Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Three: HMS Thunderhead]
02-28-2011, 06:01 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.
Second padded through the dark hallway, pausing to crack open a door. The yellow light that spilled forth lit up the porcelain ram mask that sat on the upper part of his face and the couple of days worth of stubble that adorned the lower part.
“You can come in y’know, Second,” a male voice drawled from the inside of the room.
Second swung the door open, scowling. A man with red hair wearing a fox mask grinned at him from behind a small bar setup.
“Thanks for the permission, Fox. Think I might just have expired from indecision standing there if you hadn’t said a word.”
Fox, or First as was more commonly referred to, simply shrugged and gestured to the hoard of alcohol shelved behind him.
“Can I do you for anything, Ram?”
Ram shook his head and briefly raised the half empty bottle of whisky in his right hand. He did however slide into the barstool next to a lady sitting at the bar, but kept his gaze on the bottle.
“If you say so. It’s a damn shame you lost the bet so early on. I’d have looked forward to being up against you later on.”
“Why’s that? Are we actually interfering now?” Ram didn’t raise his head except to take another sip of the whiskey.
The woman clad in black pushed away her cocktail.
“Well, the Prestidigitator’s still off on ‘business’. And while the cat’s away…”
Second lifted his head and stared at her like he’d only just noticed her sitting there. She ignored him for all of a moment before their eyes met (awkwardly, suddenly) and then she was forced to quickly avert her attention back to the contents of her glass.
“Victoria,” Second began, and got no further.
“Don’t you dare call me by that name, Ram,” she spat back, her voice dripping with venom. Even so, she still didn’t look at him. Second judged that her heart just wasn’t in it.
“Fine. Seventh, milady. Whatever you want. What the hell happened between you and the Prestidigitator? A couple of days ago you two were positively fawning over each other, which ain’t exactly rare, but now-“
The sound of Seventh’s glass shattering against the wall did better to silence Ram this time. First was motionless, his face blank and his eyes to the floor.
Victoria stood up, and glared at Ram. “That’s none of your goddamn business, slime,” she snarled, completely sincere this time, then turned to leave. Unfortunately, Second reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Stop. Please.”
Whether Second was begging for her to stop walking or for something else more elusive wasn’t entirely clear. All the same, Seventh yanked her arm free and turned on Second, her face the picture of fury. He continued undaunted.
“Not to be crass, but most of us only respect you because of the favour you have with the Prestidigitator. If that’s gone, then where does that place you in our happy little hierarchy? What are you now, Victoria?”
The use of her real name was the last thing she wanted to hear.
In a flash of black a feather boa snaked out and rapidly coiled itself around Ram’s throat. One stiletto heel buried itself in one foot, and the other kicked him squarely in the chest. Within a matter of seconds Ram was falling backwards only to be stopped by the boa around his neck, which efficiently began strangling him.
Victoria watched him, suddenly emotionless and blank. Only as he began to go blue did she begin to speak, hissing each word like it was a deadly insult.
“It’s a shame you lost the wager so early on. I would have delighted in crushing you like the pathetic, disgusting roach that you are.” And with that, she released him. The feather boa was returned to her shoulders with a flick of the wrist. Ram collapsed to the floor accordingly, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.
Victoria spared him a single, last look of utter contempt before stepping over her victim and gliding towards the door.
“Come along, First. We’ve got a round to start.”
Wordlessly, Fox followed her out of the room.
For about a half a minute the ensuing silence was disturbed only by Ram’s gasps and attempts to breath. Sooner or later he found the fortitude to pull himself into a sitting position – that is, sprawling against the side of the bar.
It should be noted that at the other end of this room was a fireplace and two armchairs sitting in front of its crackling logs. In one of these chairs was a single occupant, very much asleep, who had gone largely unnoticed by the previous inhabitants of the room. The current one, however, drunkenly or otherwise staggered upwards and onwards until he stood before the empty armchair. He promptly collapsed into it.
And then? He surveyed the sleeper. Silently, without saying a word, although that was hardly required when his expression said so much about pity.
