This is gonna be fun. I’m loving this so far Cacums.
Scarlet - C
Mustard - B
White - C
Green - A
Peacock - A
Plum - B
An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
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chaosemerald
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cacums
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
CHAPTER SEVEN
Doctor Boden Black Senior – I
Tudor Grove was the sprawling country manor that Doctor Black and his family called home for nearly three-hundred years. It was situated on a mountain that overlooked the city. The great, wide lawns were his favorite as a child, and he still found relaxation in his twilight years with lawn games. He was always fond of croquet as a child and tennis as a teenager. In his hardened state, he found relaxation in different sorts of lawn games.
“Pull!” He shouted as the clay pigeon was launched into the sky by his butler. He closed one eye, followed the disk, and squeezed the trigger. The deafening bang and the shatter the disk into powder brought a smile to his face.
“Very good sir.” Wadsworth, the butler, gave a muted applause through white gloves.
He found the outdoors took his mind off of his family. Too often his troubles and worries began with his son, brother, nephew, niece, or sister-in-law. It was something about the manor-house that kept him trapped. The tapestries reminded him of the family history, the struggles, the wars, and the responsibilities. It was the responsibilities that drove him mad. Hadn’t he done enough in his time? Surely he had made the largest investments and laid the groundwork for a secure future, but he thought he could have done more. It always came down to the fact that he has only one child, while his younger brother had twins and a wife who could work any social circle. His own wife was dead and his only son was cold and careless. He doubted his son would ever settle down and start a family. He was forty after all.
“Pull!” He shouted again. He lifted the barrel and blasted the disk.
“Shall we call it a day, sir?” Wadsworth moved closer, “I fear if we do any more, your shoulder will be terribly sore in the morning.”
He rolled his shoulder, rubbed and pinched at the tense, aching muscles, “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I’ll put the race on the television in the lounge and heat up some of the leftover cobbler,” Wadsworth placed his hands behind his back as he walked a step behind.
“Has Talon called?” Dr. Black squinted his eyes as he views his bright cellphone screen.
“Lord Talon has been busy with the acquisition of Raven Pharmaceuticals,” Wadsworth sounded proud, “Your brother’s merger is going to bring a lot of new faces to Tudor Grove.”
He hated when anyone would call his brother ‘Lord Talon’. He saw it for what it was – an honorary title to cover up whatever successes and trades pleased Prime Minister Azure.
“Yes,” he was uninterested, “We will have to be stocked up on champagne and gin.”
His brother was very fond of gin. While he considered his brother a heavier drinker than his old friend, Colonel Mustard, he found the latter sloppier and worse at hiding it. He always said that Talon had the ability to put away two or three bottles and wake up the next day chipper and bright without the hint of a hangover.
“Dinner will be ready after the assembly tonight,” Wadsworth explained, “If you are still hungry after the cobbler, we can see about using the rest of the eggs Mrs. Winters brought for us.”
“I’m tired of eggs,” he was getting tired of the endless health-craze his butler had been on for the past eight months, “If you make another one of those egg-broccoli cobbler-casseroles this week, I’m demoting your position and hiring a real cook.”
It’s true that he wanted to stay in good health. He wasn’t ready to leave this world. He wasn’t ready for his family’s legacy to fall into his son’s hands. He still had work to do. He still had questions that needed answers.
“I’m going for a walk around the gazebo,” he glanced down at his cellphone.
“A little extra walking time today?” Wadsworth smiled, “It won’t get you out of walking to the gate house tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, yes,” he was bothered, “I’ve got a phone call to make. Get the atrocious cobbler heated up. One of those raspberry vitamin waters.”
“You’re certain you don’t want me to walk with you?” Wadsworth insisted, “The gravel can be uneven.”
“Now,” he firmly pointed to the manor-house.
Wadsworth walked away with a sigh and an exaggerated eye-roll.
He turned and walked the gravel pathway between the waist-high hedges. The gazebo was painted white with wooden shingles in pine green. Two sets of wind chimes sang in harmonies. The pet peacock, Felix, strolled along the checkered lawn striping behind the gazebo.
He pulled out his phone and taped for a few moments before pulling up his contact list. He kept scrolling until he found the name ‘Annette White’. He called the number.
It was answered after two rings.
“Is it really you?” the voice was elderly with a thick Irish accent.
