Re: The Phenomenal Fracas (GBS2G6) [Round Five: The Ambitus Phenomenon]
05-12-2012, 12:01 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by MrGuy.
Almost immediately, Blackmask began to sweat. The sun, though it was setting, had left its mark on the town, with that lingering, stifling heat that pervades the late summer afternoons. The pirate quickly headed for the shadows, scanning the crowd. Least I won't have to worry about being noticed, she thought as she glanced at a man with various facial tattoos and a bright blue suit. Shrugging, she headed where it seemed most of the richer crowd was off to, boots clomping against the cobblestone streets.
This was clearly an expensive neighborhood. Expensive restaurants were beginning to open for the evening, the scent of freshly-cooked meat wafting on the breeze; a carefully-crafted fountain in a perfectly circular town square sprayed water upwards, as some sort of green... thing with two legs and really long fingers carefully pruned and watered the trees and bushes planted around it. Wonder if that old lubber's Syvex's brother, she thought jokingly. And on a hill in the distance, a tremendous building carved entirely out of marble stood tall, an elegant stone staircase leading up to it. It took her breath away, or at least she convinced herself that so as to avoid confronting the obvious. More importantly, though, it made her sick.
She wrinkled her nose at the spices and steak carried by the wind, thinking only of how they could have been given to the hungry. As she passed the fountain, she briefly lifted her mask to spit into it, thinking about how that crystal clear water could better serve those who had to drink from stagnant wells. And as she approached that palace, or that opera house, or whatever it was, she scowled. Enough room for me and all me buckos twelve times over. But they just use it to put on their hoity-toity little musical plays. Ripper couldn't care less about opera, or any art, for that matter, more complex than a novella. To her, it was all wasted money.
She didn't get much time to contemplate this, though, before her seething landed her 100 years in the past.
------
The pirate, cloaked in the shadows of the far more cloudy evening, was nearly run down by a man on horseback. From what little Ripper could make out of him, she saw a carefully-maintained uniform— hat, boots and jacket, which a lamppost revealed to be delicate purple as his steed galloped beneath it— and a bag slung over his shoulder.
And in equal parts anger over being knocked down, desire to bring down whoever was king and queen of this damn place, and irresistible, almost instinctual, curiosity about the contents of the bag, she picked herself up and began sprinting after him. Leaping into the air, she flipped the switch on her jetpack, and charged ahead.
Let us pause for a moment to consider what that man's last moments must have been like. To see someone in a bright red jacket and pitch-black mask, flames coming out of god-only-knows-what illuminating both as she rocketed towards him— only to swing around bellowing "fins-a-lee" and tackle him off of his horse, slam him into a building (shattering most of the bones in his arms, as well as damaging his skull quite a bit), and finally stab him through the chest— must certainly have been exciting.
Regardless of how flashy his death was, Ripper showed little desire to make the disposal of the corpse equally impressive, instead just kicking him into a side street (after taking his wallet and pocketwatch and shoving them into the core, of course, allowing her to take a deep breath in relief). She reached into the bag and found, inside, a very cozy little area that might be nice to sleep in if she could actually fit in it— but, more importantly, some letters, all addressed to the royal family. Tearing one open, Blackmask saw that it was an apology for being unable to attend a party of some sort; glancing up and straining to listen, she heard the faint sound of an orchestra coming from the palace, each window of which was brightly lit. Returning to the bag, and rather irritated at this frivolity, she opened the remaining letters. Apologies and cards... what on earth was this scallywag in such a hurry about?
Then she saw it: a much larger envelope, with a wax seal and "URGENT!!!" scrawled in red ink. She frantically tore open the envelope and read the letter:
Your Majesty:
Rumors are circulating of an assassination attempt or riot on your birthday. To ensure your safety, the party should be called off and moved to a later date; for now, you should retreat to the safe house with your personal guard. We will send you further intelligence when we acquire it.
When escaping, be certain to avoid the Blue District. We believe the conspirators are centered there. Stay safe.
Yours,
General Marissus
Ripper smiled almost widely enough to match her mask. There was to be a revolution tonight, was there? Then perhaps this time, she would make sure there wasn't enough left of the palace to convert. It was time to lead the charge.
