Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round One: Afterparty]
01-15-2011, 05:34 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
There was something to this round.
As the scientist seated himself on the bench of the first-class wagon he had been delivered in, he couldn't help but notice that this train as a setting, no one dying last round, the rather succinct élan of the transition, it all didn't fit. His actual not-an-astral-projection self who was actually him and not him had been pretty adamant that the Prestidirigent was all about spectacle. It made no sense when he cut the round short so close to a climax, no one dead and nothing resolved.
Riko had always had a nervous tinge inside him, and most of the time his job required of him to ignore it, but under such odd circumstances it blossomed at full potential. It didn't take long for him to get restless, get up and start pacing back and forth through the empty wagon. His vision slid across the ornate car. Bags and coffers had been placed on the racks in such an abundant way no casket could fit beside them. The seats, separated by the lusciously decorated partitions, were all empty, and the young man tugged at his scarf wondering where all the luggage came from then.
Dim muzak leaked into the compartment from the ceiling down and evaporated long before it fully reached the ground. It was still, and stuck, and it was too far away. It always sounds too far away in here. The rattling sound of the wheels clanking against the tracks drowned it out even further, and in the befogged state the song reached Riko, it sounded oddly familiar. During his pacing he pretended to know the melody and guessed which notes to hum. Why did these cars always need music to accompany the ride, anyway?
Soon, the scientist met the door which led into the engine room, and mostly to have something keep him busy, he opened it. In this part of the train ruled a distinct policy against luxury: All the golden doodles so carefully placed in the previous wagon had seemingly been barred entry from any other part of the train. It was as if the interior design was planned by a man to whom the word “budget” meant as much as “goërgehal”.
The second thing that felt odd was the lack of an engineer. No one sat in front, no one to guide the metal behemoth, no one to act if anything would go wrong. And with the track record of his fellow combatants, something probably would.
It was apparent the engine room was a dead end, since the incredibly wide window (wider then the trains width, since it stretched along the curved front and ended on the side of the train) had startled Riko with its view on the train. The tunnels it tore through like a mad blazing machine casted their ceiling lights on the room so quickly it could easily induce an epileptic fit. In those blinding flickering lights, white and black alternating with the orange sparks from the side the only constant color.
The young man felt as if he himself was standing on the rails, sparks flying left and right, the world whizzing by him at such an impressive speed and it was frightening. The large window gave a panoramic view of the rails the wheels tapped against and the metal sound it made added to the realism of the situation. He was there. He was standing on the tracks propelled by who knows what
and he was going to fast and he was going to crash into something.
It was then, and in that flickering lighting he noticed the plaque on the wall. It was, as far as plaques could be, an unsettling plaque.
And on the plaque before him, the reliëf of the characters and the light upon them made them dance in the fluctuating light, and though the shadows in the letters undid part of the effect the hollow words left a unnerving impression. An impression more or less like this:
Every note of a C-major tried to fight its way through the music drowning in a sea of chinking noises of a train against the tracks and succeeded to make it sound its last saxophone toot. An automatic and uncaring voice had shut it off to warn the passengers that they will soon be approaching the stop at Caracas City.
The scientist who was now quite settled on linking anything related to this train with certain death, of course misunderstood “Caracas City” to be “Carcass City, Enjoy your imminent death,” and promptly panicked.
Riko was a fidgety type, but he could suppress the feeling of unease he felt most of the time. Even at the start of the battle he had seemed pretty relaxed, but at this point in time he was quite sure his heart would just explode without warning and he didn't care if that was possible or not.
He was certain he was going to die here.
The scientist had, in trying to find mental rest, left the engine room, and sat himself down at one of the tables. His arms were crossed, his head slightly tilted and bobbing up and down like a bamboo fountain, jerking back up every time he nearly fell asleep. He soon after collapsed for a very, very short rest on the table.
Over every door of the train, a small little light blinked on, urging you to seat yourself in one of the compartments. Riko had had some luck, because the train's whiplash in coming to a stop only had him jolt awake as his back crashed into the ornate gold-painted bar which was to serve as the seat's back. Riko was cringing in pain, his hands folded around his ribs and his fingers pressed... no, cramped onto his back, hoping the pressure would even slightly relieve the pain. It didn't occur to him to rummage through his sack to search for anything to mend it.
Most of the other contestants were however occupied, and didn't notice the little light above every door warning the lot to take a seat in one of the compartments. Because of that, and along with every door in the train automatically opening the moment the train reached its destination, the contestants were sent flying by the harsh arrest and, if they weren't fleet in their actions, slid some distance across the Iron Rose.
There was something to this round.
As the scientist seated himself on the bench of the first-class wagon he had been delivered in, he couldn't help but notice that this train as a setting, no one dying last round, the rather succinct élan of the transition, it all didn't fit. His actual not-an-astral-projection self who was actually him and not him had been pretty adamant that the Prestidirigent was all about spectacle. It made no sense when he cut the round short so close to a climax, no one dead and nothing resolved.
