Re: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round One: Alpha Complex!]
05-26-2010, 04:07 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Archduke_Ferdinand.
Weo was disturbed.
Not in some kind of angsty metaphorical sense, where his tortured consciousness couldn't comprehend the bizarreness of being thrust into a futuristic room with other people from the multiverse who all mysteriously speak the same language. The only complex developing around him was Alpha. No, he had been disturbed in the sense that prior to being whisked here he was sleeping peacefully and he was mildly peeved by the sudden waking. Fuck, thought he, and I was having a good dream too.
No, he was reasonably certain this was actually happening around him- perhaps the mist of having just woken up was keeping it from bothering him- but this was all real. And so he went, calmly standing and gathering his precisely constructed warscythe. Flipping the fuck out had never really appealed to Weo in terms of dealing with a situation. When every family member you've seen panic in an odd moment was shortly cut down, you stop letting it get to you. The warrior-smith made careful note of the other contestants before deciding to let them to their various mental disturbances. It was disappointing the lack of discipline the other contestants carried about them. Floating war game simulators leaving pieces all over the place. Eggs with no apparent ability to discern space. Mineral deposits that knew what was going to take place here already and the mechanics of interacting with whom Weo had no plans of dealing with. At least that man with the anvil had his priorities in something resembling order, though his equipment was sorely dated. All arrogant or confused or possessed. Weo had always prided himself on being at least straightforward.
He walked forward, occasionally glancing at the others. He had little to say to any of them. He did, however, briefly stop at the man busily working on the anvil. "I appreciate a craftsman's need to work, friend, but perhaps there's a better time for it." The response was somewhat gruff, and more or less immediate. "No. Go away."Weo shrugged and moved on. Not like it was the first time that he was the only reasonable person in a conflict. Not the first time he'd been the last survivor, either. He began looking around for any sort of map, or something that might lead to one. Eventually he stumbled upon a nearby kiosk, which he wasn't sure what to do with, it being a bit higher tech than he was used to. He began staring at it intensely and trying to work out how to work it, and much less, what it was. It seemed a lot more productive than whatever the others were doing.
Weo was disturbed.
Not in some kind of angsty metaphorical sense, where his tortured consciousness couldn't comprehend the bizarreness of being thrust into a futuristic room with other people from the multiverse who all mysteriously speak the same language. The only complex developing around him was Alpha. No, he had been disturbed in the sense that prior to being whisked here he was sleeping peacefully and he was mildly peeved by the sudden waking. Fuck, thought he, and I was having a good dream too.
No, he was reasonably certain this was actually happening around him- perhaps the mist of having just woken up was keeping it from bothering him- but this was all real. And so he went, calmly standing and gathering his precisely constructed warscythe. Flipping the fuck out had never really appealed to Weo in terms of dealing with a situation. When every family member you've seen panic in an odd moment was shortly cut down, you stop letting it get to you. The warrior-smith made careful note of the other contestants before deciding to let them to their various mental disturbances. It was disappointing the lack of discipline the other contestants carried about them. Floating war game simulators leaving pieces all over the place. Eggs with no apparent ability to discern space. Mineral deposits that knew what was going to take place here already and the mechanics of interacting with whom Weo had no plans of dealing with. At least that man with the anvil had his priorities in something resembling order, though his equipment was sorely dated. All arrogant or confused or possessed. Weo had always prided himself on being at least straightforward.
He walked forward, occasionally glancing at the others. He had little to say to any of them. He did, however, briefly stop at the man busily working on the anvil. "I appreciate a craftsman's need to work, friend, but perhaps there's a better time for it." The response was somewhat gruff, and more or less immediate. "No. Go away."Weo shrugged and moved on. Not like it was the first time that he was the only reasonable person in a conflict. Not the first time he'd been the last survivor, either. He began looking around for any sort of map, or something that might lead to one. Eventually he stumbled upon a nearby kiosk, which he wasn't sure what to do with, it being a bit higher tech than he was used to. He began staring at it intensely and trying to work out how to work it, and much less, what it was. It seemed a lot more productive than whatever the others were doing.