“I need to speak with you in person,” his voice was softer, silkier, kinder… relaxed.
“About Margot?” Mrs. White’s voice sounded worried.
“About everything,” he sighed, “What I paid you 30 years ago was not nearly enough for the sacrifices that you’ve made.”
“We all chose the roads we take,” Mrs. White couldn’t hold back a whimper, “Winslow doesn’t even know. Margot barely calls anymore.”
“I can take care of you,” he closed his eyes, and let the sound of the wind chimes fill the silence.
“I love Winslow. He works so hard,” Mrs. White spoke so fast she sounded like she was crying, “I made up a stupid lie when you gave me all that money after Margot was born. I had to lie and lie about how strong my Irish genes are every time my husband wondered why Margot looked nothing like him! I love Winslow.”
“I am going to make this work,” he paused, “For all of us. One way or another.”
“How?” Mrs. White asked.
-------
READER POLL
A) “You’ll start working for me as my live-in cook and housekeeper. That’s how I’ll pay you without any need for another lie.”
B) “Margot is my heir, whether you love Winslow or not. She needs to know and it needs to happen soon.”
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Miss Scarlet - I. There is still time to vote on Colonel Mustard - I, Chef White - I, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Miss Scarlet - II)
Doctor Boden Black Senior – I
Tudor Grove was the sprawling country manor that Doctor Black and his family called home for nearly three-hundred years. It was situated on a mountain that overlooked the city. The great, wide lawns were his favorite as a child, and he still found relaxation in his twilight years with lawn games. He was always fond of croquet as a child and tennis as a teenager. In his hardened state, he found relaxation in different sorts of lawn games.
“Pull!” He shouted as the clay pigeon was launched into the sky by his butler. He closed one eye, followed the disk, and squeezed the trigger. The deafening bang and the shatter the disk into powder brought a smile to his face.
“Very good sir.” Wadsworth, the butler, gave a muted applause through white gloves.
He found the outdoors took his mind off of his family. Too often his troubles and worries began with his son, brother, nephew, niece, or sister-in-law. It was something about the manor-house that kept him trapped. The tapestries reminded him of the family history, the struggles, the wars, and the responsibilities. It was the responsibilities that drove him mad. Hadn’t he done enough in his time? Surely he had made the largest investments and laid the groundwork for a secure future, but he thought he could have done more. It always came down to the fact that he has only one child, while his younger brother had twins and a wife who could work any social circle. His own wife was dead and his only son was cold and careless. He doubted his son would ever settle down and start a family. He was forty after all.
“Pull!” He shouted again. He lifted the barrel and blasted the disk.
“Shall we call it a day, sir?” Wadsworth moved closer, “I fear if we do any more, your shoulder will be terribly sore in the morning.”
He rolled his shoulder, rubbed and pinched at the tense, aching muscles, “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I’ll put the race on the television in the lounge and heat up some of the leftover cobbler,” Wadsworth placed his hands behind his back as he walked a step behind.
“Has Talon called?” Dr. Black squinted his eyes as he views his bright cellphone screen.
“Lord Talon has been busy with the acquisition of Raven Pharmaceuticals,” Wadsworth sounded proud, “Your brother’s merger is going to bring a lot of new faces to Tudor Grove.”
He hated when anyone would call his brother ‘Lord Talon’. He saw it for what it was – an honorary title to cover up whatever successes and trades pleased Prime Minister Azure.
“Yes,” he was uninterested, “We will have to be stocked up on champagne and gin.”
His brother was very fond of gin. While he considered his brother a heavier drinker than his old friend, Colonel Mustard, he found the latter sloppier and worse at hiding it. He always said that Talon had the ability to put away two or three bottles and wake up the next day chipper and bright without the hint of a hangover.
“Dinner will be ready after the assembly tonight,” Wadsworth explained, “If you are still hungry after the cobbler, we can see about using the rest of the eggs Mrs. Winters brought for us.”
“I’m tired of eggs,” he was getting tired of the endless health-craze his butler had been on for the past eight months, “If you make another one of those egg-broccoli cobbler-casseroles this week, I’m demoting your position and hiring a real cook.”
It’s true that he wanted to stay in good health. He wasn’t ready to leave this world. He wasn’t ready for his family’s legacy to fall into his son’s hands. He still had work to do. He still had questions that needed answers.
“I’m going for a walk around the gazebo,” he glanced down at his cellphone.
