One Last Hurrah

One Last Hurrah

Postby Matthew Notch » Thu Oct 31, 2013 11:13 pm

The City of Sasordivad was founded, long ago, by immigrants from some country, some tribe long since forgotten, and their culture was assimilated and then diluted with that of any number of the peoples that had conquered them. They were a peaceful society, which is why they didn't last long in the ancient times. History books largely forgot about them, and Sasordivad's etymology was traced back to some other indigenous tribe instead.

Those days, of course, were long past and behind the people of Sasordivad, now a bustling metropolis. Commerce is at an all time high here, and the markets here can often predict the future state of the world's economy at any given moment. Sasordivad is home to the finest dining in the world, and the night life is fabulous and glowing, renowned throughout the world. The stage of one of her many spectacular theatres houses the act of Russel Copperfield, star of the stage.

Her citizens also benefit from a robust system of education, and the library at Sasordivad is rumored to hold as many volumes now as the Great Library of Alexandria. Alice MacNamara keeps a careful eye on the walls of great learning, which are still entertaining many visitors even with Google offering much of what they speak—there is a simple pleasure in sitting in the library, feeling that the lessons you are learning are as ancient as man himself. Meanwhile, in the school, a teacher named Ryan Carlyle has been experiencing some curious burning sensations in his biceps of late. He remains stoic, though, and his students never notice his silent suffering. At the nearby university, Jim Tiberius is slowly becoming famous for his stunning works of art, though his reputation is helped, in no small part, by his quirks and compulsions. Entertaining to some, they are constantly a source of pain to him... although lately he hasn't been feeling pain of any kind. He suspects a pinched nerve; perhaps a visit to the chiropractor is in order. The music room is still empty; the university has been unable to procure a replacement for Dr. Dave Anders, the former head of the orchestra, who left his post in a vulgar display of profanity and anger. Meanwhile, in the entomology department, Dr. Lawrence Olivi-lay carefully curates his collection of fine specimens; moths from all over the world can be found in his cases. What he does at night, though, may be of more interest to some...

In such a busy city, it's easy to forget that, for every soul walking the streets, there's a story. Marissa Morris came out pursuing a dream, the dream of being an actress. Sure, she's waiting tables now, but just wait! Her dreams will come true someday, she just knows it. Although lately, her dreams have been nightmares, terrible nightmares about a strange two-headed creature that kills everything near it just by its presence. She is always running away, but she can never get far enough before it catches up to her. It's there every night. What does it all mean? Down the street is a bookstore, and in the store is a girl named Sonia Elizabeth Marceau, a diligent worker with a dream of her own: she wants to own the store herself. She has a special love for the dark and twisted, and the store carries many such tales. She leaves the store after a long day, and there in the corner is a dead bird. She stoops to examine it, but it isn't dead at all, and suddenly rights itself and flies away. She watches after it with great interest.

At the Print Shop, Violet, the devoted the mail carrier, sets a package on the counter and waits for Morton to sign for it. Violet is ever determined to do her job, even though lately she has been experiencing unusually acute hearing. Sometimes the world seems more grey because every noise is very clear and distinct to her. She has taken to wearing earplugs while she delivers mail, but that hasn't been helping the last couple weeks. Morton, on the other hand, absent-mindedly places the package back on a shelf and goes back to dreaming. His carefree ways have cost him so much, but his daydreams turn now to getting his family back together and with him. Sometimes at night he dreams of them too. Some nights, though, he dreams of something very different: a voice calls to him in an arcane tongue, giving him detailed instructions on how to... what? He can never remember what he was asked to do. He only knows it's the same thing every time. And he also remembers a black hole in space.

The city park is known all over the country for being practically a forest in the urban landscape. Children play all over the expansive, beautiful and very latest equipment, inventing games and laughing and carrying on in the safety of a park always patrolled by police. Leonard the janitor walks through the bathrooms picking up trash and cleaning toilets. He tells himself over and over that he is happy with his lot in life, but sometimes he wonders... Why do I have to keep assuring myself? Meanwhile, on a bench near the slides, young Alfred Wessex watches his peers at play. He wishes to himself that he could join them, so badly, but his heart just isn't strong enough for the kind of playing he wants to do. Really, it's hardly strong enough for anything, so he finds himself dreaming a lot. His older brothers have always watched out for him, and tend to let his schemes and games become their own. It's odd, though: of late, Alfred barely has the words out of his mouth before his brothers are on their way, carrying out his plans for him. He wonders why, but it's a mystery just like his heart and children in general.

