The Left Eye of the Smiley

[General Goose]

((Chuck Soileaux continued from The Toilet Paper King.))

Alright. Here it was. The moment of truth. The northwest entrance of the tunnels, fully toilet-papered. Brief inventory check revealed he’d have more than enough, with some prudent resource management, to make a few coherent trails back to the parish. Had, for good measure, spilled some medical alcohol on opportune locations, under the cover of cleaning his eye again. It was lucky that, thanks to his inconvenient height and maladroit mannerisms, he could pass off a lot of things as clumsiness.

Now for the rope stuff.

He took it off, bit by bit. This was the real test. Of his own creativity, of his own ingenuity, of his own ability to adapt. Michael had, so far, been the real thinker. But if Chuck’s plan was to succeed, the students would then directly deal a massive blow to the conduct of the game.

It was a simple plan. Under the guise of making traps, of co-opting Michael’s plan to draw people to the parish, he would tie ropes around the cameras. Create some central point of tension, and tug at it, and voila, cameras collapse. And then, even if Chuck is blown up as some sort of sacrifice, new escape plans can form. Be cultivated. And even if the terrorists blew everyone’s collars...unlikely, but hey, their plans would have been dealt a massive blow.

So he tied the rope around camera number one. “Between you and me,” he muttered, beginning the facade of a change in heart, “I don’t like Mike’s plan. So what I’m gonna do, is set up a trap. A very intricate set of traps. To catch everyone who falls for it. Voila. And then, bada bing bada boom, eliminate the competition.”

And then, camera number two.

His collar beeped.

Oh. That was...bad. He took a step back. Pulled away the rope. There was no further beeping. The grim and unflappable demeanour quickly gave way to stage fright, to irritation, to distress. The threat of detonation, with nothing to show for it, made Chuck wince, take a step back, wait for the beeping to cease. He wasn't going to die for some futile and insignificant act of vandalism. And by the time Chuck realised his act had failed, it was too late to piece it back together.

Maybe he could learn from this. Wean himself into the role of villain more gradually. Add some believable nuances to his seeming descent into villainy.

No. Too late now. This particular ship had sailed, and Chuck was standing there, at the docks, limply holding an excess quantity of rope.

And unlike toilet paper, Chuck couldn't even commoditise this rope.

“Alright. Fine. That was a joke.” He looked back up at the camera, his disappointment and agitation palpable. “You caught me. I was attempting to do something rule breaky.” He held his hands up, comically. “For the benefit of everyone watching, I wasn’t planning some Rube Goldberg-y trap. If I was going to do a heel turn, I would not be the trappy sort. I’d be the...uh.” Chuck clicked his tongue a few times, contemplating what style of villainous endeavour best suited him. “Actually, no. Traps are probably how I’d roll.”

At this point, he might just try Lance’s strategy.

((Chuck Soileaux continued in Gonna Miss Me By My Walk... Miss Me By My Talk, Oh.))