Hello my audience. I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to produce. I have really no excuse except that I couldn't seem to drag myself to the computer and get this chapter finished. I would like comments about the new outfit. A note, this outfit is supposed to be a transition outfit. Thanks! Enjoy!
The light disappeared suddenly from Alistair’s vision as he made his dramatic entrance into Grimm’s world. The immersion hit his senses all at once. The soft breeze in the forest caressed him tenderly as it passed over his face. The tangy smell of star berries coupled with the strangely fruity smell of the borogrove trees created a sweet duet for his nose. The uncomfortable scratchy feeling of the coarse shirt and pants brushed against his skin. The strangely twisted borogrove trees and the bloody carcass of the satyr demon flooded into his view. Everything seemed to be exactly as he remembered. However, there was one huge discrepancy that intrigued Alistair. To his ring finger on his left hand was a red string. Alistair eyes followed the string. It led into a sack in one of the borogrove trees’ loops and then continued on into the dismal darkness.
‘WELL… that’s not suspicious at all…’ thought Alistair sarcastically as he followed the red, fateful string.
Briskly, without letting the stench of blood bother him, he walked over to the sack and held it in his hand. He opened the sack and maintained an impassive expression as he gazed in. Alistair reached in and pulled out a spool of red string, then he took off the red string that was around his ring finger and spooled it. Then he tossed the sack to the side and walked, following the red string. As the sack hit the ground, it opened partially to reveal the blank, dead eyes of the black swordsman, connected to his head severed only by strings of pink nerves. Inside it mouth, frozen in a scream, were traces of red string. A shadowy figure stepped out from behind a borogrove and watched as Alistair disappeared into the forest. It puffed out blue smoke out of the pipe in its dangerously grinning mouth.
Alistair walked along, curious about where in the world the string would lead him. As he walked, the trees began to get brighter, illuminating the string. However, dotted throughout the bright forests were completely black borogrove trees that seemed to absorb light. Alistair walked on as the shadowy figure followed closely behind, leaving puffs of blue smoke at every light absorbing tree it hid behind.
Alistair’s progress was slower than one might expect. Unfortunately, at regular intervals, the red string was wound in the twisted loop of the borogrove trees. At every stop, Alistair had to reach into the tree and unwind it. He followed the string, noting the smell of smoke in the air every time he passed a dark borogrove. He used the smell of smoke as an indicator he was going in the right direction. Smoke dissipates relatively quickly, so he knew he was following someone’s trail when he found isolated pockets of the smoke scent. The thing he found odd about the smoke scent that the scent of blueberries. He actually liked the scent of the blueberries. Combined with the fruity smell of the borogroves and the tangy scent of the star berries, the blueberries played a symphony of fragrances for his nose. The smoke somewhat put a damper on the olfactory music, but that didn’t perturb him.
What puzzled him was the faint music that grew ever louder as he followed the red string. As he walked on, his musically trained ears started to distinguish the particular instruments. It sounded like a band, consisting of trombones, trumpets, violins, and for some reason a cello. Alistair was intrigued by the sound. Why in the world would a band be playing in the middle of the forest, especially in a forest with the Mimsy. Alistair heard a rustling above his head and looked up quickly. He examined the apparently empty canopy, and shook his head. Continuing on, he wondered what had made the rustling sound. He reached the next tree, and began to unwind it when he realized something. The red string was wrapped back around his ring finger.
Unraveling the string from the borogrove, Alistair looked puzzled at the string around his ring finger.
‘I could have sworn I took that off.’ He grasped the end of the string and started to untie it. However, after a few attempts, he realized something quite quickly. It was a Gordian Knot, the fabled undoable knot in the legends of Alexander the Great. The legend went that there was a certain knot in the Phyrgia, an ancient city in Greece. The prophecy was that whoever untied it would be destined to become the king of Asia, which was considered the world at that time period. Many tried, but all failed, and it became known as the undoable knot. Alexander the Great, unable to untie the knot, simply sliced it with a sword. The undoable knot.
‘How the heck? Why is that the---“ His thought was cut short as the string pulled taught and pulled him along through the trees. Alistair stumbled at first, but then began running to keep up with the rapidly receding string. He didn’t want the string to snap, as it was his only lead.