“A little extra walking time today?” Wadsworth smiled, “It won’t get you out of walking to the gate house tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, yes,” he was bothered, “I’ve got a phone call to make. Get the atrocious cobbler heated up. One of those raspberry vitamin waters.”
“You’re certain you don’t want me to walk with you?” Wadsworth insisted, “The gravel can be uneven.”
“Now,” he firmly pointed to the manor-house.
Wadsworth walked away with a sigh and an exaggerated eye-roll.
He turned and walked the gravel pathway between the waist-high hedges. The gazebo was painted white with wooden shingles in pine green. Two sets of wind chimes sang in harmonies. The pet peacock, Felix, strolled along the checkered lawn striping behind the gazebo.
He pulled out his phone and taped for a few moments before pulling up his contact list. He kept scrolling until he found the name ‘Annette White’. He called the number.
It was answered after two rings.
“Is it really you?” the voice was elderly with a thick Irish accent.
“I need to speak with you in person,” his voice was softer, silkier, kinder… relaxed.
“About Margot?” Mrs. White’s voice sounded worried.
“About everything,” he sighed, “What I paid you 30 years ago was not nearly enough for the sacrifices that you’ve made.”
“We all chose the roads we take,” Mrs. White couldn’t hold back a whimper, “Winslow doesn’t even know. Margot barely calls anymore.”
“I can take care of you,” he closed his eyes, and let the sound of the wind chimes fill the silence.
“I love Winslow. He works so hard,” Mrs. White spoke so fast she sounded like she was crying, “I made up a stupid lie when you gave me all that money after Margot was born. I had to lie and lie about how strong my Irish genes are every time my husband wondered why Margot looked nothing like him! I love Winslow.”
“I am going to make this work,” he paused, “For all of us. One way or another.”
“How?” Mrs. White asked.
-------
READER POLL
A) “You’ll start working for me as my live-in cook and housekeeper. That’s how I’ll pay you without any need for another lie.”
B) “Margot is my heir, whether you love Winslow or not. She needs to know and it needs to happen soon.”
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Miss Scarlet - I. There is still time to vote on Colonel Mustard - I, Chef White - I, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Miss Scarlet - II)
Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
I'll go with A
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cacums
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
(Author's Note: There was a tie for Miss Scarlet - I and CluedoKid agreed to be the tie-breaker -- which he has already done privately! Thank you coinilius, JonathanGreen, ClueLover98, BBP, and chaosemerald for the votes! There will be several chapters over the weekend with the results of your voting.)
Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
Sounds good!
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cacums
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
(Author's Note: Miss Scarlet - II and Colonel Mustard - II will be out this weekend! Thank you for your patience and continued interest.)
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cacums
- Ringer
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
CHAPTER EIGHT
Miss Gloria Scarlet – II
She was still standing in the bathroom with the light blue sequin dress on as her cellphone vibrated in her hand. She couldn’t be bothered to look down or notice it. She was staring into her own eyes, transfixed into her pupils, a million miles away from the bathroom she was standing in.
Mr. Braunman had to pay for what he put her through. Mr. Midnight, her agent, was a coward and an enabler. She wanted them both to pay. She needed them to pay.
It was her therapist, Doctor Black. She hadn’t felt the previous three calls he placed prior. Her breathing was slow and shallow. The cellphone finally silenced. It was then that she blinked and took in her surroundings.
“Not now,” she thought to herself.
She felt her eyes drying up. She hadn’t blinked in a very long time. She shook her head as she began to move around the small bathroom.
FLASHBACK
Inside a small Sound Stage, at a mediocre modeling shoot, Miss Scarlet pouted seductively, and leaned forward onto the plush mattress beneath her. A large fan blew red rose petals in the air. Three cameramen captured various angles of her as the rose petals smacked against her. Miss Scarlet stood up and wiped her face, blinded by the flashing cameras.
“Stop!” she spat her own hair from her mouth, “Devon, we need to cut the fan.”
Mr. Devon Braunman hopped off of a folding director’s chair and walked quickly over to Miss Scarlet. He looked irritated.
“What is it now, Gloria?” Mr. Braunman looked down at his cellphone as a call came in. He answered it, “Yeah, Braunman? Tell that bitchy stage mom to take it up with security. She had her chance.”
Mr. Braunman ended the call.
