RE: The Atavist's Tryst - Round 1: The Ljinstal Underground (S?)
08-13-2013, 05:46 PM
There are some days where it's good to be an abstract avatar, and corollarily exempt of pain. Today was one of them.
During the very first second of the match, Si Né's temple hung suspended in midair and slightly ajar, gathering speed in a threatening "I'm going to fuck this subway station up so badly" kind of way. Of all the sounds that shot out when the first corner of the sacred building connected with the floor, one hundred tiny ceramic tiles cracking one after another was probably the quietest. The temple's foundations were made of wood which was not built to fall from a great hight and snapped and creaked and the ordeal genuinely sounded like whatever demons the place had been repelling or sealing for years had found a way to crawl through the blemishes in the woodwork and wreak havoc. After that, gravity introduced the interior of the holy ground's altar, cabinets and myriad pedestals to its good friend, the ground. The plethora of magical trinkets came tumbling down on the image of the resident god, and the varying materials - from wax to diamond - made every sound in the history of cartoonists' imagination at once.
It was no surprise that Si Né would be the first to come to his senses after such a vicious crash. The deity casually ignored important questions about his whereabouts or the identity of its captor, and simply stepped outside. Wherever this place was, the people weren't used to much. Most of them were dressed formally, and scurried around up and down stairs in the complicated underground plaza like little, entirely interchangeable mice, and most of the residents of the newly christened This Place had all stopped in a panic to stare at the god's temple. The shock and awe were still spreading when Si Né walked outside, and gradually everybody stopped their business arrangements, and held their eyes transfixed at Si Né, the center of attention.
They were with 400 at least, and not one of them said anything.
"你好, Hola, hello, مرحبا," the god started. "Hhhhhi," came the first stammered response, from a young woman with a ponytail. "Who are you," he asked next. Si Né was not an avatar of ample courtesy. "Li-Linda Taylor," Linda Taylor replied. Si Né shook his holy head and clarified: "No, like, you people. All of you." However, the most confusing conversation in Ms. Taylor's life was about to be cut short by Sachihata's awakening.
-
It made no sense quite yet, but he was getting there. The temple was moved, and Si Né didn't do it. What did that mean for them? If the temple was a representation of a universe, and a testament to Si Né being the supreme God of a religion, nobody else should have been able to move it for him. But who or what he saw in the darkness, that metal light machine that seemed to be in charge of the relocation, did not match any light gods he could think of. Perhaps, the shaman supposed, it was a god from the future, since there was a precedent for that happening. Maybe it was all a hallucination to obfuscate where the transporation brought him, caused by a trickster god who knew of the shaman's identity and tried its very best to make their modus operandi as unrecognisable as possible. If that would be the case, they're actively acting against Si Né, so they must be from the same religion. That, or it was one of the many beings above gods on the echelon, some kind of primordial chaos monster of birth, represented by light in a cold, iron prison... The last one seemed the most likely option, if only because he could still feel that primordial chaos roaring in his head, and in his ears, and his feet, and the searing wounds of hot candle wax and the shards of glass in his skin and a terrible burning scream brayed out of his throat.
"Are you okay, my liege?" Si Né had left Linda Taylor alone in her confusion to tend to Sachihata, because the moment his protector regained consciousness the man started screaming out in terrible pain. He was bleeding from all over his body from all the knickknacks that had fallen on him. The lack of an immediate response drew the crowd closer to see what was happening, and nervous clamoring arose. "He's God, right? Why doesn't he heal him? That's what gods do! I prayed every night for this?!"
It was what a good God should do! They were right! Sachihata had been guiding him around for years, and now was finally the time to show all these people that kindness gets you kindness in return, which he always thought was a valuable lesson to learn. His white robes were kind of in the way, but Si Né managed to kneel, tied his long hair back, and applied a healing touch to the young shaman's wounds. Within moments, his partner was awake.
Instead of thankful weeping, Sachihata let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus. You're serious. You're being fucking Jesus."
During the very first second of the match, Si Né's temple hung suspended in midair and slightly ajar, gathering speed in a threatening "I'm going to fuck this subway station up so badly" kind of way. Of all the sounds that shot out when the first corner of the sacred building connected with the floor, one hundred tiny ceramic tiles cracking one after another was probably the quietest. The temple's foundations were made of wood which was not built to fall from a great hight and snapped and creaked and the ordeal genuinely sounded like whatever demons the place had been repelling or sealing for years had found a way to crawl through the blemishes in the woodwork and wreak havoc. After that, gravity introduced the interior of the holy ground's altar, cabinets and myriad pedestals to its good friend, the ground. The plethora of magical trinkets came tumbling down on the image of the resident god, and the varying materials - from wax to diamond - made every sound in the history of cartoonists' imagination at once.
It was no surprise that Si Né would be the first to come to his senses after such a vicious crash. The deity casually ignored important questions about his whereabouts or the identity of its captor, and simply stepped outside. Wherever this place was, the people weren't used to much. Most of them were dressed formally, and scurried around up and down stairs in the complicated underground plaza like little, entirely interchangeable mice, and most of the residents of the newly christened This Place had all stopped in a panic to stare at the god's temple. The shock and awe were still spreading when Si Né walked outside, and gradually everybody stopped their business arrangements, and held their eyes transfixed at Si Né, the center of attention.
They were with 400 at least, and not one of them said anything.
"你好, Hola, hello, مرحبا," the god started. "Hhhhhi," came the first stammered response, from a young woman with a ponytail. "Who are you," he asked next. Si Né was not an avatar of ample courtesy. "Li-Linda Taylor," Linda Taylor replied. Si Né shook his holy head and clarified: "No, like, you people. All of you." However, the most confusing conversation in Ms. Taylor's life was about to be cut short by Sachihata's awakening.
-
It made no sense quite yet, but he was getting there. The temple was moved, and Si Né didn't do it. What did that mean for them? If the temple was a representation of a universe, and a testament to Si Né being the supreme God of a religion, nobody else should have been able to move it for him. But who or what he saw in the darkness, that metal light machine that seemed to be in charge of the relocation, did not match any light gods he could think of. Perhaps, the shaman supposed, it was a god from the future, since there was a precedent for that happening. Maybe it was all a hallucination to obfuscate where the transporation brought him, caused by a trickster god who knew of the shaman's identity and tried its very best to make their modus operandi as unrecognisable as possible. If that would be the case, they're actively acting against Si Né, so they must be from the same religion. That, or it was one of the many beings above gods on the echelon, some kind of primordial chaos monster of birth, represented by light in a cold, iron prison... The last one seemed the most likely option, if only because he could still feel that primordial chaos roaring in his head, and in his ears, and his feet, and the searing wounds of hot candle wax and the shards of glass in his skin and a terrible burning scream brayed out of his throat.
"Are you okay, my liege?" Si Né had left Linda Taylor alone in her confusion to tend to Sachihata, because the moment his protector regained consciousness the man started screaming out in terrible pain. He was bleeding from all over his body from all the knickknacks that had fallen on him. The lack of an immediate response drew the crowd closer to see what was happening, and nervous clamoring arose. "He's God, right? Why doesn't he heal him? That's what gods do! I prayed every night for this?!"
It was what a good God should do! They were right! Sachihata had been guiding him around for years, and now was finally the time to show all these people that kindness gets you kindness in return, which he always thought was a valuable lesson to learn. His white robes were kind of in the way, but Si Né managed to kneel, tied his long hair back, and applied a healing touch to the young shaman's wounds. Within moments, his partner was awake.
Instead of thankful weeping, Sachihata let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus. You're serious. You're being fucking Jesus."
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.
