Re: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Four: New Battleopolis!]
08-30-2011, 01:51 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
good meat meat scent make scent tell ouroborous friends meat find meat food
Jen woke up and immediately felt Fantha’s absence. She didn’t think it would be so noticeable—how long had she and Fantha spent together? A few hours?—but not having a worm devouring her from the inside out was like being devoured from the inside out by a worm. She fought through it. At least she was homeostatic without any parasitic life support. She figured she ought to thank the doctor...
Fly to meat mark meat scent bring ouroboros friends good ouroborite good friend find meat eat well friends all eat well
Jen opened her eyes. A huge, gross-looking bug was clumsily attempting to fly up onto her hospital bed, and it was failing. She could hear it talking. That was odd. It had been a year since she had last spoken to an animal; she just couldn’t muster up enough childlike sense of wonder anymore. Maybe it was the drugs.
“Hello,” she whispered the bug.
Hello
No!
No talk only feed eat feed hunger ouroborite hunger ouroborous hunger all hunger
Jen grinned widely. “If you talk with me a bit, I can find you something to eat. My name is Jen. What’s yours?”
No name no me only friends family only ouroborous only all all hunger all feed all move no me no you only us only all only meat food hunger kill
”You don’t have a name?” Jen attempted to prop herself up on one elbow, found herself paralyzed below the neck. “Well, that’s no good. I’ll have to give you one.”
No want name no name friends no name ouroborous no name no want name only want feed! grow! reproduce! want be eaten benefit friends benefit family benefit ouroborous hello
The bug skittered around and bumped into the leg of Jen’s bedpost. It hissed, adorably. Jen giggled. “Well, since it’s your first name, let’s make it a little one. I’ll call you Boris.”
Am Boris?
No no no! No am Boris only are Borous family Oro Boris Boris am Boris? Hello! Am Boris?
”Hello! You’re Boris! I’m Jen!”
Hello friend Jen am Boris, Jen are Boris friend Boris feed now?
”Not just—“
”Ouroborite! Watch out!”
A bolt of plasma struck the ground next to Boris, who screeched and skittered out the door. Jen started, eliciting a growl from whoever had issued the warning. ”Doc, she’s awake.”
”Already? Nyoka bungled anaesthesia. Typical.”
Jen found she could crane her neck up enough to inspect her company. Standing over her was a placid squid-looking creature holding a smoking gun with two appendages and checking her pulse with another. Sitting in a chair in the other end of the room (a different room than the one in which she’d been operated on) was a nervous-looking lupine fellow, stamping his paw impatiently.
”Welcome, Jennifer Tull,” announced the squid. ”TinTen Naamxe speaking. When mobile, will be smuggled to human camp.”
”I’ll be going with,” added the wolf. ”Name’s Pluck. I’m a werewolf. Tor’s let me live among the nonhumans under my insistence that the human bit of me is all gone, but tonight’s the full moon, and you know what that means.”
Jen pulled herself into a sitting position. “Does it mean you turn into a wolf?”
”No, no.” Pluck wiped his brow nervously. He rose and whispered in Jen’s ear. ”It means I turn back into a human.” Pluck scampered back into his corner, watching the door.
”Night also marks first wave of human attack,” said TinTen. ”Sympathizers on both sides have hard time ahead. Peacekeeping having failed, damage control and emergency medicine a priority.” He offered Jen some water, which she drank down gratefully. ”Should Tor find Pluck in human form, Pluck likely to be lynched. Separated from worm, unable to produce word of enemy attack plans, human girl now a liability to angry Telpori-Hal.”
”I might still be able to work the silver hand,” Jen said. “Look, I can’t leave yet. I need to save my wyrm. She saved my life once, I owe her.”
”Wyrm a nonhuman, will find work. And Tor has been informed that silver hand designed for transmultiversal communication only. Certainly not used as radio among warring copies.”
”I should find Fantha. Fine. I never got to say goodbye to her, but she’ll probably like it here. So Pluck and I get to your inside human.”