“Devon!” she whined and stomped her foot like a child, “The fans!”
“Look, sweetheart,” Mr. Braunman put his cellphone away and placed a hand on Miss Scarlet’s shoulder, “This isn’t Paris. This isn’t Prague. This is a calendar shoot – you are Miss February. So we need rose petals and a pretty face. Your agent convinced me that you left that diva shit behind you. Your agent didn’t lie to me, did he?”
Her lips tightened, “No.”
“Good,” Mr. Braunman smiled, “Then I need you to hop up on that bed, tuck your hair behind your ears and give us the best damn picture for the shortest month of the year.”
Miss Scarlet crossed her arms and looked over at the scrawny man who stood near the fan, halfway up a ladder, with a box of rose petals.
“I don’t want to do the fan,” She was adamant.
“Then undress and we’ll cover you in rose petals,” Mr. Braunman narrowed his eyes with a crass smirk.
She dropped her arms in a huff and hopped up on the bed. The scrawny man flipped on the fan and began to sprinkle the rose petals again. Her eyes were assaulted by the blinding flashes of the cameras once more.
Mr. Braunman circled behind the cameramen and noticed Miss Scarlet’s pout turning into a genuine sad reaction.
“Stop,” Mr. Braunman took a camera from the nearest cameraman.
Mr. Braunman came in close on her sad face and flashed a picture.
“There’s our February,” Mr. Braunman smirked, “I knew we’d find it. Just enough sadness to remind us all what Valentine’s Day is really all about.”
She didn’t look up from the floor. She focused on the scattered rose petals, trying her best to hold back her tears. She felt her throat choke up as the blurriness of the tears reached her eyes. Her heartbeat increased and she let out a whimper. She looked up into Mr. Braunman’s face as a tear fell down from her cheek.
She carefully stood up and looked at the three cameramen and the scrawny petal-man.
“Gentlemen, I’m going to need a moment with Mr. Braunman,” she smiled politely through the tears in her eyes.
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Braunman began to laugh maliciously, “I want those cameras within reach. It looks like you are about to have a little break down, sweetheart.”
“Come on, Devon,” one of the cameramen tried to get Mr. Braunman to back off.
“Shut up, Tony,” Mr. Braunman snapped back.
Tony lead the other two cameramen, and the scrawny man away. They exited out the elephant door, into the bright sunlight.
“I want to know what you want.” Mr. Braunman crossed his arms, “Who do you think you are? What makes you think you even deserve to be here? I said no to your agent four times. He basically gave you to me for a quarter of the original pay rate. Gloria, you peaked a long time ago. I’m sorry, not everyone is cut out for this business. It takes a certain type of strength and mentality. You don’t have it, sweetheart. You need the inner strength and self control…”
She turned around and walks away from Mr. Braunman.
“If you walk away I’m finding someone else,” Mr. Braunman threatened her.
“Use the sad picture for all I care!” Miss Scarlet shouted back and continued her exit from the sound stage.
END OF FLASHBACK
She knew what she wanted to do next, but she was working up the nerve. She needed to go over the words she planned to say in her head a few times while imagining what responses she might get. Any way she ran the scenario she always came out on top. She was certain of that.
She dialed the number for Mr. Braunman. The phone rang and rang.
“Hello?” the voice sounded confused and annoyed.
“Devon,” she disguised her voice, “My name is Rebecca Cyan. I just got off the phone with Miss Mauve. Your days of sexual exploitation are over. Consider this a warning. You will face the consequences of every bad decision you have made.”
“Defamation without proof will result in a lawsuit you cannot afford,” Mr. Braunman’s voice was trying far to hard to sound confident, “Play your games, Miss Cyan. But empty threats don’t work outside of high school cafeterias.”
The call ended. She was alone once more.
-------
READER POLL
A) Miss Scarlet calls her therapist, Dr. Black.
B) Miss Scarlet calls her lawyer, Miles Meadow-Brook.
C) Miss Scarlet calls her agent, Mr. Midnight.
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Colonel Mustard - I. There is still time to vote on Miss Scarlet - II, Chef White - I, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Colonel Mustard - II)
Miss Gloria Scarlet – II
She was still standing in the bathroom with the light blue sequin dress on as her cellphone vibrated in her hand. She couldn’t be bothered to look down or notice it. She was staring into her own eyes, transfixed into her pupils, a million miles away from the bathroom she was standing in.
