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Paranoia Creepin’ Over Me
by Guest Sat Mar 21, 2009 3:48 am
As soon as Mr. Tanner dropped Antoinette off at her apartments, she and Zero headed through the door like two on a very serious mission. She slammed her bags down and stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the entire room, 360º around her.
“If you’re watching me and listening to me right now… FUCK YOU QUINTON!!!!!!!!!!!”
She shot her middle finger up; posing for effect in several different angles where she imagined the tiny little cameras might be hidden. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, tightened her pigtails, and got down to the business of hunting spy equipment. With over 10,000 square feet of living space, this was going to take all night. Or, what night there was left.
She ran her hands under tables, under lamps, behind bookshelves, inside cabinets, around in closets, behind flat screens and computers and headboards and artwork. Around chairs, under ottomans, behind couches and books and DVDS and behind garment bag after garment bag after garment bag. For hours. She was exhausted.
But she couldn’t find anything.
Just as she was about to give up, Zero thoughtfully pointed out she hadn’t checked down here at his level. Which reminded her she hadn’t checked up high either. So for another two hours she searched every square inch of cabinets and floorboards and table legs, at “Zero” level, looking for anything suspect. And then up the ladder to search for microphones or tiny cameras mounted to ceiling fans, curtain rods, shelves and recessed lighting.
By the time dawn was upon her, she was filthy and ragged. Tearing apart wall sockets and light fixtures, undoing the tanks on the toilets, crawling up and removing the filters on the air vents… Finally Zero asked her to stop because she was scaring him. Antoinette smiled weakly and gave him a little rub. She was scaring herself.
After all that had happened today: the police report, the meeting with the Seneschal, the announcement of the blood hunt, the crazy concert that ended with the ghouled plant staking all the band members, the huge fire burning them and the club, and then the stressful argument she had gotten into with Baron Quinton, she was ready to be comatose. She half crawled to her bed, only to realize that ALL the clothing she’d dumped there nearly a week ago, was stacked 3 feet high on her bed.
With not one ounce of energy left to put the items away, she dug herself and her dog a little nest in the clothing and curled up with him.
Things had to start getting better.
“If you’re watching me and listening to me right now… FUCK YOU QUINTON!!!!!!!!!!!”
She shot her middle finger up; posing for effect in several different angles where she imagined the tiny little cameras might be hidden. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, tightened her pigtails, and got down to the business of hunting spy equipment. With over 10,000 square feet of living space, this was going to take all night. Or, what night there was left.
She ran her hands under tables, under lamps, behind bookshelves, inside cabinets, around in closets, behind flat screens and computers and headboards and artwork. Around chairs, under ottomans, behind couches and books and DVDS and behind garment bag after garment bag after garment bag. For hours. She was exhausted.
But she couldn’t find anything.
Just as she was about to give up, Zero thoughtfully pointed out she hadn’t checked down here at his level. Which reminded her she hadn’t checked up high either. So for another two hours she searched every square inch of cabinets and floorboards and table legs, at “Zero” level, looking for anything suspect. And then up the ladder to search for microphones or tiny cameras mounted to ceiling fans, curtain rods, shelves and recessed lighting.
By the time dawn was upon her, she was filthy and ragged. Tearing apart wall sockets and light fixtures, undoing the tanks on the toilets, crawling up and removing the filters on the air vents… Finally Zero asked her to stop because she was scaring him. Antoinette smiled weakly and gave him a little rub. She was scaring herself.
After all that had happened today: the police report, the meeting with the Seneschal, the announcement of the blood hunt, the crazy concert that ended with the ghouled plant staking all the band members, the huge fire burning them and the club, and then the stressful argument she had gotten into with Baron Quinton, she was ready to be comatose. She half crawled to her bed, only to realize that ALL the clothing she’d dumped there nearly a week ago, was stacked 3 feet high on her bed.
With not one ounce of energy left to put the items away, she dug herself and her dog a little nest in the clothing and curled up with him.
Things had to start getting better.
Guest- Guest
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