Re: The Adventurer's Battle (Round One: Room 1-0A)
08-29-2011, 12:17 PM
Shit.
The hotel bed had cushioned Jammrollâs impact in much the same way that the wall hadnât. Underneath her, however, the bulk of the atomic amp had turned the cheap frame of the equally cheap bed into splinters, which was now poking through various lacerations in the mattress.
The atomic amp was beeping â a very specific set of pitches and sequences that indicated low coolant. This was not nearly as bad as some anti-nuclear proponents would claim, but thorium fluoride was hardly an abundant resource and replacing it would be a bitch if there was an overheat.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
On occasion, she pondered the advisability of carrying around a radiation hazard on her back. But she was fine and there was simply no alternative â no other amplifier could handle Steveâs raw power and translate it into earsplitting but ecstatic symphony. As she thought, she idly picked up the Thunderbolt Bass and plucked a few notes, their sweet low cadence whispering the lilt of a love long unfulfilled, unrequited.
The notes were less music and more the essence behind the musician, more heart than soul and more meaning than phrase. They wafted, spun and sung their part, down through the pipes and walls of the hotel itself.
Unfortunately, they eventually danced into the main hall, where the members of Rubberband, recent winners of Best Musical Adventure, found themselves humming and picking up their instruments from the train-wrought debrisâ¦
Jammroll ran a hose from the bathroom sink to the amp, sitting its bulk on the toilet. Slowly, the distress call faded, to be replaced by the much more pleasant idle hum of musical potential. And with the sound of a growing concert downstairs, who could resist adding some bitchinâ bass?
The hotel bed had cushioned Jammrollâs impact in much the same way that the wall hadnât. Underneath her, however, the bulk of the atomic amp had turned the cheap frame of the equally cheap bed into splinters, which was now poking through various lacerations in the mattress.
The atomic amp was beeping â a very specific set of pitches and sequences that indicated low coolant. This was not nearly as bad as some anti-nuclear proponents would claim, but thorium fluoride was hardly an abundant resource and replacing it would be a bitch if there was an overheat.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
On occasion, she pondered the advisability of carrying around a radiation hazard on her back. But she was fine and there was simply no alternative â no other amplifier could handle Steveâs raw power and translate it into earsplitting but ecstatic symphony. As she thought, she idly picked up the Thunderbolt Bass and plucked a few notes, their sweet low cadence whispering the lilt of a love long unfulfilled, unrequited.
The notes were less music and more the essence behind the musician, more heart than soul and more meaning than phrase. They wafted, spun and sung their part, down through the pipes and walls of the hotel itself.
Unfortunately, they eventually danced into the main hall, where the members of Rubberband, recent winners of Best Musical Adventure, found themselves humming and picking up their instruments from the train-wrought debrisâ¦
Jammroll ran a hose from the bathroom sink to the amp, sitting its bulk on the toilet. Slowly, the distress call faded, to be replaced by the much more pleasant idle hum of musical potential. And with the sound of a growing concert downstairs, who could resist adding some bitchinâ bass?
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime