Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round Two: The Kestalvian Rainforest]
07-16-2011, 04:42 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
KATHUNK-CRUNCH.
KATHUNK-CLANK.
Quantos’s body effectively acted as a road bump for the car. The impact of his relatively large form significantly reduced the car’s momentum, and the metal arm managed to pop the back left tire. The vehicle spun and screeched to a halt, the driver’s alcohol-addled mind barely processing the events that had just happened.
The shocked screams and cries of surprise from spectators didn’t register in Samuel Johnson’s brain. He was dazed and confused, and as he stumbled out the car’s door, a confused “what,” escaped his lips. His eyes shifted around, looking for the cause of the car crash he wasn’t quite sure happened.
He looked down at the cyborg’s body. A grimace appeared on his face.
“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck fuck fuck. FUCK!”
He then proceeded to pass out from the dangerous amount of alcohol in his body.
~~~~
Several blocks down, Christine Barlow, aged sixteen, was going to a friend’s sleepover birthday party. The path of the car she was driving would have intersected with the path of a drunken Samuel Johnson, and the collision would have killed both of them instantly.
However, Samuel Johnson had already been in a car crash. Christine drove on, oblivious of her luck, and went on to have unprotected sex, a child out of wedlock, and be married to a man she didn’t really love, with only affairs and many more pregnancies to get her mind off of the nagging feeling that her life was already over.
~~~~
When Elimine ran, she ran. It melted the world around her, until she was the only thing, listening to the footfalls and breaths of what seemed to be another person. She became movement, and movement became her.
That is, until the round changed without her noticing, and she tripped over not a root, not a rock, not any of the local flora or fauna, but a person.
KATHUNK-CRUNCH.
~~~~
Bethany Smith-Barlow was descended from a long line of Smith-Barlows, the first of whom was named Christine. Humanity had begun widely traveling the stars, exploring an discovering, and Bethany had worked up the money to acquire a Xenobiologist at New Harvard, an exciting, growing science that had taken off since the first planet with alien life had been discovered. Recently, she had acquired multiple grants from various government and scientific programs, and was now lucky enough to be leading an expedition into the recently discovered tropical rainforests of Kestalvia. She had happened to be on the ground, investigating an interesting colony of insects, when a trombone-playing sidekick carrying an evil typewriter tripped over her.
“Ow! What the fuck was that!?”
~~~~
KATHUNK-KLANK.
This was just not Etiyr’s day. Generally he could get away with being evil and a typewriter, but now, apparently, karma decided to randomly be a bitch and give him a quagmire of fuck you’s.
He was happy that The Convowhore had gotten some just deserts through Old Greg’s horrible, horrible death, and he was especially happy that fucking Mr. Quantum Paradox-backwards-time-traveling-I-don’t-give-a-fuck was dead, if genie guy could be trusted. But this was all overshadowed by the fact that someone dropped him once again
“How. The. Fuck,” Etiyr slowly began to type. “Do people keep dropping me. I’m not a fucking bag of potatoes or shit or shitpotatoes or something!! And now I’m in a fucking forest or some shit. Typewriters are not meant for forests fuckitfuckitfuckit!! AurghhhhhhhhhhhhhhCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCC.”
And the forest rang with sound of clacking.
KATHUNK-CRUNCH.
KATHUNK-CLANK.
Quantos’s body effectively acted as a road bump for the car. The impact of his relatively large form significantly reduced the car’s momentum, and the metal arm managed to pop the back left tire. The vehicle spun and screeched to a halt, the driver’s alcohol-addled mind barely processing the events that had just happened.
The shocked screams and cries of surprise from spectators didn’t register in Samuel Johnson’s brain. He was dazed and confused, and as he stumbled out the car’s door, a confused “what,” escaped his lips. His eyes shifted around, looking for the cause of the car crash he wasn’t quite sure happened.
He looked down at the cyborg’s body. A grimace appeared on his face.
“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck fuck fuck. FUCK!”
He then proceeded to pass out from the dangerous amount of alcohol in his body.
~~~~
Several blocks down, Christine Barlow, aged sixteen, was going to a friend’s sleepover birthday party. The path of the car she was driving would have intersected with the path of a drunken Samuel Johnson, and the collision would have killed both of them instantly.
However, Samuel Johnson had already been in a car crash. Christine drove on, oblivious of her luck, and went on to have unprotected sex, a child out of wedlock, and be married to a man she didn’t really love, with only affairs and many more pregnancies to get her mind off of the nagging feeling that her life was already over.
~~~~
When Elimine ran, she ran. It melted the world around her, until she was the only thing, listening to the footfalls and breaths of what seemed to be another person. She became movement, and movement became her.
That is, until the round changed without her noticing, and she tripped over not a root, not a rock, not any of the local flora or fauna, but a person.
KATHUNK-CRUNCH.
~~~~
Bethany Smith-Barlow was descended from a long line of Smith-Barlows, the first of whom was named Christine. Humanity had begun widely traveling the stars, exploring an discovering, and Bethany had worked up the money to acquire a Xenobiologist at New Harvard, an exciting, growing science that had taken off since the first planet with alien life had been discovered. Recently, she had acquired multiple grants from various government and scientific programs, and was now lucky enough to be leading an expedition into the recently discovered tropical rainforests of Kestalvia. She had happened to be on the ground, investigating an interesting colony of insects, when a trombone-playing sidekick carrying an evil typewriter tripped over her.
“Ow! What the fuck was that!?”
~~~~
KATHUNK-KLANK.
This was just not Etiyr’s day. Generally he could get away with being evil and a typewriter, but now, apparently, karma decided to randomly be a bitch and give him a quagmire of fuck you’s.
He was happy that The Convowhore had gotten some just deserts through Old Greg’s horrible, horrible death, and he was especially happy that fucking Mr. Quantum Paradox-backwards-time-traveling-I-don’t-give-a-fuck was dead, if genie guy could be trusted. But this was all overshadowed by the fact that someone dropped him once again
“How. The. Fuck,” Etiyr slowly began to type. “Do people keep dropping me. I’m not a fucking bag of potatoes or shit or shitpotatoes or something!! And now I’m in a fucking forest or some shit. Typewriters are not meant for forests fuckitfuckitfuckit!! AurghhhhhhhhhhhhhhCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCC.”
And the forest rang with sound of clacking.
Spoiler