I wanted to welcome the reader to my first piece of work; not too surprisingly, it is quite bad (in my opinion). But I need a starting point. The Adventures will be a series of stories that happen at Croft Manor in-between the events of Tomb Raider Legend and Underworld. I intend this to be humorous but I will work on interweaving a serious plot into it as well.
I appreciate the readers' patience for reading this and I will welcome all critique. It is necessary to improve my style and finally write stories that people will appreciate.
Croft Manor Adventures
Day One
27th June, Wednesday
The Sun shone ferociously at its midday summit. Its presence and continuous activity rendered the weather unbearably humid. Amid little wind, there was little to breathe with. Lawns and gardens all across the countryside swelled with bees and pollen. The warmth facilitated the full swing of nature. Now and again a loud vehicle or a truck would storm past, breaking the idyllic silence – a feat often attributed to the nearby A3. However, the majority of the time at the Manor, the atmosphere was a mirrored contrast of the world outside. The omnipresent warmth of the country stood in comparison to the mild cool of the Manor's stone interior. The loud traffic a few miles out west was at once vanquished within the calm and quiet abode of the Crofts. By all means and by all stretches of the imagination, it was a haven from the world and its inhabitants understood that perfectly.
The hazy day was inclining towards its end. It was about eleven post meridiem. In the foyer of the mighty fortress, the fire crackled on. Zip was sat at his usual occupation: clicking away at his PC, switching between games and the internet. It was the usual hour he used to stop working and get some sleep and his intentions did not differ.
"Who the hell needs that fire?" wondered the young man. Nobody quite knew. Winston never missed a day starting it early in the morning and extinguishing at night. It was a strange ritual but one that nobody challenged or questioned. Zip was increasingly restless, a sentiment confirmed by his incessant wriggling and movement; his leather chair was becoming uncomfortable. He spent the whole day improving the programming for the PDA in order to have it finished before the owner of the Manor decided to plunge into a deep, dark and dangerous tomb once more. But now the day was over and it was time to go to sleep.
"Right, let's shut this down" murmured Zip as he stretched his arm towards the control panel. A short burst of whirring accommodated his request and the legion of machinery behind and in front of the programmer finally ceased to function. "This stuff is getting old" he added shortly after.
All would have continued as normal if not something rather peculiar. Namely, as Zip arose from his seat, the sizeable timber doors leading to the swimming pool slammed open. Instinctively, out of surprise, Zip squatted down. It might have been considered strange, knowing that the occupants of the Manor knew each other so well, but Zip craved adventure, even in its little forms. Consequently, he decided to stay out of the way of whoever decided to have an evening trek to the pool. Not entirely surprisingly, it was the Countess herself. She slowly made her way forward, navigating the furniture, producing a slight glance at the portrait of her parents resting above the fireplace and continuing onto the staircase. Droplets of water occasionally made their way onto the stone floor making a surprisingly large amount of noise. She held a rolled-up, white towel, switching it occasionally from shoulder to shoulder. Zip listened in close and could not help hearing a little humming. "Ever so confident" thought the young man.
It was a unique opportunity – at least in Zip's eyes. He had the advantage over the world famous archaeologist. The sheer brilliance of witnessing fear in the eyes of the tomb raider, should Zip take enough caution to scare her in some well-designed way, was too tempting. Zip had little time. Lara walked at a pace and if he did not think of something now, she would disappear within the confines of her bedroom within seconds. Zip quietly slid out of his glass enclosure, carefully avoiding cables and machinery. He then scrambled over to the sofa, the table, finally making his way up the stairs, in the footsteps of his employer.
Zip timed his plan perfectly. As Lara reached for the door, he slid in her way and shouted loudly to scare her off. She recoiled momentarily and without looking, produced an impressive athletic back-flip. Zip had the fortune of being stood in a shadow and so, as far as the woman was concerned, she was fighting an aggressor. The room was quiet and the fire crackled on and unusually for this time, strenuous shouting was heard. Lara first slid into Zip's aspect and floored him in an instant.
"God Lara! It's me!". She could not believe her ears. She took two steps back, reaching for the wall, still shocked at what was happening. Tilting her head forward, she said tenderly: "Zip?"
"I know you have a big house and all" he responded while slowly sitting up, "but that does not mean you can treat your employees like that." Assured of what just took place, she quickly got down to help the battered friend. "My God Zip, I had no idea it was you." She repeated those words a few times, while reviewing the extent of Zip's injuries. "Do you want some water?".
"I'll be fine, really. Maybe stalking you during the night is not too wise."
"It was quite stupid." admitted the Countess. The man was now standing, breathing heavily. An awkward silence ensued.
"What the bloody hell is happening here?" suddenly a voice emanated from the neighbouring corridor. A series of loud footsteps finally manifested Alistair. "Are you two wrestling here or something?! Some people are trying to sleep!". Zip looked confused and so did his companion. The entire situation appeared interesting at best. "The question is, Alistair" said Zip, "what the hell is that thing you are wearing?". The end of the sentence was accompanied by a gesture diverting the attention at Alistair's pyjamas. Woollen, cream coloured, knitted carefully, they did appear comical. Zip burst out laughing. "My grandmother knitted this. I see nothing entertaining in that fact."
"Fashion is not your strongest point Alistair, is it?"
"Do I look like a model to you? I am here to support with my knowledge" The Englishman paused and turned his head. Sighing deeply and turning to the side, he continued: "You know what? I'll just return to bed, it's impossible to reason with you. At least I am not the one jumping about at bloody midnight!".
Alistair was not joking. When he finished the sentence, he turned around and followed the corridor to reach his room. Zip glanced at Lara, who stood immobile for the entirety of the spectacle.
"Did you ever see his pyjamas before?" said Zip, rather quietly, masking a smile. He was not sure where the Countess stood; it was near-on impossible to detect what she felt.
"Zip...let's just not do that again." said the woman. "You know Alistair is sensitive. Leave him be."
"Right, sorry".
"And stop trying to scare me. It's not happening."
"Still, watch out next time." said Zip. "Your standards are slipping." he added. Lara produced an exhausted sigh. "Good night."
"See you tomorrow".
Unsure of the effect this entire event had on the group, Zip returned to his room. Lara did the same. Alistair was back at bed instantaneously but something would not let him sleep. He turned and bounced on his bed and an hour passed. The heat was getting to him. "Bloody air-conditioning, that is all I ask for". He got up and turned on the lights. Sitting on the bed, he decided that a cold drink is in order. Having wiped his face a few times with a cloth, standing at ready on his night stand, Alistair lifted himself up. On his way to the kitchen, he stepped into the bathroom. When he illuminated the interior with the light-switch, he decided to take a position before the large mirror. "There is nothing bloody wrong with this!". Alistair reviewed his woollen attire. He changed positions, cleaned his glasses – he did all to assure himself of the coherence of his ancestral pyjamas. "I call jealousy. Those Americans cannot appreciate art." Scorning Zip's position on his beloved article of clothing, Alistair vindicated the bathroom and after drinking a cold glass of orange juice, returned to bed. He was asleep quite soon.
The story will continue in due course.
Thanks for reading. All critique is appreciated.