RE: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND THREE: PORT CERIDWEN]
06-06-2017, 04:05 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-06-2017, 05:07 AM by Hellfish.)
Leon at first did not notice the dreamlike beauty of Port Ceridwen, because Leon was busy throwing up in an alley.
What the hell? What the hell?
That kid… Timmy. All that blood. That butcher’s-floor mess. The meat all mixed in with the metal of the golem that had been assigned to protect him. The smell… the teeth…
Mentally, Leon tried to pull himself together. He’d barely processed the round transition. That theatrical girl had killed the contestant Nizzo… Leon didn’t know how he felt about that. The dossier had said that Nizzo was sapient, but it was just a jellyfish, wasn’t it? Not a person. Not like the kid. Leon swallowed hard, his mouth bitter with bile. This was a far bigger mess than he’d anticipated. He’d imagined monitoring would be less… gory.
Leon coughed, resting his forehead against the faded brick of the alley. It was cool to the touch and smelt faintly of lilac. He closed his eyes, reflexively patting the pockets of his uniform. His bag was gone, he noticed, the dossiers with it. His stun gun was still securely in its holster. His ID was tucked in his pocket. He took it out, squinting at the unflattering picture of himself. He had to get word to the Authority that he’d been moved without his supplies. His communicator… he checked again. Gone. He must have dropped it somewhere in Eta Carina. Sloppy. He’d get a demerit for that.
He stood up, noticing for the first time the smell of the salt air. For a moment, it reminded him of the islands of Exarkhos- but there was no undercurrent of old fish or factory smoke. Just something sweet and bready, like an undercooked cake. He would have to find some way to contact the CEB and update them on his status. No doubt they’d tracked him here- the move had been broadcast on television, after all. His handlers were probably monitoring him from their stations.
Leon looked around. There were no cameras. He was in a low alleyway, alone, near what he guessed was a market by the sound. Drifts of hay and dry grass had gathered in the corner behind him. The brick underfoot was cheerily painted and surprisingly clean. The sky overhead was a pastel green, painted here and there with cotton candy pink clouds. Things like four-winged swallows flitted overhead, their wings glittering in the noonday sun.
Despite himself, Leon couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement. He’d never in his life imagined he’d ever leave Exarkhos. This was something beyond his wildest dreams. But then he remembered Timmy’s mangled body, and the deranged woman with the sword, and the feeling ebbed.
He stepped out of the alley cautiously, hand resting lightly on the grip of his gun. It emptied into a market after all, up on a hill with a fine view of the harbor. Stalls were scattered in front of peaceful-looking homes, their canopies fancifully painted with swirls of color. Customers haggled good-naturedly with the sellers over dreams encased in bottles, sealed in vases, sewn into silken pouches. Occasionally a stall would feature a grand chest bolted shut from which loud thumps would emanate- heavier fare, Leon guessed. All of the people were clothed in colorful robes that glittered as they moved, and they wore content, pleased expressions.
Leon frowned. None of these people seemed likely to have the kind of communication systems he’d need.
He approached the nearest stall- as he did, the vendor and the woman he was selling to slumped, gasping for air. Their candy-cane-striped horns seemed to wilt as Leon got closer. The bottles of dreams carefully arranged on the stall’s table dulled as the contents within dissipated into nothingness. The vendor stared shocked down at his wares, scrambling to shield them from further harm.
“H-hello,” Leon said, brandishing his ID card. “I n-need to contact the B-B-Broadcasting Authority. Promptly, please. I-I-It’s important.”
The vendor shot him an angry look. “What are you doing? What are you? What-” he broke off into another coughing fit. His customer took the opportunity to flee, stumbling away from Leon. The closest stalls were experiencing the same effects. One woman had passed out in the street.
“I am J-J-Junior Agent L-Leon Antaros,” Leon explained patiently. He pointed to his picture on the card. “I need to c-contact my emp-p-p-ployers.”
“You’re an abomination! Look what you’ve done!”
Leon was a little taken back. “I am n-not. I just need-”
“Get OUT!” the vendor screamed, brandishing a knife from underneath the table. His peachy-purple skin was breaking out into unhealthy blotches. Leon kept his hand on his gun for a moment, debating whether to subdue the man. He decided against it, reasoning that it would only cause more of a scene.
He drew himself up. “I will leave. B-b-but you have not been very helpful. I will h-h-have to report you to upper m-management.”
Leon retreated as the vendor swiped clumsily with his knife, missing by feet. He collapsed onto his table groaning, shattering a few of the empty bottles. Leon considered. The magical corruption of the populace seemed to react poorly to his ENF; it was unlikely that he would be able to speak to them for any length of time. At least, not any of these people. That meant he had to turn to outside help.
