Carbine Chaos
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WCE (Worst Conspiracy Ever): A Creative Piece
- Thread starter Carbine Chaos
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Too slow to run away. 
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Carbine Chaos
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Im not sure where this is going... But im intrigued.
QS
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Can't be Lynchy, he would've eaten young Koby already.Good to see somebody is looking for clues already. Agent93
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Carbine Chaos
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“I can’t believe it! Ludicrous!”
The newspaper flew across the dining room, narrowly missing the head of Georgia Lyon, a tidy enough forty something housewife with her hair in a bun and dreams in a cup. She nervously approached her husband, holding out the tray of tea in an attempt to ease his usual morning outbursts.
“Ross…what is wrong, sweetie?”
Ross Lyon, head coach of the Fremantle Dockers, rubbed his hands through the tufts of fluff where his hair was supposed to be. What was wrong?! What wasn’t wrong! The injustices of this world that he and his club had to deal with…sometimes he thought it would never end.
“The headline. They’ve done it again.”
“They…?”
Ross pointed to the crumpled up newspaper that had somehow managed to find it’s way into an empty trophy cabinet on the other side of the room. Picking it up and dusting it off, Georgia turned to the front page to see the large biceps of Koby Stevens taking up half of the page. Above the glistening muscles the headline, “Young Eagle Found Dead in Warehouse” sat proudly in bold font.
Georgia’s hands flew straight to her mouth. As a mother herself, she could not even imagine the pain that the family and…
“They’ve put the bloody Eagles on the front cover again!”
Tearing her eyes away from the hulking young man and back towards her mid-life, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Koby Stevens…dead. It’s a tragedy!”
Ross screwed up his nose and looked away. He couldn’t even look at her when she got like this. “Yes…a tragedy. Almost as large a tragedy as the fact that Nic Naitanui’s new haircut made the back page the day we beat Collingwood with a kick after the siren!”
Georgia rolled her eyes; she had heard this before. Although she hated when he acted all defensive, it was often hard to get him into a different mode. “It could have been worse, Ross.”
“I fail to see how it could.”
“It could have been Tom Swift’s new…”
The angry coach jumped up from his seat and threw his mug across the room, shattering it into a million pieces on the kitchen floor.
“But Ross…your only Cup! You’ll never get another!”
Lyon turned to his wife, a mad look upon his face. Heading to the door and picking up the keys for his moped, his last statement is filled with hatred and intent.
“Heed these words, Georgia. I will do anything to get my beloved Dockers on the front page of that wretched magazine. Anything…"
TO BE CONTINUED...
The newspaper flew across the dining room, narrowly missing the head of Georgia Lyon, a tidy enough forty something housewife with her hair in a bun and dreams in a cup. She nervously approached her husband, holding out the tray of tea in an attempt to ease his usual morning outbursts.
“Ross…what is wrong, sweetie?”
Ross Lyon, head coach of the Fremantle Dockers, rubbed his hands through the tufts of fluff where his hair was supposed to be. What was wrong?! What wasn’t wrong! The injustices of this world that he and his club had to deal with…sometimes he thought it would never end.
“The headline. They’ve done it again.”
“They…?”
Ross pointed to the crumpled up newspaper that had somehow managed to find it’s way into an empty trophy cabinet on the other side of the room. Picking it up and dusting it off, Georgia turned to the front page to see the large biceps of Koby Stevens taking up half of the page. Above the glistening muscles the headline, “Young Eagle Found Dead in Warehouse” sat proudly in bold font.
Georgia’s hands flew straight to her mouth. As a mother herself, she could not even imagine the pain that the family and…
“They’ve put the bloody Eagles on the front cover again!”
Tearing her eyes away from the hulking young man and back towards her mid-life, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Koby Stevens…dead. It’s a tragedy!”
Ross screwed up his nose and looked away. He couldn’t even look at her when she got like this. “Yes…a tragedy. Almost as large a tragedy as the fact that Nic Naitanui’s new haircut made the back page the day we beat Collingwood with a kick after the siren!”
Georgia rolled her eyes; she had heard this before. Although she hated when he acted all defensive, it was often hard to get him into a different mode. “It could have been worse, Ross.”
“I fail to see how it could.”
“It could have been Tom Swift’s new…”
The angry coach jumped up from his seat and threw his mug across the room, shattering it into a million pieces on the kitchen floor.
“But Ross…your only Cup! You’ll never get another!”
Lyon turned to his wife, a mad look upon his face. Heading to the door and picking up the keys for his moped, his last statement is filled with hatred and intent.
“Heed these words, Georgia. I will do anything to get my beloved Dockers on the front page of that wretched magazine. Anything…"
TO BE CONTINUED...
QS
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How were those shrooms anyway, thorne? 
The plot is thickening...