Mr. Braunman had to pay for what he put her through. Mr. Midnight, her agent, was a coward and an enabler. She wanted them both to pay. She needed them to pay.
It was her therapist, Doctor Black. She hadn’t felt the previous three calls he placed prior. Her breathing was slow and shallow. The cellphone finally silenced. It was then that she blinked and took in her surroundings.
“Not now,” she thought to herself.
She felt her eyes drying up. She hadn’t blinked in a very long time. She shook her head as she began to move around the small bathroom.
FLASHBACK
Inside a small Sound Stage, at a mediocre modeling shoot, Miss Scarlet pouted seductively, and leaned forward onto the plush mattress beneath her. A large fan blew red rose petals in the air. Three cameramen captured various angles of her as the rose petals smacked against her. Miss Scarlet stood up and wiped her face, blinded by the flashing cameras.
“Stop!” she spat her own hair from her mouth, “Devon, we need to cut the fan.”
Mr. Devon Braunman hopped off of a folding director’s chair and walked quickly over to Miss Scarlet. He looked irritated.
“What is it now, Gloria?” Mr. Braunman looked down at his cellphone as a call came in. He answered it, “Yeah, Braunman? Tell that bitchy stage mom to take it up with security. She had her chance.”
Mr. Braunman ended the call.
“Devon!” she whined and stomped her foot like a child, “The fans!”
“Look, sweetheart,” Mr. Braunman put his cellphone away and placed a hand on Miss Scarlet’s shoulder, “This isn’t Paris. This isn’t Prague. This is a calendar shoot – you are Miss February. So we need rose petals and a pretty face. Your agent convinced me that you left that diva shit behind you. Your agent didn’t lie to me, did he?”
Her lips tightened, “No.”
“Good,” Mr. Braunman smiled, “Then I need you to hop up on that bed, tuck your hair behind your ears and give us the best damn picture for the shortest month of the year.”
Miss Scarlet crossed her arms and looked over at the scrawny man who stood near the fan, halfway up a ladder, with a box of rose petals.
“I don’t want to do the fan,” She was adamant.
“Then undress and we’ll cover you in rose petals,” Mr. Braunman narrowed his eyes with a crass smirk.
She dropped her arms in a huff and hopped up on the bed. The scrawny man flipped on the fan and began to sprinkle the rose petals again. Her eyes were assaulted by the blinding flashes of the cameras once more.
Mr. Braunman circled behind the cameramen and noticed Miss Scarlet’s pout turning into a genuine sad reaction.
“Stop,” Mr. Braunman took a camera from the nearest cameraman.
Mr. Braunman came in close on her sad face and flashed a picture.
“There’s our February,” Mr. Braunman smirked, “I knew we’d find it. Just enough sadness to remind us all what Valentine’s Day is really all about.”
She didn’t look up from the floor. She focused on the scattered rose petals, trying her best to hold back her tears. She felt her throat choke up as the blurriness of the tears reached her eyes. Her heartbeat increased and she let out a whimper. She looked up into Mr. Braunman’s face as a tear fell down from her cheek.
She carefully stood up and looked at the three cameramen and the scrawny petal-man.
“Gentlemen, I’m going to need a moment with Mr. Braunman,” she smiled politely through the tears in her eyes.
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Braunman began to laugh maliciously, “I want those cameras within reach. It looks like you are about to have a little break down, sweetheart.”
“Come on, Devon,” one of the cameramen tried to get Mr. Braunman to back off.
“Shut up, Tony,” Mr. Braunman snapped back.
Tony lead the other two cameramen, and the scrawny man away. They exited out the elephant door, into the bright sunlight.
“I want to know what you want.” Mr. Braunman crossed his arms, “Who do you think you are? What makes you think you even deserve to be here? I said no to your agent four times. He basically gave you to me for a quarter of the original pay rate. Gloria, you peaked a long time ago. I’m sorry, not everyone is cut out for this business. It takes a certain type of strength and mentality. You don’t have it, sweetheart. You need the inner strength and self control…”
She turned around and walks away from Mr. Braunman.
“If you walk away I’m finding someone else,” Mr. Braunman threatened her.
“Use the sad picture for all I care!” Miss Scarlet shouted back and continued her exit from the sound stage.
