gandalf, why are you stalling?” asked the Editor.
“Ah, erm, hmph, well… A wizard never loses his staff, he merely misplaces it precisely where he means to.”
“You WHAT?”
Many meme-ologists have attempted to capture the Editor’s face at this point, but unfortunately no attempt has ever been able to completely capture the many subtleties of the Editor’s sheer frustration in that moment.
END OF MINISODE 3
(August 14, 2018 - 5:01 pm)
Yaayyy! XD This is great!
(August 15, 2018 - 10:06 am)
Gandalf has me convinced. He definitely didn't lose that staff.
I'm also very amused by the No-Gore Teleporters. Does this mean there are Some-Gore Teleporters as well?
(August 15, 2018 - 2:34 pm)
Or Quite-A-Lot-Of-Gore Teleporters?
(August 16, 2018 - 3:25 pm)
*makes a face*
Well, Hazel says diev. Either die or dive. Maybe both. That would probably provide some gore.
(August 17, 2018 - 12:15 pm)
Hey guys, one half of us is going to be away with no internet access for the next two weeks, so we won't be able to post Day 4 until the first week of September. Do not fear, we will prevail in the end! In the meantime, here's Leafpool's story snippet clue-ish thing, a meagre morsel to tide you over. Make of it what you will...
Footage Caught on Security Cam Penguin9. Time: 0300
It was cold, and it was dark. But that wasn't unusual for that place and time. The man with the jewels in his teeth pulled his coat closer around him. “I hear you're looking for someone to bring you more Aztec gold.”
The mittened individual next to him smiled. “I'm just a humble, and exceedingly legal barista, strictly coffee, nothing sweeter.”
The jewel-toothed man lit a cigar. “Well then, I'll just be going.”
The barista winked at him “But if I were, well, you'd want to read this.” He passed a scrap of paper to Jewel-tooth, who took it and glanced at what was written on it:
50 ostrich eggs for 30 cases
Jewel-tooth smirked and shook his head. “90 for 35.”
The barista widened his eyes. “That's ridiculous. 80 for 40, and I'll throw in a penguin to boot.”
Jewel-tooth smiled. “It's a deal. But you can keep the penguin, I've heard about them.”
The barista nodded, and the two shook hands. “It's a deal. But nobody gets hurt, okay? I don't want that on my conscience.”
Jewel-tooth nodded. “I'm strictly a business man, I don't deal in that kind of thing." Then he turned, and stared directly at the camera, frowning. "Is that a penguin standing in the corner?"
The barista looked aghast. "Ah, no, of course not! If it were real, you'd be dead by now. You must be seeing things!"
Jewel-tooth raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that penguin, then. A deal's a deal."
End Footage
(August 19, 2018 - 8:09 am)