Watching over his own younger brother is Tommy Atkins. They call him "the Wombat" at school, for reasons that aren't always entirely clear, even to the people who call him that. All he can think of is finding a date for prom. He's getting a little desperate: a guy in his situation, with his kind of popularity, really shouldn't be having all this trouble. He suspects it's because he has no money. His usual con artistry has hit a dry spell lately. He tells himself he needs to work on his poker face. Maybe people will trust him more then. And trust equals benefits, if you're smart about it.

Just then, a nearby high rise complex explodes in a ball of fire. A gaping hole remains; it would seem the building was empty, but something caused a terrible blast, and now the surrounding businesses are in danger. The sirens of the fire trucks can be heard almost immediately. Will Alejandro Guerrero fight his last fire today? He often dreams about meeting his untimely end in a blazing inferno. Yet today he feels calm. Every step seems more sure, more efficient. He wonders where this newfound confidence is coming from. He can certainly use it, with this fire blazing downtown.




You now know the name of your city and a little bit about how you all fit into it. You have twenty-seven hours to let your creative bones sort out what happens next. Work together!
  • 21

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby FaceTheCitizen » Fri Nov 08, 2013 2:19 am

Sonia watched as the bird flew away, bewildered. Was it playing dead? Do birds even play dead?

"Maybe I brought it back to life," Sonia mused. She continued her aimless trek around the neighborhood. She enjoys walking aimlessly before heading home, one of many activities that help clear her mind. The young girl, in her early twenties with short black hair that reached her neck and blue eyes, had a long day of work. Fortunately, she had a day off from classes today, but that didn't mean she didn't have a short paper waiting for her at home.

Sonia slowed her pace as she took out her phone to distract herself. Youtube, Facebook, Wikipedia...
  • 21

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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby WaitYAmIHere » Fri Nov 08, 2013 3:00 am

Posting OOC in blue. This is where we post right?

"How many more times do we have to do this?"

"Just until we know the truth, Mr. Carlyle."

"I already told you what I know!"

"Mr. Carlyle several people report seeing a man matching you're description running from the scene of the crime."

" I WAS RUNNING BECAUSE A BUILDING EXPLODED!"

"Calm down Mr. Carlyle or we will have to restrain you. Why don't you tell me again what you were doing downtown?"

"I already told you, I was at a chiropractors. They were looking at my arm. I was walking out the door when the building down the street exploded. I ran. Primarily because buildings were GODDAMN exploding!"

"There's no reason for foul language Mr. Carlyle. Now why were you at a chiropractors in such an empty part of town?"

"I told you I'm a teacher. Do you think I have an abundance of cash on hand to go to some upscale place?"

"I see. How long have you been going to that chiropractor?"

"This was my first visit. I'm having pain in my arm. My doctor recommend a chiropractor."

"So your first visit and a building explodes? You live a very interesting life Mr. Carlyle." The voice dripped disbelief and sarcasm. Listening to the 'detective' accuse him like that struck Ryan's brain like a hot iron. Being a teacher, and a good one at that, he was well versed in conflict resolution. He knew what the reasonable thing to do here was.

Ryan stood.

Fuck reasonable, he thought.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So then I stood up, called him a fascist pig, and got punched in the face." Ryan said to the heavyset man across the bar.

"You don't do things in half measures, do you Ryan?" said Frank, the aforementioned heavyset man, "I never see you lose your temper but when you do apparently you yell at cops. Heh. Wish I could have seen it."

Ryan tried glaring at Frank but his heart wasn't in it. The black eye he was sporting didn't help, either. He flexed his arm, trying to stretch out the phantom burning pain. " I knew I shouldn't have bothered with the chiropractor. Not only was it a waste of time and money but it also gets me labeled a terrorist."

Frank laughed, a deep, almost booming, sound from deep in his chest, "So I guess they aren't charging you with anything?"

