| 21. poems and polybius |
[Apr. 8th, 2012|12:57 pm] |
43 45 13 13 15 43 43
24 43
13 34 45 44 15 14
43 52 15 15 44 15 43 44
12 54
44 23 34 43 15
52 23 34
33 15 ' 15 42
43 45 13 13 15 15 14
The polybius square, turning simple poems into potential migraine inducers since...well, I don't quite know. I'm sure I'm not the first person to do this, though. |
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| 20. acceptance |
[Mar. 24th, 2012|05:21 pm] |
[A game of hangman. The more things change...:]
_ _ _ _ _
Today was a really good day. At least, in comparison to all the crap that's happened recently. |
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| 19. understatement of the year |
[Mar. 2nd, 2012|04:23 pm] |
[Florescent lights, the odd smell of piss and 409, and a series of nurses and doctors, each trying to mask their surprise over how such a quiet girl got so many scars. This has been Wren's world for the past forty-eight hours. Trying to get back to a sense of normalcy, she writes, in a very a sloppy version of her usual neat handwriting:]
a group of 100 soldiers suffered the following injuries in a battle: 70 soldiers lost an eye, 75 lost an ear, 85 lost a leg, and 80 lost an arm.
what is the minimum number of soldiers who must have lost all 4
well, that was unreal.
[FILTER: MARION]
Please Are you still here? |
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| 18. send out succor. |
[Jan. 4th, 2012|05:07 pm] |
· · · — — — · · ·
Next September can't come quickly enough. |
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| 17. danse macabre. |
[Dec. 8th, 2011|11:08 pm] |
[It's Wren's old code, a series of circles and lines, dots and squiggles that eventually, if you're patient enough, translate into this:]
Rich man, poor man, come away,
Come to dance the Macabray,
Time to work and time to play,
Time to dance the Macabray,
One and all will hear and stay,
Come and dance the Macabray,
One to leave and one to stay,
And all will dance the Macabray,
Gracious lady, this I pray,
Join me in the Macabray,
Step and turn and walk and stay,
Now we dance the Macabray
That was one way to announce a party. Is anyone going? |
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| 16. association |
[Oct. 18th, 2011|01:29 pm] |
[Another day, another puzzle. Things have been quiet in Wren's corner of the world lately, and she knows today's history lecture by heart. Only one way to break the monotony.]
light
hot
back
Roll up, roll up, roll up. |
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| 15. i keep the lights on to ease my soul. |
[Sep. 15th, 2011|07:25 am] |
[After this post. Wren was on her way home from school when she saw it: a faint outline that looked like it had been burned into the pavement, which the street cleaners seemingly weren't able to wash away. Curious, she took off one of her gloves, and touched the center of the outline. There were many memories etched into the pavement--walking, running of sneakers, heels, black leather shoes, street cleaners, Portland cement, limestone--but there is one thing that stands out of all those glimpses of memories, one that sends her running home, to write, shakily in her journal:]
The knife is back. Mary Gosford on Devonshire Street. Wednesday morning. Be careful.
[FILTER: NIGHTHAWKS]
It didn't use a knife. It burned her.
[...] She didn't have anything from the Market, either. |
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| 14. cold case? |
[Aug. 5th, 2011|03:17 pm] |
11 12 1 2 _
What comes next in the sequence?
[FILTER: LUCAS HARPER & JOHN CONSTANTINE]
Have there been any more murders? I haven't seen anything yet. |
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| 13. legal eagle. |
[Jul. 28th, 2011|06:12 pm] |
[It's been a while, hasn't it? A game of hangman, written a tight, neat hand:]
P A R O L E
Hint: Prison.
[FILTER: LEO GRYFFTHS]
Have you heard about a guy named Lucas Harper? |
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| 12. a lifeless object, alive. |
[Apr. 8th, 2011|04:38 pm] |
[It's a couple hours after the most recent murder, and Wren has found an item (a car key) belonging to the deceased, something that the Collector forgot to clean up, or perhaps intentionally left behind. The memory is worse than the others, and leaves Wren's handwriting even more unsteady than with the last entries. There are small marks of water on the page. Wren is crying, or had been crying while experiencing the memory.]
The knife
it's back
there was so much bl--[The pen jerks abruptly upward. Remembering the more brutal moments of the memory causes her to break down again.] |
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| 11. wandering in whitechapel |
[Mar. 23rd, 2011|11:48 am] |
[Another memory, longer than the last, but the events are the same. The vividness of the memory was enough to make Wren retch into a public trashcan. The handwriting is shaky and jagged, not just because of how frightened she is, but because of the environment--she hopped onto a bus as soon as she got her head out of the bin.]
The knife is back. Yesterday, 9 PM, Vallance Road. Do not use Tooley Street, do not use Vallance Road. |
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| 10. another flashback |
[Mar. 14th, 2011|01:58 pm] |
[Another day, another flashback. Wren Shelley has been playing around with random items she's been gathering over the past week, and has gotten another unpleasant memory. Short and sudden, bloody and brutal, she can't make heads or tails of any of it, except for one detail. Her handwriting, although recognizable to those who follow her entries, is shaky and jagged.]
Do not walk down Tooley Street by yourself at night. I mean, chances are that most of you have magic or something that could scare off people, but. I don't know, it's just a word of advice. |
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| 9. codex |
[Mar. 3rd, 2011|01:41 pm] |
[Another entry, another code of swirls and dots. Although this time, there's no poem behind it, but a question. It reads:
Can you make a filter without spells?
The ink is bright red, meant to capture the attention of anyone who's flipping through the entries in their journal. It should take a couple minutes to solve.] |
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| 8. think romantical thoughts. |
[Feb. 19th, 2011|09:18 am] |
[A sudoku puzzle, as seen here No romantic coded poems from Miss Shelley this week. The puzzle, and Wren's note at the bottom, are written in pencil--she's in class.]
I read somewhere that August 27th is considered the most unromantic day of the year. I beg to differ, and say that the most unromantic day of the year is 15/2. That's when everyone at school seems to be breaking up, at least for this year. |
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| 7. familiar writings |
[Jan. 7th, 2011|10:44 am] |
[Guess who's back? Wren Shelley, that's who. The handwriting should be immediately familiar to anyone who's followed her puzzle entries in the past, but the actual words...not so much. Wren's words are circles and squares, squiggles and dots. It's a code that Wren's made up to entertain and perplex her readers (if she has any.) Decoded, it reads the following nursery rhyme:
Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.
You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.
When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.
When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.
When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.
I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
[In English]Well, hello journals. Miss me? Even if you didn't, here's a game for you to play. |
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| 6. answers in the pages. |
[Dec. 8th, 2010|06:09 am] |
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Lipstick kisses, coffee stains, and monosyllabic entries. I'm calling it right now, the next entry will be of the scrapbook variety. |
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| 5. more riddles. |
[Dec. 2nd, 2010|09:31 am] |
Moving on...
This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.
Time.
I'm a little disappointed it stopped snowing. I kind of wanted to get out school It's going to suck trying to walk on it tomorrow. |
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| 4. lost in the woods. |
[Nov. 29th, 2010|08:22 am] |
[Or, why you shouldn't go touching lost items while in Hyde Park. The crossed-out sentences are legible, and there's a drawing of some trees that's been x-ed out as well, but still visible. Her handwriting is jagged and crooked, as if her hand is shaking.]
In 1998, Erin Clearwater was assaulted at 9 PM while cutting through Hyde Park
The pendant was ripped off E. Clearwater's neck when
Jade leaf pendant, made in 1972 by Hartman Brothers in San Francisco. Originally purchased in 1983, passed down as a gift from Jane Clearwater to Erin Clearwater, mother daughter
It hurt
Does anyone know a quick way to get to Bloomsbury from Hyde Park? Thanks. |
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| 3. riddle me this, riddle me that. |
[Nov. 25th, 2010|06:02 am] |
This is so stupid. This is my last year of school, I shouldn't have to
I already know Mr. Turner's lecture, I touched his laptop.
I, Wren Eleanor Shelley, being of sound body and unsound mind, write my last will and testament during British Life and Culture...
AUGH lfjksdf
I know what my job is,
The point has been made.
You say I have a big head,
And you're right, I'm afraid.
Put me in my place,
And then leave me alone.
What I need most,
Is someone to drive me home.
What am I? Nail. |
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| 2. heard it through the grapevine. |
[Nov. 23rd, 2010|07:06 am] |
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Does anyone know when the next Market is? |
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