Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
12-09-2011, 11:57 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.
The dining room was old fashioned. The furniture was all dark wood, and the walls were papered with pastel colours and floral print. There was a vase of pale blue flowers in perpetual bloom upon the mantle. It looked as though it had been designed to be as inoffensive as possible. There were upon the wall a couple of framed photographs of the staff of the Traveller’s Rest. The day that Darren had surprised Mister O with a birthday cake; an event that had been made all the more surprising by the fact that they had had to guess at his birthday. The way Mister O had rolled his eyes had indicated they weren’t even close but they’d all sat down and enjoyed the cake anyway. Maria was staring at this photograph wondering what had happened to the Mister O that she had known. Deep down she knew that this was not the right question though. Mister O was the same as ever, it was just he was the same as ever in the face of a situation that should have altered his behaviour at least somewhat. Darren was sat down at the dining room table, while Sarah was pacing back and forth around the room.
“So…” Darren reluctantly broke the contemplative silence, “does anybody want to talk about what is going on with Mister O?” There was a long moment of awkward silence following this enquiry.
“Not really.” Maria said eventually. “He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, so put him to one side for now. There are more pressing matters to be dealing with.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
“Did you see some of those guys?” Sarah asked. “I mean we are up against superheroes and wizards and that thing with all the flies…” She paused at looked at her co-workers in disbelief. “How are we supposed to compete against them? We just work in a bed and breakfast. Why were we even picked for this competition?”
“I hate to bring up something that was specifically sidelined, but what if it’s to do with Mister O?” Darren asked. “You saw what I saw right? That light coming from the cracks in his door. That isn’t right. That isn’t natural.” There was a moment of thought, as the three of them tried to parse their mental image of the cheery manager and something that could do that. “What if it’s him? What if it’s his fault we are here?”
“I just can’t see it… Mister O secretly a monster?” Sarah said. “Even if you aren’t thinking of it in terms of this is the same Mister O we’ve known for years… some kind of creature… running a bed and breakfast?” After a second she affixed Darren with a gaze that suggested that the question was not simply rhetorical and he shot back a shrug.
“I don’t know what is going on any more than you do.” He admitted. “But there has to be some reason we are here…?”
“Just forget it.” Maria said dismissively, as she sat down opposite Darren. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be nice to know, but we’re here now and we can either sit around moping and trying to figure out the big picture and eventually get killed the moment that guy with all the flies decides to seek us out, or we can get out there and do something about it.”
--------
Imagine for a second you are watching your favourite sitcom. You are watching the impossibly attractive actors banter inconsequentially with one another. It is not the least substantial thing you could be watching, there is some reality television thing on the other channel, perhaps it is The Multiverse’s Got Talent, or something equally moronic. Imagine if halfway through the latest episode, whatever hijinks are going on are suddenly curtailed as the characters are replaced with what appear to be alternate versions of them who work at a bed and breakfast. Imagine that you are perceiving this out of any context wherein this may make sense. They stop making jokes. They stop talking about things which are relevant to your interests. Imagine how long you would continue to watch this baffling situation, and now with the aid of the context imagine what consequences that will have for anyone on that show as millions of viewers all go through the exact same thought process.
Darren Liston’s geeky apartment had been the setting for many unforgettably hilarious scenes. It was crafted to be the very epitome of geekiness. The walls were plastered with pictures of video game characters, scantily clad ladies biting their lips for some reason and of course some of them were pictures of the characters from his favourite TV shows. One poster showed a scene of Clint Gladwell with his sunglasses on and his arms folded; silhouetted against the setting sun. Another featured Agent Manderlay and Agent Winston and the slogan ‘the truth is around here somewhere’. The main living room itself was pretty sparsely furnished; a lava lamp here, a beanbag chair there, a massive HD LCD TV, which was broadcasting static. It crackled harshly as it poured from the television and into the room, consuming everything in its path, leaving nothing but more of itself. The same was true of Sarah Ashton’s apartment, the bar where they sometimes went to have a drink with friends, that one restaurant that all their dates seemed to take place in… One by one the sets were destroyed, consumed by the static.
--------
Mister O flung the door of his office open so loud that it would have been heard in adjacent buildings, had they actually been occupied. He rushed halfway down the stairs and then hesitated for a second before turning around and rushing back up them. He carefully closed the door of his room with a click, and in no less of a rush than he was the first time, he rushed downstairs to the dining room. Sarah, Maria and Darren all looked up at him expectantly as he entered. In truth there was likely nothing he could have said in that moment that would have appeased them completely.
“Okay we have a problem.” He said.
“Finally!” Maria said, with a smile and a sigh of relief. “We were just brainstorming what we could do about that.”
“Not that.” Mister O said dismissively. “See we’ve violated the fundamental rules of this reality.” There was a confused pause at this point as the staff of the Traveller’s Rest looked from one another as if to indicate that their manager had lost it completely.
“We have?” Sarah asked.
