Re: Inexorable Altercation [Round III - Vorlon Complex]
08-30-2011, 10:39 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Niall.
Parset lay down again and feebly pulled his hat over his head. He hated to wake up from a hangover. Hangovers meant hoping he woke up in a field filled with soft grasses and sweet smelling honeysuckles on the side of the road, away from civilisation because heavens help him if he woke up in the middle of a tavern with a tab still to pay. Hangovers meant going through half his supply of gathered food to quell the beast that would awaken in his stomach every time he partook in the devil's water. Hangovers meant being incapacitated for a good half of a day, so no travel, no work, no way of nimbly, secretly slipping out the back entrance without upsetting his stomach enough that he'll draw the attention of an entire household with a single retch. Despite their lack of voice boxes, Minnish Gnomes were regarded by far as the louder drunkards of the two species, especially if they had upset stomachs.
He had, in fact, woken up in a field, last he could remember. Blissfully happy to lay between the sunflowers and the poppies and soak in the rays of morning sun filtering in through the foliage, Parset had been passing the time by playing a game he invented called "Get Back On That Leaf" with a passerby ant. Parset would pick up the ant, place it on the lowest leaf of the nearest sunflower plant and count to 60 as he watched the ant struggle to climb down the stem of the plant. After the ant's time limit had expired, Parset would pick the ant up again and place it back onto the same leaf. Like this, the game had continued for hours throughout the morning, Parset nursing his head on his hand and the ant getting a good workout.
But just as he was coming down from the worst of it, he'd been pulled out of his sunny reverie and plunged into this cold corridor, like a sword in the blacksmith's being quenched in a barrel of water. He could nearly feel the steam rising off his forehead. Bringing his focus back to the present, he found it wasn't steam that was tickling his forehead, but something else entirely. Removing his hat off of his face, eyes squinting to readjust to the light, he felt a light sensation move across his face. Carefully brushing his finger across his cheek to pick up the foreign object, Parset examined his finger carefully to find that he had a travel companion with him. Somehow, the ant had stowed away inside his top hat during his examination of the slip of paper around his key and had only just emerged out of the hat band onto his face now. Looking directly into the ants eyes, Parset could swear the ant looked as disoriented as he was. He regarded his miniscule stowaway for a second then grinned a yellow-toothed grin.
"Might as well come along for the ride. Like you have a choice," he thought to himself. "I'll call you Minute."
He put his finger on the top of his hat and waited until Minute decided it was safe enough to walk onto, then sat up and put his hat back on his head, Minute riding on top. Struggling to his feet, Parset was suddenly struck by a dangerous thought. He knew he’d foolishly ignored his surroundings too long already but if what he’d hypothesised was true then his surroundings could wait a few seconds longer. He reached into his shirt to retrieve his key once again, but this time it wasn’t the key that interested the Gnome. It was the paper tied around it.
You've been entered into a contest.
Try and stay alive.
It was innocuous at best. Completely inoffensive. It stated facts simply and without adornment. For anyone else, this paper would appear to serve only the purpose of stating its simple, cryptic message. For Parset and Parset alone, it was a greeting card, he was sure. Parset held the card to his large nostrils and inhaled deeply.
Sandalwood.
He turned the card over and inhaled again.
Peppermint.
Now he was certain. There was ever only one moment in his life hallmarked by those two scents, but the moment had stuck in his mind forever. His hand clutched tightly onto the key as he slipped it beneath his shirt once more. This sudden turn of events, coupled with that card, those scents, told Parset that he was here by no mean coincidence and that the events that would now unfold were penultimate to the event Parset had prepared himself for since he first inhaled those two scents in unison. Now more than ever he was close to his goal. He would find this key its home.
Picking up his swag, he slipped one drumstick out of the knot that attached the bundle of items to the remaining stick. He couldn’t do much with a single drumstick, but a simple spell would suffice for navigation for now. He turned on his heels and, after briefly surveying the choice of paths, set off towards the end of the corridor that appeared better illuminated and more open, hoping to come across a major junction so that he could gain his bearings. In his right hand he rested his swag on his shoulder. In his left, he trailed his other drumstick, beating out a playful rhythm in time with his steps. Wherever the drumstick made contact with the ground, bright yellow dots appeared on the cold rock, illuminating the floor like phosphorescent insects. Parset could use this trail of dots to keep track of where he had been. Had he known more about this contest, perhaps he would have taken more caution. Leaving a marked trail behind you means you can be followed. Followed, tracked and found.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEE!!!!!!" her tiny voice cried.
Ants are simple creatures.
