RE: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round Four: City of the Dead)
04-22-2017, 12:29 AM
Tengeri let out a heavy sigh and floated back to the expresso machine for yet another refill.
Turns out the staff of Extraplanar Studies department were more like inanimate objects than the living dead. Okay, it was a rather unbecoming statement from her but to be fair, there was absolutely nothing to do – no papers, no complaints. The department was basically a bureaucratic dead-zone and the only person she thinks had anything resembling an active conscious was Lachlan, who was currently in the process of stealing office supplies. She could stop him but what’s the point? She was getting restless from all this monotony, or maybe that’s just the tenth cup of coffee kicking in. Or was it the eleventh? It was a long afternoon.
Then, someone busted in the door. It was Tor Kajan.
Tengeri wasn’t an especially religious person but she praised thanks to whatever benevolent force out there for his presence. To date, the Telpori-Hal’s vists had been a welcome distraction and they had truly bonded over everything weird and different about life in the City of the Dead, which was nice, but this time something was different. Probably the fact Tor was steaming mad.
And madly steaming. Let’s not forget that.
“Tor.”
“Dr. Nyoka.”
“How are you?” She politely greeted as she levitated him a cup of caffeinated refreshment.
“Fucking tired,” He collapsed into a nearby chair. “How do I begin –”
He didn’t really give Tengeri much choice in the matter but she decided it was best to make it like a river and go with the flow. Of the conversation. As a NSC-sponsored scientist, she particularly sympathized with him (especially on the last part) but the conversation went the turn for the well, negative. And specifically about Jetsam. Jetsam this. Jetsam that. Jetsam Jetsam Jetsam. Which, Tengeri sort of sympathized with but not as much as paperwork.
“– He told me, again to keep this stupid cloak on and not make eye contact with that hospital lich. You know the one with the damn heels –”
Tengeri nodded.
“– I get it! I get it! He doesn’t have to remind me constantly. I’m not exactly a fledging anymore, you know –”
Nodding.
“– and why and how do they have an entire shipment of goat’s blood every day to this fucking city. What would you do with this much goat blood?”
A pause. Then an imperceptible nod.
“…You won’t understand, Tengeri.”
”You're right. I don't.” A pause. “The fume cupboard is open by the way.”
“I don’t need it right now.”
It was kind of funny to see Tor sulk like a child but Tengeri was too concerned about matters to be amused. Benjamin Jetsam. Tengeri had mixed feelings about him because he was a rude and abrasive man who could not stay set on a form for some otherworldly reason. Currently, he was a skeleton from the occasional long-distance interaction but the surliness was unmistakable. Yet, Tor seem to greatly care about him. A noble endeavor, but it was clear there was some bitterness developing between them (at least from the conversation). Eventually, Jetsam was going to wear Tor down. Or Tor was going to burn him alive, metaphorically so to speak.
It was a little worrying.
“So. What progress have you made on finding us a way out of here."
“As much as I love to exposit my progress, this conversation isn’t about escaping. This conversation is about your friend.”
“If we could jump out of this battle, I wouldn’t have to complain to you about my housemate in Death City being a lich,” Tor spat. “And also my fake boss who cannot decided when it is appropriate to act like a real boss.”
“Escape? What’s the point of escaping if only you and me and Heaven forbid, Jetsam. Where is everyone else? Where is Huebert? I recently read up he was successfully quote-unquote franksteined, what is exactly that? Is that like a decontamination procedure?”
“Actually. Actually…I don’t know,” Tor faltered. “I asked Jetsam and he said he’d try to get details from Octavius but. He…didn’t try…Try that hard.”
Tengeri frowned, not exactly sure to be disappointed at the fact Tor could been more convincing or the fact Tor could be less petty. Tor had his ways with words but she knew – he knew – that no amount of charisma can disprove the fact that Tor Kajan, diplomat, engineer, and ex-Captain of the Phoenix, was being kind of an asshole.
“Jetsam may be tiring to be around, but he is not the end-all, be-all cause of all your problems.”
Tor kind of wilted at the pointed statement, his wiry hair (and residual smoke) somewhat deflating. Tengeri felt a little guilty but she drew the line at treating a person like an emotional punching bag, even in conversation.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Tor sighed. “It’s just. It’s been a stressful week.”
Silence. Unbearable, but necessary silence. Tengeri assimilated a small blob of coffee and watching the dark liquid dissipate in her water bubble with mild disinterest. Then she spoke.
“If I may ask, why do you still associate with Jetsam?”
“Aah. Mm,” There was a sizzling sound as Tor’s hand made contact with the nape of his neck. “Just – he might be a terrible person, but he isn’t horrible. He just needs a helping hand, some direction.” Pause. “He’s lost.”
“Lost.”
“You won’t understand.”
“I don’t.”
Tengeri mulled on another intake of coffee. If she was in Tor’s shoes, she would had severed her relationship with Jetsam on the spot. However, the advice was cruel and burning bridges was never a great idea, especially in the context of Grand Battles, where a relationship was mightier than the most earth-shattering weapons. Beware of helping those who are lost, lest you be lost too? No, that seemed too mean-spirited. Oh, what about…
“Had you tried talking to him?”
”What.”
“Him. Jetsam is what I meant.”
“You’re kidding, right? This is Jetsam we’re talking about.”
“And yet you hang out with him! No kidding! No offense, Tor but you are so wrapped up in what could happen that absolutely nothing happens because you are doing nothing at all. Look at you! All miserable and a mess. If he is as decent of a person you assume he is, then he’ll be reasonable if you talk to him.”
With a clatter and an uugh, Tor stood up and locked eyes with Tengeri, a not impossible task considering the stature of the former and the multiple eyes of the latter. He proceeded to walk backwards out of the Extraplanar Studies department into the hallway. He shuffled to the nearest window and pulled up the shutter. A pleasant breeze wafted in, made trivial by the increasing temperature of Tor’s impending combustion.
He still hadn’t lost eye contact.
“…So are you going to talk to him?”
Tor responded by falling out of the window. There was fwoom, a pulse of light, and the smell of asbestos. Tengeri was all too familiar with Tor’s eccentric physiology but she still felt a moral obligation to glide to the open window and see him off.
“What a melodramatic weirdo,” Lachlan observed the new iteration of Tor pulling himself from an ex-bush of white roses and walking out all casual-like. Lachlan shot a pencil out as a sort of farewell salvo to the visitor.
“Well, he has a good heart. And that’s all that matters,” Tengeri said as she went back to pondering where Naaxme could have been. She had so many questions for him.
Turns out the staff of Extraplanar Studies department were more like inanimate objects than the living dead. Okay, it was a rather unbecoming statement from her but to be fair, there was absolutely nothing to do – no papers, no complaints. The department was basically a bureaucratic dead-zone and the only person she thinks had anything resembling an active conscious was Lachlan, who was currently in the process of stealing office supplies. She could stop him but what’s the point? She was getting restless from all this monotony, or maybe that’s just the tenth cup of coffee kicking in. Or was it the eleventh? It was a long afternoon.
Then, someone busted in the door. It was Tor Kajan.
Tengeri wasn’t an especially religious person but she praised thanks to whatever benevolent force out there for his presence. To date, the Telpori-Hal’s vists had been a welcome distraction and they had truly bonded over everything weird and different about life in the City of the Dead, which was nice, but this time something was different. Probably the fact Tor was steaming mad.
And madly steaming. Let’s not forget that.
“Tor.”
“Dr. Nyoka.”
“How are you?” She politely greeted as she levitated him a cup of caffeinated refreshment.
“Fucking tired,” He collapsed into a nearby chair. “How do I begin –”
He didn’t really give Tengeri much choice in the matter but she decided it was best to make it like a river and go with the flow. Of the conversation. As a NSC-sponsored scientist, she particularly sympathized with him (especially on the last part) but the conversation went the turn for the well, negative. And specifically about Jetsam. Jetsam this. Jetsam that. Jetsam Jetsam Jetsam. Which, Tengeri sort of sympathized with but not as much as paperwork.
“– He told me, again to keep this stupid cloak on and not make eye contact with that hospital lich. You know the one with the damn heels –”
Tengeri nodded.
“– I get it! I get it! He doesn’t have to remind me constantly. I’m not exactly a fledging anymore, you know –”
Nodding.
“– and why and how do they have an entire shipment of goat’s blood every day to this fucking city. What would you do with this much goat blood?”
A pause. Then an imperceptible nod.
“…You won’t understand, Tengeri.”
”You're right. I don't.” A pause. “The fume cupboard is open by the way.”
