Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 3: Endymion]
05-14-2011, 11:04 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Steam.
All around him, warm fog drifted through the streets, and it just felt right. Brass and iron and dark, wet brick and steam. Geoff walked down the street- no, not a street. A catwalk. His steps clanked a bit, echoing down into the distant, fog-masked space below, and as he moved along, he felt as though his smallish, brown vest should really be billowing behind him a bit more.
If he stopped to think about it, he would probably realize he was still a bit high on the myna gas from the last round. But he didn't stop. He strode forward, occasionally reaching out to brush his hand along the iron pipes that weaved towards him, followed him along for a bit, then playfully darted back out into the fog. He was entranced by the place, feeling as though he'd never quite been anywhere that was quite as wonderful and perfect and right.
A drop of rain landed on his hand as he reached out to admire the brasswork around a T-join in a pipe, and another soon joined it. Another, then, and more, and soon the rain was coming down in torrents, instantly soaking through his thin, warm-weather-wear and chilling him to the bone.
And it was a good chill. If anything, it made the place feel more right, more perfect, and all he wanted was some mood-fitting music and maybe a trenchcoat and he'd be content to die right then.
A ladder came up to the walkway on the left, and, in a trance induced both by the residual gas exposure and his captivation by this world, Geoff went down.
Voices echoed up from below him as he descended, and as the fog parted to reveal an actual street, a few red-brick buildings on either side slick with rain, he saw the pair of beings making the voices. They were structured much as Hattallans or Humans were, with two arms, two legs, and a head, but both were much thinner than anyone Geoff had ever met. Their willowy, whiplike bodies reminded him of spiders, and though they were both hunched over in the archway before a door, they still looked like they'd be a head taller than him, at least.
One, wearing a blue garment that looked like it could've just been strips of fabric wrapped around his body over and over, was leaning over to speak into a small, horn-like device on one side of the archway.
"I know it's not supposed to be," he was shouting at it, "but it is! Just let us in!"
A high-pitched, feminine voice came out of the device as Geoff approached.
"It's not the end of your shift yet," it said, almost playfully.
The second being, wearing a similar garment (this one soaked to an indistinguishable colour recognizable only as "dark wet"), spotted Geoff stepping onto the ground at the bottom of the ladder and beckoned him over, making what space he could under the arch. Geoff hurried over, the perfection of the chillly rain turning into something a bit more like the discomfort it actually was, and gratefully accepted what little space there was. The second being put his finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture.
The one in blue sighed, looking like he was holding back a curse, then said, "Coral, would it help if Daddy and Uncle Serran used one of their sick days?"
"You weren't sick this morning!" Coral was clearly just being difficult now.
"No, no, we're sick, really." Her father elbowed his companion and coughed into the microphone. "Hear that? And we've, uh-" He glanced momentarily at Geoff. "We've got a new friend with us, honey! He'd love to meet you!"
"Ooh!" The squeal caused some feedback on the speaker, then merged with it, and by the time both had subsided, the door was already swinging open. Geoff, who the second person had gestured into the middle of the arch, suddenly had something wrapped around him, burying its blond-haired head into his midsection. After a moment, the head looked up, and said, her voice high enough that most people over 40 wouldn't even be able to hear it. "I'm Coral!", she announced, dragging the newcomer into the building.
"Hi, Coral," he replied, putting on his best "kindly grown-up" voice, "I'm Geoff. Very nice to meet you!"
She wasn't even listening. Already, she'd homed in on a small console near the door and was starting the tour. "This is the call buzzer! I get to let people in when they're supposed to come in!"
"That's a big responsibility," Geoff said.
The girl beamed. "I'm seven now!"
"Coral," her father interrupted, "can you go log those sick days for me? We wouldn't want to lose track of them."
She squaked and darted away, scampering up a wrought-iron spiral staircase in the far corner of the room in her eagerness.
"Sorry about Coral," he said, "she's at that age, you know how kids are." He held out a hand. "Keen, by the way."
Geoff took it and shook. "Geoff."
"Please, have a seat," Keen said, gesturing him to one of the stools by the door. "I've just got to make a call, I'll be back in a second."
