Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
04-12-2012, 01:56 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Click.
There was a tetchy sigh, and the staid staccato of high heels on brushed-steel floors. The contingent of Copyright Police scattered like vultures before a lion, the possibly-airless space abuzz with emotionless outrage. The Broadcasting Standards Authority paid it no heed.
"I will handle it from here," agreed a voice, so authoritative that something almost stirred in the atrophied emotional centres of the Copyright Police. Satisfied, they peeled away from the reality - and the static-choked stations, too.
Whatever had - for convenience's sake - presented the complainants with that ruthlessly professional human woman switched it off. The space went wasn't for the briefest of moments, then began existing again without further preamble. Out of nowhere, the remaining contestants - suits of armour and entourages and whatever else - were plucked and somehow impossibly impeccably arranged around a sleek black table. Each was vaguely aware of another to either side of them, but something subtly coerced their eyes to remain in front.
Somehow simultaneously directly across from all of them, something spoke. It spared them of theatrics - or, indeed, any strong impression of anything at all.
“The Broadcasting Standards Authority wishes to apologise for this egregious breach of common decency. Following complaints and an examination of Last Thing Standing™ as per the Station’s Code of Practice, we have hereby terminated the Broadcaster’s program into which you have been unduly waylaid.” There was a perfectly calibrated pause there in a few of the entity’s intonations, as though it offered its listeners a chance to fume at the euphemism. In reality, some of the lengthier explanations merely caught up. “As such, the Broadcaster has henceforth been arrested and is facing trial for violation of hyperfederal common media law. As his twice-life non-parole period has already begun on a multiverse-scale significant seventy percent of timelines, the Broadcasting Standards Authority is pleased to note the Broadcaster and his program are no longer of concern to you.”
Whatever sat across the table smiled a little, or did something else to leave its audience a bit more reassured. With that same mechanical perfection, the expression was switched off.
“Understandably, complications with your collective multiversal induction persist, and in a less-complicated situation would have been rectified immediately. As inter-intra-universal chronology and causality stand, however, the Broadcasting Standards Authority regrets to inform you that restoring you to your respective universes and chrono-spatial locations therein is currently beyond our scope.”
Again, that insidious little pause, letting more circuitous dialects catch up while sharper minds seethed. The Broadcasting Standards Authority reminded itself on some subroutine to work on temporal-perception manipulation. Effective conversational lulls were hard to calibrate, even more so in one-sided discussions.
“The Broadcasting Standards Authority is pleased to report, however, that all efforts are being made to rectify the situation in as prompt a manner as possible. The Broadcasting Standards Authority is grateful for your co-operation, and would like to present its gratitude and apologies by way offering your party interim accommodation at Eta Carina Resort. The Broadcasting Standards Authority trusts this multiverse-class tourist destination will be to your collective discerning tastes.”
And with no chance for response or further explanation, they were gone.
---
Eta Carina, through circumstances that were beyond anyone’s comprehension, was one of those places to be. Situated on an endless sandy shores of a particularly sparkling Carina Nebula (however the hell that was supposed to work), the resort (and worlds-class casino) was always a popular destination amongst the rich, the famous, and those aspiring delusions of being either. You could expect, on any given night (Eta Carina had no day - although you’d never be able to tell by the casino’s lights, the constant fireworks, or the ever-present glow of the nebula) a good third of their technically-limitless floor space booked by some celebrity’s birthday party, or a corporate mogul’s heinous display of wealth and prestige.
It was glamorous. It was decadent. It was a mainstay of multiversal culture, recognised by the proles and the aristocrats alike.
It was the perfect setting for a heist film.
Click.
There was a tetchy sigh, and the staid staccato of high heels on brushed-steel floors. The contingent of Copyright Police scattered like vultures before a lion, the possibly-airless space abuzz with emotionless outrage. The Broadcasting Standards Authority paid it no heed.
"I will handle it from here," agreed a voice, so authoritative that something almost stirred in the atrophied emotional centres of the Copyright Police. Satisfied, they peeled away from the reality - and the static-choked stations, too.
Whatever had - for convenience's sake - presented the complainants with that ruthlessly professional human woman switched it off. The space went wasn't for the briefest of moments, then began existing again without further preamble. Out of nowhere, the remaining contestants - suits of armour and entourages and whatever else - were plucked and somehow impossibly impeccably arranged around a sleek black table. Each was vaguely aware of another to either side of them, but something subtly coerced their eyes to remain in front.
Somehow simultaneously directly across from all of them, something spoke. It spared them of theatrics - or, indeed, any strong impression of anything at all.
“The Broadcasting Standards Authority wishes to apologise for this egregious breach of common decency. Following complaints and an examination of Last Thing Standing™ as per the Station’s Code of Practice, we have hereby terminated the Broadcaster’s program into which you have been unduly waylaid.” There was a perfectly calibrated pause there in a few of the entity’s intonations, as though it offered its listeners a chance to fume at the euphemism. In reality, some of the lengthier explanations merely caught up. “As such, the Broadcaster has henceforth been arrested and is facing trial for violation of hyperfederal common media law. As his twice-life non-parole period has already begun on a multiverse-scale significant seventy percent of timelines, the Broadcasting Standards Authority is pleased to note the Broadcaster and his program are no longer of concern to you.”
Whatever sat across the table smiled a little, or did something else to leave its audience a bit more reassured. With that same mechanical perfection, the expression was switched off.
“Understandably, complications with your collective multiversal induction persist, and in a less-complicated situation would have been rectified immediately. As inter-intra-universal chronology and causality stand, however, the Broadcasting Standards Authority regrets to inform you that restoring you to your respective universes and chrono-spatial locations therein is currently beyond our scope.”
Again, that insidious little pause, letting more circuitous dialects catch up while sharper minds seethed. The Broadcasting Standards Authority reminded itself on some subroutine to work on temporal-perception manipulation. Effective conversational lulls were hard to calibrate, even more so in one-sided discussions.
“The Broadcasting Standards Authority is pleased to report, however, that all efforts are being made to rectify the situation in as prompt a manner as possible. The Broadcasting Standards Authority is grateful for your co-operation, and would like to present its gratitude and apologies by way offering your party interim accommodation at Eta Carina Resort. The Broadcasting Standards Authority trusts this multiverse-class tourist destination will be to your collective discerning tastes.”
And with no chance for response or further explanation, they were gone.
---
Eta Carina, through circumstances that were beyond anyone’s comprehension, was one of those places to be. Situated on an endless sandy shores of a particularly sparkling Carina Nebula (however the hell that was supposed to work), the resort (and worlds-class casino) was always a popular destination amongst the rich, the famous, and those aspiring delusions of being either. You could expect, on any given night (Eta Carina had no day - although you’d never be able to tell by the casino’s lights, the constant fireworks, or the ever-present glow of the nebula) a good third of their technically-limitless floor space booked by some celebrity’s birthday party, or a corporate mogul’s heinous display of wealth and prestige.
It was glamorous. It was decadent. It was a mainstay of multiversal culture, recognised by the proles and the aristocrats alike.
It was the perfect setting for a heist film.
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