Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Round 1: Circumlocution]
04-18-2012, 01:38 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by 50,000 Unstoppable Watts!.
Screaming. A woman, screaming. His mother. Someone else roared over her. Must've been his old man. He only heard it for a second; then inertia kicked in, and with a splash the world flew away from him. Everything turned blue. His ears filled with water. All he heard was phwoooob.
"Bo," said his old man <font color="#A9A9A9">or maybe God? Probably both, "now you are gon' learn to swim, and you gon' learn the way I learnt it."</font>
Either you swim, or you sink.
A gentle phwoooob choir scattered in fear as a vicious CLANK and its grisly pal CRRRRUNCH made a home in the church. The church in this metaphor being Saturday's head, if that wasn't clear. Saturday's head tended not to be clear. Where was Saturday's head? Seemed on average that he knew least of anybody where it was. Right now it was in the vicinity of "throbbing migraine," on the corner of "there's my coin, my goddamn coin" and "lord almighty but these two junk heaps make an awful racket." He heard himself shouting (through water? ...Best not to think about it) as far as "Ah'll git left in one damn minute if you'll just--let me--" before speech became too much of a hassle. He vaguely registered a slightly immense pain in his midsection before he decided being his bony old self became too much of a hassle. The whole of him turned into a glistening black coil of angry as the snake lurched and the coin lurched and he lurched
and then reality became too much of a hassle.
His butt hit marble. The surface seemed so far away now, but he could still make out the daisy yellow of his ma's dress as she fussed at his old man. She'd fuss at him over every thing. Maybe this time it was justified. Right now her kid might be up to drowning down here. And it'd be his daddy's fault. Maybe Ma had a care for her kid. But then, Daddy did too, in his own way. Bo had known that for a long time, perceptive as he was. People didn't mean harm, hardly ever. They just had their own way. Everything did. He shut his eyes and opened his mouth and thought, maybe his way was to just let it be.
He heard music. It sounded beautiful.
Wake up, Bo. Ain't time yet.
Water thundered and sprayed everywhere as Saturday shot out of the lake. He flipped and flapped like a dolphin, shaking the littler robot loose. The droplets around him sparkled in the sunlight. Soon as his lungs cleared and he had returned to him the presence of mind to speak, he roared, "FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!"
Everything slowed down for a minute after that. The weight of it all hit him, and he burst out laughing.
Then the weight of him hit the ground, and he quit.
But an old red-haired man in a white and black tuxedo (minus the coat) bursting out of a lake, flopping around like a dolphin and shouting <font color="#C41E3A">"FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!" at the top of his lungs, descending into mad laughter, then... presumably breaking his spine as he and a humanoid robot crashed to the ground?
Well. Well that's... That's something new.</font>
"...He dead?"
"Looks dead."
"Ain't nobody oi seen loi lat way if they still aloive."
"Poor sing. Sat hwas quite <font size="1">ha fall."
One rambunctious voice repeating "Out of my way, out of my way" punctuated the chatter as Luchesse moved to the proverbial head of the proverbial pack to get a hypothetically better look at the possibly dead man. That is, the head of a fish-owl erupted from the featureless face of the mannequin, both now about a foot from said dead man's own face. Said possibly dead man's own definitely messed-up face.
"...Can't tell if he's dead or just ugly."
One of the ingrates- That is, inmates, one of the inmates was about to raise a protest as to the functionality of the Marshal's eyes when the probably maybe ugly possibly dead man's eyes snapped absolutely open.</font>
"SQUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW-"
Saturday jumped up in a shower of feathers, holding the first of two sustained screams. Before he could get far, his now-drenched clothes forced him back down and stifled his scream. The bird-faced mannequin stopped shortly after. Saturday staggered to his feet again, fondling himself for a small, circular lump of- "Aha! There you went, y' little..."
"SOCK THE PONCE! SOCK 'IM IN 'IS-"
Saturday spun, leveling a black blade made out of his arm at the mannequin's throat. Its fist was drawn back, and birds flared out from its head like a deadly Mardi Gras headdress. Saturday assessed, panting, for a moment before something whirrrred behind him.
"SYSTEMS ONLINE. OPERATIONAL EFFICIENCY RESTORED. RESUMING CURRENT OBJECTIVE."
"Aw Christ KILLER ROBOT RUN!"
And before any man, bird, book or 'bot could say a word, Saturday was off.
Screaming. A woman, screaming. His mother. Someone else roared over her. Must've been his old man. He only heard it for a second; then inertia kicked in, and with a splash the world flew away from him. Everything turned blue. His ears filled with water. All he heard was phwoooob.
