Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Round 2: Oh Two Oh]
05-15-2012, 03:02 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"Trust me, this is the best two-by-two you're gonna find out of Rigel."
The more alien of the two businessmen made a noise like a creaking tree, which conveyed his amusement about as well as his monotone translator did.
"Elta-de plans need little trust of brigands and middlemen. Proof preferable."
The drug dealer scowled, but conceded to fish around in a pocket and lay a single vial on the table. The Elta-de uncorked it with a thin augmented limb, picking up a black cube with a briefcase handle and a teapot spout with another. The vial's contents were gingerly poured in through a flap in the top, black smoke trickling moments later from the spout.
Devon tried not to shudder as the Elta-de's bad joke of a tongue-analogue uncoiled, and lapped at the smoke.
"Proven." The dealer relaxed a bit, but snapped back to attention with a horrifyingly wet sthlwip and stlap.
Devon dared opened his eyes, but the Elta-de was already grooming the grime of cheap space bars off its tonguetip.
"Little... rat," growled the alien, though it didn't seem very satisfied with its own explanation.
"A what now?"
"Fuzzy thing. Little legs. Vanished into smoke when struck."
"...How much of your magic box did you huff?"
---
Parliament, meanwhile, was trying to lean nonchalantly on a railing overlooking some kind of hangar. It wasn't doing a very good job, if only because nobody had found a decent reason within the constraints of the Laws to do so. It instead stood awkwardly upright and close to the ledge, a smattering of jailbirds earning a few curious glances from passers-by.
Luchesse, as accustomed, kept an eye and an ear and a spare one of each on the cohort, clacking his beak interrogatively at anyone who appeared with a penchant for trouble. Reynard said they'd wrangled some sort of border control after Kruger's stunt, but as usual were collectively butchering every bit of progress on it on the grounds whoever suggested it was trying to gain an upper hand and get executive control over who did what in the madhouse. The fish-owl turned his beak up at it all, more genuinely interested in the workings of this interstellar crime hive. Shame he had to make sure none of these imbeciles were stepping out of line, else he would've gone and explored it.
Luchesse felt, rather than saw, some kind of fwoosh behind him of a big bird materialising, and nodded differentially to the cassowary. There was some garish little weasel on its back he didn't recognise, so he gave it his best owl scowl until it shuffled about uncomfortably.
"Kittybrewster," the fish-owl said, letting his gawker-ward glare do most of the talking, "I trust there's a good reason for your conspicuous self out here."
"Guard duty, my feathered fellow inmate!" boomed the The Most Dangerous Bird.
"And jewellery appraisal," added his hitch-hiker, finding a bit of composure. "Pratts and Kittybrewster-"
"Kittybrewster and Pratts! I like it! Yes indeed, Tommy and I-"
"Tourmaline-"
"Tommy and I are doing an quick stocktake of Parliament's assets. All cleared internally, mind."
"The coins?" Lucchesse asked, sceptical and hating this Tourmaline Pratts a little more for probably being some kind of businessman.
"The coins!" echoed Kittybrewster.
"And other pertinent things, of course," muttered the starling, though with its head in a leather pouch nobody heard it.
---
"Well, they're not gold," warble-shrieked the starling through the substandard audio feed. The Interior winced as one, and someone asked where the hell Chordeilis and their other magical interior decorators had gotten to.
Then a bowerbird stuck its beak in, took a look around, and for lack of a less despised central authority skulked up to Reynard, who was still messing with his barely-existent memo system. A rather stupid-looking bird with what appeared to be three popsicle sticks on its head and a sentence for white-collar crime asked who that was, as it departed again quickly.
"Cameron. He's scouring the dregs for anybody with inside information on this station. Or, for that matter, whatever in Dante we were instructed to fetch by our prospective employer."
"Oh, you mean the ambergalactris shipment?"
