Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 2] [Acidity City]
04-13-2012, 03:21 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
Calendar was tracing intricate circles of light around the walls of his temple, counting down to nothing and stewing in his humiliation when the traveler strolled right back in. John Smith looked different. He had the stink of a worshipper about him now.
<font size="9">YOU DARE, shouted Calendar, wishing he wasn’t reduced to the brute-force “voice-from-the-sky” method of dealing with mortals. It had been eons since he’d managed to work up a decent avatar.
“Yeah, yeah, I dare. Simmer down, Calendar. I’m here to make you an offer.”
That was unexpected. <font size="9">WHAT</font>
Seconds whirled by a little faster than normal, as though angry.
AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION OF A PROBLEM THAT PLAGUES THE ENTIRE PANTHEON
“Right,” said John. “In either case, we were hoping to get you in on the ground floor of something new. Have you been following this eclipse?”
“Make it an hour and a half,” commanded John. “We know you can do that. Something big’s coming—something that’s going to change everything—and we want to make sure it arrives right on time.”
Calendar was silent for a second that lasted five seconds. Then:
YOU ASK ME TO TAKE A GREAT RISK
John Smith smiled. “Haven’t you heard? The dice are weighted. Keep your eyes on the skies, Calendar.”</font>
* * * * *
”I adore you /the same way that others always adored you / emergency humility, just break glass”
”Hey, that’s my sister!” mewled the male Broder-child, who had taken his seat beside the firepit between the rapping man and the one with the eyes that pierced through all lies. ”Why do you have her? You’re not a babysitter, are you?”
”I implore you / with no knowledge of dogma to conform to / I know I don’t deserve it but SAVE MY ASS”
“I am not a babysitter, and I’ll be asking the questions here,” replied Six. “Question 41: how do I make her stop crying?”
”Here, give her to me. I’m her favorite.”
”ANSWER UNACCEPTABLE”
”And if I’m goin’ down let me do it in first class / The paganistic prayer of a heathen with wild past”
As Six rushed towards the boy, saw in hand, the less-than-five-but-greater-than-everything’s wailing only intensified, slowing him down a bit. One of the wanderers around the fire reached out a dextrous hand and stole her out from under his arm. “Settle down,” he said, handing EMMA WHO IS A BABY over to the rapping man. “You’re not asking the right questions. I’m Representative of the Human Capacity to Deconstruct and Categorize One’s Environment.”
“His name is Name. And that’s Song,” said the third figure, weighed down by chains. “Ethan here, I don’t know if you know already. I know you.”
<font size="1">”Please forgive my bastardized style dash / And anoint me with salvation in form of non-crash”
The line “I know you” didn’t come off as revelatory as it was intended, as Six was used to his celebrity status and assumed offhand that everybody knew him and owned his bobblehead. Instead, flustered at having TEMPORARILY lost his prized baby over to these men, he found himself asking “Question 42: What are the right questions?”
“The wrong question, the one you’ve been asking yourself all this time, is the question of what you can do to help yourself,” said the chained man. “Ask instead what work there is for you in service of a higher power.”
”I want to live so bad / All my life I’ve been so arrogant / This is a vessel of my wakening / Please, Father, put your hand out, carry it”
“I-I-I-IN-INININININCORRECT.” Six’s Emma seemed to be settling down nicely, in response to Song’s strangely tender rapping. So that was good. Handsaw activate.
Whiiiiiiiir
“Stop,” said the chained man. Holding out a hand. (CORRECT). Six turned to him and, acting on an impulse more powerful than anything, knelt.
”I WANT TO LIVE SO BAD / ALL MY LIFE I’VE BEEN SO ARROGANT / THIS IS A VESSEL OF MY WAKENING / GOD DAMN IT, PUT YOUR HAND OUT, CARRY IT!”
“Question 43: Who are you?”
Dice (Dice (Dice)) smiled evilly. “Name’s right, you know. There’s no point in only asking questions you know the answer to,” said Dice [seefile: Dice] (Dice!). “Now, tell me I’m correct.”
“CORRECT.”
(No) / There are no atheists in the foxholes / (No) / There is no intellect in the air / (No) / There are no scientists on the way down / Just a working example of faith versus physics”
“Now, Six, aside from some obvious thematic parallels, we don’t have a lot in common,” admitted Dice. “I’m a creature of chaos, you like things nice and ordered. But opposites add up to seven, and seven—“ (possible endings to this sentence: A) is lucky B) is the number of magic C) numbers among David Fincher’s most celebrated works D) rhymes with heaven) “—beats Six.” (Oh.)
”NO! THERE ARE NO ATHEISTS IN THE FOXHOLES, NO! THERE IS NO INTELLECT IN THE AIR”</font>
”Wait, are three and four always opposite on dice? Aren’t they supposed to be random?”
