Babe Ruth's Piano 3
Continued from two weeks ago... again.
"We have brought you here to perform a very specific set of tasks."
The men, knowing the cameras were on, but unaware where they were, exactly, nodded thoughtfully, thinking they were probably being filmed for their reaction to this piece of news. It might even make the trailers, if they looked concerned enough. The problem was not looking like a chicken pecking for grain while trying to mug in every possible direction from which the cameras might catch you. And to not get fed up with the whole thing and roll your eyes or anything, because the next thing you know you'd be the hated one that didn't take the competition, whatever it was, seriously.
Earlier, when passing Bill's room, Lansing had heard him practising pausing dramatically between words.
"I don't want things to move too fast, that's just not me... but..." He paused. Lansing stopped walking and slid around the corner ever so slightly.
"I don't like moving things too fast, myself... but..." He paused. Again. It was a heavier one this time round. Lansing slid further around the corner, ready to duck into his room if need be.
He waited there for a little while, but the only other sound to come out of Bill's room was the not entirely pleasant sounding plopping and shushing noise of his portable espresso maker, which he proudly had shown off to the other men in the house the evening of their arrival. He never traveled anywhere without it. There was no finish to the sentence. Either of them, in fact. Presumably the bit he ended at was where he would begin kissing with whomever he was talking.
"Tomorrow morning, we are going to take you out to an unnamed location, where there will be a pond."
"Is it Lake Quinsigamond?" Lansing knew Bill was one to watch. But he figured that, with his enthusiasm, might almost rule himself out. Of whatever game they were supposed to be playing. And, sinec there were only four of them, he figured he could easily watch all three of them without too much of a strain on his powers of observation.
"Ehm, no, Lake Quinsigamond is a lake. And named, anyway, now that you've named it. This will remain an unnamed location. To which we're taking you."
"Oh." Bill looked a bit crushed. He tried to brighten quickly, when he realised the cameras were quite probably on his face. Lansing thought the result of his facial acrobatics looked a little like the sort of clown you'd be afraid of, as a kid.
"When we arrive at the lake, you will be asked to perform multiple tasks. The one who can perform all of these tasks... will be the winner." The Man nodded sagely at all four of the men. He touched his fingertips together. "For now, I want you each to leave a video diary, this evening, with the equipment provided in each of your rooms. The video should be a record of your thoughts about whatever... where you think we're going tomorrow, how you feel about water, maybe why you agreed to come on the show."
The contestants all nodded.
"Wait. What, there's no girls? Or, umm, girl?" Jim flailed his hands somewhere around his chest level, for lack of anything handy to wave his hands directly over.
"Ehm, yes. Of course. And all for the LOVE OF A WOMAN!"
"Cool."
The lights for the cameras dimmed, and The Man turned and left them without a word.
We similarly turned in silence, and headed to our rooms. Tomorrow, then. The pond.
Within three minutes the only sound in the big house was the faint murmur from four rooms, where the men talked to their video recorders before falling asleep.
To be continued...
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Happy birthday, incidentally, to the janitor's sister.