"No," Ryan sighed, "The chiropractor confirmed that I had been there the whole time and a clerk across the street saw me pull up and go straight in. I'm just glad I didn't end up on the news." Ryan shuddered to thing of what Mrs. Bimmertam, the principal, would do if he had been. "You know Frank, it's been years since I got good and properly drunk but it's Friday night, I'm here, alone, single, and supposedly a terrorist so I think you should go ahead and get me a bottle of the strongest stuff you have."

While Frank was in the backroom, grabbing bottles and hiding Ryan's keys, a stranger walked in the bar. This itself was a noteworthy event for the few inhabitants inside as Calligan's was not on the normal bar crawl circuit. In fact, it wasn't on any bar crawl circuit. One had to go in an alley and around a corner just to find it. Most everyone here, Ryan included, had found it through introduction and became regulars for it's small community atmosphere.

The newcomer had the air of someone who had reached the point of total emotional exhaustion. They didn't so much sit in the seat next to Ryan as fall in. Ryan took one look at their tired, worn face and did the only decent thing he could think of; fill an empty glass and set in front of them.

"Want to talk about it?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Thus began the most interesting period in Ryan's life.
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Wait... How did I get back here?
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby julyjack73 » Fri Nov 08, 2013 3:33 am

Pulling a rabbit out of the hat, pretending to fly, escaping some chains, faking impalement, sawing a lady in half, reading someone's mind, turning invisible, and vanishing into a puff of smoke. A standard performance for "The Amazing Mr. Copperfield".


They're not to hard to pull off. Heck, they're frankly easy to do once you know the trick. However, he knows he should never let others know what that trick is. "It would shatter the illusion", other magicians say.

He dwells around that word. Illusion, deceiving peoples very senses to do the impossible. Sure, he's good at it, and sure it drives in a crowd, but he wonders why people watch his show in the first place. They know what he's doing is fake, why would anyone pay ten dollars to be lied to?



He sighs. "Whatever the reason is, it's certainly working".

He shoves Snowball into a top hat, fakes a smile, and enters the stage.

"Greetings, Mortals. I am the Amazing Mr. Copperfield!"
  • 21

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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby Morton » Fri Nov 08, 2013 1:21 pm

"Morton! Come on, man, we need you over here!"

I snapped awake at the sound of Ted's voice. I guess I should say I snapped out of my daydream, since I wasn't really asleep. Ted and a few of the other guys were trying to unload a shipment of paper off of the back of the truck. I wished Ted would just get a forklift and be done with it. But oh well, here we go.

Later that day, I was sitting in the break room taking a breather while business was slow. The bell of the door rang and I got up and looked into the lobby. It was a young man. He looked so much like Bobby, and I almost ran out and waved to him, but then he looked up at me and I saw his eyes were brown. His skin was the same dark brown, almost black color, but Bobby's eyes were green. I remember the first time I saw him at the agency when I was with Sheila. He could have been her biological son; same dark skin with green eyes. I remember thinking I'd never seen anyone like Sheila before, and now here this child is, and he would be my son. They were both so beautiful.

I went back into the break room because Ted was already helping the customer. I opened my phone--I still use the clamshell phones, these smartphones frankly terrify me--and dialed the number, the same number I always dialed. I'd erased it from my phone's contact list so I wouldn't be tempted to call it again, but I had it memorized and I always found myself pushing the buttons. My finger hovered over the 'call' button. I knew it was wrong. Sheila had made herself very clear the last time. She told me that Bobby--she called him Robert--told her specifically not to give me his number if I called her for some reason. He had moved out of town and he and his sister, my Vanessa, were roommates somewhere, where, I didn't know. Still, I couldn't bring myself to close the phone until I finally remembered the time before, when Keith answered the phone. I couldn't believe it. She had left me for Keith, after all those years.

"Morton! Are you done with your break yet, man? We got customers!"

Phil was yelling at me from the counter. I realized I was lost in a daydream again. Someday I was going to stop dreaming so much. I closed my phone without calling and left to help the person who came to the counter...
  • 19

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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby ButtChocolate » Fri Nov 08, 2013 4:13 pm

The headaches are getting worse. It's hard to focus most days. It's like... there's an intense, stabbing pain behind my left eye- burning. I wish these damn pills would kick in already...! NNNNNNNNNpppppphhhh!