"Bo," said his old man <font color="#A9A9A9">or maybe God? Probably both, "now you are gon' learn to swim, and you gon' learn the way I learnt it."</font>
Either you swim, or you sink.
A gentle phwoooob choir scattered in fear as a vicious CLANK and its grisly pal CRRRRUNCH made a home in the church. The church in this metaphor being Saturday's head, if that wasn't clear. Saturday's head tended not to be clear. Where was Saturday's head? Seemed on average that he knew least of anybody where it was. Right now it was in the vicinity of "throbbing migraine," on the corner of "there's my coin, my goddamn coin" and "lord almighty but these two junk heaps make an awful racket." He heard himself shouting (through water? ...Best not to think about it) as far as "Ah'll git left in one damn minute if you'll just--let me--" before speech became too much of a hassle. He vaguely registered a slightly immense pain in his midsection before he decided being his bony old self became too much of a hassle. The whole of him turned into a glistening black coil of angry as the snake lurched and the coin lurched and he lurched
and then reality became too much of a hassle.
His butt hit marble. The surface seemed so far away now, but he could still make out the daisy yellow of his ma's dress as she fussed at his old man. She'd fuss at him over every thing. Maybe this time it was justified. Right now her kid might be up to drowning down here. And it'd be his daddy's fault. Maybe Ma had a care for her kid. But then, Daddy did too, in his own way. Bo had known that for a long time, perceptive as he was. People didn't mean harm, hardly ever. They just had their own way. Everything did. He shut his eyes and opened his mouth and thought, maybe his way was to just let it be.
He heard music. It sounded beautiful.
Wake up, Bo. Ain't time yet.
Water thundered and sprayed everywhere as Saturday shot out of the lake. He flipped and flapped like a dolphin, shaking the littler robot loose. The droplets around him sparkled in the sunlight. Soon as his lungs cleared and he had returned to him the presence of mind to speak, he roared, "FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!"
Everything slowed down for a minute after that. The weight of it all hit him, and he burst out laughing.
Then the weight of him hit the ground, and he quit.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vex was no stranger to strangeness, and this little game had already pushed his threshold farther than he might have dared to think it could go.But an old red-haired man in a white and black tuxedo (minus the coat) bursting out of a lake, flopping around like a dolphin and shouting <font color="#C41E3A">"FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!" at the top of his lungs, descending into mad laughter, then... presumably breaking his spine as he and a humanoid robot crashed to the ground?
Well. Well that's... That's something new.</font>
------------------------------------------------------------------------
...Pardon us for a moment. It seems Vex's Strangeness Receptor has fried. Shall we switch to someone slightly less bewildered?------------------------------------------------------------------------
A blank mannequin inched up to the red-haired man, squishing wet grass as it stepped. It knelt down, cradling a heavy-looking book in its right arm. A hushed chatter of birds became a vague hum as it came closer to the might-be corpse."...He dead?"
"Looks dead."
"Ain't nobody oi seen loi lat way if they still aloive."
"Poor sing. Sat hwas quite <font size="1">ha fall."
One rambunctious voice repeating "Out of my way, out of my way" punctuated the chatter as Luchesse moved to the proverbial head of the proverbial pack to get a hypothetically better look at the possibly dead man. That is, the head of a fish-owl erupted from the featureless face of the mannequin, both now about a foot from said dead man's own face. Said possibly dead man's own definitely messed-up face.
"...Can't tell if he's dead or just ugly."
One of the ingrates- That is, inmates, one of the inmates was about to raise a protest as to the functionality of the Marshal's eyes when the probably maybe ugly possibly dead man's eyes snapped absolutely open.</font>
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-""SQUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW-"
Saturday jumped up in a shower of feathers, holding the first of two sustained screams. Before he could get far, his now-drenched clothes forced him back down and stifled his scream. The bird-faced mannequin stopped shortly after. Saturday staggered to his feet again, fondling himself for a small, circular lump of- "Aha! There you went, y' little..."
"SOCK THE PONCE! SOCK 'IM IN 'IS-"
Saturday spun, leveling a black blade made out of his arm at the mannequin's throat. Its fist was drawn back, and birds flared out from its head like a deadly Mardi Gras headdress. Saturday assessed, panting, for a moment before something whirrrred behind him.
"SYSTEMS ONLINE. OPERATIONAL EFFICIENCY RESTORED. RESUMING CURRENT OBJECTIVE."
"Aw Christ KILLER ROBOT RUN!"
And before any man, bird, book or 'bot could say a word, Saturday was off.
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