“Yes.” Mister O said, glancing from her to Darren. “Though I don’t particularly want to go into exactly what has happened, I think it is important we get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I…” Maria hesitated. “I can work with that.” She said.
“The announcer guy said we get from one place to another by hopping through a TV.” Darren said. A cursory glance around told him what he already knew, they hadn’t a television down here. “Do…” he hesitated. “Do we have televisions in the rooms?” Sarah’s brow creased at the question, trying to access a memory that she should have but which was unaccountably missing.
“Yes!” Mister O said quickly. “But don’t trouble yourselves. I’ll go and get it and bring it down.” As Mister O dashed upstairs to fetch what was apparently the only working TV in the building, Sarah was drawn to the window. As she stared out into the street she could see the steadily encroaching static. Someone else might have described it as like a snowstorm. They might have attempted to illustrate the static by describing the furious crackling associated with it. Those descriptions are accurate enough. They describe what it looks like and what it sounds like. They do not describe what it is. It is corruption. It is the threat that parents use to keep their children in line, to prevent them from trying to break genre, to dissuade them from trying to escape to another channel. To encounter the static is to encounter death itself, and as all people must one day die, each channel must one day be consumed by the static. It is relentless. It is finality. There is no reasoning with the static. There are no arguments to be made against it. It will destroy you and everyone you have ever loved and there is nothing you can do about it. It tugged at something at the back of Sarah’s mind, something that could not be covered up entirely. Sarah collapsed.
“Here we are.” Mister O dumped the television on the dining room table, and quickly plugged it in. Darren dashed over to Sarah’s side; compelled by some instinct he held her close, as the static drowned the world out.
The television clicked on, showing some bodies in the street with cops in sunglasses examining them. Maria jumped through without hesitation. One minute she was there next to Mister O, the next she was on the screen, waving him through and confusing the police officers that insisted that this was a crime scene and civilians shouldn’t be here, destroying their evidence. She was escorted out of shot of the cameras within a second or two, as the detectives continued their corny script as though nothing had happened in the meantime.
Mister O made no move to enter the television. He glanced at the windows, the static was pressing against them. In this channel The Traveller’s Rest was all that was left. An entire world gone, just this one foreign body remaining, somehow temporarily holding itself against the static. He balled his hand into a fist, and slammed it down upon the television. It had no discernible effect. Mister O’s face was screwed up into a scowl. He slammed his fist down again; a flicker, not in the picture but the static surrounding them. A third slam and the inn was somewhere else entirely.
The dining room was old fashioned. The furniture was all dark wood, and the walls were papered with pastel colours and floral print. There was a vase of pale blue flowers in perpetual bloom upon the mantle. It looked as though it had been designed to be as inoffensive as possible. There were upon the wall a couple of framed photographs of the staff of the Traveller’s Rest. The day that Darren had surprised Mister O with a birthday cake; an event that had been made all the more surprising by the fact that they had had to guess at his birthday. The way Mister O had rolled his eyes had indicated they weren’t even close but they’d all sat down and enjoyed the cake anyway. Maria was staring at this photograph wondering what had happened to the Mister O that she had known. Deep down she knew that this was not the right question though. Mister O was the same as ever, it was just he was the same as ever in the face of a situation that should have altered his behaviour at least somewhat. Darren was sat down at the dining room table, while Sarah was pacing back and forth around the room.
“So…” Darren reluctantly broke the contemplative silence, “does anybody want to talk about what is going on with Mister O?” There was a long moment of awkward silence following this enquiry.
“Not really.” Maria said eventually. “He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, so put him to one side for now. There are more pressing matters to be dealing with.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
“Did you see some of those guys?” Sarah asked. “I mean we are up against superheroes and wizards and that thing with all the flies…” She paused at looked at her co-workers in disbelief. “How are we supposed to compete against them? We just work in a bed and breakfast. Why were we even picked for this competition?”
“I hate to bring up something that was specifically sidelined, but what if it’s to do with Mister O?” Darren asked. “You saw what I saw right? That light coming from the cracks in his door. That isn’t right. That isn’t natural.” There was a moment of thought, as the three of them tried to parse their mental image of the cheery manager and something that could do that. “What if it’s him? What if it’s his fault we are here?”
“I just can’t see it… Mister O secretly a monster?” Sarah said. “Even if you aren’t thinking of it in terms of this is the same Mister O we’ve known for years… some kind of creature… running a bed and breakfast?” After a second she affixed Darren with a gaze that suggested that the question was not simply rhetorical and he shot back a shrug.
“I don’t know what is going on any more than you do.” He admitted. “But there has to be some reason we are here…?”
“Just forget it.” Maria said dismissively, as she sat down opposite Darren. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be nice to know, but we’re here now and we can either sit around moping and trying to figure out the big picture and eventually get killed the moment that guy with all the flies decides to seek us out, or we can get out there and do something about it.”