”NO! THERE ARE NO SCIENTISTS ON THE WAY DOWN—“
“Six, I need something that’ll break these chains. A saw might do it... but it would need to be a saw wielded by a true and honest believer. Understand?”
<font size="1">”JUST A WORKING EXAMPLE OF FAITH VERSUS PHYSICS”
Emma giggled.</font>
* * * * *
Tom jumped out of the RV and caught up to Parsley, standing alone in the middle of a room full of mirrors. He was about to make a joke about throwing stones in glass temples when his wife shouted, ”Where’d they go, Parsley?” and he remembered that that might not be appropriate right now.
”Sir Archibald? He snuck out on me,” answered Parsley apologetically. ”A couple o’ strangers—illusions—no one I could recognize—came and caused something of a distraction. I’m sorry I failed.”
”You did the best you could.” Tom had no idea where to go next, and was really starting to get worried about his children. He looked over to Clarice, who seemed to be feeling the same. He walked over and put an arm around their shoulder, and they took a minute.
At which point Parsley noticed something curious out of the corner of his eye. Reflected in the mirror that took up one wall of the barn, the demon hunter saw the Baron and his lady associate not as the strangely-garbed domestic couple in which role the demon had deigned to cast them. The illusion, it seemed, was now flimsy enough that it failed to carry to reflections.
Parsley was carving a piece of the mirror from the wall to take with him, which struck Clarice as odd, but so again did most pieces of information about Parsley. ”Come on, Parsley, we’ll carpool,” said her husband, beckoning. ”Find one of these kids, at least.”
On the way out, Clarice glanced in the mirror. She didn’t look good. It was funny how it took a thing like a multiversal battle of the death to get a woman to really see what three kids and a decade of diminishing return on self-care had done to her body. She sighed. Now, perhaps, was not the time.
Tom smiled as he saw Clarice check herself out in the mirror. He couldn’t blame her. She was always at her most beautiful when she was running on all cylinders like this. Was it wrong to think that? Probably. He knew how much this was affecting her, even if she wasn’t showing it. He needed to find the kids.
And then once he got out of here, he was going to have to lose about twenty pounds. Seriously.
Calendar was tracing intricate circles of light around the walls of his temple, counting down to nothing and stewing in his humiliation when the traveler strolled right back in. John Smith looked different. He had the stink of a worshipper about him now.
<font size="9">YOU DARE, shouted Calendar, wishing he wasn’t reduced to the brute-force “voice-from-the-sky” method of dealing with mortals. It had been eons since he’d managed to work up a decent avatar.
“Yeah, yeah, I dare. Simmer down, Calendar. I’m here to make you an offer.”
That was unexpected. <font size="9">WHAT</font>
WHAT KIND OF OFFER
“I think I get what your problem is. You used to be the Big God On Campus when there was an apocalypse to count down to, but now it’s past, no one cares anymore, right? Doesn’t matter what day it is cause every day’s the same.”Seconds whirled by a little faster than normal, as though angry.
AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION OF A PROBLEM THAT PLAGUES THE ENTIRE PANTHEON
THIS WORLD HAS LITTLE JOY AND LITTLE SUFFERING, WHILE WORSHIPPERS TEND TO EXPECT ONE OR THE OTHER
“Right,” said John. “In either case, we were hoping to get you in on the ground floor of something new. Have you been following this eclipse?”
ECLIPSES ARE A DAILY OCCURENCE HERE
BUT YES, AS IS MY DUTY, I FORECAST ITS ARRIVAL IN SOME THREE QUARTERS OF AN HOUR
BUT YES, AS IS MY DUTY, I FORECAST ITS ARRIVAL IN SOME THREE QUARTERS OF AN HOUR
“Make it an hour and a half,” commanded John. “We know you can do that. Something big’s coming—something that’s going to change everything—and we want to make sure it arrives right on time.”
Calendar was silent for a second that lasted five seconds. Then:
YOU ASK ME TO TAKE A GREAT RISK
John Smith smiled. “Haven’t you heard? The dice are weighted. Keep your eyes on the skies, Calendar.”</font>
* * * * *
”I adore you /the same way that others always adored you / emergency humility, just break glass”
”Hey, that’s my sister!” mewled the male Broder-child, who had taken his seat beside the firepit between the rapping man and the one with the eyes that pierced through all lies. ”Why do you have her? You’re not a babysitter, are you?”
”I implore you / with no knowledge of dogma to conform to / I know I don’t deserve it but SAVE MY ASS”
“I am not a babysitter, and I’ll be asking the questions here,” replied Six. “Question 41: how do I make her stop crying?”
”Here, give her to me. I’m her favorite.”