QS
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I won't be able to sleep tonight if he doesn't conclude it prior to then
Carbine Chaos
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Ohk i like it. Is it long? have you written or drafted it mostly already?I'll probably have this ongoing for a bit to make offseason go a little quicker.
Swiftsa will be in it soon.
Carbine Chaos
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Making it up as I go along. I have a semblance of a plot line though.
Is there an epic twist? I hope there's an epic twist.
Carbine Chaos
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More twists and turns than the 06 Grand Final.
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Eastern Rangers
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Does anyone know a where I can get this as an audio book?
Carbine Chaos
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“Can you confirm anything at this stage?”
“No.”
“Do you know if any of your players were with Koby after training?”
“No.”
“Is that a new polo shirt?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
John Worsfold leans back against the advertising board and wipes the sweat off his brow, watching the media flock pack up after a longer-than-usual grilling. He enjoyed these conferences; they allowed him the rare chance to show off his quick wit and flashy new polo shirts. But today had been a sad day for his club – the death of an up and coming star. Questions were always going to be asked…but he hadn’t yet decided how he could…
“Uhh…John?”
Peering slowly to his left, Woosha was comforted to see his close confidant Scott Burns standing at the ready. Since he had taken the position He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had held for years, the midfield had become a well oiled machine. The trust he felt for ‘Burnsy’ went beyond the usual coach-assistant relationship. They were the ultimate pair.
Burns tenderly placed his hand on Worsfold’s heavily beating chest, face torn with concern.
“Are you OK?”
“OK is a relative term, Scott. Better than the lads will be once I break the news to them.”
Burns furrowed his brow in confusion. “But won’t the boys have already read it in the West this morning?”
“You know most of the boys don’t buy that thing. And half of those that do can’t read anyway. You know how angry Quentin gets when he tries to comprehend Beyond the Black Stump.”
Worsfold looked down to see the early risers walking onto the hallowed turf in preparation for training. He could see the long golden locks of Tom Swift from there. Always the first to training…obviously an early riser. How he got the energy, Worsfold would never know.
“Well, I guess I’d better…”
“…before you go, Woosh…I’ve got bad news.”
Turning back around to Burns, a sense of trepidation ran over Worsfold. What could make this day any worse?
“The AFL are sending over an internal investigator to figure out what happened to Koby.”
“But I thought the police…”
“The AFL are worried the police might be involved. Ross Lyon tipped them off.”
Worsfold rolls his eyes. Typical Lyon.
“And who is this so called ‘special investigator’?”
“I am.”
Worsfold and Burns turn quickly to find a tall man standing at the door, dressed in a full suit and tie, smoking a cigarette and fiddling with his sunglasses in a clear attempt to look cool. He takes the sunglasses off and smirks widely.
“But you can call me Luke Darcy.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
“No.”
“Do you know if any of your players were with Koby after training?”
“No.”
“Is that a new polo shirt?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
John Worsfold leans back against the advertising board and wipes the sweat off his brow, watching the media flock pack up after a longer-than-usual grilling. He enjoyed these conferences; they allowed him the rare chance to show off his quick wit and flashy new polo shirts. But today had been a sad day for his club – the death of an up and coming star. Questions were always going to be asked…but he hadn’t yet decided how he could…
“Uhh…John?”
Peering slowly to his left, Woosha was comforted to see his close confidant Scott Burns standing at the ready. Since he had taken the position He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had held for years, the midfield had become a well oiled machine. The trust he felt for ‘Burnsy’ went beyond the usual coach-assistant relationship. They were the ultimate pair.
Burns tenderly placed his hand on Worsfold’s heavily beating chest, face torn with concern.
“Are you OK?”
“OK is a relative term, Scott. Better than the lads will be once I break the news to them.”
Burns furrowed his brow in confusion. “But won’t the boys have already read it in the West this morning?”
“You know most of the boys don’t buy that thing. And half of those that do can’t read anyway. You know how angry Quentin gets when he tries to comprehend Beyond the Black Stump.”
Worsfold looked down to see the early risers walking onto the hallowed turf in preparation for training. He could see the long golden locks of Tom Swift from there. Always the first to training…obviously an early riser. How he got the energy, Worsfold would never know.
“Well, I guess I’d better…”
“…before you go, Woosh…I’ve got bad news.”
Turning back around to Burns, a sense of trepidation ran over Worsfold. What could make this day any worse?
“The AFL are sending over an internal investigator to figure out what happened to Koby.”
“But I thought the police…”
“The AFL are worried the police might be involved. Ross Lyon tipped them off.”
Worsfold rolls his eyes. Typical Lyon.
“And who is this so called ‘special investigator’?”
“I am.”
Worsfold and Burns turn quickly to find a tall man standing at the door, dressed in a full suit and tie, smoking a cigarette and fiddling with his sunglasses in a clear attempt to look cool. He takes the sunglasses off and smirks widely.
“But you can call me Luke Darcy.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Luke Darcy... gold!
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