RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
06-16-2016, 04:09 AM
Quote:> Attempt to reason with the hideous abomination of flesh, engine, and childish car sound.
Looking at this poor, misshapen creature (the parts that don't look like you, of course), you feel a twinge of pity. As he claws at the floor beneath you, desperately trying to unsnag his feet from the broken window and its sil, face screeching, gnashing, and dribbling searing hot motor-oil mere centimeters from yours, you see in it's freakish, bare-muscled headlight eyes, a confused innocence that shows it does not understand what it does. It's not his fault that he's a nightmarish abomination that only desires to kill everything around it. He's a victim of circumstance. His barely sentient feral state is probably the result of bad parenting. They would have to be exceedingly bad parents to let him make those immature and completely misinformed car noises for this long, and lord knows that are plenty of parents who do that. He is clearly not responsible for his own actions, it wouldn't be right to strike back at him. Who's to say that you have to strike back, anyway? That's just the man pounding down on your mind with his messages of violence and conformity. Well, you certainly aren't going to let those ivory tower gargoyles tell you what to do, this Other-other-you needs help. This creature's, no, this Person’s hatred for all living things and burning desire to kill them is just a desperate plea for attention. You will start the revolution! You will not indulge the whims of the so-called man or his government, you will not hit back with the intention to smite this defenseless, innocent being. You will take him by the hand and lead not just him, but the whole world into a new age. It all starts here.
While the Other-other-you is occupied with furiously clawing at the ground in an attempt to unhook himself from the large shards of jagged glass piercing deep into his shoes, you decidedly don't attack his helpless personage suspended only a hair's breadth above you.
You: “Please, stop this. There's no need to fight. We can talk this out.”
Your words go unheeded as the Other-other-you continues his struggle, showing off his vulnerable underbelly completely exposed to the weapons you have in each hand as he does so. Having gone past the first step on the road to recovery through compassion, you decide to go straight to the heart of the matter and shoot the problem where it hurts.
You: “Look, I recognize the signs. You're upset. You're upset at yourself and the world around you, but you need to understand where that pain comes from. I understand that your parents didn't make enough time for you and left you with a lot of baggage. I know that every time they said, 'we tried our best,' they were lying through their filthy, uncaring teeth, and that in a just world they would be here instead of you, but you can't let your anger color what you think of other people. I'm not your parents (as far as I know), and neither is anyone else. You need to let go and move on with your life.”
The Other-other-you doesn't appear to be listening. You hear the floor behind you splinter as he digs his fingers into the wood, finally getting a strong hold. He stops struggling and begins one, long pull. You hear a sickening tearing sound come from where he's caught on the glass of the broken window. His currently helpless state and lack of extreme movement allows you to see a pattern of burn spots and oil stains on his shirt that, for a brief second, almost look like a target. Obviously you aren't getting through. You decide to bring out the big guns and try being relatable.
You: “You probably don't believe me right now when I tell you this, but I really, truly do understand what you're going through. A few years ago, I used to be a horrific meat-covered, mechanical parody of life just like you. It was hell, especially going through high school. Everyone judged me just on my appearance and refused to see the beauty I had inside. No one would even sit next to me on the bus, and I was always the last one to get a partner in dance class. My hellish, nightmare appearance made getting a job nearly impossible, but you know what I did? I sat down and really took a look at what I saw in the mirror. What did I see? I didn't see a disgusting, ugly freak that has no right to walk on the grassy fields of God's green earth. I saw me. I saw a person I was proud to be. I saw that I shouldn't be ashamed over what I was and who I am. If I thought I was a grotesque wretch of rotten meat held together only by the strands of my own filth, then so would everyone else. And then, something amazing happened. With that realization, my inner beauty began to show on the outside. My malformed car-wreck of a face changed to be the sculpted, ruggedly roguish features of the lovable scoundrel you see before you. In the end, it doesn't matter what other people think of you, it matters what you think of you. And most importantly, what's here, in your heart.”
You tap the barrel of your gun against his chest to emphasize his heart, and as you decidedly don't pull the trigger, a single tear rolls down your cheek at the beauty of your own mostly made up words. Truly, you are a wonderful and selfless person.
Your reflection on your own humanitarianism is interrupted by a single loud and final ripping sound as the Other-other-you falls forward, finally landing completely on top of you. You manage to keep a hold of the still-dangerous-but-not-really-a-gun gun and the mallet in your hands as he flails wildly, trying to scramble off of you into a better attacking position. Sizzling, hot oil sprays from the gashes on the Other-other-you's pants and shoes, burning both you and leaving marks on the floor.