”Yes. Name of Huebert. Will be at rendezvous point in half hour. Pluck knows way. Wiggle toes.” Jen wiggled her toes. ”Good. Expect fully restored mobility in five minutes.”
Jen swung her legs over the side of the bed experimentally. It was hard going. “When I’m on the other side,” she asked. “What can I do?”
”Talk to Huebert. Smarter than lets on. Most important directive: find fellow battlers, finish round. Presence of ‘originals’ inflaming tensions among 'copies'. Best if disappear.”
”I’m not killing anyone.” Jen wasn’t sure she really liked either of these two. Absurdly, she wished Boris were with her.
”We’ll see about that, won’t we?” came a voice from the door.
At first, Jen thought she was a human, an advance scout of the attacking force. However, a closer examination showed the telltale ears and facial structure of an elf. She was beautiful, a low-cut purple dress revealing the sort of body Jen would have killed for back in her brief low-self-esteem phase. Her eyes at once seemed hollow and emotionless, and crackled with maniacal energy. She looked Jen up and down hungrily.
Pluck rose from his chair and outstretched a hand, making a terrible show of trying to seem casual. ”Holly!” he stammered. ”It’s great to see you—“
”My name is H-Bomb now, Pluck,” sneered “Holly,” twirling her golden triangular earrings. ”I’ve come with word from Tor. Plans have changed. We don’t need Jen here anymore, so we’re sending her to the Purple House for a bit of fun.”
TinTen suppressed a shudder, and Pluck lost his smile. Jen decided to play the straightman and ask. “What’s the Purple House?”
”No one knows, really,” said Pluck. ”Hol—H-Bomb’s spent the most time there, but even she can’t give a straight answer. Most agree that the house itself wasn’t what used to be a battler, but whatever’s… inhabiting the house. It’s like a living spell. The Purple House is where Tor’s—where our people go to blow off some steam, but… we have a healthy respect for it. Bad things can happen there.”
”It’s not so bad,” chuckled H-Bomb, winking at Jen. ”You and the half-breed are going to put on a little show for us, is all.”
”Half-breed?” Pluck grabbed his wrist and whimpered when he accidentally drew a little blood.
”Greyve, of course,” said H-Bomb, turning towards Pluck. ”What, did you think I meant you?” The elf laughed and turned back to Jen. ”Pluck and I nursed from the same tit,” she explained. ”Same battle. We’re old friends, Pluck and I. Pluck, tell Jen here how you died.”
Pluck scratched his head. ”I don’t remember,” he confessed.
”He doesn’t remember. Sad, isn’t it?” H-Bomb took Jen by the hand and pulled her off the bed. Jen’s legs were still a bit unresponsive, and she keeled over into the elf’s arms. ”Easy there, girl. Save it for the crowd.” She kissed Jen on the cheek in a way that made Jen feel horribly unclean, and whirled around, supporting her with one arm over the shoulder. ”I know how you feel, girl. I really do. TinTen, leave us.”
The squid gave Jen what might have been a look of apology behind his goggles, and departed. H-Bomb shut the door. ”Now that the buzzkill’s gone, let’s do props and wardrobe.” The elf looked deeply into Jen’s eyes. ”Jen,” she said smoothly, rapturously. ”In about twenty minutes you’re going to be forced into a battle to the death—well I guess another battle to the death, this time in the short-term, against a demon samurai. You’re going to need a weapon that can stand against his katana. What weapon do you want?”
”I want a—“
H-Bomb pressed a finger to her lips. ”Hush. You don’t need to say it. Just picture it in your mind. Keep in mind bullets won’t hurt Greyve. It’ll have to be something that can cut or rend or smash his ugly face open. Close your eyes and picture it. Shut out everything else.” Jen pictured a sword in her mind. It was a very specific sword, one of her favorite swords: it had been forged for her under the name “Queensreign,” but after getting a feel for it Jen had given it the name “Uncle.” Uncle was a perfectly-made sword, sharp as sunlight and light as an infant’s conscience, but a bit lacking in personality. It was exactly the sword she would want to take into battle against a demon samurai. ”Have you got it?” asked H-Bomb. Jen nodded. ”Pluck.”
