miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion,
The doll kept tottering along down the hallway, its rag-doll head eclipsed by the brutal knife it carried. If Miles had been anywhere near sober, perhaps he might’ve stopped this ritual for the fucking Faram-damned foolishness that it was.
Instead, he’d found his way into an upstairs lounge, browsing the desiccated remains of toppled bookcases – most of the books had either been carted off, or burned, or were currently rotting into a mildewy paste. There was a grand piano in the corner, one of its legs broken and so leaving the instrument teetering at an angle. His hand instinctively gravitated to the C sharp, and hit the key with a depressing little plink. He grimaced at the tortured whine that came out of the piano, its strings wobbling and utterly off-key.
“Faram-damned shame,” he muttered under his breath. Miles had spat out the water immediately, of course, simply content to bide his time and nurse his wine until—
Creak.
What was that?
“Audrey, if this is your idea of—” Miles turned. His eyes widened. He took a step back, watching the small shape bob in the doorway. Surely it wouldn’t, he thought,
And then it started scurrying right towards him on impossible fast little feet, swiping the knife. Miles gave a yowl of pain as he leapt over it and went half-scurrying half-limping off into the hallway, warm blood coursing down his ankle and into his boot – the fucking thing had nearly fucking hamstrung him –
Defensively, reactively, the mime reached for his old bardic skills. He hummed the particular set of notes that would help obscure him from view, settling behind the veil of Hide as he hurried away from the set of scurrying feet, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.