Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round Two: The Kestalvian Rainforest]
11-15-2011, 12:19 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
(A brief pause, like the universe took a breath.)
And then the new act began-n-n-n-n-n------
Etiyr shook himself to his senses. Convosucktion was lying in a heap, or at least major arms of the stupid society MK II. This was the time to send a message. This was the time to get revenge.
This was a time for b-b-b-b-b-bloooodsheeeeeeeed
“Hey, Elli. Are you ready to deal out some…” Etiyr clacked. He paused for a moment, and he very, very carefully chose his next word. <span style="font-family: Courier New">“Justice?”</span>
She paused, looked at the typewriter for a long while. “What, exactly, do you mean?”
God, this girl was so stupid. Just as well she was into the music and thug-beating industry instead of a doctor or something fucking important.
“What I mean,” he replied, <span style="font-family: Courier New">“Is that The Convolution’s cohorts are sitting, knocked out, in front of us. We have an opportunity. An opportunity to punish it for what it’s done for us. To make the convowhore hurt”</span>
She p-p-p-PAUSE FAST FORWARD-d-d-d
-death would not take her kindly, as blood spilled from her skull and out onto the field, mixing with the already bloodstained soil, her only tombstone being the forest that came upon her and consumed her flesh almost instantl-y-y-y-y REWINDddddddddd
she PAUSE-d-d-d-d for a moment. Her eyes darted back and forth, between the knocked-out marching band, and the black typewriter in her arms. There was… something sinister about him. Black and white and words and calling it justice. He knew justice would appeal to her.
And he was right. It did. An eternity of punishment from The Convolution’s imprisonment still echoed in her mind, and even though she knew the idea of justice was planted in her mind by that evil, evil thing, she couldn’t help but think that even evil is right, sometimes.
And deep down, she wanted it. Justice. For everything.
She walked into the center of the collapsed, almost seemingly prostrate bodies. It was as if they were bowing to her.
Bowing, waiting to be killed.
Etiyr never even hit the ground. Her movements with the trombone were quick. Swift. Merciful.
Just.
The flesh cried, and the life spilled out, red and full, painting the soil red. The marching band, the one she had taught for so long, was consumed by the forest, the decay of days accelerated into a miniscule point. There were only two left, lying among the leaves. They looked like they were sleeping, hand in hand.
Elimine stood over Alpha-He-Who-Declines-The-Nipple. A shadow. A giant.
A Reaper.
She turned to Bethany, oh B-b-b-b-bQUANTOS-eth-anyonehearme?-any. The trombone’s blade was to fall on her too, if not for the typewriter.
“Elli, no. I want to send a message to Convie. Personally. Crack her skull with me.”
“But-”
]“DO IT, THIS IS THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKING WAY THE CONVOLUTION WILL GET THE DAMN PICTURE: HE, SHE, IT’S NOT WANTED. BY ANYONE!”
Elimine, after another pause, hefted up Etiyr with all her might.
]And then he came crashing down, onto the skull, into the skull, breaching the flesh, the grey-matter splattered like a Jackson Pollock.
And she died. (HE DIED, AGAIN)
(Try as she might the beast to change the event, it never would, Bethany’s head would always be crushed by the typewriter, no matter what she did. It always found a way to happen. It was an axis, the single unchanging point in a sea of chaos. Disappointing.
Ah well. Nothing to do.)
And it was thus, death would not take her kindly, as blood spilled from her skull and out onto the field, mixing with the already bloodstained soil, her only tombstone being the forest that came upon her and consumed her flesh almost instantl-y-y-y-y
“C’mon. Let’s go. The Convolution isn’t going to be happy about this. At all.”
(A brief pause, like the universe took a breath.)
And then the new act began-n-n-n-n-n------
Etiyr shook himself to his senses. Convosucktion was lying in a heap, or at least major arms of the stupid society MK II. This was the time to send a message. This was the time to get revenge.
This was a time for b-b-b-b-b-bloooodsheeeeeeeed
“Hey, Elli. Are you ready to deal out some…” Etiyr clacked. He paused for a moment, and he very, very carefully chose his next word. <span style="font-family: Courier New">“Justice?”</span>
She paused, looked at the typewriter for a long while. “What, exactly, do you mean?”
God, this girl was so stupid. Just as well she was into the music and thug-beating industry instead of a doctor or something fucking important.
“What I mean,” he replied, <span style="font-family: Courier New">“Is that The Convolution’s cohorts are sitting, knocked out, in front of us. We have an opportunity. An opportunity to punish it for what it’s done for us. To make the convowhore hurt”</span>
She p-p-p-PAUSE FAST FORWARD-d-d-d
-death would not take her kindly, as blood spilled from her skull and out onto the field, mixing with the already bloodstained soil, her only tombstone being the forest that came upon her and consumed her flesh almost instantl-y-y-y-y REWINDddddddddd
she PAUSE-d-d-d-d for a moment. Her eyes darted back and forth, between the knocked-out marching band, and the black typewriter in her arms. There was… something sinister about him. Black and white and words and calling it justice. He knew justice would appeal to her.
And he was right. It did. An eternity of punishment from The Convolution’s imprisonment still echoed in her mind, and even though she knew the idea of justice was planted in her mind by that evil, evil thing, she couldn’t help but think that even evil is right, sometimes.
And deep down, she wanted it. Justice. For everything.
She walked into the center of the collapsed, almost seemingly prostrate bodies. It was as if they were bowing to her.
Bowing, waiting to be killed.
Etiyr never even hit the ground. Her movements with the trombone were quick. Swift. Merciful.
Just.
The flesh cried, and the life spilled out, red and full, painting the soil red. The marching band, the one she had taught for so long, was consumed by the forest, the decay of days accelerated into a miniscule point. There were only two left, lying among the leaves. They looked like they were sleeping, hand in hand.
Elimine stood over Alpha-He-Who-Declines-The-Nipple. A shadow. A giant.
A Reaper.
She turned to Bethany, oh B-b-b-b-bQUANTOS-eth-anyonehearme?-any. The trombone’s blade was to fall on her too, if not for the typewriter.
“Elli, no. I want to send a message to Convie. Personally. Crack her skull with me.”
“But-”
]“DO IT, THIS IS THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKING WAY THE CONVOLUTION WILL GET THE DAMN PICTURE: HE, SHE, IT’S NOT WANTED. BY ANYONE!”
Elimine, after another pause, hefted up Etiyr with all her might.
]And then he came crashing down, onto the skull, into the skull, breaching the flesh, the grey-matter splattered like a Jackson Pollock.
And she died. (HE DIED, AGAIN)
(Try as she might the beast to change the event, it never would, Bethany’s head would always be crushed by the typewriter, no matter what she did. It always found a way to happen. It was an axis, the single unchanging point in a sea of chaos. Disappointing.
Ah well. Nothing to do.)
And it was thus, death would not take her kindly, as blood spilled from her skull and out onto the field, mixing with the already bloodstained soil, her only tombstone being the forest that came upon her and consumed her flesh almost instantl-y-y-y-y
“C’mon. Let’s go. The Convolution isn’t going to be happy about this. At all.”