He ran and ran, ever running, as the thread lead him along through the forest. Dodging trees, jumping over the occasional rock, hitting trees, and tripping over the occasional rock, kept running. The band that he had heard in the distance increased in volume.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
‘Getting closer…’ as he ran along faster. As he ran, the sound of the band grew louder and it was joined by a new sound. An indistinct murmur. It grew, and grew as he ran until the indistinct murmur grew into a dull roar. The indistinct talking of mass numbers of people. It was a very distinct sound. The high, annoyingly shrill laughter of women, spaced at regular intervals like automatons. The hearty, but empty chuckles from the men were prominent in the air. The string finally went slack after he burst past the trees into a large clearing.
He had stumbled right into a tea party. Everywhere he looked, there were people in suits, or slinky dresses. They stood in groups of five, each conversation contributing to the whole of the roar of the party. Alistair sighed and a smile grew under his mask.
This was his element, surrounded by people that would not physically try to kill him. Here he could talk, utilize all his real world skills of resistance to manipulation and counter manipulation. However, his smile quickly faded when he realized something was extremely wrong. Not a single person had made a move since Alistair had arrived. Not a single expansion of the diaphragm, which would indicate breathing. Not a single hand had moved, which was unnatural because hand gestures were a large part of conversation. Not a single stance shifted, or sign of body language expressed.
It was unnatural how everything was so still, as if everything was frozen in one cold… dead moment. Alistair felt a small tug on his ring finger, reminding him of the red string. He looked back upon the unnaturally still party and reluctantly walked forward.
As he continued following the string, he realized a very disturbing thing. The first became blatantly obvious when he actually started walking through the people, or should I say mannequins. Every single one was a realistic mannequin, positioned in various, life like positions. Every. Single. One. The degree of realism for the mannequins’ faces was absolutely startling. The lips were full and the cheeks were flush with life. The eyes, however, were devoid of life. Devoid of that spark, that light that is evidence of the beautiful thing that God gave. Their heads were connected to the body by a large ball that would allow the head to tilt and swivel.
Another discrepancy that Alistair noted about the mannequins is their hands. They were modeled after an adjustable mannequin hand. The fingers were noticeably segmented and thus easily distinguishable from human hands. He walked through the scarily realistic mannequins, always following the string.
He reached the center of the party and finally found where the illusive string led. In the very middle of the party, was a very large, round table made out of a blue mushroom. At the middle of the table was a metallic structure that held plates which displayed scrumptious looking pastries. Along with the intricate pastry rack sat a giant phonograph, from which all the indistinct conversation, party noise, and band music originated. Along with the pastry rack, there was a little flip up sign that read “Mad Hatter Candidacy Meeting” in curly cursive letters. Placed at around the table were four absurdly large tea cups, each would contain maybe 2 cups. At each of these tea spots was a chair occupied by a mannequin. None of the mannequins had a face unlike all the other “party attendees.” Three of the mannequins no longer had clothes on, and the only one that did was connected to Alistair by the red string.
Alistair, extremely curious walked slowly to examine the mannequin. It was wearing decently nice black pants accompanied by matching suspenders. It was wearing a deep red, button up, collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway. The most distinctive article of clothing it was wearing was a sleek black bowler hat.
When Alistair came up to well dressed mannequin, he noticed another flip up sign resting in its lap.
It read “Get dressed quickly.”
Alistair wanted to escape from the party as quickly as possible, so he reached out and grabbed the shirt first and began to get changed. He felt vaguely disturbed to be undressing in a party composed only of mannequins.
A happy surprise for him was the clothes were incredibly comfortable. The pants, though seemingly formal and restrictive, were structured in such a way that allowed high mobility in the hips, knees, and the thighs. The black shoes accompanied by the oddly striped socks were reeeeaaaaalllly comfortable. The shirt was soft as well and the bowler hat fit nicely upon his head. He was generally content with the outfit.
He was straightening his shirt out when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Let the TEA PARTY BEGIN” whispered the voice.
Alistair whipped his head around in time to see the coat tails receding into the crowd. That was when every mannequin turned their head in unison and gazed at Alistair with those soulless eyes.