Re: Mini-Grand 5110 <Round 2: Chrome City>
11-13-2011, 01:47 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Agent1022.
Burgrar shook his bun at the disorientation that came with the sudden change in locale. Travel between worlds was nothing new to him; in the days of his undelivery he had been bounced from ‘verse to ‘verse like a phrase that just didn’t fit. it didn’t mean that he had to like it, though. It brought back unpleasant memories of his first slow steps from the unchanging dark of inanimateness, of deducing the world painstakingly from the writing on the inside of a polystyrene box –
‘Our buns are made fresh from the best bakers in the multiverse – and certainly they would be! In the same way, our vegetables are fresh when they’re taken from the ground, and our patties were certainly alive at some point! In fact, it doesn’t matter what we write here, because you’re going to eat this burger. You’re going to eat it until there’s not a crumb left, and you’re not going to care what happens next. No one can resist our burgers. Our burgers exist to be eaten.’
Burgrar existed to be eaten. No one could resist him. And yet, and yet, and yet.
He remembered the first person he’d ever seen. The first person he’d ever killed. An unscrupulous mail clerk had Tampered With The Mail. Maybe he’d been looking for a snack. Or perhaps he hadn’t had breakfast, or worked through lunch, or had been starving for want of edibles. Possibly he’d just been attracted by the sense and smell of deliciousness in that package, possessed with that curiosity, insatiable in so many ways, that infiltrates the human race.
Burgrar sat there, just sat in the palm of the dead man’s hand, nested on splayed, twisted fingers that had blossomed into a rictus of hallucinogenic pain, waiting for the next moment, waiting for the blessed death that was due him. And he waited. And waited. He waited until panicked voices woke him from his confusion, signaling perhaps another consumer who would oblige his need…
And then, voices. Voices more anchored in the present rather than the past.
<font color="#C112B8">Tulip saw a sign! It said, “McGrease Kiddy Special! Give your kids a head start on vitrified arteries today, for even lower prices than before!” More importantly, it said underneath in slightly unwilling print, “free prize included with every Kiddy Special. Ask at the counter.”
Prizes!
Burgrar found himself on a cheap plastic table, lying on a discarded paper wrapper of some kind. The seats around the table were occupied by a selection of children, all wearing assorted paper hats. They were, however, not looking at him with that pop-eyed mixture of desire and horror that often accompanied his presence. They were instead focused on the butterfly made of uprooted tulips that was dominating the – a quick glance confirmed it – burger place. That hateful mutant rabbit was there too, with its shifty gaze panning across the room, as if-
Freddie picked and weaved at the minds that were all around it, searching for the signal of that accursed burger. There must be a way around this ‘master’ concept – all these human minds, pliant, persuadable, if only –
Tulip looked around at the staring crowds for a moment, momentarily confused by the looks on some faces - then forgot about them and approached the counter, prizes the only thing on her mind. She beat her wings against the inexplicable indoor breeze-
There was someone in her path! A kid, really, only about eleven. He was holding some kind of ball in his hand and waving it around! Awww, how cute!
He saw the child plant its petulant form in front of the flowered Lepidoptera, and heard the young voice exclaim:</font>
“Oh boy! Mom mom mom, I’ve never seen a monster like this before! Can I catch it? Please please please please?"
“Now now, Billy. It just burst in, and we don’t know what it is. Don’t so anything silly.”
“What about that Logosmorph? Can I have it? Can I? Can I?”
“Bil-ly! Don’t pester the poor things, they’re probably looking for their master. Now come back here right this instant – sugar! This wind!” A paper hat blew off one of the still-agog children in a sudden gust. “…wind?!”
She was getting a tad impatient. However cute, the kid was in between her and prizes! Beautiful prizes~!The prizes were at…the counter? Were they? Somehow, she had the feeling that the prize she’d been working for had been something different…
And then she forgot, and wondered about the rising wind instead. A stiff breeze, in an enclosed space, can exert a surprisingly strong force, folding back on itself like some convoluted fractal. When that breeze is slowly but surely ascending the Beaufort scale -
She wondered briefly why the kid was flat on the floor and why there was suddenly some lady throwing things at her, but then she forgot about that too. Prizes!
Burgrar could feel it taking advantage of the crowd’s sudden distraction, probing through the minds of panic like a psychic submarine pinging the depths of telepathic ocean, and heard the message being broadcast –
<font color="#C112B8">Face me, you strange, meaty abomination. Face me if you dare. Freddie shouted into the psychic world around him, and gave a rabbity smirk.
