Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Round 1: Circumlocution]
08-26-2011, 04:49 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"Silence, you louts," growled the Marshal, apparently exasperated with the image he was receiving from several dozen eyes. A gull and several passerines were knocked off Parliament with gusts of his great wings, and his talons dealt a dislodging kick to a rifleman before settling on the mannequin's polished dome of a head.
"Inside again. All of you."
Chris Skinner, a lorikeet who trafficked slaves before Avery caught up with him, was only too happy to oblige. He was later adamant that being brandished in Luchesse's sizable fish-owl talons to make a point had little do with it.
One by one, the flock dissipated in little pops of warping light, save for a water king penguin whose guttural alien tongue barely registered as a language (though Luchesse thought it prudent - considering the galactic Colosseum's sadistic champion stood at a robust five feet tall - to not order the penguin into doing anything or another). Reynard and the magpie eventually found their strength again and flew back, vanishing in turn.
"Right. Listen up, the lot of you." The Marshall closed his eyes, to at least make the sensory input less disorienting for Parliament's inhabitants. Jack "Ringer" Marshall, a desperado-turned-Greater Roadrunner, materialised for all of three seconds before the fish-owl lunged from his Parliamentary perch, and ripped the queue-jumper apart. The Marshall (Frank, not Jack) settled amongst the flowers, swivelled his ears dollward, and continued as if nothing had happened.
"For those of you too busy squabbling to notice, we have recently been extracted from Lord Avery's clutches. We, as a-" Luchesse didn't really bother with hiding his disgust, suspecting most of his fellow inmates would agree with it- "collective, have been given an opportunity to work for a man whose power exceeds Lord Avery's."
"No."
Luchesse's eyes snapped open, his head twisted round, and he raised his wings in a huffy preparation for an eviscerating swoop. It was the penguin. That changed things a little.
"Do you have a reason?" snapped the Marshall, clacking his beak in annoyance.
"Si'Nitethit work for no man."
"You're happy being Avery's slave again then, when we fail to earn this appointment?"
"Si'Nitethit," thundered the penguin, shuffling with highly muscular gracelessness toward the Marshall, "work for no man that does not best him."
"Oh, fantastic. So you're happy to waddle off back under Avery's tyranny."
"Little shrieking bird has not bested Si'Nitethit." Snap, went his ten inches of daggerlike beak. Luchesse was very determinedly imagining how this must look to the rest of Parliament, with their two pairs of eyes fixed on each other.
"Oi, Si'Nit. Y'lookin' fer summen to best? Some eh those folks we met are havin' a parlay jes 'cross the fields yonder."
Luchesse and Si'Nitethit afforded a hyperstereoscopic view for their fellow inmates. Just as the stilt had interrupted, Samedi and Saturday were having some kind of argument. The penguin squawked in an admirable approximation of a bellowed warcry, and charged at the pair as fast as his slapping feet could carry him. The stilt scratched one foot with the other, and clicked her tongue at the fish-owl.
"Got rid eh that great lug fer yeh, Maar-shill. Now, yeh'd best figger how t'get our own Parlay movin', don'tcher reckon?"
Witch Matila (noted kidnapper and cannibal) of the Bleak Marsh giggled, and vanished with a gangly-legged (and probably sardonic) bow. Luchesse craned his head over the tops of seed-head grass and flowers, glanced up at the still-motionless form of Parliament, and crrrk-ed to himself.
"May we agree," he began, trying to ignore the angry squawking of a five-foot penguin in the middle distance, "that until we figure out how to move Parliament on its own, we are in no state to engage our competitors?"
Nobody said a word. The Marshall considered that a small and damned merciful victory. He got to thinking. Thinking led to one easy option, which was looking increasingly terrible as the echoes of altercation were out-shouted by the brawling itself and oh, happy day. Vizier Chordeilis was strutting about like a magician who had not been reduced to half a foot of smug red cardinal, his delectably wringable neck cricked - all the better to stare snootily down his beak at a much bigger bird. Luchesse scowled, afraid the insufferable little creature had an elegant solution to their predicament.
"I know you're considering manpower to move our prison, Marshall, but brute force simply will not do. Parliament must not disobey the Laws."
Faaaantastic. Of course it had to come back to the Laws. Of course their salvation was down some convoluted path, skittering and squirming round syntax and spellcraft. Of course every decent-sized avian with strength enough to pool in Parliament was as stupid or violent as Si'Nitethit.
"Fine, Chordeilis. You get us moving."
"Gladly," smirked the Vizier. The shouting was getting closer.