The man was shrunken by age, his wrinkles only adding to this picture of frailty. He still retained a little grandeur, a dash of smartness, from the slightly oversized black suit that draped over his withered limbs. A wispy halo of white hair crowned his head. If not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the incredible age of the man before Second would have forced him to concede that he could not possibly still be living.
Ram reached across and gently picked up a porcelain mask set beside the elderly man on a small table. It was shaped into the visage a snake, a familiar sight, but Second examined it quietly once more all the same. With a sigh, he returned it and looked at the old man once more.
“I don’t know how you put up with that sister of yours, Sixth.”
Being asleep Sixth had little to say on the matter. In the absence of a response, Ram simply let loose another sigh and took one more gulp from his faithful bottle.
To the outward observer there was nothing terribly strange about this, perhaps barring the unusual affinity among the group for sleeping upright in sumptuous armchairs arranged in a line, but to the wakers who had a moment ago been standing in a manor house it was an experience not unlike pulling the curtains open one morning to find a long forgotten memory where the outside should be. If you’d found these curtains at the back of your wardrobe, anyway.
In front of the blinking and confused wakers a cloud of darkness was festering with a passion. There was a noise of someone clearing their throat, and then a woman clad entirely in black stepped forward from it. She smiled at the six warmly.
“Welcome back, combatants. Pardon the discourtesy, but you’ll find that you can’t move from those chairs. Contestants can be a little… overenthusiastic. It can be a nuisance sometimes.”
To the right of the combatants two men played billiards, the soft knocking of the balls and cues providing a relaxed rhythm that punctuated her following words.
“I’m sure you can appreciate my need to avoid any unpleasantness. But to business! I’m sure you must be curious as to why you were brought here, and in such an unceremonious fashion, instead of simply being whisked to the next round.
“There are multiple reasons, many of which you don’t need to concern yourself with. The only thing you need to know is that this round there are going to be a few new rules, just between us five-”
Upon this word the cloud of darkness diminished then vanished, revealing two men standing behind the woman (one of them, curiously, was examining a pocket watch with an interest that far surpassed the average query as to the time) and her smile widened into something carnivorous.
“-And you six. All of us have a somewhat vested interest in your progress, so we each agreed that we would gift our respective combatant with something useful. You’ll find each one in a box with your name on it inside the round.”
She broke off briefly, as if to gather her thoughts. When she spoke, it was a little more strained.
“The more mathematically gifted among you would notice that there are only five of us to your six. The sixth person has a similar interest to us, but he is… busy, let’s say. Whoever he wagered on will find the pirate’s toy in their box.”
She shrugged as if to underline how little she cared about any of it.
“That’s all you need to know from us. You shouldn’t find the gifts too hard to find. Anything I’m forgetting?”
She directed this last question at the red-headed man by her elbow.
“No, milady,” he said quietly. She smiled again.
“Marvellous.”
And in the blink of an eye, the contestants had vanished.
The living quarters of the HMS Thunderhead were arranged in order of wealth, generally speaking. While the middle sliver of the ship was occupied by the control deck and general maintenance, those with less money and influence found themselves shunted towards the less well kept and less impressive upper levels. The opposite was true, naturally, for those who did have affluence among their fellow humans. Down at the bottom decadence was rife and shocking in its intensity, just how its inhabitants liked it.
However, it was not only the ship that was of special interest. In approximately two hours’ time it was due to complete its maiden voyage, landing in the capital of the illustrious Third Drenwellian Empire on its base planet Varral to crowds, applause and congratulations from the Empress herself. Right now it was still drifting through the expanse of space, but Varral was close. Very close indeed.
Somewhere in the heart of the ship a blissfully oblivious captain swelled with pride and dreamed of the golden streets of the capital.
Second padded through the dark hallway, pausing to crack open a door. The yellow light that spilled forth lit up the porcelain ram mask that sat on the upper part of his face and the couple of days worth of stubble that adorned the lower part.