Reynard stared down his beak for a while, wishing this little greaser was a pigeon just so he could make a joke about stools. Or something. A bearded tit a few benches down snorted.
"Fool's errand. Etymologies in that butchered worse than my last wife."
There was an uncomfortable silence, which still failed to hammer home the point in the quail's head.
"So, I'm not quite caught up. Are we supposed to have all those coins? Didn't you lose this contest if you lost yours?"
"Yes, you imbecile," was going to be Reynard's initial reply, but then it occurred to him that he'd missed that specific meeting as well. The task force on inter-contestant negotiations had the exceptionally sulky mockingbird and the Sade, which made the ever-delightful Ms. Archer's company that much more intolerable.
The tit saved his ass, fortunately for the serial killer.
"Implicit non-verbal negotiations have sealed a contract. Of sorts. We are allies, thus we are merely holding onto the coins for our 'allies' benefit."
"But we didn't-"
"But they cannot. Refute it. If the opportunity comes for them to turn against us! They are foe. We have made foe lose their coin, and their position in the contest is forfeit."
"Riiiiiight. But hang on-"
Then the court jesters burst in.
"We're fuckin' defecting!"
"Yeah!"
"Screw you politico jackasses, we're gonna be wizards!"
"Yeah!"
Ms. Archer was about to find out from Chordeilis how progress was going on hashing out a detention area for the likes of Zil and September, when Chordeilis' absenteeism finally registered. Letting a similar train of thought pull out of the metaphorical station, Kisa Matila wasn't here either.
"THIS SESSION WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT IDIOT MISONCEPTION MADE YOU THINK DEFECTING INTO WIZARDRY HAD ANY BASIS IN REALITY. OR PERTINENCE TO ANYTHING EVER."
The drongo gave the secretary a blank look, so September laughed for the both of them.
"Gyahahahahahaha! If you weren't some kinda heartless robo-bitch, you'd be defectin' too!"
"Yeah! They've got a jacuzzi and a smokers' lounge and everything!"
"<font size="1">... A JACUZZI?"</font>
"Trust me, this is the best two-by-two you're gonna find out of Rigel."
The more alien of the two businessmen made a noise like a creaking tree, which conveyed his amusement about as well as his monotone translator did.
"Elta-de plans need little trust of brigands and middlemen. Proof preferable."
The drug dealer scowled, but conceded to fish around in a pocket and lay a single vial on the table. The Elta-de uncorked it with a thin augmented limb, picking up a black cube with a briefcase handle and a teapot spout with another. The vial's contents were gingerly poured in through a flap in the top, black smoke trickling moments later from the spout.
Devon tried not to shudder as the Elta-de's bad joke of a tongue-analogue uncoiled, and lapped at the smoke.
"Proven." The dealer relaxed a bit, but snapped back to attention with a horrifyingly wet sthlwip and stlap.
Devon dared opened his eyes, but the Elta-de was already grooming the grime of cheap space bars off its tonguetip.
"Little... rat," growled the alien, though it didn't seem very satisfied with its own explanation.
"A what now?"
"Fuzzy thing. Little legs. Vanished into smoke when struck."
"...How much of your magic box did you huff?"
---
Parliament, meanwhile, was trying to lean nonchalantly on a railing overlooking some kind of hangar. It wasn't doing a very good job, if only because nobody had found a decent reason within the constraints of the Laws to do so. It instead stood awkwardly upright and close to the ledge, a smattering of jailbirds earning a few curious glances from passers-by.
Luchesse, as accustomed, kept an eye and an ear and a spare one of each on the cohort, clacking his beak interrogatively at anyone who appeared with a penchant for trouble. Reynard said they'd wrangled some sort of border control after Kruger's stunt, but as usual were collectively butchering every bit of progress on it on the grounds whoever suggested it was trying to gain an upper hand and get executive control over who did what in the madhouse. The fish-owl turned his beak up at it all, more genuinely interested in the workings of this interstellar crime hive. Shame he had to make sure none of these imbeciles were stepping out of line, else he would've gone and explored it.
