Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
06-18-2011, 11:07 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by veerserif.
Shortly before levitation.
He was starting to really get engrossed (mostly just grossed) by How To Romance The Arizona Wench when the door flung open yet again. Dropping the book, he tried to remain inconspicuous as he flattened himself against the wall as AMP and Ellimine walked in. He had a curious feeling that they couldn't actually see him, as Ellimine focused intently at the wreck of the robot pitbulls. He tried snapping his fingers in front of their faces. "Hello? Anything? No?" Gabe shrugged and retreated back to his corner. First it was Quantos brushing him off, then Lucky, then Etiyr had just sort of... gone. It was probably your fault, chimed a little part of his brain, which was quickly stifled by his other thoughts. He resumed waiting for the pair to leave.
Once they had, Gabe picked at the robot remains. He found a badly charred collar in the wreck which was mostly black, and had a little tag that read SPARKY. He bit the tag, thoughtfully. It tasted like ash, melted plastic, and cheap metal. He'd had worse, though to be absolutely honest the flavour could probably be much improved. Taking it out of his mouth and pocketing it, Gabe walked over to the plant and flicked it experimentally. It bounced back.
Raising his right hand, he concentrated and tried to shift it into a new form. "Pepper spray... pepper spray..." He felt his bones grind against each other as his hand twisted and shifted, fingers fusing to form a cylinder. He aimed upwards, as if his arm was a gun, and fired. Gas puffed out, ballooning into the air. Gabe coughed and tried to fan it away from his face. Something behind him sneezed, loudly.
He spun, and caught glimpse of paper bag, black trousers and a rather fine handkerchief before It leapt at him. Ducking, he grabbed the plant pot and swung wildly. It dodged easily, and crouched down, foaming at the mouth-hole. The creature began to growl, a low rumble deep in its throat; the sound resonated perfectly through the room. It was the type of growl that bypassed rational thought and tapped into the animal part of the brain, the part that used to belong to a small furry animal, and told it run!
Gabe tried very hard to hide behind the water cooler, and tried equally hard not to tremble. He failed on both counts.
Bag-trousers-handkerchief growled again, skittering across the floor on all fours. Gabe tried to retreat until he felt the cool wall hit his back.
Well, shit. Game over.
He had just enough time to cover his eyes with his left arm. It jumped. Gabe screamed, improbably hitting a high C. His choirmaster would have been proud.
BANG.
His right arm jolted backwards, recoiling like a gun - or more accurately, like a cannon. The blast of gas caught the thing full in the face-holes, and it spasmed in midair, trying to go from outstretched leap to fetal position. It nearly made it, too. Gabe felt his hand shift back to its normal five-fingered form. Very carefully, he tried an experimental prod. The creature curled up, whimpering and covering the holes on its bag with its hands. Satisfied that it was no longer a threat, Gabe cleared his throat loudly and brushed his hands on his jacket.
The handkerchief really did look good. He'd been meaning to try a new style, anyway. Picking it up from the groaning creature, he quickly exited the break room. Gabe then folded the handkerchief and put it in his top pocket. Dapper and deadly, he told himself. Dapper and deadly and not prone to screaming like a little girl at all. He leaned against the door and exhaled, all the breath whooshing out of him. The adrenaline rushing through his body made his hands shake as he fished out a pencil stump from his pockets. As a courtesy, Gabe scribbled on the door "BEWARE OF CREATURE" and did his best impression of a paper bag. There. Civic duty accomplished.
Putting the dog tag back in his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. The morning's events rushed back to him, all at once, and an epiphany hit him like an apple to the head.
He wanted to cook. He wanted to cook well. Everything made sense in context - the strange cravings, the granola bars, the pancake room. Life seemed clearer now. No more carpentry, no more graveyard shift minimum wage jobs. Gabriel Farrell was going to live through this fight, Gabe was going to be a chef, and he was gonna be a damn good one too.
Shortly before levitation.
He was starting to really get engrossed (mostly just grossed) by How To Romance The Arizona Wench when the door flung open yet again. Dropping the book, he tried to remain inconspicuous as he flattened himself against the wall as AMP and Ellimine walked in. He had a curious feeling that they couldn't actually see him, as Ellimine focused intently at the wreck of the robot pitbulls. He tried snapping his fingers in front of their faces. "Hello? Anything? No?" Gabe shrugged and retreated back to his corner. First it was Quantos brushing him off, then Lucky, then Etiyr had just sort of... gone. It was probably your fault, chimed a little part of his brain, which was quickly stifled by his other thoughts. He resumed waiting for the pair to leave.
Once they had, Gabe picked at the robot remains. He found a badly charred collar in the wreck which was mostly black, and had a little tag that read SPARKY. He bit the tag, thoughtfully. It tasted like ash, melted plastic, and cheap metal. He'd had worse, though to be absolutely honest the flavour could probably be much improved. Taking it out of his mouth and pocketing it, Gabe walked over to the plant and flicked it experimentally. It bounced back.
Raising his right hand, he concentrated and tried to shift it into a new form. "Pepper spray... pepper spray..." He felt his bones grind against each other as his hand twisted and shifted, fingers fusing to form a cylinder. He aimed upwards, as if his arm was a gun, and fired. Gas puffed out, ballooning into the air. Gabe coughed and tried to fan it away from his face. Something behind him sneezed, loudly.
He spun, and caught glimpse of paper bag, black trousers and a rather fine handkerchief before It leapt at him. Ducking, he grabbed the plant pot and swung wildly. It dodged easily, and crouched down, foaming at the mouth-hole. The creature began to growl, a low rumble deep in its throat; the sound resonated perfectly through the room. It was the type of growl that bypassed rational thought and tapped into the animal part of the brain, the part that used to belong to a small furry animal, and told it run!
Gabe tried very hard to hide behind the water cooler, and tried equally hard not to tremble. He failed on both counts.
Bag-trousers-handkerchief growled again, skittering across the floor on all fours. Gabe tried to retreat until he felt the cool wall hit his back.
Well, shit. Game over.
He had just enough time to cover his eyes with his left arm. It jumped. Gabe screamed, improbably hitting a high C. His choirmaster would have been proud.
BANG.
His right arm jolted backwards, recoiling like a gun - or more accurately, like a cannon. The blast of gas caught the thing full in the face-holes, and it spasmed in midair, trying to go from outstretched leap to fetal position. It nearly made it, too. Gabe felt his hand shift back to its normal five-fingered form. Very carefully, he tried an experimental prod. The creature curled up, whimpering and covering the holes on its bag with its hands. Satisfied that it was no longer a threat, Gabe cleared his throat loudly and brushed his hands on his jacket.
The handkerchief really did look good. He'd been meaning to try a new style, anyway. Picking it up from the groaning creature, he quickly exited the break room. Gabe then folded the handkerchief and put it in his top pocket. Dapper and deadly, he told himself. Dapper and deadly and not prone to screaming like a little girl at all. He leaned against the door and exhaled, all the breath whooshing out of him. The adrenaline rushing through his body made his hands shake as he fished out a pencil stump from his pockets. As a courtesy, Gabe scribbled on the door "BEWARE OF CREATURE" and did his best impression of a paper bag. There. Civic duty accomplished.
Putting the dog tag back in his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. The morning's events rushed back to him, all at once, and an epiphany hit him like an apple to the head.
He wanted to cook. He wanted to cook well. Everything made sense in context - the strange cravings, the granola bars, the pancake room. Life seemed clearer now. No more carpentry, no more graveyard shift minimum wage jobs. Gabriel Farrell was going to live through this fight, Gabe was going to be a chef, and he was gonna be a damn good one too.