“I don’t need it right now.”
It was kind of funny to see Tor sulk like a child but Tengeri was too concerned about matters to be amused. Benjamin Jetsam. Tengeri had mixed feelings about him because he was a rude and abrasive man who could not stay set on a form for some otherworldly reason. Currently, he was a skeleton from the occasional long-distance interaction but the surliness was unmistakable. Yet, Tor seem to greatly care about him. A noble endeavor, but it was clear there was some bitterness developing between them (at least from the conversation). Eventually, Jetsam was going to wear Tor down. Or Tor was going to burn him alive, metaphorically so to speak.
It was a little worrying.
“So. What progress have you made on finding us a way out of here."
“As much as I love to exposit my progress, this conversation isn’t about escaping. This conversation is about your friend.”
“If we could jump out of this battle, I wouldn’t have to complain to you about my housemate in Death City being a lich,” Tor spat. “And also my fake boss who cannot decided when it is appropriate to act like a real boss.”
“Escape? What’s the point of escaping if only you and me and Heaven forbid, Jetsam. Where is everyone else? Where is Huebert? I recently read up he was successfully quote-unquote franksteined, what is exactly that? Is that like a decontamination procedure?”
“Actually. Actually…I don’t know,” Tor faltered. “I asked Jetsam and he said he’d try to get details from Octavius but. He…didn’t try…Try that hard.”
Tengeri frowned, not exactly sure to be disappointed at the fact Tor could been more convincing or the fact Tor could be less petty. Tor had his ways with words but she knew – he knew – that no amount of charisma can disprove the fact that Tor Kajan, diplomat, engineer, and ex-Captain of the Phoenix, was being kind of an asshole.
“Jetsam may be tiring to be around, but he is not the end-all, be-all cause of all your problems.”
Tor kind of wilted at the pointed statement, his wiry hair (and residual smoke) somewhat deflating. Tengeri felt a little guilty but she drew the line at treating a person like an emotional punching bag, even in conversation.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Tor sighed. “It’s just. It’s been a stressful week.”
Silence. Unbearable, but necessary silence. Tengeri assimilated a small blob of coffee and watching the dark liquid dissipate in her water bubble with mild disinterest. Then she spoke.
“If I may ask, why do you still associate with Jetsam?”
“Aah. Mm,” There was a sizzling sound as Tor’s hand made contact with the nape of his neck. “Just – he might be a terrible person, but he isn’t horrible. He just needs a helping hand, some direction.” Pause. “He’s lost.”
“Lost.”
“You won’t understand.”
“I don’t.”
Tengeri mulled on another intake of coffee. If she was in Tor’s shoes, she would had severed her relationship with Jetsam on the spot. However, the advice was cruel and burning bridges was never a great idea, especially in the context of Grand Battles, where a relationship was mightier than the most earth-shattering weapons. Beware of helping those who are lost, lest you be lost too? No, that seemed too mean-spirited. Oh, what about…
“Had you tried talking to him?”
”What.”
“Him. Jetsam is what I meant.”
“You’re kidding, right? This is Jetsam we’re talking about.”
“And yet you hang out with him! No kidding! No offense, Tor but you are so wrapped up in what could happen that absolutely nothing happens because you are doing nothing at all. Look at you! All miserable and a mess. If he is as decent of a person you assume he is, then he’ll be reasonable if you talk to him.”
With a clatter and an uugh, Tor stood up and locked eyes with Tengeri, a not impossible task considering the stature of the former and the multiple eyes of the latter. He proceeded to walk backwards out of the Extraplanar Studies department into the hallway. He shuffled to the nearest window and pulled up the shutter. A pleasant breeze wafted in, made trivial by the increasing temperature of Tor’s impending combustion.
He still hadn’t lost eye contact.
“…So are you going to talk to him?”
Tor responded by falling out of the window. There was fwoom, a pulse of light, and the smell of asbestos. Tengeri was all too familiar with Tor’s eccentric physiology but she still felt a moral obligation to glide to the open window and see him off.
“What a melodramatic weirdo,” Lachlan observed the new iteration of Tor pulling himself from an ex-bush of white roses and walking out all casual-like. Lachlan shot a pencil out as a sort of farewell salvo to the visitor.
“Well, he has a good heart. And that’s all that matters,” Tengeri said as she went back to pondering where Naaxme could have been. She had so many questions for him.