Quote:>Man, are there any parallel you's that don't want to kill you? Heck, is there a chance this guy doesn't?
His actions are still clearly aggressive, although his words are still mumbles of faux car noises, so a fight certainly looks like the direction this encounter is heading. You're not entirely convinced that your words haven't had any effect, though. If they brought tears to your eyes then they will most definitely bring tears to the eyes of anyone else. Metaphorical tears, you're pretty sure the gaping burnt holes with unseen flashing light bulbs surrounded by exposed muscle the Other-other-you has instead of eyes don't actually contain tear ducts.
After the Other-other-you scrambles to the other end of the room, he jumps up to his feat. Gouts of steaming oil spurt from the gashes on his legs and shoes only to pool at his feet. His lack of conventional eyes make it difficult to tell exactly where he is looking, but the Other-other-you appears to be staring at the weapons you have in both of your hands. Despite that you are still on your back with your knees against the wall, he is right to be wary of you while you're armed, as, according to you, you are a whirlwind of death with any weapon. Still, you're not quite sure you want to engage in a fight just yet. You're a little committed to this talk-it-out angle you've thought up. It would be a major credit to your negotiation skills, not to mention a big feather in your cap, if you actually manage to talk this stupid thing down.
You quickly struggle to your feet, making sure to avoid all the broken glass lying around, and reassess the situation. The Other-other-you is on the other end of the room, which isn't that far considering this shack is smaller on the inside and the outside was pretty small to begin with, eyeing you up in a way that you wish it didn't; a very blood-thirsty air from top to bottom. He appears to be keeping his distance, most likely he is being wary of the two weapons you have in your hands. It's a good thing you have those out, they'll allow you to keep him at arms length, and having weapons is usually helpful in speeding peace-talks along to a “mutually” satisfactory outcome. With his back against the wall, the Other-other-you begins pacing from side to side. While only briefly, several times he breaks eye contact with you to glance around the inside of the shack, for what specifically, you aren't immediately sure. Suddenly, he stops mid-glance. He even stops puttering out his inane car noises, and, for a few moments, the entire shack is quiet with the only sound heard being the fake-sprinkler-rain on the roof of the shack. Before you have a chance to react, he lunges forward straight at you only to come to a complete halt halfway across the room. The Other-other-you's unprovoked lunge cases you to back into the wall in surprise and instinctively pull the trigger of the not-gun in your hand. The flag and poll pops harmlessly out of the barrel.
At first, you're not exactly sure why the Other-other-you stopped, until you see where he's standing. With his legs spread out and his feet on opposite sides of the opening, he is standing directly above the portal trap door. It takes a moment before it dawns on you, since the outside worlds has apparently ceased to exist and been replaced by a big concrete box, the only way to escape or go anywhere is through the portal-doors that he is now standing directly above and below. With a big bow-legged stance, the Other-other-you stands there menacingly, daring you to step forward. Well, you're certainly not going to play his game. For the greater good and the good of your ego, you will find a peaceful resolution to this situation.
Quote:>Declare undying love for the creature. At least long enough to get away.
The friendly, relatable but authoritative tone you used earlier didn't work out so well. Perhaps presenting yourself as a peer is provoking a complex that causes him to dominate those he perceives as equals? That series of words might be the case, as you've briefly read them in a magazine before. It might be worthwhile to try implanting an emotional investment towards making peace with you. Since the Other-other-you isn't willing to help himself, perhaps he can be bent around towards the idea of helping you instead. Exactly how you'll accomplish that, you're uncertain of. Even if you can't turn him over to your side completely, it would still be something if you can distract him enough to make a break for it. Is there something similar that you've done before that you can fall back on? Maybe with the right amount of emotional manipulation you could- Wait, that's it! You get an idea.
Without letting go of the mallet, you run your hand through your hair in an attempt to slick it back. It doesn't work. You take a step forward and put on a more sultry air, shifting your hips seductively as you do so. You look the Other-other-you straight in his headlight covered non-eyes and do that thing with your eyebrows. You know, the thing; the sexy thing. You also give a little wink for good measure. Not a full wink, just a little one. You don't close your eye completely, you don't want to come on too strong, after all. With a light lick to your lips you speak.