Jen opened her eyes when she heard the clank of Uncle—or an exact duplicate of Uncle—hitting the floor. H-Bomb picked it up. ”No sense in arming you yet,” she apologized, waving a finger. ”Don’t want you getting any ideas. Well—“ she did a calculated motion with one soldier that made one strap of her dress fall over her upper arm— ”If you do have any ideas, feel free to share them with me. Now it’s my turn. Let’s get you in costume.” H-Bomb stared intently at Jen, poring over every corner and curve of her body (more corners than curves, Jen mused self-consciously, noting the artful perfection of the elf’s cleavage). ”Turn around.” Jen obliged nervously, realizing that she was going to be very unhappy in about ten seconds. H-Bomb closed her eyes for about eight seconds and then said, ”Pluck, I’m thinking of a number.”
There was a ruffling sound. H-Bomb was now holding a purple outfit in Jen’s size. She held it up to Jen’s body—or as much of Jen’s body as it covered, which excluded all of the arms and far too much of the legs and midriff. Jen was very unhappy. She cocked one eyebrow at H-Bomb and snarled. “Does it come in green?”
* * * * *
Dr. Tengeri Nyoka examined the sleeping wyrm. She wondered if it was dying. Good riddance if it is, she thought. The way it was embedded into Jen... this is an evil creature, whether she knows it or not.
Tengeri saw H-Bomb, Tor's elven harlot, walking by towards TinTen's room. That could only be bad news. She turned back to the wyrm--
--And the wyrm was gone. Not so unconscious after all. Damn.
Tengeri hastily exited the room, sealing the door. It couldn't have gotten out the door, she assured herself, replaying the last few seconds. One of her arms scratched at a knot in her back.
A knot in her back. Oh.
Oh.
good meat meat scent make scent tell ouroborous friends meat find meat food
Jen woke up and immediately felt Fantha’s absence. She didn’t think it would be so noticeable—how long had she and Fantha spent together? A few hours?—but not having a worm devouring her from the inside out was like being devoured from the inside out by a worm. She fought through it. At least she was homeostatic without any parasitic life support. She figured she ought to thank the doctor...
Fly to meat mark meat scent bring ouroboros friends good ouroborite good friend find meat eat well friends all eat well
Jen opened her eyes. A huge, gross-looking bug was clumsily attempting to fly up onto her hospital bed, and it was failing. She could hear it talking. That was odd. It had been a year since she had last spoken to an animal; she just couldn’t muster up enough childlike sense of wonder anymore. Maybe it was the drugs.
“Hello,” she whispered the bug.
Hello
No!
No talk only feed eat feed hunger ouroborite hunger ouroborous hunger all hunger
Jen grinned widely. “If you talk with me a bit, I can find you something to eat. My name is Jen. What’s yours?”
No name no me only friends family only ouroborous only all all hunger all feed all move no me no you only us only all only meat food hunger kill
”You don’t have a name?” Jen attempted to prop herself up on one elbow, found herself paralyzed below the neck. “Well, that’s no good. I’ll have to give you one.”
No want name no name friends no name ouroborous no name no want name only want feed! grow! reproduce! want be eaten benefit friends benefit family benefit ouroborous hello
The bug skittered around and bumped into the leg of Jen’s bedpost. It hissed, adorably. Jen giggled. “Well, since it’s your first name, let’s make it a little one. I’ll call you Boris.”
Am Boris?
No no no! No am Boris only are Borous family Oro Boris Boris am Boris? Hello! Am Boris?
”Hello! You’re Boris! I’m Jen!”
Hello friend Jen am Boris, Jen are Boris friend Boris feed now?
”Not just—“
”Ouroborite! Watch out!”
