Introducing Miles and Nero
Short interaction with Dahlia @Silent Observer
Location: Library before homeroom
Short interaction with Dahlia @Silent Observer
Location: Library before homeroom
"Ms. Quinn? MS. QUINN?" an interviewer waved his notepad in front of the woman caught in a daze in a room blaring white. A woman who is most known for being the face of DREAD, a well known horror investigative documentary series. A show she started with her friends, after their G.R.I.M. adventures when they were meddling teens curious about subjects beyond them. Years and years after their G.R.I.M. adventures, when subjects like paranormal activity, supernatural, the cosmic world... everything and anything... were simply a game of make believe. G.R.I.M. was their squad when they were innocent, before they decided to start a new project that would change their lives forever. A project where they would find out all these stories rooted from actual truths. Their exploration didn't stop there. They opened their series to subject matters like unsolved mysteries, cold cases, following the murders of famous psychopaths, in hopes they'd find their own answers and see what truly went down.
"Huh?" Ms. Quinn, as the interviewer put it, was what the audience would consider 'off'. She wasn't even wearing her signature prescription glasses. She was dressed to impress, having returned from her recent escapade for her show, but something wasn't right. Something seemed to be bothering her. She couldn't focus on the present. On the interviewer. On anything he was saying.
"Your sister, Brie, did you guys find her?"
"Brie, she's..." Hearing a clatter to her side, she swiftly turned her head to look to the left of her.
"Gracie! Gracie!" She was no longer in the white room. Her mind was stuck on the top floor, above a night club. She stood in front of a large commercial-grade steel door, complete with rust marks and a door lever. There was a deteriorating sign that read: Warning: Authorized personnel only. Sólo el personal autorizado, no hay entrada.
Not too far behind her was her team, one man holding a camera and keeping it on her. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Are we going in?"
"Knowing my sister, she would go somewhere she shouldn't... we're positive this is the last place people saw her?" Before she reached for the door handle, she adjusted her glasses. Her expression read that she doubted her sister was still here, but she needed to have some faith their search would be short.
"Her friends said she disappeared from the dance floor. We're not positive if she exited or not, all we know is she got separated from her group."
There were stories about this floor. People called it The Beast's Maw. Of course, it was only logical to kill two birds with one stone, search for her sister and get b-roll footage for the show. Next week they were scheduled to explore this floor, but due to circumstances, they're exploring it earlier. The door was surprisingly unlocked, so after she swung it open, she and her friends entered with the usual caution they did with every unknown territory they explored. Not even seconds later, they stopped in their tracks.
"What the hell..." They had entered hell itself. The flickering lights revealed torture instruments everywhere. It was like they were on the set of Saw. Chains, vertical beds with straps, knife sets, and other torture, medieval-esque tools.
"Maybe someone has a kink? One of her friends joked. This wasn't the time or place for jokes.
Before Gracie could respond to her, only giving the girl an eye roll, the door...
SLAM! The entrance door abruptly closed and the sound of it being locked from the outside could be heard. Soon followed the other doors in the attic they had yet to discover. They weren’t alone, that’s for sure. The warmth was sucked out and left a slicing chill. Off in the distance, there was heavy wolf’s breathing. An actual wild beast was somewhere hidden in this godforsaken place.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
There was no sight of the beast and its drool dropping onto the cement floor of the chamber resonated in the creeping silence. Faint, very faint, steps could be heard around the squad, as if they were surrounded by at least five others, but still… there was no sign of human existence. Only eerie noises to keep their lovely guests company.
To their discovery, above the Judas Chair (a chair layered with 1,500 spikes on every surface with tight straps to restrain its victim. Made of iron and containing spaces for heating elements beneath the seat), there was a two-wire broadcast intercom that switched on and rewarded them with a music box melody. The song replaced the emptiness of the Maw and all other noises dissipated. Perhaps, they did enter a horror film… or someone not all mentally there was toying with them.
The flickering light seemed to be dying out. The only source of light in that room was fading. If their senses weren’t heightened before, they would surely be now. The stench of the room was grotesque. Rotton. Rancid. Like death.
Do you feel something in the pit of your stomach? If the light goes out… what would you do?
"B-brie? Are you here?" Gracie turned her head to the videographer and quickly demanded, "Don't stop recording."
"Huh?" Ms. Quinn, as the interviewer put it, was what the audience would consider 'off'. She wasn't even wearing her signature prescription glasses. She was dressed to impress, having returned from her recent escapade for her show, but something wasn't right. Something seemed to be bothering her. She couldn't focus on the present. On the interviewer. On anything he was saying.
"Your sister, Brie, did you guys find her?"
"Brie, she's..." Hearing a clatter to her side, she swiftly turned her head to look to the left of her.
"Gracie! Gracie!" She was no longer in the white room. Her mind was stuck on the top floor, above a night club. She stood in front of a large commercial-grade steel door, complete with rust marks and a door lever. There was a deteriorating sign that read: Warning: Authorized personnel only. Sólo el personal autorizado, no hay entrada.
Not too far behind her was her team, one man holding a camera and keeping it on her. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Are we going in?"
"Knowing my sister, she would go somewhere she shouldn't... we're positive this is the last place people saw her?" Before she reached for the door handle, she adjusted her glasses. Her expression read that she doubted her sister was still here, but she needed to have some faith their search would be short.
"Her friends said she disappeared from the dance floor. We're not positive if she exited or not, all we know is she got separated from her group."
There were stories about this floor. People called it The Beast's Maw. Of course, it was only logical to kill two birds with one stone, search for her sister and get b-roll footage for the show. Next week they were scheduled to explore this floor, but due to circumstances, they're exploring it earlier. The door was surprisingly unlocked, so after she swung it open, she and her friends entered with the usual caution they did with every unknown territory they explored. Not even seconds later, they stopped in their tracks.
"What the hell..." They had entered hell itself. The flickering lights revealed torture instruments everywhere. It was like they were on the set of Saw. Chains, vertical beds with straps, knife sets, and other torture, medieval-esque tools.
"Maybe someone has a kink? One of her friends joked. This wasn't the time or place for jokes.
Before Gracie could respond to her, only giving the girl an eye roll, the door...
SLAM! The entrance door abruptly closed and the sound of it being locked from the outside could be heard. Soon followed the other doors in the attic they had yet to discover. They weren’t alone, that’s for sure. The warmth was sucked out and left a slicing chill. Off in the distance, there was heavy wolf’s breathing. An actual wild beast was somewhere hidden in this godforsaken place.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
There was no sight of the beast and its drool dropping onto the cement floor of the chamber resonated in the creeping silence. Faint, very faint, steps could be heard around the squad, as if they were surrounded by at least five others, but still… there was no sign of human existence. Only eerie noises to keep their lovely guests company.
To their discovery, above the Judas Chair (a chair layered with 1,500 spikes on every surface with tight straps to restrain its victim. Made of iron and containing spaces for heating elements beneath the seat), there was a two-wire broadcast intercom that switched on and rewarded them with a music box melody. The song replaced the emptiness of the Maw and all other noises dissipated. Perhaps, they did enter a horror film… or someone not all mentally there was toying with them.
The flickering light seemed to be dying out. The only source of light in that room was fading. If their senses weren’t heightened before, they would surely be now. The stench of the room was grotesque. Rotton. Rancid. Like death.
Do you feel something in the pit of your stomach? If the light goes out… what would you do?
"B-brie? Are you here?" Gracie turned her head to the videographer and quickly demanded, "Don't stop recording."
Tap! Tap! Tap! A blonde boy sitting at a table in the school's library, having just finished gently sketching a frightened face on his heroine, Gracie Morgan Quinn, of his visual novel series, glanced up to see a drumstick clapping against the table. "What-what-whatttt? I literally got to the intense part. Do you know how long it took me to really test Gracie's sanity? A LONG TIME, MY DUDE!" (Artwork for panel pages are like this example. Artwork for cover pages, concept sheets, and 'special' shorts are like this example)
"Miles." The librarian growled. "No yelling in the library."
"Sorry Miss, ah, whatever. Anyways. Now her sister's missing and it WILL interfere with her work." Did he sound insane? He probably sounded insane. "She's always been super driven and honestly at times I think she'd choose the show over her friends, but still, now her SISTER has gone missing. What's so important, Junior?" A little squeak came out of the boy's shirt pocket and the blonde smiled at his cute rat, "You want cheese, Gracie? I got you cheese." While he waited for his friend's response, putting his pencil down on his draft (of one of the later volumes in his series), which rolled to the panel of the Judas Chair, the artist took cheese out of a small dragon born dice pouch beside his pencil case and fed his adorable pet.
"Did you forget why we came to school early in the first place?" Nero knew how caught up his boy got when he was in the zone, but they had planned this date for a week. The copier machine had stopped FIVE MINUTES ago. "Miles, I get it. Mercy gets it too." While he twirled the other drumstick in his left hand, the one that wasn't tapping a drumstick on the table to annoy his friend, a black labrador gave Miles wide eyes. "But, people are going to start showing up and there is no advertisement yet. Man, this is important to me. You know that. I want to make my dad proud and you also know I can't cover school grounds as fast as you." Because, well, he was blind.
"Blahhhhhhh." Miles dramatically sighed, as he pushed his seat back. "Fine, fine. I got you." After throwing his book bag over his shoulder, he got up rather lazily, went to the copier machine, slowly, very slowly, grabbed ALL the printed papers for auditions tomorrow afternoon for Nero's future band, flyers HE made, and glided back, yes glided because he had heelys on, to the drummer boy, "You owe me."
"I know." The light made Miles' blonde hair glow, so Nero could vaguely distinguish where his friend was and reached to teasingly ruffle his friend's hair, "You're the best." Nero cheesed at the artist, knowing Miles was probably the most loyal and lovable friend he had.