It used to just come and go, maybe happen just once every few months- but now it's like every other day. I can't sleep most nights. I swear to God if I have to get one more CT scan or piss into one more jar for the doctors, I'm just going to take the whole fucking bottle of these stupid fucking pills they prescribed and...

Ah... the pills are... starting to kick in... it's going away. Finally. Thank God... Jesus fucking Christ... finally...

I almost wish they would find a tumor or growth. Something. At least then there'd be a cause- they could cut my fucking brain open and remove a big melon, and I could go back to work. I just can't stand this anymore. My short-term disability is running out, and my application for long-term is tied-up in fucking red tape. Fucking assholes- let's see them try to sit there all day staring a computer while their fucking brain is on fire about to explode. Pencil pushing imbeciles. I'm not just a fucking number...

I... I need to lay down for a while... try and get some rest... before the next wave comes on...
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby JamesT » Fri Nov 08, 2013 7:49 pm

With a flourish Jim Tiberius placed the final brush stroke on his latest painting. He stood back and stared at it thoughtfully, trying to detect any flaws. He found only 678—a new record for him. And so his masterwork was completed. A man with dark hair and a red shirt was fleeing from all manner of vividly depicted dangers in ancient Jerusalem. It took ages to get the perfect blend of terror and confusion on the unfortunate man's face, but it was completed at last.

His last work had been met with confusion and controversy, and had led to his works being banned in several museums. Sure it hadn't hurt his career—quite the contrary—but still, Jim missed being allowed in certain parts of the world, and not spat upon every time he visited Ireland.

One day the world would be ready for a 13 by 20 foot mural depicting a starship captain with a pink tail engaged in an orgy with dozens of different alien species. Until then, Jim would continue painting these historical scenes. Maybe next time he would paint a Western...

Jim took another step back. It was necessary to take a piece in as a whole, from a great distance, in order to truly appreciate how a first time viewer would see it. And so he took another step back...

"Huh." He murmured to himself. "I wonder why it's suddenly so cold?"

and another...

"I don't remember putting those drapes on the inside of my apartment"

...and fell off the balcony. In the next few seconds he plummeted 13 stories, heard the screams of some passersby and realized that he had forgotten to include a shadow on one of the background figures.

*CRUNCH*

Jim Tiberius rolled over to his side, examining the cracked concrete. He felt a scream well up in his chest. The artist had fallen over a hundred feet onto the sidewalk, without any sort of cushioning. He was in deep, indescribable, agonizing... actually he felt fine. With a confused grunt he tested his limbs and sat up as the rain began to pour.
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby DashaBlade » Fri Nov 08, 2013 8:28 pm

It's always the goddamn noise.

Customers complaining, car horns honking, dogs barking, and now, buildings exploding and sirens wailing. Never mind the basic instinct for survival, Violet just wanted to get away from the noise. Every nerve in her body urged her to get away, get away from all that noise. A nice little cave, deep in the ground. A house in the middle of the desert. A camp deep in a mountain forest. Anything just to get away from the noise.

But no. She had a job to do, a calling. Maybe in twenty years she could retire to one of those nice, quiet places, but for now, people were depending on her. She had to get the mail out.
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby CarrieVS » Fri Nov 08, 2013 8:47 pm

"Time for home, Alfie."

Alan laid a hand on his shoulder, cutting through his thoughts. Alfred scowled, and his brother smiled down at him, "Alf. But come on. We can't wait any longer,and even if they turned up now we wouldn't have time to do anything. You know how Mum will worry if you're not home on time."

Alfred stood up, and they crossed the park together, the teenager carefully keeping to a pace Alfred could manage. Alfred dragged his feet, only half deliberately, tired out from the long disappointing wait. As the pair reached the street the twins ran up to join them, matching grins plastered across their faces.

"We had detention!" Albert explained, panting.

Alastair elaborated, "For trying to make explosives-"

"-in a Chemistry lesson."

"And then we had to go the long way round,"

"because a building exploded"

"and some streets were closed off."