Luchesse felt, rather than saw, some kind of fwoosh behind him of a big bird materialising, and nodded differentially to the cassowary. There was some garish little weasel on its back he didn't recognise, so he gave it his best owl scowl until it shuffled about uncomfortably.
"Kittybrewster," the fish-owl said, letting his gawker-ward glare do most of the talking, "I trust there's a good reason for your conspicuous self out here."
"Guard duty, my feathered fellow inmate!" boomed the The Most Dangerous Bird.
"And jewellery appraisal," added his hitch-hiker, finding a bit of composure. "Pratts and Kittybrewster-"
"Kittybrewster and Pratts! I like it! Yes indeed, Tommy and I-"
"Tourmaline-"
"Tommy and I are doing an quick stocktake of Parliament's assets. All cleared internally, mind."
"The coins?" Lucchesse asked, sceptical and hating this Tourmaline Pratts a little more for probably being some kind of businessman.
"The coins!" echoed Kittybrewster.
"And other pertinent things, of course," muttered the starling, though with its head in a leather pouch nobody heard it.
---
"Well, they're not gold," warble-shrieked the starling through the substandard audio feed. The Interior winced as one, and someone asked where the hell Chordeilis and their other magical interior decorators had gotten to.
Then a bowerbird stuck its beak in, took a look around, and for lack of a less despised central authority skulked up to Reynard, who was still messing with his barely-existent memo system. A rather stupid-looking bird with what appeared to be three popsicle sticks on its head and a sentence for white-collar crime asked who that was, as it departed again quickly.
"Cameron. He's scouring the dregs for anybody with inside information on this station. Or, for that matter, whatever in Dante we were instructed to fetch by our prospective employer."
"Oh, you mean the ambergalactris shipment?"
Reynard stared down his beak for a while, wishing this little greaser was a pigeon just so he could make a joke about stools. Or something. A bearded tit a few benches down snorted.
"Fool's errand. Etymologies in that butchered worse than my last wife."
There was an uncomfortable silence, which still failed to hammer home the point in the quail's head.
"So, I'm not quite caught up. Are we supposed to have all those coins? Didn't you lose this contest if you lost yours?"
"Yes, you imbecile," was going to be Reynard's initial reply, but then it occurred to him that he'd missed that specific meeting as well. The task force on inter-contestant negotiations had the exceptionally sulky mockingbird and the Sade, which made the ever-delightful Ms. Archer's company that much more intolerable.
The tit saved his ass, fortunately for the serial killer.
"Implicit non-verbal negotiations have sealed a contract. Of sorts. We are allies, thus we are merely holding onto the coins for our 'allies' benefit."
"But we didn't-"
"But they cannot. Refute it. If the opportunity comes for them to turn against us! They are foe. We have made foe lose their coin, and their position in the contest is forfeit."
"Riiiiiight. But hang on-"
Then the court jesters burst in.
"We're fuckin' defecting!"
"Yeah!"
"Screw you politico jackasses, we're gonna be wizards!"
"Yeah!"
Ms. Archer was about to find out from Chordeilis how progress was going on hashing out a detention area for the likes of Zil and September, when Chordeilis' absenteeism finally registered. Letting a similar train of thought pull out of the metaphorical station, Kisa Matila wasn't here either.
"THIS SESSION WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT IDIOT MISONCEPTION MADE YOU THINK DEFECTING INTO WIZARDRY HAD ANY BASIS IN REALITY. OR PERTINENCE TO ANYTHING EVER."
The drongo gave the secretary a blank look, so September laughed for the both of them.
"Gyahahahahahaha! If you weren't some kinda heartless robo-bitch, you'd be defectin' too!"
"Yeah! They've got a jacuzzi and a smokers' lounge and everything!"
"<font size="1">... A JACUZZI?"</font>
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