A bolt of plasma struck the ground next to Boris, who screeched and skittered out the door. Jen started, eliciting a growl from whoever had issued the warning. ”Doc, she’s awake.”
”Already? Nyoka bungled anaesthesia. Typical.”
Jen found she could crane her neck up enough to inspect her company. Standing over her was a placid squid-looking creature holding a smoking gun with two appendages and checking her pulse with another. Sitting in a chair in the other end of the room (a different room than the one in which she’d been operated on) was a nervous-looking lupine fellow, stamping his paw impatiently.
”Welcome, Jennifer Tull,” announced the squid. ”TinTen Naamxe speaking. When mobile, will be smuggled to human camp.”
”I’ll be going with,” added the wolf. ”Name’s Pluck. I’m a werewolf. Tor’s let me live among the nonhumans under my insistence that the human bit of me is all gone, but tonight’s the full moon, and you know what that means.”
Jen pulled herself into a sitting position. “Does it mean you turn into a wolf?”
”No, no.” Pluck wiped his brow nervously. He rose and whispered in Jen’s ear. ”It means I turn back into a human.” Pluck scampered back into his corner, watching the door.
”Night also marks first wave of human attack,” said TinTen. ”Sympathizers on both sides have hard time ahead. Peacekeeping having failed, damage control and emergency medicine a priority.” He offered Jen some water, which she drank down gratefully. ”Should Tor find Pluck in human form, Pluck likely to be lynched. Separated from worm, unable to produce word of enemy attack plans, human girl now a liability to angry Telpori-Hal.”
”I might still be able to work the silver hand,” Jen said. “Look, I can’t leave yet. I need to save my wyrm. She saved my life once, I owe her.”
”Wyrm a nonhuman, will find work. And Tor has been informed that silver hand designed for transmultiversal communication only. Certainly not used as radio among warring copies.”
”I should find Fantha. Fine. I never got to say goodbye to her, but she’ll probably like it here. So Pluck and I get to your inside human.”
”Yes. Name of Huebert. Will be at rendezvous point in half hour. Pluck knows way. Wiggle toes.” Jen wiggled her toes. ”Good. Expect fully restored mobility in five minutes.”
Jen swung her legs over the side of the bed experimentally. It was hard going. “When I’m on the other side,” she asked. “What can I do?”
”Talk to Huebert. Smarter than lets on. Most important directive: find fellow battlers, finish round. Presence of ‘originals’ inflaming tensions among 'copies'. Best if disappear.”
”I’m not killing anyone.” Jen wasn’t sure she really liked either of these two. Absurdly, she wished Boris were with her.
”We’ll see about that, won’t we?” came a voice from the door.
At first, Jen thought she was a human, an advance scout of the attacking force. However, a closer examination showed the telltale ears and facial structure of an elf. She was beautiful, a low-cut purple dress revealing the sort of body Jen would have killed for back in her brief low-self-esteem phase. Her eyes at once seemed hollow and emotionless, and crackled with maniacal energy. She looked Jen up and down hungrily.
Pluck rose from his chair and outstretched a hand, making a terrible show of trying to seem casual. ”Holly!” he stammered. ”It’s great to see you—“
”My name is H-Bomb now, Pluck,” sneered “Holly,” twirling her golden triangular earrings. ”I’ve come with word from Tor. Plans have changed. We don’t need Jen here anymore, so we’re sending her to the Purple House for a bit of fun.”
TinTen suppressed a shudder, and Pluck lost his smile. Jen decided to play the straightman and ask. “What’s the Purple House?”
”No one knows, really,” said Pluck. ”Hol—H-Bomb’s spent the most time there, but even she can’t give a straight answer. Most agree that the house itself wasn’t what used to be a battler, but whatever’s… inhabiting the house. It’s like a living spell. The Purple House is where Tor’s—where our people go to blow off some steam, but… we have a healthy respect for it. Bad things can happen there.”