Parset lay down again and feebly pulled his hat over his head. He hated to wake up from a hangover. Hangovers meant hoping he woke up in a field filled with soft grasses and sweet smelling honeysuckles on the side of the road, away from civilisation because heavens help him if he woke up in the middle of a tavern with a tab still to pay. Hangovers meant going through half his supply of gathered food to quell the beast that would awaken in his stomach every time he partook in the devil's water. Hangovers meant being incapacitated for a good half of a day, so no travel, no work, no way of nimbly, secretly slipping out the back entrance without upsetting his stomach enough that he'll draw the attention of an entire household with a single retch. Despite their lack of voice boxes, Minnish Gnomes were regarded by far as the louder drunkards of the two species, especially if they had upset stomachs.
He had, in fact, woken up in a field, last he could remember. Blissfully happy to lay between the sunflowers and the poppies and soak in the rays of morning sun filtering in through the foliage, Parset had been passing the time by playing a game he invented called "Get Back On That Leaf" with a passerby ant. Parset would pick up the ant, place it on the lowest leaf of the nearest sunflower plant and count to 60 as he watched the ant struggle to climb down the stem of the plant. After the ant's time limit had expired, Parset would pick the ant up again and place it back onto the same leaf. Like this, the game had continued for hours throughout the morning, Parset nursing his head on his hand and the ant getting a good workout.
But just as he was coming down from the worst of it, he'd been pulled out of his sunny reverie and plunged into this cold corridor, like a sword in the blacksmith's being quenched in a barrel of water. He could nearly feel the steam rising off his forehead. Bringing his focus back to the present, he found it wasn't steam that was tickling his forehead, but something else entirely. Removing his hat off of his face, eyes squinting to readjust to the light, he felt a light sensation move across his face. Carefully brushing his finger across his cheek to pick up the foreign object, Parset examined his finger carefully to find that he had a travel companion with him. Somehow, the ant had stowed away inside his top hat during his examination of the slip of paper around his key and had only just emerged out of the hat band onto his face now. Looking directly into the ants eyes, Parset could swear the ant looked as disoriented as he was. He regarded his miniscule stowaway for a second then grinned a yellow-toothed grin.
"Might as well come along for the ride. Like you have a choice," he thought to himself. "I'll call you Minute."
He put his finger on the top of his hat and waited until Minute decided it was safe enough to walk onto, then sat up and put his hat back on his head, Minute riding on top. Struggling to his feet, Parset was suddenly struck by a dangerous thought. He knew he’d foolishly ignored his surroundings too long already but if what he’d hypothesised was true then his surroundings could wait a few seconds longer. He reached into his shirt to retrieve his key once again, but this time it wasn’t the key that interested the Gnome. It was the paper tied around it.
You've been entered into a contest.
Try and stay alive.
It was innocuous at best. Completely inoffensive. It stated facts simply and without adornment. For anyone else, this paper would appear to serve only the purpose of stating its simple, cryptic message. For Parset and Parset alone, it was a greeting card, he was sure. Parset held the card to his large nostrils and inhaled deeply.
Sandalwood.
He turned the card over and inhaled again.
Peppermint.
Now he was certain. There was ever only one moment in his life hallmarked by those two scents, but the moment had stuck in his mind forever. His hand clutched tightly onto the key as he slipped it beneath his shirt once more. This sudden turn of events, coupled with that card, those scents, told Parset that he was here by no mean coincidence and that the events that would now unfold were penultimate to the event Parset had prepared himself for since he first inhaled those two scents in unison. Now more than ever he was close to his goal. He would find this key its home.
Picking up his swag, he slipped one drumstick out of the knot that attached the bundle of items to the remaining stick. He couldn’t do much with a single drumstick, but a simple spell would suffice for navigation for now. He turned on his heels and, after briefly surveying the choice of paths, set off towards the end of the corridor that appeared better illuminated and more open, hoping to come across a major junction so that he could gain his bearings. In his right hand he rested his swag on his shoulder. In his left, he trailed his other drumstick, beating out a playful rhythm in time with his steps. Wherever the drumstick made contact with the ground, bright yellow dots appeared on the cold rock, illuminating the floor like phosphorescent insects. Parset could use this trail of dots to keep track of where he had been. Had he known more about this contest, perhaps he would have taken more caution. Leaving a marked trail behind you means you can be followed. Followed, tracked and found.
~ ~ ~
Minute didn't know where she was or why everything was much colder than it was moments earlier, but right at that moment she was loving her life. Riding on she-didn't-know-what, wind racing through her antennae, she was living in the moment and loving every moment of it."WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEE!!!!!!" her tiny voice cried.
Ants are simple creatures.