Re: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND TWO: ETA CARINA]
04-12-2012, 07:23 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
The shadow painter was still incredibly confused by the suddenly scenery change (and the hallucinations did not help). Wasn't he supposed to be on the some kitschy sci-fi ship with some wizard and a superheroine? Tschichold did not remember Trek Wars to be this sandy - and itchy, he grumbled as he attempted to remove the beach-stuff from the more awkward regions of his body. Despite the discomfort, it was nice to be in a spot of serenity.
"Holy shit, I'm on a beach."
The sentence was a fleeting monotone. Technically, he should be surprised by this whole background transition. Then again, the previous crazy shenanigans (shitty cannibal party-wreck; sitcom misery with a rather sassy bird; hallucination-addled hijinks with a robot, a kid, some dude, and a zombie), whatever astonishment he had was essentially spent. The shadow painter could not help but laugh. Gosh, these memories were quite a riot. They were crazy. Too crazy.
With a thud, he let himself fall on the sand. Whatever just happened - they were all too unreal. Tschichold considered just disregarding these figments. Another one of those mind-games his afflictions maliciously played. Maybe he could consider just forgetting them...after he finished relaxing on this Very Comfortable Sand.
Seriously though, this sand (maybe not sand, but the description was CLOSE ENOUGH FOR HIS ARTISTIC TASTES) was Very Comfortable. Tschichold had been to plenty of beaches but none of this was as comfortable as the stuff he was laying in. It was not grainy and heavy, but more like powdery and white. It was like laying in a pile of Moon Sand -
Wait, moon.
Moon.
Moon.
"HOLY SHIT, I'M IN SPACE."
Tschichold jumped a few feet up (not hard considering that the artificial gravity of Eta Carina was just slightly less of the gravity of our Earth). Yes, he was on the beach, but also yes, he was in space. The iridescent afterglow of the beautiful Carina Nebula made that statement hard to disprove. If Tschichold squinted, he could just see a frolicking pod of Carinan Sea Lions (Zalophus carinanus) in the cloudy star-distance. However, Tschichold had no camera - also he was screaming.
"Oh god, oh god, ohgod, ohgod, ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod." Tschichold repeated the phrase into an unparsable blur. Tschichold was essentially suffering from a textbook case of "freaking out," but he could not help it! He was incredibly shocked at his situation ("how the fuck did I not see SPACE BEACH") - shocked enough to realize his problem was much larger than he thought...
The blathering of the Broadcaster (which was now a distant memory); the questions that smarmy Freefall asked (also her costume still sucks); And ohgodohgodohgod, the death of, er, Barry - the truth was there; everything hit him at once. He was in some kind of grandiose battle to the death.
The shadow painter escalated into hysteria as he attempted to figure out the logistics to this multiversal tournament. His fair share of neuroses and his propensity to shrug off things usually made him oblivious to fear. However, the notion of death was something else. Thanatophobia (pretentious-ese for "fear of death") is a very primal and ancient fear carved into the human psyche.
Tschichold had a tendency to overestimate things. He couldn't help it, he'd claim. He's an artist. So that tiny little reptilian uncertainty was pulled, stretched, exaggerated into an over-encompassing fear that enveloped his addled brain - doesn't help that he is trapped in this battle. As such, he is very, very, fearful of ending up like poor Barry Barnes. Tschichold had never felt this helpless in his life.
He-he really needed a place to relax.
Tschichold tried not to cry, but he did anyway. Blubbering like some actor in a soap opera, the shadow artist went resort-wards. He just needed some single room to meditate. He needed to stop and think. You know, make sense of things. But honestly what he really wanted was some bathroom in the Eta Carina to cry his eyes out. His delicate mental state could not really handle this.
At all.
The shadow painter was still incredibly confused by the suddenly scenery change (and the hallucinations did not help). Wasn't he supposed to be on the some kitschy sci-fi ship with some wizard and a superheroine? Tschichold did not remember Trek Wars to be this sandy - and itchy, he grumbled as he attempted to remove the beach-stuff from the more awkward regions of his body. Despite the discomfort, it was nice to be in a spot of serenity.
"Holy shit, I'm on a beach."
The sentence was a fleeting monotone. Technically, he should be surprised by this whole background transition. Then again, the previous crazy shenanigans (shitty cannibal party-wreck; sitcom misery with a rather sassy bird; hallucination-addled hijinks with a robot, a kid, some dude, and a zombie), whatever astonishment he had was essentially spent. The shadow painter could not help but laugh. Gosh, these memories were quite a riot. They were crazy. Too crazy.
With a thud, he let himself fall on the sand. Whatever just happened - they were all too unreal. Tschichold considered just disregarding these figments. Another one of those mind-games his afflictions maliciously played. Maybe he could consider just forgetting them...after he finished relaxing on this Very Comfortable Sand.
Seriously though, this sand (maybe not sand, but the description was CLOSE ENOUGH FOR HIS ARTISTIC TASTES) was Very Comfortable. Tschichold had been to plenty of beaches but none of this was as comfortable as the stuff he was laying in. It was not grainy and heavy, but more like powdery and white. It was like laying in a pile of Moon Sand -
Wait, moon.
Moon.
Moon.
"HOLY SHIT, I'M IN SPACE."
Tschichold jumped a few feet up (not hard considering that the artificial gravity of Eta Carina was just slightly less of the gravity of our Earth). Yes, he was on the beach, but also yes, he was in space. The iridescent afterglow of the beautiful Carina Nebula made that statement hard to disprove. If Tschichold squinted, he could just see a frolicking pod of Carinan Sea Lions (Zalophus carinanus) in the cloudy star-distance. However, Tschichold had no camera - also he was screaming.
"Oh god, oh god, ohgod, ohgod, ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod." Tschichold repeated the phrase into an unparsable blur. Tschichold was essentially suffering from a textbook case of "freaking out," but he could not help it! He was incredibly shocked at his situation ("how the fuck did I not see SPACE BEACH") - shocked enough to realize his problem was much larger than he thought...
The blathering of the Broadcaster (which was now a distant memory); the questions that smarmy Freefall asked (also her costume still sucks); And ohgodohgodohgod, the death of, er, Barry - the truth was there; everything hit him at once. He was in some kind of grandiose battle to the death.
The shadow painter escalated into hysteria as he attempted to figure out the logistics to this multiversal tournament. His fair share of neuroses and his propensity to shrug off things usually made him oblivious to fear. However, the notion of death was something else. Thanatophobia (pretentious-ese for "fear of death") is a very primal and ancient fear carved into the human psyche.
Tschichold had a tendency to overestimate things. He couldn't help it, he'd claim. He's an artist. So that tiny little reptilian uncertainty was pulled, stretched, exaggerated into an over-encompassing fear that enveloped his addled brain - doesn't help that he is trapped in this battle. As such, he is very, very, fearful of ending up like poor Barry Barnes. Tschichold had never felt this helpless in his life.
He-he really needed a place to relax.
Tschichold tried not to cry, but he did anyway. Blubbering like some actor in a soap opera, the shadow artist went resort-wards. He just needed some single room to meditate. He needed to stop and think. You know, make sense of things. But honestly what he really wanted was some bathroom in the Eta Carina to cry his eyes out. His delicate mental state could not really handle this.
At all.