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Interlude One
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Wherein Jack takes a moment to reflect and critiques interior design gone amok
Jack tried to relax in the uncomfortable, tipped back chair as he worked his hand trying to find a weak spot on the restraints around his wrists. He’d been in tighter spots before though never in a more unusual one.
He’d been at the office late, nothing unusual about that, when Marshall Flinkman had rushed into his office stumbling over his words and waving his hands wildly about, again nothing unusual. His interest had been piqued when he made out the word ‘mirror’ from the man’s rambling, he knew the tech was running a few more tests on the mirror Sydney had claimed to have traveled through. Following the nervous man back to his office he had grimly studied the scene before him.
The mirror had been propped up against a worktable and had bright, blue and white lights flashing from it. Instead of his reflection staring back at him there was a darkened forest enclosed within the mirror frame.
Privately he admitted that what happened next was his own fault for not paying attention. He’d been studying the mirror and recalling everything Sydney had told him, though he suspected there was a good deal she had left out, and he had temporarily forgotten about Marshall behind him. The next thing he knew there had been a sudden pressure on his back and he tumbled forward, into the mirror.
Marshall had stumbled into the mirror behind him, but at least he’d been quick enough to roll out of the other man’s way. They’d immediately been accosted by a band of what he hesitatingly called from Sydney’s description, trolls. His gun had had little effect and the two of them had been quickly subdued. As they trussed him up he had noticed no odd rippling visual phenomenon, such as Sydney had described, that would allow them to return.
A long uncomfortable cart ride later and here they were, in a rather crude and ineffective torture room. It was also badly decorated with animal skin throws and bright, bold colours, but perhaps that was part of their torture technique for he was getting quite tired of the affront to his vision. He had scoffed at their amateurish attempts at intimidation, especially since they mostly talked and had yet to really ‘torture’ them. Marshall however had been sufficiently cowed and had begun babbling right away. As most of what he said was techno-talk the trolls hadn’t known what he was talking about, though they quickly assumed that the both of them were ‘warlocks’. After that declaration they had left and had yet to return.
Deciding to rest for a minute he stopped working on the restraints and checked on Marshall. The other man was still staring about with wide, glazed eyes.
“Marshall.” No response. “Mr. Flinkman.” Marshall finally looked over at him.
“Sorry Mr. Bristow, sir. This is all my fault isn’t it, it
is. I don’t know...”
He hurried to cut him off before he began rambling, “No time for blame now. We need to concentrate on getting out and I’m sure Sydney is on her way as we speak.”
That seemed to mollify the younger man, for now. He went back to work on his restraints.
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