"We got here as fast as we could,"

"but it's too late now."

"But it'll be better if we do it tomorrow anyway,"

"because Alvin will be here too."

Alfred brightened and picked up his pace a little. Alan had to carry him the last bit of the way home so that he didn't get out of breath, but he was smiling.
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby malosaires » Sat Nov 09, 2013 1:52 am

Marissa Morris was cleaning up her last table of the night, going over the things she needed to do for the week as she was getting ready to leave.

"Clean the sinks tonight, return books to the library tomorrow, head to the audition, call Mom and tell her about my week, see if Olivia can get tickets to the show." She picked up the plates and began to walk to the kitchen when she heard a whisper. She whirled around, dropping the plates, looking to see if it had followed her. Silence.

"Shit!" she said, realizing that she had dropped the plates. She put her head in her hands for a moment of respite before pulling them away, wringing them out to pretend that she was all right. The dreams were getting to her. That thing was getting to her. She'd never seen it up close in real life, but then, she'd never seen it up close at all. She'd never been able to get a good look at it.

As her manager berated her for dropping the plates, Marissa was lost in thought. It was three times now that she'd thought she'd heard it in real life, that low, gasping breathe, like living smoke wrapping around her ankles. All those books on the occult, and she'd not found a description that matched. She was sure that if she could just see it, she could find out what it was. There was power in knowing. It took some of the fear away.
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby Matthew Notch » Sat Nov 09, 2013 1:54 am

Alejandro had his hands full with the burning building. He worked through the disaster like a machine, though, efficiently as a man with his years on the Fire Department could be expected to do. After the crisis was averted, the Inspector came to investigate, because all signs pointed to arson of some sort. He looked at the site and then walked over to Alejandro.

"Hey, son, were you lead on this job?"

"I suppose I was sir."

"You know, I've never seen anyone work that quickly or efficiently before. It was like every step you took was planned for months. And you know how these things go; you never know what to expect."

"Well thank you sir."

"I'm gonna recommend you for a promotion, Guerrero. This is a good sign."

"Oh, I appreciate it, but I think I prefer the field, sir. Desk jobs worry me a little."

The Inspector cocked an eyebrow. "Well all right. Whatever makes you happy, I guess." He grinned under his coarse white mustache and walked to the scene, shaking his head.




What did it mean? After such a long fall, you would expect to at least have broken bones, if not dead or paralyzed at the end of it. Perhaps he was just very very lucky. Or maybe he landed on a cat that broke his fall! The thought made Jim Tiberius sad. Or, it started to, before the emotional pain floated away as quickly as his physical pain had after the fall. Oh well, he said to himself, I guess I can't complain about this kind of problem.




Morton ran into a man on his way out of the print shop. His head was in the clouds again, of course. However, as soon as he made contact with the man, he instantly had a vision. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced; all of a sudden he could see, as clearly as he could see his own hands, a man wreathed in shadow. He spoke to Morton in the same arcane voice the stranger in his dreams spoke to him:

"You cannot let him destroy the world, Morton."

"What? What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"He cannot destroy the world! You must be the one. You must rise to the challenge."

"Wait, what do you mean 'I must be the one'?!" But it was too late, the vision was gone, and the man he'd run into was already in his car and driving away. The stranger found a back alley like the one he'd dreamed about all those nights, and he followed his instincts as the voice told him to do. Sure enough, there was a bar, Calligan's by name. He felt both elated that his vision had come true and completely drained that it meant, perhaps, that other visions were yet to be fulfilled. He knew; not all of them were awake yet. How could he find them all?

"Well I'm here. Might as well have a drink." He dragged himself into the bar and fell into a seat next to Mr. Carlyle.




You now know that some people around this town are not what they seem, and may even have special powers. Your turn has ended; thanks to all who participated.

Stat points will be awarded to:

Ozy the Sarcastic (2)
Kate the Klutzy (2)
Vladmir the Bastard (1)
Ealdgyð the Abǣndane (1)
Milo Minderbinder (2)
Carrot the Bold (2)
Urthbert the Unclean (2)
Nudge the Not-So-Good-At-Being-A Warrior (1)
Dana the Frazzled (1)
Ambi the Indecisive (2)

Warriors go next, and have thirty hours and three turns total within that timeframe. Stay tuned to this thread; it will be ready for you again in that time!
  • 20

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby julyjack73 » Sun Nov 10, 2013 4:03 pm

"Happy Birthday dear Adrian, Happy Birthday to you!"