--------
Imagine for a second you are watching your favourite sitcom. You are watching the impossibly attractive actors banter inconsequentially with one another. It is not the least substantial thing you could be watching, there is some reality television thing on the other channel, perhaps it is The Multiverse’s Got Talent, or something equally moronic. Imagine if halfway through the latest episode, whatever hijinks are going on are suddenly curtailed as the characters are replaced with what appear to be alternate versions of them who work at a bed and breakfast. Imagine that you are perceiving this out of any context wherein this may make sense. They stop making jokes. They stop talking about things which are relevant to your interests. Imagine how long you would continue to watch this baffling situation, and now with the aid of the context imagine what consequences that will have for anyone on that show as millions of viewers all go through the exact same thought process.
Darren Liston’s geeky apartment had been the setting for many unforgettably hilarious scenes. It was crafted to be the very epitome of geekiness. The walls were plastered with pictures of video game characters, scantily clad ladies biting their lips for some reason and of course some of them were pictures of the characters from his favourite TV shows. One poster showed a scene of Clint Gladwell with his sunglasses on and his arms folded; silhouetted against the setting sun. Another featured Agent Manderlay and Agent Winston and the slogan ‘the truth is around here somewhere’. The main living room itself was pretty sparsely furnished; a lava lamp here, a beanbag chair there, a massive HD LCD TV, which was broadcasting static. It crackled harshly as it poured from the television and into the room, consuming everything in its path, leaving nothing but more of itself. The same was true of Sarah Ashton’s apartment, the bar where they sometimes went to have a drink with friends, that one restaurant that all their dates seemed to take place in… One by one the sets were destroyed, consumed by the static.
--------
Mister O flung the door of his office open so loud that it would have been heard in adjacent buildings, had they actually been occupied. He rushed halfway down the stairs and then hesitated for a second before turning around and rushing back up them. He carefully closed the door of his room with a click, and in no less of a rush than he was the first time, he rushed downstairs to the dining room. Sarah, Maria and Darren all looked up at him expectantly as he entered. In truth there was likely nothing he could have said in that moment that would have appeased them completely.
“Okay we have a problem.” He said.
“Finally!” Maria said, with a smile and a sigh of relief. “We were just brainstorming what we could do about that.”
“Not that.” Mister O said dismissively. “See we’ve violated the fundamental rules of this reality.” There was a confused pause at this point as the staff of the Traveller’s Rest looked from one another as if to indicate that their manager had lost it completely.
“We have?” Sarah asked.
“Yes.” Mister O said, glancing from her to Darren. “Though I don’t particularly want to go into exactly what has happened, I think it is important we get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I…” Maria hesitated. “I can work with that.” She said.
“The announcer guy said we get from one place to another by hopping through a TV.” Darren said. A cursory glance around told him what he already knew, they hadn’t a television down here. “Do…” he hesitated. “Do we have televisions in the rooms?” Sarah’s brow creased at the question, trying to access a memory that she should have but which was unaccountably missing.
“Yes!” Mister O said quickly. “But don’t trouble yourselves. I’ll go and get it and bring it down.” As Mister O dashed upstairs to fetch what was apparently the only working TV in the building, Sarah was drawn to the window. As she stared out into the street she could see the steadily encroaching static. Someone else might have described it as like a snowstorm. They might have attempted to illustrate the static by describing the furious crackling associated with it. Those descriptions are accurate enough. They describe what it looks like and what it sounds like. They do not describe what it is. It is corruption. It is the threat that parents use to keep their children in line, to prevent them from trying to break genre, to dissuade them from trying to escape to another channel. To encounter the static is to encounter death itself, and as all people must one day die, each channel must one day be consumed by the static. It is relentless. It is finality. There is no reasoning with the static. There are no arguments to be made against it. It will destroy you and everyone you have ever loved and there is nothing you can do about it. It tugged at something at the back of Sarah’s mind, something that could not be covered up entirely. Sarah collapsed.
“Here we are.” Mister O dumped the television on the dining room table, and quickly plugged it in. Darren dashed over to Sarah’s side; compelled by some instinct he held her close, as the static drowned the world out.
The television clicked on, showing some bodies in the street with cops in sunglasses examining them. Maria jumped through without hesitation. One minute she was there next to Mister O, the next she was on the screen, waving him through and confusing the police officers that insisted that this was a crime scene and civilians shouldn’t be here, destroying their evidence. She was escorted out of shot of the cameras within a second or two, as the detectives continued their corny script as though nothing had happened in the meantime.
Mister O made no move to enter the television. He glanced at the windows, the static was pressing against them. In this channel The Traveller’s Rest was all that was left. An entire world gone, just this one foreign body remaining, somehow temporarily holding itself against the static. He balled his hand into a fist, and slammed it down upon the television. It had no discernible effect. Mister O’s face was screwed up into a scowl. He slammed his fist down again; a flicker, not in the picture but the static surrounding them. A third slam and the inn was somewhere else entirely.
Heaven Help Us | Make Room!!!! | I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You