Riko had always had a nervous tinge inside him, and most of the time his job required of him to ignore it, but under such odd circumstances it blossomed at full potential. It didn't take long for him to get restless, get up and start pacing back and forth through the empty wagon. His vision slid across the ornate car. Bags and coffers had been placed on the racks in such an abundant way no casket could fit beside them. The seats, separated by the lusciously decorated partitions, were all empty, and the young man tugged at his scarf wondering where all the luggage came from then.
Dim muzak leaked into the compartment from the ceiling down and evaporated long before it fully reached the ground. It was still, and stuck, and it was too far away. It always sounds too far away in here. The rattling sound of the wheels clanking against the tracks drowned it out even further, and in the befogged state the song reached Riko, it sounded oddly familiar. During his pacing he pretended to know the melody and guessed which notes to hum. Why did these cars always need music to accompany the ride, anyway?
Soon, the scientist met the door which led into the engine room, and mostly to have something keep him busy, he opened it. In this part of the train ruled a distinct policy against luxury: All the golden doodles so carefully placed in the previous wagon had seemingly been barred entry from any other part of the train. It was as if the interior design was planned by a man to whom the word “budget” meant as much as “goërgehal”.
The second thing that felt odd was the lack of an engineer. No one sat in front, no one to guide the metal behemoth, no one to act if anything would go wrong. And with the track record of his fellow combatants, something probably would.
It was apparent the engine room was a dead end, since the incredibly wide window (wider then the trains width, since it stretched along the curved front and ended on the side of the train) had startled Riko with its view on the train. The tunnels it tore through like a mad blazing machine casted their ceiling lights on the room so quickly it could easily induce an epileptic fit. In those blinding flickering lights, white and black alternating with the orange sparks from the side the only constant color.
The young man felt as if he himself was standing on the rails, sparks flying left and right, the world whizzing by him at such an impressive speed and it was frightening. The large window gave a panoramic view of the rails the wheels tapped against and the metal sound it made added to the realism of the situation. He was there. He was standing on the tracks propelled by who knows what
and he was going to fast and he was going to crash into something.
It was then, and in that flickering lighting he noticed the plaque on the wall. It was, as far as plaques could be, an unsettling plaque.
IN MEMORIAM
MAY IT REST IN PEACE
THE IRON ROSE III
Man with a nervous tinge, that memorial for the previous model immediately incited in Riko many a tragic story about what happened to Iron Roses One Two and Three. His gut told him they probably all crashed while on fire because the rails exploded. And even though they don't carry any passengers and just luggage which on its own was weirding him out already there were at least one hundred dead people and he was going to be one of them if this train didn't slow down right about now he was going to drown and choke and burn and crash into all three other iron roses and land on the giant heap of scrap metal along with all the other trains next to the exploding rails.MAY IT REST IN PEACE
THE IRON ROSE III
And on the plaque before him, the reliëf of the characters and the light upon them made them dance in the fluctuating light, and though the shadows in the letters undid part of the effect the hollow words left a unnerving impression. An impression more or less like this:
IN.MEMORIAM
YOU.ARE.GOING.TO DIE
ON.THE..IRON.ROSE.I.I.I.
God he hated trains.YOU.ARE.GOING.TO DIE
ON.THE..IRON.ROSE.I.I.I.
Every note of a C-major tried to fight its way through the music drowning in a sea of chinking noises of a train against the tracks and succeeded to make it sound its last saxophone toot. An automatic and uncaring voice had shut it off to warn the passengers that they will soon be approaching the stop at Caracas City.
The scientist who was now quite settled on linking anything related to this train with certain death, of course misunderstood “Caracas City” to be “Carcass City, Enjoy your imminent death,” and promptly panicked.
Riko was a fidgety type, but he could suppress the feeling of unease he felt most of the time. Even at the start of the battle he had seemed pretty relaxed, but at this point in time he was quite sure his heart would just explode without warning and he didn't care if that was possible or not.
He was certain he was going to die here.
The scientist had, in trying to find mental rest, left the engine room, and sat himself down at one of the tables. His arms were crossed, his head slightly tilted and bobbing up and down like a bamboo fountain, jerking back up every time he nearly fell asleep. He soon after collapsed for a very, very short rest on the table.
Over every door of the train, a small little light blinked on, urging you to seat yourself in one of the compartments. Riko had had some luck, because the train's whiplash in coming to a stop only had him jolt awake as his back crashed into the ornate gold-painted bar which was to serve as the seat's back. Riko was cringing in pain, his hands folded around his ribs and his fingers pressed... no, cramped onto his back, hoping the pressure would even slightly relieve the pain. It didn't occur to him to rummage through his sack to search for anything to mend it.
Most of the other contestants were however occupied, and didn't notice the little light above every door warning the lot to take a seat in one of the compartments. Because of that, and along with every door in the train automatically opening the moment the train reached its destination, the contestants were sent flying by the harsh arrest and, if they weren't fleet in their actions, slid some distance across the Iron Rose.
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.