You: “You know, earlier when you were dragging yourself through shards of broken glass without any concern for your own well being, it really struck me on the amount of dedication to getting a job done that must take. I like that, it shows a good level of… Commitment.”
You lean forward and accentuate every syllable of “commitment” in as breathy a provocative tone you can muster. You begin tracing the tiny flagpole sticking out of the barrel of your not-real-gun around your chest; your lack of pecks, a six-pack, or muscles of any kind is irrelevant. Your clothes are wet, and that's all that matters. You shift your weight from on leg to the other to continue your risqué display when a thought occurs to you. Should you really be trying to seduce someone who has been made to look like you, gross machine parts notwithstanding, on a very deep level? You really can't think of a reason not to. Anyone should be so lucky to land a catch like you, even you. You are quite the keeper, and that's a fact.
You: “I also couldn't help but notice how strong you are. The way you dug your fingers into the wood enough for it to splinter shows a lot of raw power. I bet you'd be great to have around the house. Yard work on a hot, sunny day without your shirt on. I bet your neighbors are so jealous. You're not married, are you? I don't see a ring.”
You hold up your hand and wiggle your ring finger playfully.
You: “And what's this? I don't have one either. Fancy that.”
You drop down to one knee and look up at the Other-other-you. Your eyes open wide and sparkle as you look up to the object of your desire with obvious need drawn across your face and dripping from every word.
You: “What am I doing? There's no sense beating around the bush. What I'm trying to say is… I love you. Each moment that's ticked by during the few seconds we've known each other have felt like entire lifetimes where I've been completely, madly in love with you. Perhaps I've always loved you and just never knew it until now. My entire life, since I first gazed up at the moon to watch its sorrowful journey across the night sky, I've felt incomplete. An empty feeling like there was a massive part of my soul that was just never there. Now that I look at you, I feel complete. I feel like I've finally found my other half. Please, will you do me the honor of being mine, for now and forever?”
You extend your hand out in a friendly, loving manner, beckoning him to take it. You do not put down your fake-gun, however. You're hoping that the friendly gesture combined with pointing a gun at him might help move things along.
The Other-other-you stands there. His expression changes from psychotic, gleeful bloodlust to one of confusion and mild disgust. Well then, there's no accounting for taste. Those were some of your best lines too.
You're actually at a loss for what to do now. Neither one of your negotiation or seduction techniques worked, and the fact that this twisted meat-metal mockery is now silently judging you has taken too much wind out of your sails to try again. What can you try next: bribery, begging, blackmail? You could just fight him. The Other-you was actually fairly easy to dispatch and this Other-other-you shouldn't be too difficult to deal with either, but then that would defeat the entire purpose of trying to negotiate/sexy-times your way out of the conflict. It wouldn't sit well with you yo just give up like that. Your ego would never forgive you. This train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a series of faint thuds coming from above. As they get louder and closer, the thudding becomes interspersed with electronic, buzzy yelling. The Other-other-you looks up just in time to see a blur of sparking wires and flashing light bulbs as the Other-you crashes directly into him, knocking him off his feet. The Other-other-you and the Other-you immediately become a tangled mess of wild sparks, black exhaust, spurting oil, electronic screaming, fake car noises, muffled engine sounds, and tangled limbs. The two of them slip through the trapdoor and hit each one as they continue to tumble downwards. The loud “katunk-kathunk” of their descent can be heard mixed with exchanges of accusatory screeching between the two. The sound slowly fades away as they become too distant to hear.
That's not exactly how you were expecting things to go, but you decide to chalk this up as a success for your little impromptu therapy session anyway. You probably deserve some form of degree for this. You might even want to consider opening up a psychiatry clinic, there's good money to be made there.
You dust yourself off and begin winding the tiny flagpole back into the fake gun as you consider your next course of action. Now that those little whirlwinds of activity are over, you have time again to examine your surroundings. There's not that much to see inside the one and only room this shack has, with the exception of the new addition of a broken window and broken glass on the floor, things are pretty much the same. Actually, you're not sure if it's accurate to describe this as the shack's only room. The ceiling and floor trapdoors are now undeniably confirmed to be portals after seeing the Other-you's round trip, but it took him a while to get back. How many rooms and how many portal-doors are there? Also, the solid concrete box surrounding everything outside is a matter of concern. You are completely positive this should be the place you first entered the shack from, but now the outside world has been replaced with a hastily slapped together backdrop. It is very worrying that your easiest and most obvious exit is no longer available to you.
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