Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
06-25-2012, 08:45 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.
He was the best there was at what he did.
Killing people was easy. It was like cleaning, or smithing, or any job really. You bought the right tools, you went through the proper procedures, and in the end the job got done. In his case, doing the job got you a fat sack of gold and ridded the world of someone who probably didn’t deserve to be there. It was a win-win for all sapient people at large.
Adhira shimmied up another drainpipe, then pushed off, grabbed a ledge with an arm like an industrial crane and hauled himself up.
Take this job, for instance. He put a bullet through the stupid shiny innards of some Switzerman, somewhere in this bright concrete jungle (and it was a jungle – Adhira had never been challenged by his climbs before), and it would get a problem out of his Lordship’s hair and set Adhira’s life on the track of easy living. Zippity fucking doo dah. Not a problem, you hairless mewling wretch.
A pidgeon spent the last few moments of its life wondering what had plucked it from its perch.
The thing was, though…
Adhira, still chewing, hauled himself onto an ideal rooftop.
Teus was elephant-shit crazy. You could see that from miles away. It was all that messing around with Death magic, rotting his brain or some daft shit that Adhira did not want to know about, thank you very much. Feeling his bones trying to jump out of his body had been horrifying, but you’d have to have a few bits of your brain missing to think it was a good idea to actually do it. And he’d seen the looks the Archmage was getting. Now there was someone on a shaky throne.
And he wanted a kid dead. Maybe. He certaintly didn't say to kill the boy, but Adhira could smell an order by ommission out from miles. Anyway, the kid wouldn't survive long without his guardian.
The rifle barrel gleamed a little in the neon. Adhira swallowed and made himself comfortable, an almost invisible blotch against the dark of the sky.
He had no professional biases. If he was told to kill someone, he wouldn’t argue unless the pay was too low, because money was money and that was the only advantage he really had back home.
But if he got a hit on Teus, he’d probably make sure a bullet hit somewhere painful first.
He was the best there was at –
“No, fuck shit fuck no no no! Damn it!”
An acrid stench, a sensation of purple, the suggestion of eldritch-ness.
“Hahaha, very fucking funny, assholes. A bunch of wards wrapped in a target-seeking carrier with a touch-off catalyst. How cute. But you’re not finding me.”
A lash of green, suffusing the dank air of the cellar. Shadows danced spastically on the wall, and not from the weak candles.
“I swear, whoever alchemized that shit for you should be fired. Fucking lowest bidders…”
The green stopped flickering and became a strong glow.
“Ha. Good. In. Here’s my card, bitches. And out.”
“Mister Toleth?”
The green flicked off.
“…Okay, asshole. You passed the sight wards I had at the door. That’s easy, any idiot with a sweeping device can do it. The door is on a motion-sensitive charm which should alert me to being open, but someone competent can dispel it. Each step down to this basement is hexed with a cumulative misfortune spell, so by the time to reach halfway down you trip, tumble down the rest of the stairs and break your neck. And then there’s the portal to… actually, I don’t know where it goes, but it’s triggered by one of the flagstones. So how did you do it?”
“I have my methods, Mister Toleth. I came to give you a business proposition.”
A greasy face, riddled with acne, scrunched up, eyes hidden behind thick goggles. Slick hair stuck to the teen’s brow, shiny with sweat. Effort, or just a malfunctioning body.
“You asked anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good. There isn’t another Hackmauturgist on this stupid fucking rock. I checked.”
“Eager to keep on top of the ladder?”
“Eager to teach some amateurs how to protect their shit properly.”
“Well, you’re going to love this job.”
“…How much?”
“We’ll discuss it when you’re- ”
“Tell me now or I don’t do it. And I’m the only one who can, so you’re fucked.”
“We’ll get you home.”
“… Gods-fucking-damnit, fine.”
Timmy wasn’t very good at anything. Except eating!
All of the food here was… well, he didn’t have good words for it. But they saw a little building near the sea front whilst they were playing, and Alaster had given the nice man behind the counter a gold coin and gotten him some strange cold stuff on a cone that tasted like nothing he’d ever eaten before. And that made him remember how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten in a while! So they’d found another place a little later, all white and smelling of strange food, and Alaster had handed some more gold coins over and he’d gotten a lot of food and it all tasted really good!
Timmy had spent the better part of fifteen minutes devouring the food in front of him. Alaster sat stock still in the seat, oblivious to the activity of the fast food joint around them. The boy paused occasionally to boggle at the occasional alien or strangely-dressed being that caught his attention.
Alaster was starting to get the impression that something was wrong. It was no longer under the illusion that it was the saviour of mankind - the effects had worn off a while ago, but it declined to mention anything to Timothy for obvious reasons - but it had no recollection of how it had arrived here, or what had happened after it had intitiated the plan. It also had the feeling - and if it were capable of having sinking feelings, this one was the Titanic - that it may have killed someone vaguely important.
On the other hand, no-one here was giving them hostile looks, and they were accepting the gold coins it used to purchase food, and Timothy was happy. Perhaps being here wasn't such a problem. They could lay low for a while and stay out of sight of anyone else for the time being. Alaster could fix the damage the hostile woman had caused it, and all would be well.
