Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Four: The Warped Edifice]
11-28-2011, 03:17 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
It was dark. It was dark because there was nothing. Technically, it wasn't dark, because that would be something, but there was no other way she could really describe it.
Eureka had heard people say things like ‘Oh, I don’t dream.’ But she was sure that this isn’t what they meant.
She had been expecting a prison, though she didn’t know why. Who came into dreams knowing what it would be? But she would definitely prefer a prison than to this…absolute nothingness.
“Hello?” she called out, figuring if her dream wasn’t going to do anything, then she should.
The world shook. Or, there wasn’t a world at all, but something shook. Maybe it was her. She was the only thing that could even shake. She curled up.
There was something wrong with her. But wasn’t there always something wrong with her? She clawed at her shirt. Underneath it, her stomach was throbbing. Though there was nothing there anymore, obviously, so she wasn’t sure how it could do that. But it hurt, which was something she was sure a hole in the guts did. So at least that was accurate.
She almost wished she was possessed again. (Was she possessed now?) Being possessed had a kind of bodily detachment. Being possessed meant that holes in the stomach were, if not someone else’s problem, then at least a shared problem. Being possessed at least meant company, company that she could share the pain with and cry out to. Whatever that boy’s name was – maybe he would be sympathetic. Or maybe pretend to be. As it was now, she could only cry to no one.
She pulled her shirt up slightly. Yes, the hole was there, yes, it was dark, yes, it was throbbing. Things were coming out. They wrapped around her. Bound her legs. They suffocated her. Maybe she would die here.
And then she woke up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was in a prison, which didn’t seem surprising. She almost expected a werewolf to be sitting next to her, but there wasn’t. But she wasn’t too surprised at that as well.
Though now that she looked closely, it wasn’t really a prison she was in. More like an improvised prison. And by improvised prison, she meant ‘locked room.’
Her knife was gone. Her knife was gone.
…Well she wanted a new one anyways. That old one was old and stupid and not knife-y enough to be a permanent member of her knife club. But now someone owed her a new knife.
Someone owed her to let her out. And a knife.
The room was bare, which was pretty understandable considering that it was meant to hold her. There was a bed and not much else. The room itself was pretty normal for the place, though for some reason the walls glowed brightly. Anybody living in here wouldn’t need a lamp, but they would probably find it hard to get to sleep.
Unfortunately, the door wasn’t made out of graham crackers or seaweed or anything like that. But still, she charged the door. And again. And again.
“Awww, let me out! I promise not to play too hard!” she called. There was no answer. She pressed her ear against the door and heard nothing.
Now how in the world was she going to get out?
She tried the doorknob again, though it was no use trying a second time. Okay, sooooo…
If only she still had her knife friend. Then maybe she could pick the lock. With a knife.
“I dunnoooooo, whaddya think?” she asked, raising her sweatshirt slightly. The dark wound was still here, but the tentacle was not. It was just simply a bubbling blackness. She giggled. “C’mooon, won’t you help a laaaady? You were such a big ol’ meanie before. Don’t tell me you’re feeling all weaky weak.”
The wound bubbled.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Magnus was supposed to pick up the new outsider as soon as she woke up and show her to mighty Xiuhcoatl, as was the custom. Unfortunately, he found that he couldn’t do so. It had something to do with how the door holding the outsider in had apparently decided not to exist any longer and self-terminated in a fit of despair. Supposedly, the black sludge-y bits were the remains of the suicidal door. The sludge certainly looked despair-flavored.
The other outsider was still talking with all-knowing Xiuhcoatl, as far as he knew, so at least nobody would notice this for a while. Maybe. He had some time to go look for her. Then he wouldn’t have to go to the god empty-handed and disappoint him and potentially be smitted. Smote?
It vaguely occurred to him that he had no idea what benevolent Xiuhcoatl really did as punishment, but he (and many others) had never thought about it very much. Certainly never beyond that it would be a very bad thing to disappoint generous Xiuhcoatl.
Magnus finally turned away from the fate of the sad door to actually look for the escaped outsider. He didn’t have to look too far, though. As he turned, he was tackled from behind. It felt like something slid through him, then slid out. And, for good measure, a pair of small hands reached down and snapped his neck.
There was not much he could think about after a death like that, but he still managed to have time to think one thing. He thought about how delightfully cheerful his murderer had been. For some reason, that seemed like a nice attribute in a murderer.
Eureka, for her part, stood above him and whistled as much as she could before she doubled over, hacking up black, evil sludge.
It was dark. It was dark because there was nothing. Technically, it wasn't dark, because that would be something, but there was no other way she could really describe it.
Eureka had heard people say things like ‘Oh, I don’t dream.’ But she was sure that this isn’t what they meant.
She had been expecting a prison, though she didn’t know why. Who came into dreams knowing what it would be? But she would definitely prefer a prison than to this…absolute nothingness.
“Hello?” she called out, figuring if her dream wasn’t going to do anything, then she should.
The world shook. Or, there wasn’t a world at all, but something shook. Maybe it was her. She was the only thing that could even shake. She curled up.
There was something wrong with her. But wasn’t there always something wrong with her? She clawed at her shirt. Underneath it, her stomach was throbbing. Though there was nothing there anymore, obviously, so she wasn’t sure how it could do that. But it hurt, which was something she was sure a hole in the guts did. So at least that was accurate.
She almost wished she was possessed again. (Was she possessed now?) Being possessed had a kind of bodily detachment. Being possessed meant that holes in the stomach were, if not someone else’s problem, then at least a shared problem. Being possessed at least meant company, company that she could share the pain with and cry out to. Whatever that boy’s name was – maybe he would be sympathetic. Or maybe pretend to be. As it was now, she could only cry to no one.
She pulled her shirt up slightly. Yes, the hole was there, yes, it was dark, yes, it was throbbing. Things were coming out. They wrapped around her. Bound her legs. They suffocated her. Maybe she would die here.
And then she woke up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was in a prison, which didn’t seem surprising. She almost expected a werewolf to be sitting next to her, but there wasn’t. But she wasn’t too surprised at that as well.
Though now that she looked closely, it wasn’t really a prison she was in. More like an improvised prison. And by improvised prison, she meant ‘locked room.’
Her knife was gone. Her knife was gone.
…Well she wanted a new one anyways. That old one was old and stupid and not knife-y enough to be a permanent member of her knife club. But now someone owed her a new knife.
Someone owed her to let her out. And a knife.
The room was bare, which was pretty understandable considering that it was meant to hold her. There was a bed and not much else. The room itself was pretty normal for the place, though for some reason the walls glowed brightly. Anybody living in here wouldn’t need a lamp, but they would probably find it hard to get to sleep.
Unfortunately, the door wasn’t made out of graham crackers or seaweed or anything like that. But still, she charged the door. And again. And again.
“Awww, let me out! I promise not to play too hard!” she called. There was no answer. She pressed her ear against the door and heard nothing.
Now how in the world was she going to get out?
She tried the doorknob again, though it was no use trying a second time. Okay, sooooo…
If only she still had her knife friend. Then maybe she could pick the lock. With a knife.
“I dunnoooooo, whaddya think?” she asked, raising her sweatshirt slightly. The dark wound was still here, but the tentacle was not. It was just simply a bubbling blackness. She giggled. “C’mooon, won’t you help a laaaady? You were such a big ol’ meanie before. Don’t tell me you’re feeling all weaky weak.”
The wound bubbled.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Magnus was supposed to pick up the new outsider as soon as she woke up and show her to mighty Xiuhcoatl, as was the custom. Unfortunately, he found that he couldn’t do so. It had something to do with how the door holding the outsider in had apparently decided not to exist any longer and self-terminated in a fit of despair. Supposedly, the black sludge-y bits were the remains of the suicidal door. The sludge certainly looked despair-flavored.
The other outsider was still talking with all-knowing Xiuhcoatl, as far as he knew, so at least nobody would notice this for a while. Maybe. He had some time to go look for her. Then he wouldn’t have to go to the god empty-handed and disappoint him and potentially be smitted. Smote?
It vaguely occurred to him that he had no idea what benevolent Xiuhcoatl really did as punishment, but he (and many others) had never thought about it very much. Certainly never beyond that it would be a very bad thing to disappoint generous Xiuhcoatl.
Magnus finally turned away from the fate of the sad door to actually look for the escaped outsider. He didn’t have to look too far, though. As he turned, he was tackled from behind. It felt like something slid through him, then slid out. And, for good measure, a pair of small hands reached down and snapped his neck.
There was not much he could think about after a death like that, but he still managed to have time to think one thing. He thought about how delightfully cheerful his murderer had been. For some reason, that seemed like a nice attribute in a murderer.
Eureka, for her part, stood above him and whistled as much as she could before she doubled over, hacking up black, evil sludge.