Fuck, again with the damned forgetting to format. Please forgive me.

Juliet's words echo in your mind in the silence of the restaurant: . I want you to get someone to open the fridge. You take stock. Juliet can possibly see you. That was the first thing he said to you, after all, that he could. The again, he could be just making you worry about things. He wants you to get someone else to open the fridge. That means, not you. You can think of a few reasons why he wouldn't want it to be you to open the fridge, and the most comforting, but, you think, least likely to be true, is that there is something in the fridge that will scare or hurt someone, and he doesn't want you to be scared or hurt.

In any case, it's probably not a good idea to go looking for chicken soup in this restaurant. You sit down, open your rucksack, and take out something to eat. In your bag are three little packets: rice cakes, fruit leather, and jerky. You'll have one in a little while, you think. But first, it's time to plan. How are you going to get someone to open the fridge? Somehow lure them into the restaurant and then have a sign on the fridge that says “Open Me”? It's a dumb idea, and a bit of what Daddy'd call a “pointy stick”, but it could work.

You wrack your brains further. You could find them, and ask, with sad, sad eyes and the lost-little-girl-face that you're so good at doing, “Please, Mister, there's a monster in the fridge, could you please make sure that it's not there?” Or, another idea comes to mind...you could refuse to open the fridge, and just give the footage of the pot boiling over...but that'd mean that Juliet will be less inclined to help in the future, you think. As Mummy always said, "People are nice to you, if you're nice to them!"
What do you think you should do?

While you're thinking, you re-tie your shoelaces, and daydream about the way that the buns twitched and floofed and crinkled their noses in that adorable and soft way that they do. The situation you're in is exciting. All alone, in a dark place, with difficult goals. Other, lesser girls would be scared. But you're brave! This isn't a challenge for you! You can do anything! The fridge hums, plaintively, in the background. When you poke the mould that wraps so tightly around the edge of the door, it could be vacuum sealed, it springs back.

You remember the pot. It's about eight gallons in size, and since you think it's best not to open it, you don't know how full it is. It's dark, it's heavy, and it's sealed. You twist the knob for the burner, and the scent of gas, a smell you've always loved, makes the room slightly less nauseating. After a couple clicks, it roars to life, and flames lick the bottom of the pot, hungrily, as though by slowly melting the bottom of the pot, they would be able to get at the delights inside.

Do you stay in the room?

>>36340956
>Work out a plan to open the fridge.
Find some paper and write a "Please keep sealed - Management" sign. Then stick it to the door.

>Also
Hi, QM.

>>36341045
>Find some paper and write a "Please keep sealed - Management" sign. Then stick it to the door.
You're an absolute genius.

>Hi QM
Thankyou, Anon! Thanks for joining me.

You take out your phone and turn on the camera function. You press the "film" button, and press play. You start recording the pot. At first, nothing. The pot remains entirely still, the lid remains firmly on, nothing moves, save for the fire beneath. The flickering red light changes on your heartbeat. You breathe in, and hold your phone as still as you can.

Something slams against the door to the restaurant and you almost drop your phone. You hope to God that they haven't noticed the broken window, or rather more likely, can't fit through it. You are comparatively small, after all. Another impact. You can't see he door's hinges, but you think they're at least shakey at this point. On Daddy, your shoulder is about at the tallness of his waist, and Daddy is what they call in stories a "man of average height". Or at least that's what you imagine.

You're somewhat happy that you managed to break the door. Another. So now, unless you open the door on your way out, nobody can get inside! You feel safer here than out there. You giggle. In here, with a monster that touched your neck, with a present in the middle of the room, with two possibly dangerous things right here with you- you feel safe. The person who was trying to open the door has stopped. In all this time, you've just about managed to maintain focus on the pot. You can hear a soft bubbling sound, and it's shaking quietly. The lid hasn't moved yet.

Do you stay in the room?

>>36341298
>Stay
Wait for the pot to boil.