Today, "The Amazing Mr. Copperfield" was preforming for a kid's birthday party. The magic tricks are not as demanding as they are on stage, no sawing ladies in half, no pulling rabbits out of hats, and certainly no pyrotechnics. Just ribbons, coins, and cups. Child's play.

However, these performances are certainly more stressful than the ones on stage. Nor do they pay as much.

"Here's your quarter" he says, pulling a quarter out of the birthday boy's ear.

"Give it to me, Give it! Give It!" yells the child.

He sighs, and hands the quarter to the child.

The other kids pipe up, "We want one to, We want one too!"

He hates kids.
  • 21

Julyjack, your comment was sunshine from a unicorn's butthole. - Popeshaggy
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby CleverDick » Sun Nov 10, 2013 4:38 pm

Dave awoke with a start to the clunk of his laptop hitting the floor, for the second time that night. He'd fallen asleep to the daily grind again, idly staring at the garish assault of colours from the screen. The pattern of refreshing forums and checking chat and falling into an unrestful sleep punctuated Dave's days and nights, but it wasn't always like this. It was only a week ago that he was in front of a classroom, reciting scales and modes, chords and voicings to a bored crowd. It seemed like it would go on forever, and it took only a minute to end it all.

"You arrogant, ungrateful fuckholes. Do you twats ever-"

Dave scrunched his eyes shut and banged his head on his fist, trying to shake off the memory. He curled on his side and held his head in his hands.

You're such a fucking idiot, Dave, what the hell is wrong with you?

It was morning now, but the sun had not yet risen. Only the screen illuminated Dave's room, with its beige walls and grey blankets and dusty, mute furniture adorned by loose clothing. He kept clicking absently well until sunrise.
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby JamesT » Sun Nov 10, 2013 4:59 pm

*WHIRRRRRRRRRRR*

Jim Tiberius looked around his apartment. A hundred broken knives, shattered hammers and ruined appliances littered the floor.

*WHIRRRRRRRRRRR*

At that moment he was trying to drill a hole through his hand with a power drill.

*WHIRRRRRRRRR- CRACK*

"Awesome!" Jim yelled as the drill bit broke off. His hand remained unhurt.

He had waved off unwanted attention from yesterday's dramatic fall by claiming he was on angel dust. He WAS, but Jim suspected that something more was at play here. Usually when one was stabbed the knives didn't break, and when one shoved their hand into a blender, the consequences were usually more dire than dirty nails.

With a smirk Jim looked to the oven. He wondered if he was immune to heat...

30 minutes later


Jim Tiberius had gone too far. His hubris had led to a terrible injury that he wouldn't recover from soon. He could have dealt with a stab wound or a broken bone, but not this. He looked into the mirror with a sob. His hair... his beautiful hair had caught on fire.

"WHY, GOD?"
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Re: One Last Hurrah

Postby Psychosassic » Sun Nov 10, 2013 5:19 pm

Alice MacNamara wandered through the shelves of the fiction section, trying not to look too closely at the books she was re-shelving. She had a bad habit of putting aside piles of books for herself that she never quite got around to reading, and she was fairly certain that this was bad from for a librarian.

She heard a noise behind her. Assuming it was a patron browsing, she turned, ready to move her cart of books out of the way.

There was nobody there.

Well, that wasn't too strange. It was an old building; they made all kinds of weird noises. She turned around and resumed her work.

A little later, a few shelves down, she heard the sound again. It was louder. Still nobody there.

Later, she heard it again. Louder. It was starting to get on her nerves. But it wasn't until the next couple of times that she really decided she couldn't take it anymore.

She stood, hands on her hips, and said, "Hello? Is anybody there?"

Nothing.

"If there's someone following me, then stop it right now. This is my library. Either show yourself or go away, because I have work to do."

There was no response. She huffed loudly, then turned back to her work.

She didn't hear it again.
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