For Leon, that met the only contestant who had proved non-hostile.
Kriok.
What the hell? What the hell?
That kid… Timmy. All that blood. That butcher’s-floor mess. The meat all mixed in with the metal of the golem that had been assigned to protect him. The smell… the teeth…
Mentally, Leon tried to pull himself together. He’d barely processed the round transition. That theatrical girl had killed the contestant Nizzo… Leon didn’t know how he felt about that. The dossier had said that Nizzo was sapient, but it was just a jellyfish, wasn’t it? Not a person. Not like the kid. Leon swallowed hard, his mouth bitter with bile. This was a far bigger mess than he’d anticipated. He’d imagined monitoring would be less… gory.
Leon coughed, resting his forehead against the faded brick of the alley. It was cool to the touch and smelt faintly of lilac. He closed his eyes, reflexively patting the pockets of his uniform. His bag was gone, he noticed, the dossiers with it. His stun gun was still securely in its holster. His ID was tucked in his pocket. He took it out, squinting at the unflattering picture of himself. He had to get word to the Authority that he’d been moved without his supplies. His communicator… he checked again. Gone. He must have dropped it somewhere in Eta Carina. Sloppy. He’d get a demerit for that.
He stood up, noticing for the first time the smell of the salt air. For a moment, it reminded him of the islands of Exarkhos- but there was no undercurrent of old fish or factory smoke. Just something sweet and bready, like an undercooked cake. He would have to find some way to contact the CEB and update them on his status. No doubt they’d tracked him here- the move had been broadcast on television, after all. His handlers were probably monitoring him from their stations.
Leon looked around. There were no cameras. He was in a low alleyway, alone, near what he guessed was a market by the sound. Drifts of hay and dry grass had gathered in the corner behind him. The brick underfoot was cheerily painted and surprisingly clean. The sky overhead was a pastel green, painted here and there with cotton candy pink clouds. Things like four-winged swallows flitted overhead, their wings glittering in the noonday sun.
Despite himself, Leon couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement. He’d never in his life imagined he’d ever leave Exarkhos. This was something beyond his wildest dreams. But then he remembered Timmy’s mangled body, and the deranged woman with the sword, and the feeling ebbed.
He stepped out of the alley cautiously, hand resting lightly on the grip of his gun. It emptied into a market after all, up on a hill with a fine view of the harbor. Stalls were scattered in front of peaceful-looking homes, their canopies fancifully painted with swirls of color. Customers haggled good-naturedly with the sellers over dreams encased in bottles, sealed in vases, sewn into silken pouches. Occasionally a stall would feature a grand chest bolted shut from which loud thumps would emanate- heavier fare, Leon guessed. All of the people were clothed in colorful robes that glittered as they moved, and they wore content, pleased expressions.
Leon frowned. None of these people seemed likely to have the kind of communication systems he’d need.
He approached the nearest stall- as he did, the vendor and the woman he was selling to slumped, gasping for air. Their candy-cane-striped horns seemed to wilt as Leon got closer. The bottles of dreams carefully arranged on the stall’s table dulled as the contents within dissipated into nothingness. The vendor stared shocked down at his wares, scrambling to shield them from further harm.
“H-hello,” Leon said, brandishing his ID card. “I n-need to contact the B-B-Broadcasting Authority. Promptly, please. I-I-It’s important.”
The vendor shot him an angry look. “What are you doing? What are you? What-” he broke off into another coughing fit. His customer took the opportunity to flee, stumbling away from Leon. The closest stalls were experiencing the same effects. One woman had passed out in the street.
“I am J-J-Junior Agent L-Leon Antaros,” Leon explained patiently. He pointed to his picture on the card. “I need to c-contact my emp-p-p-ployers.”
“You’re an abomination! Look what you’ve done!”
Leon was a little taken back. “I am n-not. I just need-”
“Get OUT!” the vendor screamed, brandishing a knife from underneath the table. His peachy-purple skin was breaking out into unhealthy blotches. Leon kept his hand on his gun for a moment, debating whether to subdue the man. He decided against it, reasoning that it would only cause more of a scene.
He drew himself up. “I will leave. B-b-but you have not been very helpful. I will h-h-have to report you to upper m-management.”
Leon retreated as the vendor swiped clumsily with his knife, missing by feet. He collapsed onto his table groaning, shattering a few of the empty bottles. Leon considered. The magical corruption of the populace seemed to react poorly to his ENF; it was unlikely that he would be able to speak to them for any length of time. At least, not any of these people. That meant he had to turn to outside help.
For Leon, that met the only contestant who had proved non-hostile.
Kriok.