>>36341501
The bubbling intensifies. There's a gulping, drumming sound, like a thirsty army walking on aluminium foil. It's happening, you think, only a couple minutes more, and you'll get one back! The lid starts to tip open, and then fall back, and it's a seesaw, going upandown, yes! Beads of white slice their way down the sides, forming milky tears. It starts to spit and you instinctively take a step backwards so that you don't get any on you. It'd hurt. Whitish clouds floof out of the pot, and dissipate upwards, and you can feel their warmth on your face.

The lid shakes violently, and a roiling foam starts climbing over the side of the pot. You've always been told to take the lid off when that happens, but now, you stand, stock-still, your breath in your feet and hands, and focussing, perfectly still, on the pot. The rushing sound, intense, is the thirsty army starting to charge. They pace, drag their shoes in the dirt, and some start on the dash. The sides are weeping, as the boiling water streams down them.

The lid is getting higher and higher, and about to spring off. You hold your breath a little longer, and- the lid clatters onto the floor. You kick it to the other side of the room, your feet protected by your sensible shoes, and quickly turn off the heat. You stop recording, and send the film. Now, all there is to do is to wait.

You decide to go find some paper, to write a message on the fridge. There are the stack of books which you can't read outside. There's the wrapping paper of the present, but you're not sure whether to touch it. Its very presence scares you because something must have put it there. It couldn't have somehow willed itself into existence. It doesn't have magical powers. No, it's mundane. But that means that someone-
It hurts your head to think about it. You go look for paper. Give me a d20 perception check, please.

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>36341876
You have no idea how scared I was that one of the bunnies was in that pot.

>>36341876

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>36341876

>>36341941
You haven't looked inside the pot yet.

>>36341941
>>36342196
You find a scrap of white paper, on the back of which are scrawled orders: two steaks, two orange juices, a beer and a glass of wine. It's a little burnt and heavily creased, but there's enough to get the message across. It was on the floor, just under the window out of which is pulsating the endless red light. The mould on the floor there is so inundated with dust that you sneeze a little after taking the paper. The dust flumes and plumes. You find a pencil in your coat and write in the neatest, clearest handwriting you can,
"Please keep sealed
-Management!"
On it. You place it on the fridge for all to see and stand back a little, making sure that it will stay there and not fall off. Becausebecausebecause, you're not going to do all this hard work for nothing. Your phone rings. It's Juliet again, and his voice, his soft, caramel voice still makes you feel twitchy, makes the back of your throat feel dry, makes you nervous,
"Bonjour, chère lapin."
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Français, dear."
"Oh. Okay. Did I do well?"
"Marvelously, my dear. In fact, splendidly. However did you manage to get the sanguine illumination so precise?"
"I...it-" You breathe in, "It just happened. I don't know."
"There is no need to be humble, my dear. Natural talent is a rarity indeed, when it comes to this line of work."
"Do I get my bunny back?"
"Not quite yet. Just get someone to open the refrigerator, film it all, and then, my dear, one of your beloved creatures will be with you once again. Oh, just your luck! Two unsavory looking types are just coming a-knocking now. You'd best get to work, lapin. Cheerio."
"Wait, please, what-"
But the line goes dead. And at that moment, the front door to the restaurant bounces off its hinges. What do you do?

>>36342223
>You haven't looked inside the pot yet.
..No!

>Hide in a cabinet.
This may have just become Kill Terrible People With a Rusty Spatula Quest.

>>36342312
>This may have just become Kill Terrible People With a Rusty Spatula Quest.
I think I've got two voters now, so you guys can and should debate whether to use lethal force. Keep in mind that you are an 11 year old girl with no combat training. You're small, but you're fast and quite strong for your age. Even so, you are fragile, both physically and mentally. So be careful when interacting with others. Think what you're going to do first. There are a number of options
>Check the pot
>Hide in a cupboard or cabinet
>Throw a pan against the wall and then hide in the cupboard
>Try to sneak out
>Try to hurt the meanies!
>Hide in the shadows and observe things
>[Write-in]

>>36342395
>>Throw a pan against the wall and then hide in the cupboard

I'm not killng anyone, at least not soon.
The only death worthy crime is bunny murder.

