Fan Fic - Rainbows Have Nothing to Hide

Or whisked off into oblivion by the vile Mordack. Count, you're a King's Quest fan, too? Excellent!

The KQ games were truly excellent games. All the puzzles, the plots and the characters...they actually made you think. A pity Sierra's pretty much bit the dust these days...

Awesome! I really hope you're on for good now Beau!!

Like, fer sure, maybe Mr Count. Maybe. But maybe not...

Also, I might not keep the third journal going, but I need it to bring in this third character's perspective for a while here.

Scooter's Journal, under Sam's bed, late

I came home. I don't miss the noise, or the snoring, or having to write entries from way under a bed...but I do know, as long as I am in Lealand...I won't see her. So I came home. Fozzie, at least, was pleased to see me. He threw a bear-hug, pun intended, and asked if I'd do musical guitar accompaniment for his Silent Jokes for the Blind routine.

It's really one of his funnier routines, so I agreed, see, what happens is -

JOURNAL CUT SHORT DUE TO UNFORESEEN EVENT

Sam's Diary, next day

Yesterday, at approximatly 12:13 when any good, decent, half-sane American citizan would be alseep, I was disturbed by something most distressing. I thought I heard some pencil on paper going on in the room, and peeked one eye to be sure that Scooter, he rooms with me, was getting his all American fourty-winks. Instead of Scooter I saw some hooded-creature of darkness. Then everything went black, fading to red, white, and blue and dreams of an America where creatures of darkness are banned. Most distressing, I say. Most. Sam.

Oh no!! We're all torturing Scooter lately. What's happened!?!?

CSD...CSD...I'm going to take a wild guess and say...Carmen Sandiego.

If I'm right, then let me just say that I was addicted to those games as well as a kid.

Yes...I've been fond of detective/mystery stuff from an early age. And some of the facts I picked up from those games paid off in assorted history and geography classes later on in life.

I think we've pretty much hijacked this thread...sorry, Beau!

Hmmm...... That's nice of ya to start a new story, Gardlet, but looks like PMH is abandoned at all? 8<OS 8<O<

*ahem you muffiners *

I mean, feel free It makes my fanfic looks longer, lol. Nice to have some chat in the reading room, it accents the..complete emptiness of where Scooter is right now:

Piece of paper

When I woke up I didn't realize I had woken up. In a room so dark, how can you tell whether your eyes are open or closed? They were open, but all I could see was complete black. I was lying flat on my back on a cold floor, my shoulderblades felt bruised. I must have fallen asleep again.

I woke up, and it was still dark. I wondered if I had fallen asleep under Sam's bed, and was still there. I tried blinking rapidly to get my bearings. Nothing.

I lifted a hand, felt above, and there was no bed and I couldn't even see my hand. I rolled onto my front, and tried standing carefully. Now I was stuck. Blackness like scratched ink all around me. Any way I moved could be to my death. Unless I already was dead.

Stupid. I'm not dead. I wasn't dead, I decided, but I didn't know where I was.

Later, I took a single step forward, half expecting my stomach to drop as I fell four stories. Instead there was hard ground under my feet. I took another step. I preferred to keep my eyes closed as I walked.

My hand scrapped against a brick wall as I felt along it, walking. A corner, turn, another wall. A corner, turn. Corner, turn. A corner, turn. I was in a square room of blank walls. I couldn't see the ceiling, but there was no doors anywhere else. The room had no furniture, no food, no drink. I sat down, and waited, silently.

"Let! Me! Out! Of HERE!" I screamed, kicking the walls, stamping the floor. Beating my fists against the hard rock bricks. "Hello!!!"

It might have been an hour, or a day, or ten seconds. My shoulders were itching, and my elbows. I lay down, and shut my eyes tight.

My head hurt, throbbed with mind stabbing headaches.

I stuck a fingernail against a brick, and flicked it back. "Ou! Darn." Man that hurt. I couldn't dig my way out then.

I slept again. I sat up with my back against the way. I got up, sat down, moved across the room, turned around, fell asleep, lay down, stood up.

I can't write any more right now...

Thanks County!

--

Piece of paper - con't

By now my breath was coming in hurried hicups, lungs screaming for more air. I was running, back and forth, back and forth in the darkness. I knew the distances perfectly now, and always turned before I met the walls. back again. Feet pounding the floor, sweat burning across my arms.

I hunched my knees up and wrapped long arms around them.

I woke up and sences something had changed. By now my eyes were changing to darkness, and even though it was still as dark as before, I could feel more than see that something had changed. I stretched by legs out from under me, and my toes contacted a wooden bowl of sorts.

I felt around the rim, it was smoothly mad, all splinters and rough edges honed perfectly away. I moved my fingers down, and found crusty bread with soft fluffy inside. I snatched it, ripped it in pieces, stuffing every crumb.

The room I was in, if it was a room, was completly dry and soundless except the beating of my heart, and the sound of breath escaping between my teeth.

I keep moving, that way I don't have to think. Keep running, walking, paceing, sleeping. Standing, crouching.

Sometimes I shout, sometimes I sing. "And so I dream a bass will join me, and fill the bottom in. And maybe now some lead guitar so it would not sound so thin..." My singing gets lost somewhere out there in the dark. The room wasn't built for sound.

My mind is still totally closed down at this point, and everytime synapsys send messages to my brain, another part snaps them up and screams, "Don't Thin! Don't think!" And so I don't. I finish the song, and start over. "My six string orchestra..."

And I'm not writing any more at the moment. I'm sorry if that's wrong, but I just am not. So there.

Ever Goofy,
Scoot

Piece of paper

When I was tired I slept. When I was hungry, somtimes there was food, sometimes there was not. I think there must have been something in that food cause it felt like I could go for weeks without eating. And drink, I found bottles, plastic ones, in the room with me when I woke up sometimes. Crystal cold water, or cold black coffee. I tried to keep the bowls, and bottles. Maybe there'd be some use for them, but then I'd sleep, and they'd be gone.

I tried once to not sleep at all. I sat up for hours, or minutes, in the dark with my eyes open, almost unblinking. I'd taken my glasses off, cause there was no need for them here. My head started to droop, and I propped it up with the heal of my hand, digging my fingers into my temples to keep me awake.

I don't think I closed my eyes, but I must have because I was lying down and the bowls were gone.

And I started running again. I was still in the clothes I came in, and they felt dry and prickly from sweat and dirt. My hair was greasy as I ran my hands through it. I kicked the walls till my toes ached. My knees jolted from running.

I collapsed later and just fell where I was, lay still, panting. Thoughts were pushing into my head now. Why was I here? Where was here? Would I be here forever? Who was Clay? Was Robin ok? Where all the Muppets locked away like this? Did I endanger them by going home? How did I get here? Where is my watch? Has Animal evaculated the room that is mine at the Boarding House. Can I, when did, how can, who is, where, what, how, who, wha, can, please, help, stop, Don't Think!

I started shakeing, and my mind shut down again. I must have gone to sleep because it felt as though the entire room was slipping out from under me, the darkness swirling, and pinpricks of white light tapping over my eyelids.

When I woke up there was an tourch shining on my face. I stayed perfectly still waiting for the dim light to move, to indicate who or what was holding it. After ten minutes, or three hours, I realised no one was. It was simply switched on and lying on the floor shining in my face.

I'm gunna take another break from writing.

Scoot

Piece of Paper

I switched the torch off. I switched it back on. And off. And on. Off, on.

I flashed the tourch around the edges of the room. I was right, there were no edges and the corners just firmly attached to wall. Wall to wall, floor to blackness. The bulb wasn't bright enough to light to ceiling. I found a place to sit and turned it off and on and off.

If I let myself think I got a million floods of thoughts, so I didn't allow myself to think. Instead, I studied one image of my past, one second. A flash of the torch.

Leaning at the edge of the Theatre Stage with a hand in my pocket. Sam tutting behind me. Air escapeing from Beauregard's mouth as he heaved on a rope and a set-piece lowered slowly towards the stage. Kermit on a crate, one foot tucked over his knee, voice lilting and beautifull. Velvet curtains hanging straight by the side, held by strings and twisted metal cable. Rowlf in the orchestra pit looking up at Kermit, as he turned a page with one paw, and pressed ivory and ebony keys. Kermit stood up and started walking. "...and I guess it's what I wanna be."

Other memories from the show started cramming in and I shut them out, closed them off. Concentrated on the flecks of felt on Kermit's collar.

--

Sorry! Can't write more just now, which is why I had to post this section half finished by my room was invaded by a dozen kids. One sister on anothe computer, mum talking, a girl chwing an apple quite grossly with applejuice slippind down her face...eeeeeww....be right back, beau