#monothea1

As TIME is left there -- panting, gasping for breath, clutching at her belly -- there’s a long -- too long -- silence, before.

The sound of laughter.

Real... haunting laughter.

That comes almost from the beaks of many birds....

...But only GAMBIT seems to be opening his mouth.

His hooting is a cacophony -- feral; primal; from somewhere deep within his chest.  He reaches up with his talons to swipe at his collar -- though this only seems to make him roar more.

It’s agonizing.

....

But eventually it muffles down to a soft hooting noise, and he looks at you with eyes that seem more animalistic than cute; the charm gone from a cartoon.

“...What fun that was, wasn’t it?  Did you enjoy it?  No?”

“...Well.  I did.  And I’d enjoy it even more if things like that continued to come as a surprise.  Executions -- sparing -- punishments -- you really never should feel safe when you’re so boring.”

....

The table you have been sitting at for the past hour seems to click into place -- you can hear the mechanizations churning as you all seem to be starting to lower--

“...Should you want to avoid even more unpleasantness, keep those portions of the trial engaging as well.  I should hate to have to lose one of you or take a hand from one of your beautiful arms ... without having to.”

....

He... really isn’t kidding, is he...? .... Someone died today -- someone died today and there was no way to stop it; someone died and it might not have even been the owl’s fault; and now--

And now....

....

Where does your autonomy begin and his control end?  What... horrors is he capable of...?

....

And....

Just....

How long are you supposed ... to be here ... ?

....

Soon, the table slides to a halt -- your chairs almost touching the ground again -- and maybe some of you have gotten up already when: 

Hauntingly, almost like an echo:

“Ah, before you go ... know that there is still the matter of your class punishment.  Now, I hope you don’t find me rude, but this is supposed to be prohibition, isn’t it?  And what’s prohibition when you all are hiding treasures in your rooms?”

“...So!  It is with a heavy heart that I must say that, until I give another motive for death, all alcohol and cigarettes will be disposed of on premises.  Were you one of the few to have not voted incorrectly, fret not -- your hoot will supply you with whatever you ask for.  Now!”

He straightens out, and the gates guarding the exit of the Casino slide open.

“...Get to bed!  It’s well past midnight.  And, ah.”

CURRENT VOTES:

One for each, minus a few!

GAMBIT’S CHOICE IS…

There’s a long pause -- maybe too long -- after OBAMA stops speaking.  An expectancy, almost.  Like someone is waiting for something.

But that something never comes, and eventually the minutes creep forward -- now longer than one or two, they’re starting to become....

Almost distinctly... awkward.

....

Before there’s a clearing of a throat.  A small gesture from the owl on the throne, and:

“...Is that all?  Is that all we have to say?  No arguments on ethics -- no jumping down each other’s throats for voting this way or another?  No accusations on whose gangs -- no wailing and gnashing of teeth -- no tearful admissions of guilt -- no pained desire to not be punished?  Is this really all?  Is this... the best you can do?”

His expression darkens.

“No, no.  This will not do.  We must do better.”

....