>>36342395
>Hide in a cupboard or cabinet

>>36342483
>>36342593
Okay, i'll give it another couple minutes and then roll a d2 to decide, unless one can convince the other.

>>36342643
It's fine, I'll switch to
>Hide in a cupboard or cabinet

>>36342687
>>36342483
>>36342593

You quickly look around the room. There's a row of cupboards under the counter, musty-smelling and damp. You crawl into one and close the door behind you. The were shelves where you are, but they've been ripped out. You feel the warmth of a water-pipe against your back. It's entirely dark here, and all the light you've got is in the torch. You don't think you should turn it on, because, well, they'll find you. And you don't want to think about that. You take a breath in and try to listen. No footsteps. It's almost as though they've gone out of their way to be as quiet as possible after bashing in the front door. You look over your shoulder and there's a hole, about the size of a cent, at eye-level. It's too dark on the other side to see anything. You freeze. You are entirely invisible. Nobody will find you.

There's sawdust about your feet and cobwebs in your hair. You suppress a squeak as something skitters over your jeansed leg. You don't want to think about legs crawling all over your body, tickling under your armpits, creeping up along your arms, down your neck, into your eyes. Roll for sanity. d20.

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>36342885
>San check
Oh god

>>36342950
I'll be willing to give you guys best of three.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>36342885

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>36342885

>>36343105
>>36343102
>>36342950
That was a close one. For a second, you saw yourself start screaming. You wanted Mummy. You wanted to be at home, in bed, with all your bunnies, but you weren't. Cascades of spiders were washing over you, scuttling inside, delving under your skin, into your eyes, down your throat. You were trashing, kicking the door open, denting the water pipe in your fervour. But you couldn't move. Your mouth moved soundlessly. Your eyes twitched. Everything was frozen. You couldn't breathe. Well done, you hear, congratulations on surviving your very first panic attack. You're alright. Drenched in sweat, panting desperately, but okay. You haven't revealed your position, you didn't have an accident, you're going to be fine. You promise that's what's going to happen yes because it's true you know. Absolutely definitely true with no nothings and no horrors. You're fine. You hug onto your rucksack tightly. Your tummy rumbles. You're so hungry. You've got to eat now. Now now. Now right now. Your hands shake hard. You actually have to guide your left hand with your right, as you open the rucksack and remove some jerky. You stick it in your mouth and chew. The salty, dry juices of the meat flow, and you exhale heavily.

Footsteps now in the kitchen. They can't see you. All you can see is their ankles. There are four. Both wearing black leather boots with altogether too many laces, you think. They go slowly. Step by step. You can imagine their eyeless, cotton-candy-textured half molten clay faces looking around for you, and their noses sniffing for the scent of your fear.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

They pass you. One says to another.
"Look. The fridge," in a horrible, sandpapery whisper.
"I can see it, Jay." replys the other, in a voice that sounds like crushed glass.
"What are we going to do?"
"They've probably hidden something of worth in there."
"Hence the sign?"
"Exactly."
"Just a minute, Tee."

Jay paces around the room once or twice. He- you think it's a he- gives the door next to you a furious kick. You gasp into your fist and mouth of jerky.

>>36343374
"Okay, open the fucking fridge already!" They turn.
"Yes, retard, get a fucking move on!"
"Door. Open. Quicker. Quicker! Quicker!"
"I'm trying, Tee, I'm fucking trying, it's hard."
"You're a fucking weakling. My gran could open this with a nail file faster than you can."

You don't know what the words mean but you know they mean bad things. You're scared they'll see you, but Juliet needs a recording of this. You open the door, so that you can peek out and record the whole event. You giggle. Something's going to happen to them. You just know it. Meanie cruel evil thieves will be punished! You breathe in, and steady the phone hand with your other. You furiously chew the jerky. It's going to be alright.

Sorry, I forgot. Give me a d4 to reveal the contents of the fridge. First poster wins.

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>36343545

>>36343566
There's a sound like a machine exhaling, and then seven subtle 'thunks', noises of impact, of something entering something else, one after another. There's a gargling. Like someone trying to spit out a mouthful of ball-bearings, but can't quite manage it. You slowly inch out from your hiding place and creep across the room in a wide arc. Pieces of metal, the size and shape of those nice fountain pens that Daddy uses to write letters with, are sticking out of what were, only moments before, Tee and Jay.

Tee makes a keening noise, and bends over, as though to vomit, but out of his mouth slides, gentle and elegant, a lump of glistening flesh the size of a baby's clenched fist. There are four "pens" in Tee. One in his right eye, the blood around it black, and dripping, wet mascara, down his face. You force yourself not to be afraid and zoom in to take a closeup. He slides down, so that he's sitting, his legs half-criss-crossed-half-applesauce, with his eye on the part of him that lay outside. Red-black rooster-tails from his neck, drenching the second "pen". It also sprays wings across the wall. You think about angels for a second and try not to giggle. The third pen is a little under where you think his nipple would be if he wasn't wearing a shirt. You don't want to think about that at all. The thought of his doughy, bloated body with holes in it and nipples and blood are things that make you want to go back to your room and hide under the covers. He wheezes, and it sounds like the flow of bunny food into a metal bowl. You start worrying. What if Juliet is mad at you for doing this? What if he didn't want them to get hurt? What if he wanted to trick you...? No. He's not like that. He's not a meanie. A strange, strange man, but not a meanie, no.

>>36343815
The fourth protrudes from his belly, glowing silver in the light of the fridge, a foil to the chequered blue of his shirt. He gurgles again, and his eyes close.

Jay is tottering about in tiny circles. You catch a glimpse of him. All three of the pens seem to have hit at head-height, and are sticking out of the side of his head, just around the ear. You capture several revolutions, and then turn off the camera and save the footage. It's time to get out of here.

You creep out of the kitchen. The present is still there, untouched, laying in the middle of the floor for everyone to see. You still don't touch it. You give it a wide a berth as is possible, and then walk out the door, slamming it behind you.

You make a dash for the stairwell. You're more or less blind with tears and fear. It's so dark. It's so dark.


You find yourself in the stairwell. You take a breath. You don't know anymore.

You send Juliet the film, and make your way down the two flights of stairs to the atrium. Nothing has changed. You think briefly about what you've done. Two meanies were probably going to hurt you and got hurt because they didn't have common sense. Everything's going to be fine. You'll get your bunny back. The tree's changed somehow, you can't quite put your finger on why, or how. You crawl into one of the comfy armchairs and feel like you're dissolving into it. The need to sleep overtakes you. You've been up for hours. It should be morning, soon. People will be awake, and you'll be able to ask the concierge to ask for your parents, or have hot chocolate and hug yourself and feel better. Maybe you'll wake up. This has to be a dream. You, it, it has to, nothing is like...you check the time. It's three-twelve AM.The armchair could be a bed and your clothes could be blankets. You can just imagine your Mummy kissing you goodnight and tucking you into bed. How nice it would be, how peaceful. You're on the precipice of sleep, so close to nothingness you could kiss it, when your phone rings.
It's Juliet. He's elated.
"My dear, this is some of the best work I've seen in years, not since..." He reels off several names you think are director's names. "Have I seen such wonderous works."
"T-thank you."
"As I promised. One rabbit. You'll find it in your mailbox momentarily. Your services are muchly appreciated."
"T-thank you!!"
"You do sound as though you're in need of forty winks, however, my dear lapin. You should rest. When I need some more footage, I shall contact you. I leave you with a question: what are you doing, Miko? What have you done?"
Click.

You run to the mailroom. Inside your box is a box with airholes and that nostalgic smell of rabbit.
Give me a name and a d15

Welp. I guess I'm done.

>>36344339
For tonight or for good?

Rolled 12 (1d15)

>>36344228
>Cookie

>>36344360
I'm...I'm sorry, I'm letting exterior forces affect my QM-ing skills. The session still runs. I was just a little worried that I'd lost all my players.Also, my hallmates are fucking assholes.