END OF FLASHBACK
She knew what she wanted to do next, but she was working up the nerve. She needed to go over the words she planned to say in her head a few times while imagining what responses she might get. Any way she ran the scenario she always came out on top. She was certain of that.
She dialed the number for Mr. Braunman. The phone rang and rang.
“Hello?” the voice sounded confused and annoyed.
“Devon,” she disguised her voice, “My name is Rebecca Cyan. I just got off the phone with Miss Mauve. Your days of sexual exploitation are over. Consider this a warning. You will face the consequences of every bad decision you have made.”
“Defamation without proof will result in a lawsuit you cannot afford,” Mr. Braunman’s voice was trying far to hard to sound confident, “Play your games, Miss Cyan. But empty threats don’t work outside of high school cafeterias.”
The call ended. She was alone once more.
-------
READER POLL
A) Miss Scarlet calls her therapist, Dr. Black.
B) Miss Scarlet calls her lawyer, Miles Meadow-Brook.
C) Miss Scarlet calls her agent, Mr. Midnight.
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Colonel Mustard - I. There is still time to vote on Miss Scarlet - II, Chef White - I, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Colonel Mustard - II)
Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
I'll vote for A, call dr Black.
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ClueLover98
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
Plum - A
Black - B
Scarlet - B
Black - B
Scarlet - B
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cacums
- Ringer
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
CHAPTER NINE
Colonel Arthur Mustard – II
He felt a sense of accomplishment and pride fill his chest as he stepped off the green of hole eleven and into the woods. He wasn’t in his dreary cabin drinking, puking, and wasting away. He was actually outside in the sunlight and the fresh air. It was odd how sun and wind had become like strangers to him. He spend his childhood outside, he spent the better part of his military career outside, and he loved to hunt and golf.
It was people that turned him into a hermit. The bridges he burnt, the lies he told, the drunken incidents he can’t remember, the sexual comments, crass attitude, and prideful cockiness led him into the cabin up the mountain. There were hardly any he could call friend. There were none he could truly trust – not even himself it would seem.
Too many times he got belligerently drunk and let slip the innermost personal, toxic, and dangerous thoughts be shared. He always knew something bad happened when he woke up the next morning. And in the days that followed he would find the friends that experienced his inebriated state began distancing themselves and growing closer among themselves over the shared enemy they had found in him.
But at his side, trekking through the unstable soil, roots, and thicket, his old war buddy followed. The Colonel looked eagerly around the forest’s edge. His rifle was pointed downward.
“That way, look at the brush. Can’t have gotten far. Footprints are still fresh.” he motioned to the damaged bushes and snapped twigs.
Rusty leaned forward and placed both hands on his bony knees. He adjusted his eyes with a narrow, wrinkled squint and nodded to Col. Mustard in agreement.
“I reckon you’re right,” Rusty stood up, “Should we go tell Mr. Gold?”
“I wasn’t asked to come into the woods to find a trail,” he held up his rifle with a smirk.
Rusty opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.
“Imagine the reward and the news coverage we’ll get if we kill this bear,” he said with a greedy smile.
“Imagine the protests and slander we’ll get from the likes of Jane Meadow-Brook,” Rusty frowned.
He knew the comment was quiet enough that Rusty almost considered not saying it. Years of friendship allowed for many subtleties to be picked up on. Still, he knew that if he gave Rusty an inch he’d take a mile.
“I couldn’t give a damn about that woman or her stupid gossip rag,” he laughed at his friend’s concern over busybody nonsense, “She can defend the wild life all day long. I won’t have a bear threatening the relaxation on hole eleven.”
“Do you suppose we’ll actually find it?” Rusty was doubtful.
“I’ll find it,” he was confident, “We’ll find it if you aren’t too chicken-shit.”
“Arthur, please,” Rusty’s was becoming upset, “A bear is no joke at any age, let alone ours.”
“Then run off to find Mr. Gold or Lord Oakwood or the pretty bartender with the big *beep*.” he moved forward into the woods with the full intention of leaving Rusty behind.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Rusty pushed off against a tree trunk and followed.
They came to the summit of a round hill and turned their heads in every direction. The Colonel held his rifle closer as he scanned the area slowly. Rusty snapped his head frantically like a nervous squirrel.
“There, look!” he stopped both of them short.
Ahead of them at the base of the hill near a fallen tree and a thin, nearly dried creek was a small, baby black bear. The cub pawed at the loose stones that the water trickled over.