"Be Careful, Timothy," it intoned. "You Will Make Yourself Ill."
"Nh I whn't," retorted Timmy through a mouthfull of hamburger.
"You Are Unaccustomed To The Food Sold Here. You May Do Yourself Ill."
"Aww, c'mhn, hlshht-"
The guardian's name was too tricky to say with a full mouth, so Timmy gulped down his mouthful.
"C'mon, Alaster! I'm starviiiiing!"
"Very Well, Then."
Alaster's head swivelled, gaze taking in the exotic citizenship in the restauraunt. It wasn't sure what to make of them, but none of them seemed to be threatening, not even the man in the suit who had just sat at their table like he'd been there all along.
A gear ground as the clockwork sentinel suddenly realized what had just happened.
"Excuse me," began the man in controlled tones. "Am I adressing Timothy Yessic and Alaster?"
"That's us!" piped Timmy, before Alaster could order the boy not to respond.
A mask-like grin was the response. "Excellent! I ask because I have a job offer for the both of you!"
"Elaborate," snapped Arthur.
Montcorbier - for it was he - seemed to ignore Alaster for the moment and focus on Timmy. "I'm part of a, uh, acting company. Like the theatre, almost! And I need you and Alaster here to play a starring role in it! No-one else will do - it has to be you two. You've got just the right amount of talent and pluck we need to make this play a reality."
Timmy's eyes were saucers, his mouth agape.
"Cool," he whispered.
"This Is A Con," snarled Alaster. "You Have No Evidence To Back Your Claims, And You Have Nothing To Offer Us In Return."
"On the contrary. I know that people are... after you. Dangerous people. And you can't garuntee that anywhere in Eta Carina is safe - why, you only just arrived here! However, if you agree to take part in the production, not only will you have the starring role of your lives, then I will pull a few strings around here. There are plenty of powerful people in Eta Carina, and one or two of them have... good intentions. They can provide you somewhere to stay safe and secure until we can find a way to, say... get you home?"
A pause. Timmy stared in rapturement at Montcorbier. Alaster stared.
"...Elaborate On The Nature Of Our Role," it clanked out, eventually.
Montcorbier gave his falsest smile yet. He hated kids.
"Do you know what a heist is?"
Goddamn dog-fuckers. There were too many people here. Can't pop the Switzerman without everyone having a heart attack, and the stiff in the suit looked important. Best to tail them, find a spot where they'd be easier, less public targets.
Adhira slung the rifle on his back and brachiated away.
He was the best there was at what he did.
Killing people was easy. It was like cleaning, or smithing, or any job really. You bought the right tools, you went through the proper procedures, and in the end the job got done. In his case, doing the job got you a fat sack of gold and ridded the world of someone who probably didn’t deserve to be there. It was a win-win for all sapient people at large.
Adhira shimmied up another drainpipe, then pushed off, grabbed a ledge with an arm like an industrial crane and hauled himself up.
Take this job, for instance. He put a bullet through the stupid shiny innards of some Switzerman, somewhere in this bright concrete jungle (and it was a jungle – Adhira had never been challenged by his climbs before), and it would get a problem out of his Lordship’s hair and set Adhira’s life on the track of easy living. Zippity fucking doo dah. Not a problem, you hairless mewling wretch.
A pidgeon spent the last few moments of its life wondering what had plucked it from its perch.
The thing was, though…
Adhira, still chewing, hauled himself onto an ideal rooftop.
Teus was elephant-shit crazy. You could see that from miles away. It was all that messing around with Death magic, rotting his brain or some daft shit that Adhira did not want to know about, thank you very much. Feeling his bones trying to jump out of his body had been horrifying, but you’d have to have a few bits of your brain missing to think it was a good idea to actually do it. And he’d seen the looks the Archmage was getting. Now there was someone on a shaky throne.
And he wanted a kid dead. Maybe. He certaintly didn't say to kill the boy, but Adhira could smell an order by ommission out from miles. Anyway, the kid wouldn't survive long without his guardian.
The rifle barrel gleamed a little in the neon. Adhira swallowed and made himself comfortable, an almost invisible blotch against the dark of the sky.
He had no professional biases. If he was told to kill someone, he wouldn’t argue unless the pay was too low, because money was money and that was the only advantage he really had back home.
But if he got a hit on Teus, he’d probably make sure a bullet hit somewhere painful first.
He was the best there was at –
“No, fuck shit fuck no no no! Damn it!”
An acrid stench, a sensation of purple, the suggestion of eldritch-ness.
“Hahaha, very fucking funny, assholes. A bunch of wards wrapped in a target-seeking carrier with a touch-off catalyst. How cute. But you’re not finding me.”
A lash of green, suffusing the dank air of the cellar. Shadows danced spastically on the wall, and not from the weak candles.
“I swear, whoever alchemized that shit for you should be fired. Fucking lowest bidders…”
The green stopped flickering and became a strong glow.
“Ha. Good. In. Here’s my card, bitches. And out.”
“Mister Toleth?”