>>36344381
No need to worry about not having a player. I wanna know how this ends. The only reason I didn't respond sooner is that the auto-updater keeps fucking up for me.

File: _wsb_700x459_BUNNYS_1428-(...).jpg (35 KB, 700x459)

35 KB JPG

>>36344377
It's Cookie! Cookie the Lionhead Rabbit! As you open the box, he pops out, putting his floofy little paws over the lid, and blinking at the brightness. He's unharmed. You clasp him in your hands and inhale his deep and wonderous scent. You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you don't care in the least that you're crying. Bawling, actually, holding onto Cookie and burying your face in his soft brown-golden fur. He's alive. Juliet wasn't lying to you. Everything will be okay.

Cookie was always a bit of a fighty one, he would pounce and thump and otherwise strut around like the miniature king of the hutch, but the others didn't pay him much attention. You love his mane best, as it's glorious and rich and makes him have a look of permanent, if regal, surprise. He's the sweetest thing, though. He loves it best when you scratch just under his mane. W-when you were eight, you wrote a poem about his exploits. A memorable couplet was
"He advances in his furry fury
His acts are okayed by a jury!"
His acts, of course, being world domination, setting up a colony on Mars, and then moving the entirety of Mars bar production to there. All written in couplet form. He snuffles your hand. You cannot wait to feed him carrots and comb his fur and cuddle with him and go to bed.

Your phone rings. Cradling bunny in one hand, you answer. It's Henderson.
"I hope you've not forgotten me, Miko."
"No, not at all."
"Remember, soup."
"I'll get it done as fast as I can, Miss Henderson! I just need some alone time with my bun."
"I understand. By the way, there's a shortcut to the fifteenth floor. It's in room 6J. The owner leaves the key under the doormat. Have fun!"
Click.

>>36344466
Thanks, Anon!

>>36344602
>Bun is safe
From this moment on everything we do is justified. No matter what.

>>36344655
>Bun is safe
One bun out of fifteen. The quest is called "The Buns!" for a very good reason. Namely, more than one bun. But yes, this bun in particular is safe.

I'm going to do one last choice before going to bed.
>Go home to sleep?
>Sleep on armchair?
>Other

>Talk to Cookie
>Don't talk to Cookie


(Choose one talk option+sleep/other option)

>>36344715
>Go home to sleep

>Talk to Cookie

Goodnight. Thanks for running.

>>36344767
Thank you so much for sticking it out!

"Cookie, I love you so, so so much! You're the cutiest bawnie in the whole wide world and I love your mane and I love your smell and it's so good so good to see you." You mutter all this into his fur and ears and it's just so nice to hold him. You don't really remember going back to your room, or getting two carrots and a small tray for Cookie to sit in, nor making him a nest from blankets and love. You pull the chest of drawers in front of your door, and sleep envelopes you like a hug. Cookie is safe. You're safe. There are fourteen more. You're going to be fine. The world twists above you as you pass off into the land of nod. Tomorrow will be a brighter day.

And that's all for tonight, folks. I may be running Monday night from a little after 9EST. I hope to see y'all there.

Any comments, questions, whatever, I'll be able to answer them for the next ten or so minutes as I get ready for bed.

>>36344874
You're welcome.

I'm not sure why this doesn't have more players, to be honest. It should. It's pretty well written and legitimately creepy sometimes. I hope you get more anons next time.

>>36344984
Thanks! I do try to write about what scares me, in the way that it scares me, so that others can be scared as well. I'd love more anons, but apparently mentioning it in the generals isn't really working. I guess I'll post our lionhead bun as the OP for next time. Might rake in some more.

>>36345020
Well for some reason the mods are nuking QTGs almost as soon as they're created. That might explain it.

Maybe try making a QM twitter, so you can retain the players that do show up more easily.

>>36345080
Sure, in fact, I'll do that now.

@Specifitiy_QM

>>36345183
Hmm. It's not showing up on the search bar.

>>36345234
@Specificity_QM
My bad!

>>36345243
Got it. Again, thanks for running. See ya next time.

>>36345289
Byebye!

> not about butts
Well...