“Arthur, it’s a baby,” Rusty had sadness in his eyes.
Col. Mustard pulled up his rifle and aimed down the sights.
“Are you sure. We could call animal control. They could tranquilize it and take it to the wildlife sanctuary.”
The gunshot echoed through the forest. The choice was made and the deed was done.
“Clean and simple,” Col. Mustard lowered the rifle, “In through the right eye, out behind the left ear. He didn’t even know it was coming.”
Rusty stared ahead in sadness at the dead baby bear.
“Help me bring it back,” Col. Mustard walked over to the dead cub.
“This isn’t like our days in the Tigers,” Rusty sighed.
“No, it isn’t,” he was filled with the type of sadness that made him drink, “Back in those days, Hugh was the one too much of a pussy to pull the trigger. You and I had it down to a routine. Saved dozens of lives. Not that it mattered in the end. You grab the front, I’ll grab the back – just like the good old days, eh?”
Rusty looked down at the bloody, messy hole where the cub’s right eye once was, “Some of us would sooner forget those good old days.”
“How is the old bastard?” Col. Mustard grunts as he grabs the bears back paws and lifts.
Rusty grunts as he attempts to lift the front paws. Col. Mustard quickly realizes he is doing most of the lifting, whiling Rusty is dragging.
“Well? How is he doing?” Col. Mustard strained through a clenched jaw.
“You could... come and... see him yourself,” Rusty grunts out between labored breaths.
“You know that’s not going to happen. I just wanted to know how he’s keeping on. I know the money always did well for him. Is he married yet?” Col. Mustard leads the way out of the forest.
“We’re… almost… there…” Rusty puts all his strength into dragging the bear out of the forest and onto the edge of the country club’s gold course.
Mr. Brian Gold rushed over to the two of them in his fine suit.
“Sirs, you have impressed me tremendously with your valiant efforts. Tonight we will celebrate and both of you will eat the tender meat of that fine beast you’ve killed. As for now, come with me! We will break out the best liqueur in my personal reserve,” Mr. Gold motioned for the men to follow him over to his fancy, gold-detailed, eight-seat, golf buggy.
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READER POLL
A) Colonel Mustard joins Mr. Gold to celebrate.
B) Colonel Mustard returns home to his cabin.
C) Colonel Mustard questions Mr. Gold about the debt being paid.
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Chef White - I. There is still time to vote on Miss Scarlet - II, Colonel Mustard - II, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Chef White - II)
Colonel Arthur Mustard – II
He felt a sense of accomplishment and pride fill his chest as he stepped off the green of hole eleven and into the woods. He wasn’t in his dreary cabin drinking, puking, and wasting away. He was actually outside in the sunlight and the fresh air. It was odd how sun and wind had become like strangers to him. He spend his childhood outside, he spent the better part of his military career outside, and he loved to hunt and golf.
It was people that turned him into a hermit. The bridges he burnt, the lies he told, the drunken incidents he can’t remember, the sexual comments, crass attitude, and prideful cockiness led him into the cabin up the mountain. There were hardly any he could call friend. There were none he could truly trust – not even himself it would seem.
Too many times he got belligerently drunk and let slip the innermost personal, toxic, and dangerous thoughts be shared. He always knew something bad happened when he woke up the next morning. And in the days that followed he would find the friends that experienced his inebriated state began distancing themselves and growing closer among themselves over the shared enemy they had found in him.
But at his side, trekking through the unstable soil, roots, and thicket, his old war buddy followed. The Colonel looked eagerly around the forest’s edge. His rifle was pointed downward.
“That way, look at the brush. Can’t have gotten far. Footprints are still fresh.” he motioned to the damaged bushes and snapped twigs.
Rusty leaned forward and placed both hands on his bony knees. He adjusted his eyes with a narrow, wrinkled squint and nodded to Col. Mustard in agreement.
“I reckon you’re right,” Rusty stood up, “Should we go tell Mr. Gold?”
“I wasn’t asked to come into the woods to find a trail,” he held up his rifle with a smirk.
Rusty opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.
“Imagine the reward and the news coverage we’ll get if we kill this bear,” he said with a greedy smile.
“Imagine the protests and slander we’ll get from the likes of Jane Meadow-Brook,” Rusty frowned.
