Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
12-17-2011, 01:51 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by BlastYoBoots.
"I lost him."
Freefall stood at a dead end in the abundant, sprawling back alleys of LA, shrugging in exasperation.
"I lost a shiny, clanking suit of armor. In an ALLEYWAY!"
Where did you spend practically half your life, Freefall? Alleyways!
Where do you never, ever get lost, or else? Alleyways!
And where has no fatass cop ever beaten you in a footrace?
Fucking alleyways. "Outmaneuvered by something about as subtle as a Transformers movie. You've really outdone yourself, Freefall."
"Strike three," a suited figure reported from a shadowed nearby balcony. "Target is a repeat offender. Surround and engage at the next unsponsored mention of copyrighted material."
She paced back through the urban maze, sloughing her jacket off as she retraced her steps. "Couldn't have outrun me... must've ducked down somewhere. They can't go into the open street yet, with all those sirens."
Her jeans swiftly came off, as well, revealing the rest of her $200,000 suit. She still couldn't quite believe the price tag. $10,000 for reparable, damage-resistant polymers. $20,000 for heat-resistant and acid-neutralizing compounds woven in. $15,000 for breathability and insulation, an advanced combination allowing the suit to be worn alone comfortably in most temperatures. $45,000 to make the whole thing ultra-light, hindering her flight as little as possible; a tall order, seeing as the jacket and jeans alone had been keeping her from floating at all. $30,000 for team-themed art design, including embedding hidden pockets for Gadge's communication tech, emergency pills, and other necessities.
The other $80k? Precisely engineering it all to her body so that a skin-tight suit could possibly look modest. If she wasn't flat as a board, it'd have cost another 80 over that.
She left the clothes behind and kept walking, wary of the occasional pair of flashing red-and-blue lights.
Where are you two... and just how the hell did I lose you?
"You fucking-" *whap* "-did, you whore!"
"He hit me at an odd-" *whuk* "-fucking angle, and I've got the goddamn-" *whump* "bruises to prove it. What's your deal, huh? Say what you've got against me to my face."
"You're paying people off, working the system. 'Course you'll take a fall now and then, that's part of the deal!"
"I earn my wins, bitch. And I'm broke for it, too. Is it because I win more than you? Is that what this's about?"
"Fuck you." "Get outta here."
The other bitch walked off, a fresh bruise or two more than before; they'd probably ignore each other a little harder than usual in the training room, later. Calling Rachel a dishonest fighter was an easy way to put her in a sour mood, and reminding her of the rather spectacular loss she'd have from time to time was an even easier one. It's not like she knew what was going on, lately. Sometimes, she'd wallop someone like she was twice her weight class, and other times she'd be dodging and the slightest jab would just-
"Hey, sailor!"
What.
"Up for a bite to eat?"
Now, just what the fresh fuck was this?
A girl, slightly younger than her, a full head shorter. Brown hair, bright highlights, mismatched pigtails. Green eyes, purple purse, yellow lipstick. Frilly, exploding clothes in all the washed out and beige-d colors of a rainbow's stale, rotting corpse. Like a Macy's had thrown up on her. Just looking at her from any angle made Rachel taste artificial food coloring.
It took a moment of awkward silence for Rachel to acknowledge that she could even exist. I mean, out here? Really?
"...Ma'am, I think your dress needs to see a psychiatrist."
The Warhol-ized Minnie Mouse caricature cackled at chalkboard-scraping pitch for exactly 1.34 seconds. "Great! Now come with me, dammit, I'm offering you free food."
No, no. Wait a minute. This still doesn't quite... reconcile with reality.
"Why me?"
"The other one sounded like a bitch."
"Point taken," and alright, she saw that entire fucking thing. That clears things up! Two girls whaling on each other. Buy one of them lunch. Perfect sense.
"You realize the cops never come back this far, right? How haven't you been mugged yet?"
Minnie pulled an enormous fucking revolver out of her purse. "Iono, the muggers got lucky I guess? Fuck the police."
Rachel started. Guns were hard to come by in this city, illegal to carry. Shit! Am I being recruited into some fucked up syndicate or-?!
But... no. She just regarded the weapon kinda distantly - God, were her hands even big enough to fire that thing? - then dropped it back in her purse in a distracted way and returned to her offer. "Aww, pleeease? Seriously, you can have as much as you can eat, no strings!"
Rachel's mind raced for something, any unifying fucking idea that would ground what was happening halfway in black and white. Why would anyone possibly...
Oh. Ohhh, I get it. This shit again.
"So, you think I'm a lesbian?"
"You're not~?"
"Not interested. Just because I don't hang out with guys and I beat the shit out of people doesn't mean-"
"Whoa, whoa, girl. Hold on. What makes you think I would ask out a girl that just finished beating another woman? Do I look like some sorta sicko to you?"
"Yes. You do."
"Shut the fuck up and eat lunch with me. When's the last time you had a decent meal?"
[color=#7474FF][i]Well.... touch
"I lost him."
