RE: TERRARIUM - Round 1: Apocalypse
08-27-2017, 06:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-27-2017, 06:11 AM by Hellfish.)
-Complete unification of magic and metal, Abhararcan was saying spiritedly, its mind glittering with excitement and greed. Granted the magic is supplied through a god- and the metal is primitive, of course, compared to me- never seen a thing like it. The possibilities! Imagine!
Mercator nodded, half-listening. The machine-centipede thing had crawled behind its cart and was waiting there. Its blank face seemed oddly peaceful, and it tilted its head at him patiently. The drained corpse lay slumped on the ground where it had dropped it.
-mere scion of greater things- empires fueled by living blood-
“What may I offer you?” Zakam said calmly. It motioned to the tubs before it and the little tank of water steadily boiling a few floating cobs. “I have elotes, freshly cooked, with your choice of condiments. Chapulines hot from the fryer as well.” It held a wax-paper cone out of these last things to Mercator; he was somewhat nauseated to see that they were insects.
-wonder how autonomously it operates? Couldn’t tell- can’t be very- what I wouldn’t give for a chance at dissection-
“Are you not hungry?” Zakam asked. Its voice was smooth and polite, like an elevator operator’s. It made Mercator uncomfortable. It wasn’t a tone that people often took with him. His arm was cramping, he realized; his fingers were locked on the bow.
“Boss, what do we do?” he whispered.
-Don’t interrupt me! Abhararcan snarled. Can’t you see I’m busy? Idiot! Pay the damn thing!
“Pay-?”
Your blood. Stick out your wrist. We’ll get a close-up view of the process.
Mercator winced, but rolled up his sleeve all the same. He approached the cart nervously, his arm held out, painfully aware of the thin blue veins below his palm. Zakam leaned in peaceably and extended its needle with a click, gently gripping Mercator’s hand to position it.
The transaction was over quickly, Mercator taking a stumbling step backwards as the machine processed his payment. It whistled a cheerful little tune. “Thank you. By our efforts only does Ydanius survive to conquer the night. Please,” it said, taking a cob straight from the boiling water and deftly seasoning it, “Enjoy.”
It held the elote out to Mercator. He took it, trembling a little from the blood loss. “Boss, what’s happening? What is this thing?”
It’s something very promising, Abhararcan said in a voice that made him flush with jealousy. It had forgotten all about the thing in the sky that had brought them here, forgotten that this creature might have been bait. Again, Mercator. Feed it again. I need to study it further.
Mercator nodded, half-listening. The machine-centipede thing had crawled behind its cart and was waiting there. Its blank face seemed oddly peaceful, and it tilted its head at him patiently. The drained corpse lay slumped on the ground where it had dropped it.
-mere scion of greater things- empires fueled by living blood-
“What may I offer you?” Zakam said calmly. It motioned to the tubs before it and the little tank of water steadily boiling a few floating cobs. “I have elotes, freshly cooked, with your choice of condiments. Chapulines hot from the fryer as well.” It held a wax-paper cone out of these last things to Mercator; he was somewhat nauseated to see that they were insects.
-wonder how autonomously it operates? Couldn’t tell- can’t be very- what I wouldn’t give for a chance at dissection-
“Are you not hungry?” Zakam asked. Its voice was smooth and polite, like an elevator operator’s. It made Mercator uncomfortable. It wasn’t a tone that people often took with him. His arm was cramping, he realized; his fingers were locked on the bow.
“Boss, what do we do?” he whispered.
-Don’t interrupt me! Abhararcan snarled. Can’t you see I’m busy? Idiot! Pay the damn thing!
“Pay-?”
Your blood. Stick out your wrist. We’ll get a close-up view of the process.
Mercator winced, but rolled up his sleeve all the same. He approached the cart nervously, his arm held out, painfully aware of the thin blue veins below his palm. Zakam leaned in peaceably and extended its needle with a click, gently gripping Mercator’s hand to position it.
The transaction was over quickly, Mercator taking a stumbling step backwards as the machine processed his payment. It whistled a cheerful little tune. “Thank you. By our efforts only does Ydanius survive to conquer the night. Please,” it said, taking a cob straight from the boiling water and deftly seasoning it, “Enjoy.”
It held the elote out to Mercator. He took it, trembling a little from the blood loss. “Boss, what’s happening? What is this thing?”
It’s something very promising, Abhararcan said in a voice that made him flush with jealousy. It had forgotten all about the thing in the sky that had brought them here, forgotten that this creature might have been bait. Again, Mercator. Feed it again. I need to study it further.