"Silence, you louts," growled the Marshal, apparently exasperated with the image he was receiving from several dozen eyes. A gull and several passerines were knocked off Parliament with gusts of his great wings, and his talons dealt a dislodging kick to a rifleman before settling on the mannequin's polished dome of a head.
"Inside again. All of you."
Chris Skinner, a lorikeet who trafficked slaves before Avery caught up with him, was only too happy to oblige. He was later adamant that being brandished in Luchesse's sizable fish-owl talons to make a point had little do with it.
One by one, the flock dissipated in little pops of warping light, save for a water king penguin whose guttural alien tongue barely registered as a language (though Luchesse thought it prudent - considering the galactic Colosseum's sadistic champion stood at a robust five feet tall - to not order the penguin into doing anything or another). Reynard and the magpie eventually found their strength again and flew back, vanishing in turn.
"Right. Listen up, the lot of you." The Marshall closed his eyes, to at least make the sensory input less disorienting for Parliament's inhabitants. Jack "Ringer" Marshall, a desperado-turned-Greater Roadrunner, materialised for all of three seconds before the fish-owl lunged from his Parliamentary perch, and ripped the queue-jumper apart. The Marshall (Frank, not Jack) settled amongst the flowers, swivelled his ears dollward, and continued as if nothing had happened.
"For those of you too busy squabbling to notice, we have recently been extracted from Lord Avery's clutches. We, as a-" Luchesse didn't really bother with hiding his disgust, suspecting most of his fellow inmates would agree with it- "collective, have been given an opportunity to work for a man whose power exceeds Lord Avery's."
"No."
Luchesse's eyes snapped open, his head twisted round, and he raised his wings in a huffy preparation for an eviscerating swoop. It was the penguin. That changed things a little.
"Do you have a reason?" snapped the Marshall, clacking his beak in annoyance.
"Si'Nitethit work for no man."
"You're happy being Avery's slave again then, when we fail to earn this appointment?"
"Si'Nitethit," thundered the penguin, shuffling with highly muscular gracelessness toward the Marshall, "work for no man that does not best him."
"Oh, fantastic. So you're happy to waddle off back under Avery's tyranny."
"Little shrieking bird has not bested Si'Nitethit." Snap, went his ten inches of daggerlike beak. Luchesse was very determinedly imagining how this must look to the rest of Parliament, with their two pairs of eyes fixed on each other.
"Oi, Si'Nit. Y'lookin' fer summen to best? Some eh those folks we met are havin' a parlay jes 'cross the fields yonder."
Luchesse and Si'Nitethit afforded a hyperstereoscopic view for their fellow inmates. Just as the stilt had interrupted, Samedi and Saturday were having some kind of argument. The penguin squawked in an admirable approximation of a bellowed warcry, and charged at the pair as fast as his slapping feet could carry him. The stilt scratched one foot with the other, and clicked her tongue at the fish-owl.
"Got rid eh that great lug fer yeh, Maar-shill. Now, yeh'd best figger how t'get our own Parlay movin', don'tcher reckon?"
Witch Matila (noted kidnapper and cannibal) of the Bleak Marsh giggled, and vanished with a gangly-legged (and probably sardonic) bow. Luchesse craned his head over the tops of seed-head grass and flowers, glanced up at the still-motionless form of Parliament, and crrrk-ed to himself.
"May we agree," he began, trying to ignore the angry squawking of a five-foot penguin in the middle distance, "that until we figure out how to move Parliament on its own, we are in no state to engage our competitors?"
Nobody said a word. The Marshall considered that a small and damned merciful victory. He got to thinking. Thinking led to one easy option, which was looking increasingly terrible as the echoes of altercation were out-shouted by the brawling itself and oh, happy day. Vizier Chordeilis was strutting about like a magician who had not been reduced to half a foot of smug red cardinal, his delectably wringable neck cricked - all the better to stare snootily down his beak at a much bigger bird. Luchesse scowled, afraid the insufferable little creature had an elegant solution to their predicament.
"I know you're considering manpower to move our prison, Marshall, but brute force simply will not do. Parliament must not disobey the Laws."
Faaaantastic. Of course it had to come back to the Laws. Of course their salvation was down some convoluted path, skittering and squirming round syntax and spellcraft. Of course every decent-sized avian with strength enough to pool in Parliament was as stupid or violent as Si'Nitethit.
"Fine, Chordeilis. You get us moving."
"Gladly," smirked the Vizier. The shouting was getting closer.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow