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Rocket's Chain Story


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on: May 01, 2015, 06:41:19 PM
As nothing significant has happened on here practically all this year, i thought i'd come up with an introduction/scenario for the footwear fans and see if anything goes by it. It'd be nice if someone could perhaps write a small paragraph of the initial interview stage (below) and we'll go from there...?

Georgina's shoes have minds of their own...Literally. They're either possessed or have some kind of artificial intelligence because they do what they want when they want. She is nervous about wearing them to a job interview later on that day as lately they have been harassing her. As much as she doesn't want to wear them, she has no choice as her enchanted footwear have damaged her other suitable shoes for the interview placement. As she grabs her notes and credentials and walks towards the hallway, her shoes are by the door, sitting neatly side by side patiently awaiting her imprisonment.

« Last Edit: June 08, 2015, 02:33:27 PM by Darkside007 »


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Reply #1 on: June 06, 2015, 11:44:06 AM
This is all pretty much setting the scene in story form, I didn't touch the interview.
Painstakingly recreated from what I lost weeks ago...not in vain, I hope.

Georgina looked at the scuffs on her black pumps, frowning. She picked them up and took a closer look, licking a finger and trying to clean the markings off. Her lips pursed when she found that some of the scuffs were scratches--cleaving deep into the black patent. It would take a cobbler to fix them, and they probably cost less to replace.

That didn't matter, though. The job interview was so nearby that she hadn't left herself time to simply run out and buy a new pair of shoes. She thought herself lucky to have a prospect so close to home--and now found herself cursing when she realized they left her no other choice.

"Another pair ruined," Georgina said, eyeing the red mary-janes. "Every pair ruined! And you've forced me to change outfits again..." she huffed and turned from the entry, stomping back toward her room. She swapped her chocolate blouse for something in silver, silky and slightly more attention-getting than the shoes themselves. They had forced her hand yet again.

Fighting them hadn't been a winning game.

She fell in love with the things online, their devil-red lo-heel cheekiness just enough to be showy while not quite crossing over the line of social acceptability. They were all at once exciting and innocent--she remembered muttering something to the same effect when she found she won the online auction.

They were even more enticing when she was face to face with them, pulling away the packaging...and that was, she realized, the precise peak of her love affair with the shoes. Once she did the inevitable and wore them...

The shoes were not just shoes, but this wasn't something that simply became apparent when they occasionally refused to leave her feet. Yes, there were times when the material would seem to grip her ever so slightly, moments when buckles would refuse to budge--but it wasn't until they began walking about by themselves that Georgina realized that she was dealing with something beyond a pair of footwear so bizarrely designed that they tended to squeeze and bind in odd ways.

Naturally, seeing one's own shiny red mary-janes tip toe out one's room in the quiet still of night brought Georgina's resolve to a new level. Clearly these were shoes haunted by a former owner, host to some unknown or unknowable force...Georgina didn't very much care so long as they were outside her flat. Only in blazing daylight (and without touching the things) did she herd the now-unmoving shoes into a box, which itself went straightaway to the rubbish. She took the bag out with resolve, placed it in the bin and watched the thing nervously for a quarter-hour.

The shoes were back the next morning, right as rain--not a scuff or whiff of its location formerly interred. Understandably upset, Georgina's next move was to attempt to destroy the things. A wiggle in her hand was all it took to break her of that plan; she really DIDN'T know what was up with these things except to say that they had the wit to both move on their own and escape certain doom at the curbside.

She nervously kept them, stowing them in her closet, but they slowly grew bolder. At first she wouldn't catch them in a walk often, but stubbornly placed themselves at the entry with her other shoes, standing before the others when she was ready to go. She went out of her way to avoid them, always choosing other pairs.

Then she started to find her other pairs missing. Scuffed. Heels broken, stitching unlooped. At her wits end, she tried to make a deal with the shoes--consisting of her delivering a speech to a pair of mary-janes. She would wear the shoes voluntarily once a week in exchange for them leaving the rest of her shoes bloody well alone. She couldn't really verify whether the shoes accepted, but at the prospect of the rest of her choices being narrowed to nil, she didn't feel as if she had a choice.

She regretted it. The shoes took the deal and more. They proudly took their allowance to mean that once they were boxing her slender toes and cupping her heels, they could parade her ragged, dance her to their content and extend their 'once-a-week' stay to twelve, eighteen, or thirty hours at a time. In the last instance, they were on for nearly two days, allowing her to sleep and occasionally control the direction of her own pace--but refusing entirely to come off in the space of forty-five hours.

Now she refused to get anywhere near them unshod, wearing her black lace-up boots or double knotted canvas shoes for protection and refusing to look at them when she caught their devil-red in her line of sight. They didn't press, apparently knowing she was very angry this time.

Before long five days had passed. Six. The seventh passed when she slept, gearing up for today's interview. Without even realizing it, she'd broken her deal with the shoes, and now all bets were off. She'd voided the terms, and there weren't a pair of shoes in the house now that she could wear to an interview--except them.

"Silver blouse, shiny red shoes..." Georgina sighed. "If the interviewer isn't a bloke, you've ruined this day." She didn't know what would happen now. She had to wear them in public, that had been bad enough in the past when they decided they'd take over spontaneously. They seemed clever; were they intelligent enough to know they their favorite plaything might STARVE if she didn't get this job? She sat down, lifting a foot. "You've got it your way, so do the deed yourself."

The shoes didn't move.

"Ha! Now you're shy, or faux guilty, or whatever the hell this play is?" Georgina wiggled her toes. "You wanted these little piggies all to yourself, right? You're going to do whatever you want anyway, so cut the act."

Even with all the events of the past few weeks, she jumped a bit when she watched the buckles comes undone by themselves. The shoes softly padded over to her, turning around and positioning themselves. One leapt onto Georgina's foot and seated itself against her, strapping her in. She lifted the other and allowed it to do the same, watching the buckle click and swoop.

"I do need this job," Georgina said, standing up. "Whatever you are, I hope you realize that while you're having your fun." Without warning, Georgina's legs moved under the shoes' power, starting her toward the door...