Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
05-03-2011, 09:23 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
It’s official: Everyone here is completely insane.
Etiyr had never seen so many irrational people in one place at once. Why couldn’t they just obey the evil manipulative typewriter? I mean seriously. First AMP spazzes on it, and then what’s-his-face went and stabbed that guard, and ran off without a second thought! Not even a hello! And although it appreciated shutting that guy up, Etiyr really hated being treated like an inanimate object. The typewriter supposed that was kind of ironic, considering everything.
If Etiyr could sigh, it would have then. The only reasonable course of action was to get someone’s attention. Again. Which meant typing more C’s. It had already written, what, 10 pages of C’s? But it had no choice. C’s it was.
“CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCC
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC- Oh look someone’s finally found me again.”
Gabe looked down at the typewriter, stopped in his tracks by the strange sight of a typewriter typing itself. This… this was one of the contestants, right? Why was it typing the letter C over and over. Was it broken? Oh. It seemed to be talking to him. Um. How did he communicate with it? Gabe reached down to try to type on Etiyr-
“OK DON’T.” Etiyr quickly typed, <span style="font-family: Courier New">“You can just talk.”
</span>
“Oh, um, ok.” Gabe replied, almost jumping away from Etiyr in surprise. It was going to take a while to get used to this.
“Sooo,” he began, holding out the “o” for a while. “You’re a typewriter.”
“Yeah.”
“Who can think… and talk.”
“Yup, pretty much. Your name's Gabe, right?”
“Yeah, it’s Gabe. Your’s is Etiyr?”
“Yeah, that's my name.”
A long, awkward pause settled between the two, Gabe looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, glancing to the door of the Denny’s every so often.
At least he’s not crazy. Well, doesn’t seem crazy. Etiyr hoped it could use Gabe person to actually get somewhere instead of being tossed about like a piece of garbage. Honestly, though, Etiyr wasn’t really sure what to say to the guy. He was pretty reserved, really hard to read. Manipulation powers could only get you so far. A good manipulator played off of another’s psyche, their hopes, dreams, desires, fears. It was hard to do that with particularly stoic personalities, and Gabe seemed to be one of those, at least on the outside.
“Um, would you excuse me?” Gabe began finally breaking the silence, “I was wanting to go into the Denny’s to get some food. I have a really bad headache and stuff, and I’m starving.”
“Oh, sure,” Etiyr quickly replied. <span style="font-family: Courier New">“But would you be so kind as to help me into the Denny’s? I’m a typewriter, and therefore, cannot move.”
</span>
“Oh, yeah,” Gabe replied, picking up the typewriter with some effort. “I’ll put you on a table or something, is that ok with you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
They proceeded through the door, Gabe pushing the door open with one of his legs. Of course, neither one got very far, for as soon as he saw the military base interior of the building, Gabe dropped the typewriter in surprise. Directly on his foot.
Needless to say, both of them uttered an expletive or two.
It’s official: Everyone here is completely insane.
Etiyr had never seen so many irrational people in one place at once. Why couldn’t they just obey the evil manipulative typewriter? I mean seriously. First AMP spazzes on it, and then what’s-his-face went and stabbed that guard, and ran off without a second thought! Not even a hello! And although it appreciated shutting that guy up, Etiyr really hated being treated like an inanimate object. The typewriter supposed that was kind of ironic, considering everything.
If Etiyr could sigh, it would have then. The only reasonable course of action was to get someone’s attention. Again. Which meant typing more C’s. It had already written, what, 10 pages of C’s? But it had no choice. C’s it was.
“CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCC
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC- Oh look someone’s finally found me again.”
Gabe looked down at the typewriter, stopped in his tracks by the strange sight of a typewriter typing itself. This… this was one of the contestants, right? Why was it typing the letter C over and over. Was it broken? Oh. It seemed to be talking to him. Um. How did he communicate with it? Gabe reached down to try to type on Etiyr-
“OK DON’T.” Etiyr quickly typed, <span style="font-family: Courier New">“You can just talk.”
</span>
“Oh, um, ok.” Gabe replied, almost jumping away from Etiyr in surprise. It was going to take a while to get used to this.
“Sooo,” he began, holding out the “o” for a while. “You’re a typewriter.”
“Yeah.”
“Who can think… and talk.”
“Yup, pretty much. Your name's Gabe, right?”
“Yeah, it’s Gabe. Your’s is Etiyr?”
“Yeah, that's my name.”
A long, awkward pause settled between the two, Gabe looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, glancing to the door of the Denny’s every so often.
At least he’s not crazy. Well, doesn’t seem crazy. Etiyr hoped it could use Gabe person to actually get somewhere instead of being tossed about like a piece of garbage. Honestly, though, Etiyr wasn’t really sure what to say to the guy. He was pretty reserved, really hard to read. Manipulation powers could only get you so far. A good manipulator played off of another’s psyche, their hopes, dreams, desires, fears. It was hard to do that with particularly stoic personalities, and Gabe seemed to be one of those, at least on the outside.
“Um, would you excuse me?” Gabe began finally breaking the silence, “I was wanting to go into the Denny’s to get some food. I have a really bad headache and stuff, and I’m starving.”
“Oh, sure,” Etiyr quickly replied. <span style="font-family: Courier New">“But would you be so kind as to help me into the Denny’s? I’m a typewriter, and therefore, cannot move.”
</span>
“Oh, yeah,” Gabe replied, picking up the typewriter with some effort. “I’ll put you on a table or something, is that ok with you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
They proceeded through the door, Gabe pushing the door open with one of his legs. Of course, neither one got very far, for as soon as he saw the military base interior of the building, Gabe dropped the typewriter in surprise. Directly on his foot.
Needless to say, both of them uttered an expletive or two.