”It’s not so bad,” chuckled H-Bomb, winking at Jen. ”You and the half-breed are going to put on a little show for us, is all.”
”Half-breed?” Pluck grabbed his wrist and whimpered when he accidentally drew a little blood.
”Greyve, of course,” said H-Bomb, turning towards Pluck. ”What, did you think I meant you?” The elf laughed and turned back to Jen. ”Pluck and I nursed from the same tit,” she explained. ”Same battle. We’re old friends, Pluck and I. Pluck, tell Jen here how you died.”
Pluck scratched his head. ”I don’t remember,” he confessed.
”He doesn’t remember. Sad, isn’t it?” H-Bomb took Jen by the hand and pulled her off the bed. Jen’s legs were still a bit unresponsive, and she keeled over into the elf’s arms. ”Easy there, girl. Save it for the crowd.” She kissed Jen on the cheek in a way that made Jen feel horribly unclean, and whirled around, supporting her with one arm over the shoulder. ”I know how you feel, girl. I really do. TinTen, leave us.”
The squid gave Jen what might have been a look of apology behind his goggles, and departed. H-Bomb shut the door. ”Now that the buzzkill’s gone, let’s do props and wardrobe.” The elf looked deeply into Jen’s eyes. ”Jen,” she said smoothly, rapturously. ”In about twenty minutes you’re going to be forced into a battle to the death—well I guess another battle to the death, this time in the short-term, against a demon samurai. You’re going to need a weapon that can stand against his katana. What weapon do you want?”
”I want a—“
H-Bomb pressed a finger to her lips. ”Hush. You don’t need to say it. Just picture it in your mind. Keep in mind bullets won’t hurt Greyve. It’ll have to be something that can cut or rend or smash his ugly face open. Close your eyes and picture it. Shut out everything else.” Jen pictured a sword in her mind. It was a very specific sword, one of her favorite swords: it had been forged for her under the name “Queensreign,” but after getting a feel for it Jen had given it the name “Uncle.” Uncle was a perfectly-made sword, sharp as sunlight and light as an infant’s conscience, but a bit lacking in personality. It was exactly the sword she would want to take into battle against a demon samurai. ”Have you got it?” asked H-Bomb. Jen nodded. ”Pluck.”
Jen opened her eyes when she heard the clank of Uncle—or an exact duplicate of Uncle—hitting the floor. H-Bomb picked it up. ”No sense in arming you yet,” she apologized, waving a finger. ”Don’t want you getting any ideas. Well—“ she did a calculated motion with one soldier that made one strap of her dress fall over her upper arm— ”If you do have any ideas, feel free to share them with me. Now it’s my turn. Let’s get you in costume.” H-Bomb stared intently at Jen, poring over every corner and curve of her body (more corners than curves, Jen mused self-consciously, noting the artful perfection of the elf’s cleavage). ”Turn around.” Jen obliged nervously, realizing that she was going to be very unhappy in about ten seconds. H-Bomb closed her eyes for about eight seconds and then said, ”Pluck, I’m thinking of a number.”
There was a ruffling sound. H-Bomb was now holding a purple outfit in Jen’s size. She held it up to Jen’s body—or as much of Jen’s body as it covered, which excluded all of the arms and far too much of the legs and midriff. Jen was very unhappy. She cocked one eyebrow at H-Bomb and snarled. “Does it come in green?”
* * * * *
Dr. Tengeri Nyoka examined the sleeping wyrm. She wondered if it was dying. Good riddance if it is, she thought. The way it was embedded into Jen... this is an evil creature, whether she knows it or not.
Tengeri saw H-Bomb, Tor's elven harlot, walking by towards TinTen's room. That could only be bad news. She turned back to the wyrm--
--And the wyrm was gone. Not so unconscious after all. Damn.
Tengeri hastily exited the room, sealing the door. It couldn't have gotten out the door, she assured herself, replaying the last few seconds. One of her arms scratched at a knot in her back.
A knot in her back. Oh.
Oh.