Burgrar saw red – perhaps it was the ketchup – and marshaled the fries.</font>
Burgrar shook his bun at the disorientation that came with the sudden change in locale. Travel between worlds was nothing new to him; in the days of his undelivery he had been bounced from ‘verse to ‘verse like a phrase that just didn’t fit. it didn’t mean that he had to like it, though. It brought back unpleasant memories of his first slow steps from the unchanging dark of inanimateness, of deducing the world painstakingly from the writing on the inside of a polystyrene box –
‘Our buns are made fresh from the best bakers in the multiverse – and certainly they would be! In the same way, our vegetables are fresh when they’re taken from the ground, and our patties were certainly alive at some point! In fact, it doesn’t matter what we write here, because you’re going to eat this burger. You’re going to eat it until there’s not a crumb left, and you’re not going to care what happens next. No one can resist our burgers. Our burgers exist to be eaten.’
Burgrar existed to be eaten. No one could resist him. And yet, and yet, and yet.
He remembered the first person he’d ever seen. The first person he’d ever killed. An unscrupulous mail clerk had Tampered With The Mail. Maybe he’d been looking for a snack. Or perhaps he hadn’t had breakfast, or worked through lunch, or had been starving for want of edibles. Possibly he’d just been attracted by the sense and smell of deliciousness in that package, possessed with that curiosity, insatiable in so many ways, that infiltrates the human race.
Burgrar sat there, just sat in the palm of the dead man’s hand, nested on splayed, twisted fingers that had blossomed into a rictus of hallucinogenic pain, waiting for the next moment, waiting for the blessed death that was due him. And he waited. And waited. He waited until panicked voices woke him from his confusion, signaling perhaps another consumer who would oblige his need…
And then, voices. Voices more anchored in the present rather than the past.
<font color="#C112B8">Tulip saw a sign! It said, “McGrease Kiddy Special! Give your kids a head start on vitrified arteries today, for even lower prices than before!” More importantly, it said underneath in slightly unwilling print, “free prize included with every Kiddy Special. Ask at the counter.”
Prizes!
Burgrar found himself on a cheap plastic table, lying on a discarded paper wrapper of some kind. The seats around the table were occupied by a selection of children, all wearing assorted paper hats. They were, however, not looking at him with that pop-eyed mixture of desire and horror that often accompanied his presence. They were instead focused on the butterfly made of uprooted tulips that was dominating the – a quick glance confirmed it – burger place. That hateful mutant rabbit was there too, with its shifty gaze panning across the room, as if-
Freddie picked and weaved at the minds that were all around it, searching for the signal of that accursed burger. There must be a way around this ‘master’ concept – all these human minds, pliant, persuadable, if only –
Tulip looked around at the staring crowds for a moment, momentarily confused by the looks on some faces - then forgot about them and approached the counter, prizes the only thing on her mind. She beat her wings against the inexplicable indoor breeze-
There was someone in her path! A kid, really, only about eleven. He was holding some kind of ball in his hand and waving it around! Awww, how cute!
He saw the child plant its petulant form in front of the flowered Lepidoptera, and heard the young voice exclaim:</font>
“Oh boy! Mom mom mom, I’ve never seen a monster like this before! Can I catch it? Please please please please?"
“Now now, Billy. It just burst in, and we don’t know what it is. Don’t so anything silly.”
“What about that Logosmorph? Can I have it? Can I? Can I?”
“Bil-ly! Don’t pester the poor things, they’re probably looking for their master. Now come back here right this instant – sugar! This wind!” A paper hat blew off one of the still-agog children in a sudden gust. “…wind?!”
She was getting a tad impatient. However cute, the kid was in between her and prizes! Beautiful prizes~!The prizes were at…the counter? Were they? Somehow, she had the feeling that the prize she’d been working for had been something different…
And then she forgot, and wondered about the rising wind instead. A stiff breeze, in an enclosed space, can exert a surprisingly strong force, folding back on itself like some convoluted fractal. When that breeze is slowly but surely ascending the Beaufort scale -
She wondered briefly why the kid was flat on the floor and why there was suddenly some lady throwing things at her, but then she forgot about that too. Prizes!
Burgrar could feel it taking advantage of the crowd’s sudden distraction, probing through the minds of panic like a psychic submarine pinging the depths of telepathic ocean, and heard the message being broadcast –
<font color="#C112B8">Face me, you strange, meaty abomination. Face me if you dare. Freddie shouted into the psychic world around him, and gave a rabbity smirk.
Burgrar saw red – perhaps it was the ketchup – and marshaled the fries.</font>
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime