my stress - wbci {clue}

[charade]

—

In all honesty, the den wasn’t that much different from the office. Boring, ornate furniture that probably cost more than any of them could make in a week, paintings depicting a variety of subjects and shelves full of books. There was a good possibility that they could find some more information here.

Not that his companions had been particularly helpful thus far.

Then there was the matter of the papers he’d found. He’d told no one but Whitney and Coralie, unsure of whether anyone else could be trusted. He wasn’t even sure that it had been a good idea to do so. But it would have been rather hard to hide what he found from the people standing a few feet away. He’d need to get together with Fiora, certainly. As well as Adrien. Beyond that though, he was going to play his cards close to his chest.

Something was bothering him though, ever since the blackout. He turned and counted. One two, three. Ah. That was it. Blaine wasn’t trailing after their little group anymore. Whatever. It wasn’t as though he’d been contributing much. Still, it was a cause for concern. Was the jock up to something? “I suppose Blaine has tired of our company,” he said, addressing the two girls. “Rude of him to wander off without a word.”

Indigo moved over to the paintings and wondered if there was anything behind them. He was just about to take one off the wall when there was a small thump. He spun around to ask the two girls what they had knocked over when he realized something worrisome.

Whitney was gone.

"Whitney?"

Indigo rubbed his face. Great, now it was just him and Coralie. How was he supposed to solve this mystery with someone of her ilk? At least Whitney had helped him search the office. He stared at the door blankly, wondering if Whitney had stepped outside, but unwilling to check. For God’s sake there was a killer in the house! Why were people insisting on going off alone? He should have spoken up when they were splitting up. Fiora and Adrien wouldn’t have done anything that stupid. Something cold clutched at his chest, and he realized he was actually worried about Whitney’s well-being.

Coralie on the other hand…

She had a look of permanent boredom on her face. Was she the type to get tired of her high class toys? All the presents he was certain she would get from uptown boys. He doubted it. She seemed like the type that expected her every whim to be fulfilled, exactly when she wanted it to be.

If Amrin was an ice sculpture in whom cracks had been appearing and Poppy a raging fire who swept the unwary into her blaze, then Coralie was a tornado. Stormy, lofty, airy, willing and capable of shooting lightning bolts at the peasants that dared lift their eyes to behold her. Indigo wondered briefly what exactly it was about strong personalities he found attractive. Then he wondered why he was entertaining such a thought.

Fear and adrenaline, most likely. He knew he was probably going to regret this, but there was no way that he was going to go wander off alone to find where Blaine and Whitney went, and he doubted Coralie cared enough to look for them. Which meant it was time to establish a rapport with someone new and see where it went. “I can’t believe they’ve gone and left us alone,” he muttered, walking over to Coralie.

“So, breakfast,” he began, sliding up to her. “I’ve uh, been learning to cook while we’ve been here. Very palatable things. Things someone as – (Delicate? Picky? What word could he use that wouldn’t insult her?) discerning as you might even enjoy. Once this mess gets resolved I could see about making trifle? Quiche? Perhaps a crepe or two? I think I saw some berries in the fridge. I doubt the help is going to be much help, so that leaves me. So hard to find good help these days, isn’t it?” He laughed nervously. “Well, the two of us might not have interacted much, but there’s no time like the present! I can keep looking for clues and you can stand there and look…pretty.” He trailed off, feeling as though he were beginning to babble. She wasn’t as disarming as Poppy, nor as frigid as Amrin, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze.

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

—

When Indigo tells her and the others the things that he has learned, the things that he has found, it makes Whitney feel sick.

She can't help but remember every time that she felt that she was terrible, and worse still perhaps, the times that she was not. There's something about being here in this place, with its trials and its terrors, that makes Whitney think about all of her strengths and her weaknesses, the ways in which her strengths are weaknesses, and vice versa. She can't help but think about her backbone, about each vertebra and how they must all be cracked and shattered.

How many times has she bit her tongue?

Maybe it's something that another person would admire, that she's thought so long and hard about how it would complicate Poppy's life, to hear that her, quite possibly, only good friend here is actually in love with her. Maybe someone would call it honorable, respectful, kind. But the lights go out, and for a moment Whitney's heart stops, and when they come back on, there is only shame.

She has bit her tongue.

And she has been made worse for it.

When the lights come back on, Whitney doesn't realize it at first. She is too wrapped up in that moment of panic she'd had when they went out. She'd thought about Poppy's smile and felt shame, felt cowardly. She felt small and made smaller still. “I suppose Blaine has tired of our company,” Indigo says when they have gone out into the hall and made their way into another room. It only serves to make Whitney feel worse. Her stomach rolls at the realization she's been so caught up in her own internal dramas to even realize that her friend has disappeared. “Rude of him to wander off without a word,” he goes on, and Whitney purses her lips, eyebrows drawn together.

She's standing in front of the bookshelf that she had been searching, and just as she goes to open her mouth to respond, she pulls a book off the shelf. Her gaze flicks over to the spine, catches Alice's-something etched onto it in faded gold just as the floor opens up beneath her.

She inhales, sharp—

And then there is only the dark.