”ANSWER UNACCEPTABLE”
”And if I’m goin’ down let me do it in first class / The paganistic prayer of a heathen with wild past”
As Six rushed towards the boy, saw in hand, the less-than-five-but-greater-than-everything’s wailing only intensified, slowing him down a bit. One of the wanderers around the fire reached out a dextrous hand and stole her out from under his arm. “Settle down,” he said, handing EMMA WHO IS A BABY over to the rapping man. “You’re not asking the right questions. I’m Representative of the Human Capacity to Deconstruct and Categorize One’s Environment.”
“His name is Name. And that’s Song,” said the third figure, weighed down by chains. “Ethan here, I don’t know if you know already. I know you.”
<font size="1">”Please forgive my bastardized style dash / And anoint me with salvation in form of non-crash”
The line “I know you” didn’t come off as revelatory as it was intended, as Six was used to his celebrity status and assumed offhand that everybody knew him and owned his bobblehead. Instead, flustered at having TEMPORARILY lost his prized baby over to these men, he found himself asking “Question 42: What are the right questions?”
“The wrong question, the one you’ve been asking yourself all this time, is the question of what you can do to help yourself,” said the chained man. “Ask instead what work there is for you in service of a higher power.”
”I want to live so bad / All my life I’ve been so arrogant / This is a vessel of my wakening / Please, Father, put your hand out, carry it”
“I-I-I-IN-INININININCORRECT.” Six’s Emma seemed to be settling down nicely, in response to Song’s strangely tender rapping. So that was good. Handsaw activate.
Whiiiiiiiir
“Stop,” said the chained man. Holding out a hand. (CORRECT). Six turned to him and, acting on an impulse more powerful than anything, knelt.
”I WANT TO LIVE SO BAD / ALL MY LIFE I’VE BEEN SO ARROGANT / THIS IS A VESSEL OF MY WAKENING / GOD DAMN IT, PUT YOUR HAND OUT, CARRY IT!”
“Question 43: Who are you?”
Dice (Dice (Dice)) smiled evilly. “Name’s right, you know. There’s no point in only asking questions you know the answer to,” said Dice [seefile: Dice] (Dice!). “Now, tell me I’m correct.”
“CORRECT.”
(No) / There are no atheists in the foxholes / (No) / There is no intellect in the air / (No) / There are no scientists on the way down / Just a working example of faith versus physics”
“Now, Six, aside from some obvious thematic parallels, we don’t have a lot in common,” admitted Dice. “I’m a creature of chaos, you like things nice and ordered. But opposites add up to seven, and seven—“ (possible endings to this sentence: A) is lucky B) is the number of magic C) numbers among David Fincher’s most celebrated works D) rhymes with heaven) “—beats Six.” (Oh.)
”NO! THERE ARE NO ATHEISTS IN THE FOXHOLES, NO! THERE IS NO INTELLECT IN THE AIR”</font>
”Wait, are three and four always opposite on dice? Aren’t they supposed to be random?”
”NO! THERE ARE NO SCIENTISTS ON THE WAY DOWN—“
“Six, I need something that’ll break these chains. A saw might do it... but it would need to be a saw wielded by a true and honest believer. Understand?”
<font size="1">”JUST A WORKING EXAMPLE OF FAITH VERSUS PHYSICS”
Emma giggled.</font>
* * * * *
Tom jumped out of the RV and caught up to Parsley, standing alone in the middle of a room full of mirrors. He was about to make a joke about throwing stones in glass temples when his wife shouted, ”Where’d they go, Parsley?” and he remembered that that might not be appropriate right now.
”Sir Archibald? He snuck out on me,” answered Parsley apologetically. ”A couple o’ strangers—illusions—no one I could recognize—came and caused something of a distraction. I’m sorry I failed.”
”You did the best you could.” Tom had no idea where to go next, and was really starting to get worried about his children. He looked over to Clarice, who seemed to be feeling the same. He walked over and put an arm around their shoulder, and they took a minute.
At which point Parsley noticed something curious out of the corner of his eye. Reflected in the mirror that took up one wall of the barn, the demon hunter saw the Baron and his lady associate not as the strangely-garbed domestic couple in which role the demon had deigned to cast them. The illusion, it seemed, was now flimsy enough that it failed to carry to reflections.
Parsley was carving a piece of the mirror from the wall to take with him, which struck Clarice as odd, but so again did most pieces of information about Parsley. ”Come on, Parsley, we’ll carpool,” said her husband, beckoning. ”Find one of these kids, at least.”
On the way out, Clarice glanced in the mirror. She didn’t look good. It was funny how it took a thing like a multiversal battle of the death to get a woman to really see what three kids and a decade of diminishing return on self-care had done to her body. She sighed. Now, perhaps, was not the time.
Tom smiled as he saw Clarice check herself out in the mirror. He couldn’t blame her. She was always at her most beautiful when she was running on all cylinders like this. Was it wrong to think that? Probably. He knew how much this was affecting her, even if she wasn’t showing it. He needed to find the kids.
And then once he got out of here, he was going to have to lose about twenty pounds. Seriously.