Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
06-20-2011, 04:29 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by engineclock.
Cailean watched the smoldering hole in the ceiling, feeling very strongly that he should be caring much more than he did. Metal and plaster crumbled down in showers and covered the bewildered contestants, who for the most part were still too stunned to move out of the way. Sunlight poured in, surreal in its brightness; it made everything else look washed out and flat, like a dream that he was trying to forget. The conversations around him sounded like they were coming from another room. Another building. The words “levitate”, “unnecessary”, “kazoo”, and “fuckin’ showoff” came to him and failed entirely to mean anything.
He watched detachedly as Winston left the group, headed towards the back of the room and stepping carelessly around the wreck of the downed Sentinel. The cyborg spared a wary glare for the furred man, who was picking at something Cailean’s brain didn’t even bother to register. He must have been the one mumbling about the kazoos. Cailean didn’t know what those were and had no desire at all to find out. They sounded unpleasant. They sounded like something else in this strange world that didn’t include him.
Elli and Quantos were still recovering from their sudden apprehension and were giving each other guarded looks as the sphere rambled on about something. Neither seemed much the worse for wear. Especially not Elli. She looked nice, Cailean thought distantly. Being suspended in the air hadn’t done much to faze her. The dark streak in her hair had fallen in front of her face and Cailean suddenly and inexplicably found himself reminded of the way his horse’s forelock used to lie across her forehead. Back when he’d been a proper soldier. How long ago had that been, now?
He looked back up at the patch of exposed sky, now marred by a few streaky clouds. A sluggish breeze was pouring in and he narrowed his eyes against it. What had happened to Tam? She must have run off after he’d been impaled. Poor Tam, he thought. She’d never liked being handled by strangers. She was a canny mare, though, she might have found her way back to his camp. Someone else might have taken her, certainly no one in either camp would let a sound horse go to waste. Maybe she’d even run clear of the fighting and gone feral with the shaggy ponies that lived off the brittle marsh grass and grew snow on their muzzles when the winter came. He figured that would be better for her. Not as much chance of breaking a leg on the battlefield and being left to die, all alone.
“…Aaaand you’re not even listening to me, are you. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
He’d give everyone here up to the fifth and darkest hell if it meant he could have Tam back. Tam, and some sorry bastard who just happened to be wearing the wrong color waving a shield around like it was going to do a damn thing about the lance sticking through his heart.
He wondered if that was really so much to ask of anyone.
Fumbling slightly with his off hand, Cailean pulled the long-neglected flask from his belt and flicked the cap off expertly. He took a longer draught than was probably necessary from it before shoving the container into Gaurinn’s foreclaws just as the giant centipede’s mandibles started to hiss something else.
“Bit hard of hearing today, Gaurinn, can’t imagine why. Drink that, it’ll help.”
Cailean shielded his eyes from the intruding sunlight and looked around the room for a way out among the grimy metal panels. Suddenly he didn’t feel like being here anymore. He spotted an exit half-hidden behind some shrapnel just as Gaurinn took an experimental sip and immediately started choking.
“The hell is in here, battery acid?”
The door was another keypad-activated one, though the pad itself had mostly been blasted away and was smoking faintly. It reeked of burning plastic and Cailean didn’t even bother to glance at it more than once before drawing his knife.
“Whiskey.”
“That was not whiskey. That was poison.”
“It’s whiskey.”
The dagger bit into the metal like a shovel into mud, slicing through the door with a deceptively soft sound. Cailean crouched, bringing the blade with him and carving out a rough rectangle. He tucked the knife back into its sheath and gave the door a shove; its middle fell out and slammed to the ground on the other side with a ringing boom.
Gaurinn clutched the flask with his claws and made another attempt at braving its contents. His throat’s firm belief that it was being filled with fire didn’t stop the centipede from keeping up a commentary. “Alright, Cail, you seem the tiniest bit out of it right now, so I’m gonna be nice and remind you that everyone else is actually back there. As in behind you. Or us, if you prefer.” The legs not occupied with handling the booze pointed helpfully. “Right there. As in not through the door you just made. With your knife. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going’ might be a better way to put this. ‘You have a really terrible way of making decisions’ might work too.”
The insect-armed man ducked through the hole into the darkened room beyond. “Never did like crowds. They don’t do much to put me at ease.”
Gaurinn snorted. Or rather, made a noise roughly comparable to a snort that was in reality closer to the sound of two rocks being smacked together with a small animal in between. “I don’t think now is the best time to deal with your people issues, Cail.”
Cailean smirked despite himself. The insect was starting to grow on him and he refused to consider anything beyond the strictly literal sense of that sentence. “S’not really an issue if I prefer dead to living ones, eh?”
“Gosh, no, not at-”
“IT’S GONE.”
Man and centipede froze in their tracks as a howl of rage echoed off the metal walls.
A distant reply: “Er, what is, Winston?”
“DON’T YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME! THE MOTHER-FLIPPING KAZOO IS, YOU HALF-TIN SON OF A BITCH!”
“Oh.”
Then:
“Are you sure?”
“NO I AM NOT GODDAMN SURE, I’M JUST MAKING A WILD GUESS BASED ON THE FACT THERE THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING HERE!”
“Sounds bad,” Cailean said as he squinted at the murky darkness.
Gaurinn twisted around to peer back at the milling contestants. “You care much?”
“Oh dear. Do you, er, know where it might have gone?”
“Nah.”
“JUST MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL FOR ONCE AND START LOOKING BEFORE I COME OUT THERE AND PISTOL-WHIP YOU HALFWAY TO TEXAS.”
“Good, me neither.”
The pair stumbled into the darkness just as chaos erupted in the room behind them.
Cailean watched the smoldering hole in the ceiling, feeling very strongly that he should be caring much more than he did. Metal and plaster crumbled down in showers and covered the bewildered contestants, who for the most part were still too stunned to move out of the way. Sunlight poured in, surreal in its brightness; it made everything else look washed out and flat, like a dream that he was trying to forget. The conversations around him sounded like they were coming from another room. Another building. The words “levitate”, “unnecessary”, “kazoo”, and “fuckin’ showoff” came to him and failed entirely to mean anything.
He watched detachedly as Winston left the group, headed towards the back of the room and stepping carelessly around the wreck of the downed Sentinel. The cyborg spared a wary glare for the furred man, who was picking at something Cailean’s brain didn’t even bother to register. He must have been the one mumbling about the kazoos. Cailean didn’t know what those were and had no desire at all to find out. They sounded unpleasant. They sounded like something else in this strange world that didn’t include him.
Elli and Quantos were still recovering from their sudden apprehension and were giving each other guarded looks as the sphere rambled on about something. Neither seemed much the worse for wear. Especially not Elli. She looked nice, Cailean thought distantly. Being suspended in the air hadn’t done much to faze her. The dark streak in her hair had fallen in front of her face and Cailean suddenly and inexplicably found himself reminded of the way his horse’s forelock used to lie across her forehead. Back when he’d been a proper soldier. How long ago had that been, now?
He looked back up at the patch of exposed sky, now marred by a few streaky clouds. A sluggish breeze was pouring in and he narrowed his eyes against it. What had happened to Tam? She must have run off after he’d been impaled. Poor Tam, he thought. She’d never liked being handled by strangers. She was a canny mare, though, she might have found her way back to his camp. Someone else might have taken her, certainly no one in either camp would let a sound horse go to waste. Maybe she’d even run clear of the fighting and gone feral with the shaggy ponies that lived off the brittle marsh grass and grew snow on their muzzles when the winter came. He figured that would be better for her. Not as much chance of breaking a leg on the battlefield and being left to die, all alone.
“…Aaaand you’re not even listening to me, are you. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
He’d give everyone here up to the fifth and darkest hell if it meant he could have Tam back. Tam, and some sorry bastard who just happened to be wearing the wrong color waving a shield around like it was going to do a damn thing about the lance sticking through his heart.
He wondered if that was really so much to ask of anyone.
Fumbling slightly with his off hand, Cailean pulled the long-neglected flask from his belt and flicked the cap off expertly. He took a longer draught than was probably necessary from it before shoving the container into Gaurinn’s foreclaws just as the giant centipede’s mandibles started to hiss something else.
“Bit hard of hearing today, Gaurinn, can’t imagine why. Drink that, it’ll help.”
Cailean shielded his eyes from the intruding sunlight and looked around the room for a way out among the grimy metal panels. Suddenly he didn’t feel like being here anymore. He spotted an exit half-hidden behind some shrapnel just as Gaurinn took an experimental sip and immediately started choking.
“The hell is in here, battery acid?”
The door was another keypad-activated one, though the pad itself had mostly been blasted away and was smoking faintly. It reeked of burning plastic and Cailean didn’t even bother to glance at it more than once before drawing his knife.
“Whiskey.”
“That was not whiskey. That was poison.”
“It’s whiskey.”
The dagger bit into the metal like a shovel into mud, slicing through the door with a deceptively soft sound. Cailean crouched, bringing the blade with him and carving out a rough rectangle. He tucked the knife back into its sheath and gave the door a shove; its middle fell out and slammed to the ground on the other side with a ringing boom.
Gaurinn clutched the flask with his claws and made another attempt at braving its contents. His throat’s firm belief that it was being filled with fire didn’t stop the centipede from keeping up a commentary. “Alright, Cail, you seem the tiniest bit out of it right now, so I’m gonna be nice and remind you that everyone else is actually back there. As in behind you. Or us, if you prefer.” The legs not occupied with handling the booze pointed helpfully. “Right there. As in not through the door you just made. With your knife. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going’ might be a better way to put this. ‘You have a really terrible way of making decisions’ might work too.”
The insect-armed man ducked through the hole into the darkened room beyond. “Never did like crowds. They don’t do much to put me at ease.”
Gaurinn snorted. Or rather, made a noise roughly comparable to a snort that was in reality closer to the sound of two rocks being smacked together with a small animal in between. “I don’t think now is the best time to deal with your people issues, Cail.”
Cailean smirked despite himself. The insect was starting to grow on him and he refused to consider anything beyond the strictly literal sense of that sentence. “S’not really an issue if I prefer dead to living ones, eh?”
“Gosh, no, not at-”
“IT’S GONE.”
Man and centipede froze in their tracks as a howl of rage echoed off the metal walls.
A distant reply: “Er, what is, Winston?”
“DON’T YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME! THE MOTHER-FLIPPING KAZOO IS, YOU HALF-TIN SON OF A BITCH!”
“Oh.”
Then:
“Are you sure?”
“NO I AM NOT GODDAMN SURE, I’M JUST MAKING A WILD GUESS BASED ON THE FACT THERE THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING HERE!”
“Sounds bad,” Cailean said as he squinted at the murky darkness.
Gaurinn twisted around to peer back at the milling contestants. “You care much?”
“Oh dear. Do you, er, know where it might have gone?”
“Nah.”
“JUST MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL FOR ONCE AND START LOOKING BEFORE I COME OUT THERE AND PISTOL-WHIP YOU HALFWAY TO TEXAS.”
“Good, me neither.”
The pair stumbled into the darkness just as chaos erupted in the room behind them.