The pirate began wandering through town, in search of the Blue District, as a cool evening breeze blew in.
Almost immediately, Blackmask began to sweat. The sun, though it was setting, had left its mark on the town, with that lingering, stifling heat that pervades the late summer afternoons. The pirate quickly headed for the shadows, scanning the crowd. Least I won't have to worry about being noticed, she thought as she glanced at a man with various facial tattoos and a bright blue suit. Shrugging, she headed where it seemed most of the richer crowd was off to, boots clomping against the cobblestone streets.
This was clearly an expensive neighborhood. Expensive restaurants were beginning to open for the evening, the scent of freshly-cooked meat wafting on the breeze; a carefully-crafted fountain in a perfectly circular town square sprayed water upwards, as some sort of green... thing with two legs and really long fingers carefully pruned and watered the trees and bushes planted around it. Wonder if that old lubber's Syvex's brother, she thought jokingly. And on a hill in the distance, a tremendous building carved entirely out of marble stood tall, an elegant stone staircase leading up to it. It took her breath away, or at least she convinced herself that so as to avoid confronting the obvious. More importantly, though, it made her sick.
She wrinkled her nose at the spices and steak carried by the wind, thinking only of how they could have been given to the hungry. As she passed the fountain, she briefly lifted her mask to spit into it, thinking about how that crystal clear water could better serve those who had to drink from stagnant wells. And as she approached that palace, or that opera house, or whatever it was, she scowled. Enough room for me and all me buckos twelve times over. But they just use it to put on their hoity-toity little musical plays. Ripper couldn't care less about opera, or any art, for that matter, more complex than a novella. To her, it was all wasted money.
She didn't get much time to contemplate this, though, before her seething landed her 100 years in the past.
------
The pirate, cloaked in the shadows of the far more cloudy evening, was nearly run down by a man on horseback. From what little Ripper could make out of him, she saw a carefully-maintained uniform— hat, boots and jacket, which a lamppost revealed to be delicate purple as his steed galloped beneath it— and a bag slung over his shoulder.
And in equal parts anger over being knocked down, desire to bring down whoever was king and queen of this damn place, and irresistible, almost instinctual, curiosity about the contents of the bag, she picked herself up and began sprinting after him. Leaping into the air, she flipped the switch on her jetpack, and charged ahead.
Let us pause for a moment to consider what that man's last moments must have been like. To see someone in a bright red jacket and pitch-black mask, flames coming out of god-only-knows-what illuminating both as she rocketed towards him— only to swing around bellowing "fins-a-lee" and tackle him off of his horse, slam him into a building (shattering most of the bones in his arms, as well as damaging his skull quite a bit), and finally stab him through the chest— must certainly have been exciting.
Regardless of how flashy his death was, Ripper showed little desire to make the disposal of the corpse equally impressive, instead just kicking him into a side street (after taking his wallet and pocketwatch and shoving them into the core, of course, allowing her to take a deep breath in relief). She reached into the bag and found, inside, a very cozy little area that might be nice to sleep in if she could actually fit in it— but, more importantly, some letters, all addressed to the royal family. Tearing one open, Blackmask saw that it was an apology for being unable to attend a party of some sort; glancing up and straining to listen, she heard the faint sound of an orchestra coming from the palace, each window of which was brightly lit. Returning to the bag, and rather irritated at this frivolity, she opened the remaining letters. Apologies and cards... what on earth was this scallywag in such a hurry about?
Then she saw it: a much larger envelope, with a wax seal and "URGENT!!!" scrawled in red ink. She frantically tore open the envelope and read the letter:
Your Majesty:
Rumors are circulating of an assassination attempt or riot on your birthday. To ensure your safety, the party should be called off and moved to a later date; for now, you should retreat to the safe house with your personal guard. We will send you further intelligence when we acquire it.
When escaping, be certain to avoid the Blue District. We believe the conspirators are centered there. Stay safe.
Yours,
General Marissus
Ripper smiled almost widely enough to match her mask. There was to be a revolution tonight, was there? Then perhaps this time, she would make sure there wasn't enough left of the palace to convert. It was time to lead the charge.
The pirate began wandering through town, in search of the Blue District, as a cool evening breeze blew in.