Steam.
All around him, warm fog drifted through the streets, and it just felt right. Brass and iron and dark, wet brick and steam. Geoff walked down the street- no, not a street. A catwalk. His steps clanked a bit, echoing down into the distant, fog-masked space below, and as he moved along, he felt as though his smallish, brown vest should really be billowing behind him a bit more.
If he stopped to think about it, he would probably realize he was still a bit high on the myna gas from the last round. But he didn't stop. He strode forward, occasionally reaching out to brush his hand along the iron pipes that weaved towards him, followed him along for a bit, then playfully darted back out into the fog. He was entranced by the place, feeling as though he'd never quite been anywhere that was quite as wonderful and perfect and right.
A drop of rain landed on his hand as he reached out to admire the brasswork around a T-join in a pipe, and another soon joined it. Another, then, and more, and soon the rain was coming down in torrents, instantly soaking through his thin, warm-weather-wear and chilling him to the bone.
And it was a good chill. If anything, it made the place feel more right, more perfect, and all he wanted was some mood-fitting music and maybe a trenchcoat and he'd be content to die right then.
A ladder came up to the walkway on the left, and, in a trance induced both by the residual gas exposure and his captivation by this world, Geoff went down.
Voices echoed up from below him as he descended, and as the fog parted to reveal an actual street, a few red-brick buildings on either side slick with rain, he saw the pair of beings making the voices. They were structured much as Hattallans or Humans were, with two arms, two legs, and a head, but both were much thinner than anyone Geoff had ever met. Their willowy, whiplike bodies reminded him of spiders, and though they were both hunched over in the archway before a door, they still looked like they'd be a head taller than him, at least.
One, wearing a blue garment that looked like it could've just been strips of fabric wrapped around his body over and over, was leaning over to speak into a small, horn-like device on one side of the archway.
"I know it's not supposed to be," he was shouting at it, "but it is! Just let us in!"
A high-pitched, feminine voice came out of the device as Geoff approached.
"It's not the end of your shift yet," it said, almost playfully.
The second being, wearing a similar garment (this one soaked to an indistinguishable colour recognizable only as "dark wet"), spotted Geoff stepping onto the ground at the bottom of the ladder and beckoned him over, making what space he could under the arch. Geoff hurried over, the perfection of the chillly rain turning into something a bit more like the discomfort it actually was, and gratefully accepted what little space there was. The second being put his finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture.
The one in blue sighed, looking like he was holding back a curse, then said, "Coral, would it help if Daddy and Uncle Serran used one of their sick days?"
"You weren't sick this morning!" Coral was clearly just being difficult now.
"No, no, we're sick, really." Her father elbowed his companion and coughed into the microphone. "Hear that? And we've, uh-" He glanced momentarily at Geoff. "We've got a new friend with us, honey! He'd love to meet you!"
"Ooh!" The squeal caused some feedback on the speaker, then merged with it, and by the time both had subsided, the door was already swinging open. Geoff, who the second person had gestured into the middle of the arch, suddenly had something wrapped around him, burying its blond-haired head into his midsection. After a moment, the head looked up, and said, her voice high enough that most people over 40 wouldn't even be able to hear it. "I'm Coral!", she announced, dragging the newcomer into the building.
"Hi, Coral," he replied, putting on his best "kindly grown-up" voice, "I'm Geoff. Very nice to meet you!"
She wasn't even listening. Already, she'd homed in on a small console near the door and was starting the tour. "This is the call buzzer! I get to let people in when they're supposed to come in!"
"That's a big responsibility," Geoff said.
The girl beamed. "I'm seven now!"
"Coral," her father interrupted, "can you go log those sick days for me? We wouldn't want to lose track of them."
She squaked and darted away, scampering up a wrought-iron spiral staircase in the far corner of the room in her eagerness.
"Sorry about Coral," he said, "she's at that age, you know how kids are." He held out a hand. "Keen, by the way."
Geoff took it and shook. "Geoff."
"Please, have a seat," Keen said, gesturing him to one of the stools by the door. "I've just got to make a call, I'll be back in a second."