xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxw/wilma. -- emo/q- suspecting; n- fearful. --
- OOC: it's fine!
- xxxxxQuentin snorted, treading down the slick tile. "No, it's not a game show. Does it look like a game show?" He peered down the hall. Was it getting longer, stretching out like heat waves? He shook his head a little as he walked, realizing it must be the gloomy lighting. The girls followed close behind and by now he was beginning to appreciate the blonde girl who, irritatingly enough, kept calling for her parents. If somebody heard that and if it was their captors -- because now he was believing he wasn't in some twisted dream -- they were doomed. He smiled cruelly ahead, not turning to look at Wilma. "That's nice, sweetheart. If you wanted me to call you Will, why would've you told me it was Wilma?"
xxxxxNattie cursed herself as she swiveled her blonde head around, searching for any sign of life. She came to a halt, her mind pausing. "Wait." She reached out and took hold of a handle of one of the closed doors and gave it a shake. It didn't budge. "What's behind here?"