He knew the comment was quiet enough that Rusty almost considered not saying it. Years of friendship allowed for many subtleties to be picked up on. Still, he knew that if he gave Rusty an inch he’d take a mile.
“I couldn’t give a damn about that woman or her stupid gossip rag,” he laughed at his friend’s concern over busybody nonsense, “She can defend the wild life all day long. I won’t have a bear threatening the relaxation on hole eleven.”
“Do you suppose we’ll actually find it?” Rusty was doubtful.
“I’ll find it,” he was confident, “We’ll find it if you aren’t too chicken-shit.”
“Arthur, please,” Rusty’s was becoming upset, “A bear is no joke at any age, let alone ours.”
“Then run off to find Mr. Gold or Lord Oakwood or the pretty bartender with the big *beep*.” he moved forward into the woods with the full intention of leaving Rusty behind.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Rusty pushed off against a tree trunk and followed.
They came to the summit of a round hill and turned their heads in every direction. The Colonel held his rifle closer as he scanned the area slowly. Rusty snapped his head frantically like a nervous squirrel.
“There, look!” he stopped both of them short.
Ahead of them at the base of the hill near a fallen tree and a thin, nearly dried creek was a small, baby black bear. The cub pawed at the loose stones that the water trickled over.
“Arthur, it’s a baby,” Rusty had sadness in his eyes.
Col. Mustard pulled up his rifle and aimed down the sights.
“Are you sure. We could call animal control. They could tranquilize it and take it to the wildlife sanctuary.”
The gunshot echoed through the forest. The choice was made and the deed was done.
“Clean and simple,” Col. Mustard lowered the rifle, “In through the right eye, out behind the left ear. He didn’t even know it was coming.”
Rusty stared ahead in sadness at the dead baby bear.
“Help me bring it back,” Col. Mustard walked over to the dead cub.
“This isn’t like our days in the Tigers,” Rusty sighed.
“No, it isn’t,” he was filled with the type of sadness that made him drink, “Back in those days, Hugh was the one too much of a pussy to pull the trigger. You and I had it down to a routine. Saved dozens of lives. Not that it mattered in the end. You grab the front, I’ll grab the back – just like the good old days, eh?”
Rusty looked down at the bloody, messy hole where the cub’s right eye once was, “Some of us would sooner forget those good old days.”
“How is the old bastard?” Col. Mustard grunts as he grabs the bears back paws and lifts.
Rusty grunts as he attempts to lift the front paws. Col. Mustard quickly realizes he is doing most of the lifting, whiling Rusty is dragging.
“Well? How is he doing?” Col. Mustard strained through a clenched jaw.
“You could... come and... see him yourself,” Rusty grunts out between labored breaths.
“You know that’s not going to happen. I just wanted to know how he’s keeping on. I know the money always did well for him. Is he married yet?” Col. Mustard leads the way out of the forest.
“We’re… almost… there…” Rusty puts all his strength into dragging the bear out of the forest and onto the edge of the country club’s gold course.
Mr. Brian Gold rushed over to the two of them in his fine suit.
“Sirs, you have impressed me tremendously with your valiant efforts. Tonight we will celebrate and both of you will eat the tender meat of that fine beast you’ve killed. As for now, come with me! We will break out the best liqueur in my personal reserve,” Mr. Gold motioned for the men to follow him over to his fancy, gold-detailed, eight-seat, golf buggy.
-------
READER POLL
A) Colonel Mustard joins Mr. Gold to celebrate.
B) Colonel Mustard returns home to his cabin.
C) Colonel Mustard questions Mr. Gold about the debt being paid.
(Author's Note: Voting has closed for Chef White - I. There is still time to vote on Miss Scarlet - II, Colonel Mustard - II, Mayor Green - I, Solicitor Peacock - I, Professor Plum - I, and Doctor Black Sr - I. Next Chapter will be Chef White - II)
Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
Hmmm, couldn't he join him to celebrate AND question him?
I'll say C.
I'll say C.
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cacums
- Ringer
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
Hmm I suppose that did come off a bit weird. I'm going to keep it as it, because for the sake of story-telling the two options DO have different outcomes. Pestering him on the spot, or waiting till later.
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Jonathan Green
- Master Detective
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
I actually figured it might be a case of having that option come up again if the next Mustard is him celebrating with him.
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ClueLover98
- Slueth
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Re: An Interactive Clue Soap Opera
Mustard II - C