The green flicked off.
“…Okay, asshole. You passed the sight wards I had at the door. That’s easy, any idiot with a sweeping device can do it. The door is on a motion-sensitive charm which should alert me to being open, but someone competent can dispel it. Each step down to this basement is hexed with a cumulative misfortune spell, so by the time to reach halfway down you trip, tumble down the rest of the stairs and break your neck. And then there’s the portal to… actually, I don’t know where it goes, but it’s triggered by one of the flagstones. So how did you do it?”
“I have my methods, Mister Toleth. I came to give you a business proposition.”
A greasy face, riddled with acne, scrunched up, eyes hidden behind thick goggles. Slick hair stuck to the teen’s brow, shiny with sweat. Effort, or just a malfunctioning body.
“You asked anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good. There isn’t another Hackmauturgist on this stupid fucking rock. I checked.”
“Eager to keep on top of the ladder?”
“Eager to teach some amateurs how to protect their shit properly.”
“Well, you’re going to love this job.”
“…How much?”
“We’ll discuss it when you’re- ”
“Tell me now or I don’t do it. And I’m the only one who can, so you’re fucked.”
“We’ll get you home.”
“… Gods-fucking-damnit, fine.”
Timmy wasn’t very good at anything. Except eating!
All of the food here was… well, he didn’t have good words for it. But they saw a little building near the sea front whilst they were playing, and Alaster had given the nice man behind the counter a gold coin and gotten him some strange cold stuff on a cone that tasted like nothing he’d ever eaten before. And that made him remember how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten in a while! So they’d found another place a little later, all white and smelling of strange food, and Alaster had handed some more gold coins over and he’d gotten a lot of food and it all tasted really good!
Timmy had spent the better part of fifteen minutes devouring the food in front of him. Alaster sat stock still in the seat, oblivious to the activity of the fast food joint around them. The boy paused occasionally to boggle at the occasional alien or strangely-dressed being that caught his attention.
Alaster was starting to get the impression that something was wrong. It was no longer under the illusion that it was the saviour of mankind - the effects had worn off a while ago, but it declined to mention anything to Timothy for obvious reasons - but it had no recollection of how it had arrived here, or what had happened after it had intitiated the plan. It also had the feeling - and if it were capable of having sinking feelings, this one was the Titanic - that it may have killed someone vaguely important.
On the other hand, no-one here was giving them hostile looks, and they were accepting the gold coins it used to purchase food, and Timothy was happy. Perhaps being here wasn't such a problem. They could lay low for a while and stay out of sight of anyone else for the time being. Alaster could fix the damage the hostile woman had caused it, and all would be well.
"Be Careful, Timothy," it intoned. "You Will Make Yourself Ill."
"Nh I whn't," retorted Timmy through a mouthfull of hamburger.
"You Are Unaccustomed To The Food Sold Here. You May Do Yourself Ill."
"Aww, c'mhn, hlshht-"
The guardian's name was too tricky to say with a full mouth, so Timmy gulped down his mouthful.
"C'mon, Alaster! I'm starviiiiing!"
"Very Well, Then."
Alaster's head swivelled, gaze taking in the exotic citizenship in the restauraunt. It wasn't sure what to make of them, but none of them seemed to be threatening, not even the man in the suit who had just sat at their table like he'd been there all along.
A gear ground as the clockwork sentinel suddenly realized what had just happened.
"Excuse me," began the man in controlled tones. "Am I adressing Timothy Yessic and Alaster?"
"That's us!" piped Timmy, before Alaster could order the boy not to respond.
A mask-like grin was the response. "Excellent! I ask because I have a job offer for the both of you!"
"Elaborate," snapped Arthur.
Montcorbier - for it was he - seemed to ignore Alaster for the moment and focus on Timmy. "I'm part of a, uh, acting company. Like the theatre, almost! And I need you and Alaster here to play a starring role in it! No-one else will do - it has to be you two. You've got just the right amount of talent and pluck we need to make this play a reality."
Timmy's eyes were saucers, his mouth agape.
"Cool," he whispered.
"This Is A Con," snarled Alaster. "You Have No Evidence To Back Your Claims, And You Have Nothing To Offer Us In Return."
"On the contrary. I know that people are... after you. Dangerous people. And you can't garuntee that anywhere in Eta Carina is safe - why, you only just arrived here! However, if you agree to take part in the production, not only will you have the starring role of your lives, then I will pull a few strings around here. There are plenty of powerful people in Eta Carina, and one or two of them have... good intentions. They can provide you somewhere to stay safe and secure until we can find a way to, say... get you home?"
A pause. Timmy stared in rapturement at Montcorbier. Alaster stared.
"...Elaborate On The Nature Of Our Role," it clanked out, eventually.
Montcorbier gave his falsest smile yet. He hated kids.
"Do you know what a heist is?"
Goddamn dog-fuckers. There were too many people here. Can't pop the Switzerman without everyone having a heart attack, and the stiff in the suit looked important. Best to tail them, find a spot where they'd be easier, less public targets.
Adhira slung the rifle on his back and brachiated away.