Freefall stood at a dead end in the abundant, sprawling back alleys of LA, shrugging in exasperation.
"I lost a shiny, clanking suit of armor. In an ALLEYWAY!"
Where did you spend practically half your life, Freefall? Alleyways!
Where do you never, ever get lost, or else? Alleyways!
And where has no fatass cop ever beaten you in a footrace?
Fucking alleyways. "Outmaneuvered by something about as subtle as a Transformers movie. You've really outdone yourself, Freefall."
"Strike three," a suited figure reported from a shadowed nearby balcony. "Target is a repeat offender. Surround and engage at the next unsponsored mention of copyrighted material."
She paced back through the urban maze, sloughing her jacket off as she retraced her steps. "Couldn't have outrun me... must've ducked down somewhere. They can't go into the open street yet, with all those sirens."
Her jeans swiftly came off, as well, revealing the rest of her $200,000 suit. She still couldn't quite believe the price tag. $10,000 for reparable, damage-resistant polymers. $20,000 for heat-resistant and acid-neutralizing compounds woven in. $15,000 for breathability and insulation, an advanced combination allowing the suit to be worn alone comfortably in most temperatures. $45,000 to make the whole thing ultra-light, hindering her flight as little as possible; a tall order, seeing as the jacket and jeans alone had been keeping her from floating at all. $30,000 for team-themed art design, including embedding hidden pockets for Gadge's communication tech, emergency pills, and other necessities.
The other $80k? Precisely engineering it all to her body so that a skin-tight suit could possibly look modest. If she wasn't flat as a board, it'd have cost another 80 over that.
She left the clothes behind and kept walking, wary of the occasional pair of flashing red-and-blue lights.
Where are you two... and just how the hell did I lose you?
***
"Quit telling people-" *whack* "-I threw that fight!""You fucking-" *whap* "-did, you whore!"
"He hit me at an odd-" *whuk* "-fucking angle, and I've got the goddamn-" *whump* "bruises to prove it. What's your deal, huh? Say what you've got against me to my face."
"You're paying people off, working the system. 'Course you'll take a fall now and then, that's part of the deal!"
"I earn my wins, bitch. And I'm broke for it, too. Is it because I win more than you? Is that what this's about?"
"Fuck you." "Get outta here."
The other bitch walked off, a fresh bruise or two more than before; they'd probably ignore each other a little harder than usual in the training room, later. Calling Rachel a dishonest fighter was an easy way to put her in a sour mood, and reminding her of the rather spectacular loss she'd have from time to time was an even easier one. It's not like she knew what was going on, lately. Sometimes, she'd wallop someone like she was twice her weight class, and other times she'd be dodging and the slightest jab would just-
"Hey, sailor!"
What.
"Up for a bite to eat?"
Now, just what the fresh fuck was this?
A girl, slightly younger than her, a full head shorter. Brown hair, bright highlights, mismatched pigtails. Green eyes, purple purse, yellow lipstick. Frilly, exploding clothes in all the washed out and beige-d colors of a rainbow's stale, rotting corpse. Like a Macy's had thrown up on her. Just looking at her from any angle made Rachel taste artificial food coloring.
It took a moment of awkward silence for Rachel to acknowledge that she could even exist. I mean, out here? Really?
"...Ma'am, I think your dress needs to see a psychiatrist."
The Warhol-ized Minnie Mouse caricature cackled at chalkboard-scraping pitch for exactly 1.34 seconds. "Great! Now come with me, dammit, I'm offering you free food."
No, no. Wait a minute. This still doesn't quite... reconcile with reality.
"Why me?"
"The other one sounded like a bitch."
"Point taken," and alright, she saw that entire fucking thing. That clears things up! Two girls whaling on each other. Buy one of them lunch. Perfect sense.
"You realize the cops never come back this far, right? How haven't you been mugged yet?"
Minnie pulled an enormous fucking revolver out of her purse. "Iono, the muggers got lucky I guess? Fuck the police."
Rachel started. Guns were hard to come by in this city, illegal to carry. Shit! Am I being recruited into some fucked up syndicate or-?!
But... no. She just regarded the weapon kinda distantly - God, were her hands even big enough to fire that thing? - then dropped it back in her purse in a distracted way and returned to her offer. "Aww, pleeease? Seriously, you can have as much as you can eat, no strings!"
Rachel's mind raced for something, any unifying fucking idea that would ground what was happening halfway in black and white. Why would anyone possibly...
Oh. Ohhh, I get it. This shit again.
"So, you think I'm a lesbian?"
"You're not~?"
"Not interested. Just because I don't hang out with guys and I beat the shit out of people doesn't mean-"
"Whoa, whoa, girl. Hold on. What makes you think I would ask out a girl that just finished beating another woman? Do I look like some sorta sicko to you?"
"Yes. You do."
"Shut the fuck up and eat lunch with me. When's the last time you had a decent meal?"
[color=#7474FF][i]Well.... touch