"I know I am." With that, Miles rolled off, having forgotten his draft, dice pouch, and pencil case on the table, ready to staple and tape flyers EVERYWHERE in this biznatch. Do note that his initials were handwritten on all his belongings and artwork. MJM. Sure, not many people would be able to know right off the back that those letters stood for 'Miles Jericho Michaelson' but it was his way of claiming ownership over the things that belonged to him. Too bad he was rather forgetful...
And so was his friend.
Nero would've remembered that his friend was drawing moments ago, but a girl tapped on his shoulder, "Junior?" He turned his head towards the voice and recognized it as Veronica from math class, "Can I pet Mercy? I want to start my morning right... since, well, I wasn't allowed to go to the party last night and it makes me a little sad."
"Oh yeah, that's fine. Uh, if it makes you feel better, I didn't go either." Nero used one of the drumsticks to scratch his head, before adding, "Let's go to the lounge area, so we're not disturbing people." The drummer boy shrugged at his acquaintance and led the way, away from the librarian. Mercy was so popular at this school.
The school library in the early morning before classes started was home to very few individuals. The nerds, the geeks, the dorks, the misfits… whatever name you decided to give them, you could probably find them in the library at any given time. Taxpayer dollars went to good work when it came to the BHHS library, their collection of books was vast and expansive. On this Wednesday morning, curled up in a cushioned reading chair in the northeast corner of the library, was one of the aforementioned misfits. Dahlia Rothstein, or Gia, if you were one of the very few to actually know her.
Gia thumbed through a book on a botany that categorized all of the plants and herbs used medicinally around the world. She sat cross legged in this chair, reading about plants for the majority of the morning. Her phone buzzed in her lap with an alarm indicating that she had ten minutes left before she needed to make it to her homeroom, lest she be mistakenly marked absent again. Dahlia slid the botanical book into her patchwork cloth hobo bag and stood up to head to the fiction section of the library.
Aside from reading about witchcraft, astrology, and nature, Gia quite enjoyed reading works of fiction as well. Particularly mystery books, supernatural, fantasy, and horror genres. She briefly noticed that there were some belongings left unattended on a table, but paid them little mind. She figured that some student likely had run to the bathroom, or gone to check out a book, and would be back for them soon enough. Dahlia thumbed through some titles on the shelf — some of which she had already read, some with rather uninteresting blurbs, and even some brand new titles.
After about five minutes of deliberation, Gia decided on a book about a brewing bar between faerie kingdoms. With her novel of choice selected, she stood up and once again passed by the table with the unattended belongings. Odd… surely whoever they belonged to should be back by now? Being a girl with very little regard for “acceptable” social norms, Dahlia stepped over to the table and nosely took a peek at what was left behind. There was a leathery pouch that looked like something she might store spell components in, a roll of pencils — perhaps those of an artist — and a collection of papers. Gia picked up a few of the sheets of paper and skimmed the contents. This mystery artist had a unique style, it was surprisingly well done for a high schooler. The really exciting part for Gia, however, was the storyline. The fear and mystery in the pages was so palpable! She wanted to read more about this Gracie Quinn and her G.R.I.M. adventures!
All of the items left on the table bore a set of initials — MJM. Dahlia carefully gathered them and slid them into her hobo bag alongside her botany book and school supplies. She brought up her fiction novel to check the book out at the librarian’s desk. “Excuse me, Mrs. Reese, but could you describe what the person who sat at that table over there earlier today looked like?” Dahlia asked, pointing to the table she took the comic in progress from.
Scrunching her nose, Mrs. Reese tried to recall who was there. Kids came and went in her library all the time, it was hard to remember faces. What she could recall was a steady drumming and a plaid shirt boy with a fluffy dog, “Dark brown hair, plaid red shirt, blue jeans, has a black dog with him all the time.” Unfortunately her age was showing and she didn’t mention anything about the blonde hair boy she scolded only moments ago. “I don’t think he was alone though, but he’s the one I can remember the most.” Gia only asked for a description, not a name. Most people knew the kid with the dog was the blind boy of the school, though no one actually believed he was blind.
Dahlia was excited to get a description. With a physical description, a set of initials, and the belongings in her bag, Gia would have a bonafide mystery to solve. The brunette nodded along with Mrs. Reese as she spoke, repeating the descriptors aloud so that she could commit them to memory. “Brown hair… red plaid… blue jeans… black dog. Got it! Thanks, Mrs. Reese!” Gia grinned at the librarian and rushed off towards homeroom. “Brown hair… red plaid… blue jeans…” Dahlia recited the descriptors to herself as she navigated the halls. “... black dog. Wait… Black dog?!” Nero? The blind boy? There was no way that he was the mystery artist that she was looking for on account of, well, obvious reasons… “Oh NO!” Now her mystery was back to square one, all she had was the draft of a comic, and a set of initials.
Near the cafeteria, rolling down the halls, Miles went to the student board and slapped a flyer on it, over the Valentine's dance flyer, because it was in the most ideal spot to place a flyer.