<strong>Name:</strong>Mock<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Side Street<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><br/><br/>He'd lost the day already. There were a lot of those lost days piling up somewhere, never growing older, and always fighting pirates. No, wait. That was lost socks. Wasn't it?<br/><br/>The Mock Turtle stopped turning his notions over just as the stripes of night began to shatter what feeble light was left behind on the streets. He had one more key he hadn't tried yet and the door was almost there, almost here, just out of- BAM. There it was. He had a moment's pause as he picked himself up off the fractured pavement and straightened the bent feather in his helmet so that it bent in a more appropriately rakish angle. One tear escaped his left eye as he pressed his cheek to the door.<br/><br/>It was probably green once, he decided, that being his favorite color for as many minutes as he could remember. Smooth and green like painted emeralds. With those fancy arches and curlicues in the frame that told everyone it was an Exotic door. Of course it would lead to some place of deeply disreputable interest because that was exactly what Exotic meant. Things you shouldn't have but wanted even if it cost your reputation. Mock had several of those in storage so it was all right if he squandered one or two, now and then, if and when he was equal to the task.<br/><br/>And of course he was. What exactly are you insinuating?<br/><br/>He crouched with some difficulty so as to have a better look at the keyhole. “Good evening, my lovely,” he whispered to her as two more chimes ravished the time. He poured breathless sweet nothings into her inviting depths as he took the last key from the chain that jangled on his waistcoat between trembling fingers. “You must be the one, my darling, my poppet, my scrumptious brass coquette.” His tongue snaked out and laved her delicate curves in a wet display of concern for the door's satisfaction. He was, after all, still a gentleman.<br/><br/>Mostly.<br/><br/>Now was the moment, while the last lash of the bell teetered on the brink, to drive the key home. He slid it in with a whimper, turned it with a moan, cried out as the latch caught and the mechanism spilled its secrets. The door swung open and Mock fell to his knees on the inside, sobbing.<br/><br/>Screams began behind him, because that was Curfew.<br/><br/>