Re: VENDETTA!!! [S!2 Round 1 ~ Presidentialgon]
04-24-2012, 05:06 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.
Hello, Johnny Raptor. My name is Grendel, I’m a demon of the Second Circle, and you now have the critical task of telling this guy the fact that this is a death tournament without him deciding to turn us into a bloodied smear on the ground, because there is NO way we can fight this guy, and we wouldn’t get thirty yards if we ran. Good fucking luck.
Johnny blinked, trying to process the fact that not only was Artemis – still a weird name for a boy, he had to admit – speaking without moving his lips, he was now talking like a blender full of gravel with the mannerisms of a drunken Scotsman. These, apparently, were signs of being possessed by a demon, if the voice was to be believed. And the kid seemed like such a nice guy, too. It was always the nice once, Johnny reflected. You never saw the mad priest or the trigger-happy big game hunter turn out to be a demonic creature in disguise. It might have livened up his daily commute somewhat if it did.
There was a long silence, in which Khagan looked back and forth between the three “friends.” He noted the small, scrawny boy that had his hand on the bigger man’s shoulder, despite looking extremely terrified (as he should be), as well as the… thing that was covered in more limbs than should be reasonably possible. He wondered, briefly, if it was the same sort of demon that his mother had told him about when he didn’t eat his second helpings, the one that snatched away starving children. But then again, what would a demon want in this place?
In Artemis’s head, there was a large argument.
Why did you speak to him?! Artemis was shrieking in panic. Do you really trust him that much?!
Kid, growled the demon in thoughtspeak, if anyone can get us out of this mess, it’s him. A personality this strong should have no shitting trouble.
But LOOK at him, the orphan wailed. Do you think HE knows what a Personality is? Or why he should care?
Who fucking cares?! So long as Johnny can hold his concentration for five minutes, then we’re out of here!
But supposing if…
[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd couldn’t hear this argument, or indeed any other sound apart from the occasional snort of the giant horse in front of it. It could see that the large man had very big hands – thick, strong hands with lots of muscle – but it doubted he was just give them away. Felgurd liked being all in one piece, thank you very much, and was of the sneaking suspicion that this new man would probably render it into multiple pieces if it tried anything violent or aggressive. He looked like the sort who has very attached So it hung back, wondering vaguely what was going to happen next, or if it was worth going back to collect some more arms. There had been some particularly good ones back there.[/color]
“Well?”
Johnny snapped back into reality, looking back at Khagan’s leering visage. He coughed as a hundred backhanded insults involving a garden rake and a grenade flashed through his mind, and tried to collect his thoughts. A game? What did he mean about a game? They were trying to stop that bloody deer taking over the world, surely? Did someone leave a Monopoly set lying around or something, and now they were trying to find it?
“Um, yes… Game…” he began, nervously.
Good, good, whispered Grendel, who may have been invisibly wetting himself out of panic. Keep going.
No, groaned Artemis’ voice at the back of the boy’s head. Don’t keep going. We’re all going to die.
“Well… the rules are…”
“Yes?” Khagan’s voice was thick with impatience. What was this man trying to get at? Did he not realise what was going on, that there was a game happening and there was an urgent need to get to the bottom of it all? The warlord seriously doubted that, considering he was built like two bullocks lashed together and had a stupid little helmet on that didn’t cover his face. Then again, the other two didn’t look too smart, either – the boy was thin enough to turn to paste beneath his horse’s hooves, and the thing made of limbs… the less said about that, the better. Khagan’s frustrations were growing – if this man did not offer a reasonable explanation, then he would-
The intercom crackled to life.
“No, you idiot, I asked for DECAFF coffee! What kind of MISERABLE establishment dares to serve-“
And then it clicked off again. But as it did, an idea clicked into Johnny’s head. It was a good idea. Not the sort that would get into the trophy room with the pike-breaking award, but it was pretty damn close, if he was any judge. What better way to redirect the annoyance of this confused horseman and boost up their team? Johnny Raptor, you goddamned genius. Give yourself a medal.
He looked Khagan in the face – no easy feat – and grinned.
“The rules of the game,” he said in his usual swarthy Johnny Raptor voice, “is to find the guy on the other end of that intercom and kill him.”
There was a long pause.
“Then Khagan grinned – this was the facial equivalent of a fissure splitting open in the earth.
“Well, why not say so first?” he boomed, suddenly looking a lot less fearsome. “Let us go, friends! First to kill gets head as trophy!”
And with that, the warlord yanked on his reigns. The horse gave an ear-splitting whinny as it turned on it’s hind legs, then broke into a manic gallop down another hallway, hooves striking sparks off of the floor as it ran. The group watched in amazement as he sped away from them, not even glancing back in his eargerness to get wherever the main control room was first.
There was another long pause, which was thankfully interrupted when Artemis cleared his throat.
“I… think we’d better follow him,” he suggested, quietly.
No shit, grumbled Grendel within his head.
Whatever counterargument Artemis could have made was lost when Johnny scooped him up under one arm.
“Let’s go, boys!” he shouted. “After that man!” And with that, he set off at a rousing pace, [color=#99z8rz]quickly followed by Felgurd, who, for reasons it's couldn't quite place was starting to get rather excited by what was going on.
Maybe there would be hands where they were going.[/color]
--
As they ran, Johnny found the time for idle banter.
"So," he said as followed the sound of impossibly-loud hoofsteps, "Demon of the Second Circle, eh?"