“You can come in y’know, Second,” a male voice drawled from the inside of the room.
Second swung the door open, scowling. A man with red hair wearing a fox mask grinned at him from behind a small bar setup.
“Thanks for the permission, Fox. Think I might just have expired from indecision standing there if you hadn’t said a word.”
Fox, or First as was more commonly referred to, simply shrugged and gestured to the hoard of alcohol shelved behind him.
“Can I do you for anything, Ram?”
Ram shook his head and briefly raised the half empty bottle of whisky in his right hand. He did however slide into the barstool next to a lady sitting at the bar, but kept his gaze on the bottle.
“If you say so. It’s a damn shame you lost the bet so early on. I’d have looked forward to being up against you later on.”
“Why’s that? Are we actually interfering now?” Ram didn’t raise his head except to take another sip of the whiskey.
The woman clad in black pushed away her cocktail.
“Well, the Prestidigitator’s still off on ‘business’. And while the cat’s away…”
Second lifted his head and stared at her like he’d only just noticed her sitting there. She ignored him for all of a moment before their eyes met (awkwardly, suddenly) and then she was forced to quickly avert her attention back to the contents of her glass.
“Victoria,” Second began, and got no further.
“Don’t you dare call me by that name, Ram,” she spat back, her voice dripping with venom. Even so, she still didn’t look at him. Second judged that her heart just wasn’t in it.
“Fine. Seventh, milady. Whatever you want. What the hell happened between you and the Prestidigitator? A couple of days ago you two were positively fawning over each other, which ain’t exactly rare, but now-“
The sound of Seventh’s glass shattering against the wall did better to silence Ram this time. First was motionless, his face blank and his eyes to the floor.
Victoria stood up, and glared at Ram. “That’s none of your goddamn business, slime,” she snarled, completely sincere this time, then turned to leave. Unfortunately, Second reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Stop. Please.”
Whether Second was begging for her to stop walking or for something else more elusive wasn’t entirely clear. All the same, Seventh yanked her arm free and turned on Second, her face the picture of fury. He continued undaunted.
“Not to be crass, but most of us only respect you because of the favour you have with the Prestidigitator. If that’s gone, then where does that place you in our happy little hierarchy? What are you now, Victoria?”
The use of her real name was the last thing she wanted to hear.
In a flash of black a feather boa snaked out and rapidly coiled itself around Ram’s throat. One stiletto heel buried itself in one foot, and the other kicked him squarely in the chest. Within a matter of seconds Ram was falling backwards only to be stopped by the boa around his neck, which efficiently began strangling him.
Victoria watched him, suddenly emotionless and blank. Only as he began to go blue did she begin to speak, hissing each word like it was a deadly insult.
“It’s a shame you lost the wager so early on. I would have delighted in crushing you like the pathetic, disgusting roach that you are.” And with that, she released him. The feather boa was returned to her shoulders with a flick of the wrist. Ram collapsed to the floor accordingly, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.
Victoria spared him a single, last look of utter contempt before stepping over her victim and gliding towards the door.
“Come along, First. We’ve got a round to start.”
Wordlessly, Fox followed her out of the room.
For about a half a minute the ensuing silence was disturbed only by Ram’s gasps and attempts to breath. Sooner or later he found the fortitude to pull himself into a sitting position – that is, sprawling against the side of the bar.
It should be noted that at the other end of this room was a fireplace and two armchairs sitting in front of its crackling logs. In one of these chairs was a single occupant, very much asleep, who had gone largely unnoticed by the previous inhabitants of the room. The current one, however, drunkenly or otherwise staggered upwards and onwards until he stood before the empty armchair. He promptly collapsed into it.
And then? He surveyed the sleeper. Silently, without saying a word, although that was hardly required when his expression said so much about pity.
The man was shrunken by age, his wrinkles only adding to this picture of frailty. He still retained a little grandeur, a dash of smartness, from the slightly oversized black suit that draped over his withered limbs. A wispy halo of white hair crowned his head. If not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the incredible age of the man before Second would have forced him to concede that he could not possibly still be living.
Ram reached across and gently picked up a porcelain mask set beside the elderly man on a small table. It was shaped into the visage a snake, a familiar sight, but Second examined it quietly once more all the same. With a sigh, he returned it and looked at the old man once more.
“I don’t know how you put up with that sister of yours, Sixth.”
Being asleep Sixth had little to say on the matter. In the absence of a response, Ram simply let loose another sigh and took one more gulp from his faithful bottle.
---
A sky pirate, a cloth mage, a sandman, a shadow snake, an eccentric scientist and a priest all wake up in a billiards room. To the outward observer there was nothing terribly strange about this, perhaps barring the unusual affinity among the group for sleeping upright in sumptuous armchairs arranged in a line, but to the wakers who had a moment ago been standing in a manor house it was an experience not unlike pulling the curtains open one morning to find a long forgotten memory where the outside should be. If you’d found these curtains at the back of your wardrobe, anyway.
In front of the blinking and confused wakers a cloud of darkness was festering with a passion. There was a noise of someone clearing their throat, and then a woman clad entirely in black stepped forward from it. She smiled at the six warmly.
“Welcome back, combatants. Pardon the discourtesy, but you’ll find that you can’t move from those chairs. Contestants can be a little… overenthusiastic. It can be a nuisance sometimes.”
To the right of the combatants two men played billiards, the soft knocking of the balls and cues providing a relaxed rhythm that punctuated her following words.
“I’m sure you can appreciate my need to avoid any unpleasantness. But to business! I’m sure you must be curious as to why you were brought here, and in such an unceremonious fashion, instead of simply being whisked to the next round.
“There are multiple reasons, many of which you don’t need to concern yourself with. The only thing you need to know is that this round there are going to be a few new rules, just between us five-”
Upon this word the cloud of darkness diminished then vanished, revealing two men standing behind the woman (one of them, curiously, was examining a pocket watch with an interest that far surpassed the average query as to the time) and her smile widened into something carnivorous.
“-And you six. All of us have a somewhat vested interest in your progress, so we each agreed that we would gift our respective combatant with something useful. You’ll find each one in a box with your name on it inside the round.”
She broke off briefly, as if to gather her thoughts. When she spoke, it was a little more strained.
“The more mathematically gifted among you would notice that there are only five of us to your six. The sixth person has a similar interest to us, but he is… busy, let’s say. Whoever he wagered on will find the pirate’s toy in their box.”
She shrugged as if to underline how little she cared about any of it.
“That’s all you need to know from us. You shouldn’t find the gifts too hard to find. Anything I’m forgetting?”
She directed this last question at the red-headed man by her elbow.
“No, milady,” he said quietly. She smiled again.
“Marvellous.”
And in the blink of an eye, the contestants had vanished.
---
The HMS Thunderhead was the pride of the Third Drenwellian Empire’s fleet. It had taken five years to construct and was capable of housing the population of a small town quite comfortably. Its design was a love letter to the magnificent blimps of ages past, but seeing as the very idea of sending any kind of balloon supporting people into the depths of space was enough to make most engineers spit out their coffee, it had instead changed the inflated area into the main section of the ship. The living quarters of the HMS Thunderhead were arranged in order of wealth, generally speaking. While the middle sliver of the ship was occupied by the control deck and general maintenance, those with less money and influence found themselves shunted towards the less well kept and less impressive upper levels. The opposite was true, naturally, for those who did have affluence among their fellow humans. Down at the bottom decadence was rife and shocking in its intensity, just how its inhabitants liked it.
However, it was not only the ship that was of special interest. In approximately two hours’ time it was due to complete its maiden voyage, landing in the capital of the illustrious Third Drenwellian Empire on its base planet Varral to crowds, applause and congratulations from the Empress herself. Right now it was still drifting through the expanse of space, but Varral was close. Very close indeed.
Somewhere in the heart of the ship a blissfully oblivious captain swelled with pride and dreamed of the golden streets of the capital.