That's right, responded Grendel.
"What's it like, working in Hell?"
A brief pause.
Utter shite.
"Really? What did you do?"
You know how in the circle of Lust, people get blown about by winds for some really poorly-defined reason? Well, guess who had to turn the handle to make the winds blow? Three hours in and your spine starts turning into a modern art masterpiece.
Johnny could feel the resentment dripping off Grendel's words. He himself never cared for hard labour - it was the sort of thing best left to other, less handsome folks. Why break your back doing boring, routine work when you could be travelling the world, saving countries from Viper and wooing cute secretaries?
"So I take it there's not much to see in Hell, then?" he enquired.
Well, if you like seeing a lot of naked-
"Grendel!"
Alright, kid, I'm only saying. So yeah, not much.
"Fair enough."
[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd wondered why the large man was talking to himself.[/color]
--
“He’͠s WHAT?̵!͡”
͜
̴“͡Um̢… He̴’̀s at́ a̡ ͟g̨o̕ver͟nme̸nt b̷ui͞ld̶ing͜, ̶mý ͜l͢o̵r͟d.”
̴
“̨…̷L̴u̧ci̡fe̵r b̴e̕lo̸w,͠ ͘I ͜k̕n͘ow ̸he ͟wan̴te͜d ͘to ͏mák̶e a ͏s̴p̷l͞a̸s̛h,̀ b҉ut ̷thi͏s̸ ͠i҉s ͝a̵ ̛bit̵ too͠ ͜m̨u͠c̶h,̶ ͟d̕on’t ̨y͏o͡u͠ t͢hińk̢?”͠ ̡
͡ ̷
̨“̨He ͏alw̕ay҉s͞ had͝ ̵amb̀it̀i̛o͞n͢,͏ m҉y͠ l͝or͘d͠.͡ H̕e̴ll̡ ͠know͜s ́what̕ ͘h͘e͟ ̡w̴ill̴ ̶do.͜”͏
̴
“̸H́m̡m…̴”̧ ͜
“̨M͢y͢ ͘lo͘rd̀?̷”
"̸Ke̷ep an eye͡ ́on ̷h͢im̵.̀ T̷h͘is͠ cou͝ld͏ ͢be ̛wo̢r͏th ͢w̕a̡t̵c̶hi͟ńg̶...̴"
Hello, Johnny Raptor. My name is Grendel, I’m a demon of the Second Circle, and you now have the critical task of telling this guy the fact that this is a death tournament without him deciding to turn us into a bloodied smear on the ground, because there is NO way we can fight this guy, and we wouldn’t get thirty yards if we ran. Good fucking luck.
Johnny blinked, trying to process the fact that not only was Artemis – still a weird name for a boy, he had to admit – speaking without moving his lips, he was now talking like a blender full of gravel with the mannerisms of a drunken Scotsman. These, apparently, were signs of being possessed by a demon, if the voice was to be believed. And the kid seemed like such a nice guy, too. It was always the nice once, Johnny reflected. You never saw the mad priest or the trigger-happy big game hunter turn out to be a demonic creature in disguise. It might have livened up his daily commute somewhat if it did.
There was a long silence, in which Khagan looked back and forth between the three “friends.” He noted the small, scrawny boy that had his hand on the bigger man’s shoulder, despite looking extremely terrified (as he should be), as well as the… thing that was covered in more limbs than should be reasonably possible. He wondered, briefly, if it was the same sort of demon that his mother had told him about when he didn’t eat his second helpings, the one that snatched away starving children. But then again, what would a demon want in this place?
In Artemis’s head, there was a large argument.
Why did you speak to him?! Artemis was shrieking in panic. Do you really trust him that much?!
Kid, growled the demon in thoughtspeak, if anyone can get us out of this mess, it’s him. A personality this strong should have no shitting trouble.
But LOOK at him, the orphan wailed. Do you think HE knows what a Personality is? Or why he should care?
Who fucking cares?! So long as Johnny can hold his concentration for five minutes, then we’re out of here!
But supposing if…
[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd couldn’t hear this argument, or indeed any other sound apart from the occasional snort of the giant horse in front of it. It could see that the large man had very big hands – thick, strong hands with lots of muscle – but it doubted he was just give them away. Felgurd liked being all in one piece, thank you very much, and was of the sneaking suspicion that this new man would probably render it into multiple pieces if it tried anything violent or aggressive. He looked like the sort who has very attached So it hung back, wondering vaguely what was going to happen next, or if it was worth going back to collect some more arms. There had been some particularly good ones back there.[/color]
“Well?”
Johnny snapped back into reality, looking back at Khagan’s leering visage. He coughed as a hundred backhanded insults involving a garden rake and a grenade flashed through his mind, and tried to collect his thoughts. A game? What did he mean about a game? They were trying to stop that bloody deer taking over the world, surely? Did someone leave a Monopoly set lying around or something, and now they were trying to find it?
“Um, yes… Game…” he began, nervously.
Good, good, whispered Grendel, who may have been invisibly wetting himself out of panic. Keep going.
No, groaned Artemis’ voice at the back of the boy’s head. Don’t keep going. We’re all going to die.
“Well… the rules are…”
“Yes?” Khagan’s voice was thick with impatience. What was this man trying to get at? Did he not realise what was going on, that there was a game happening and there was an urgent need to get to the bottom of it all? The warlord seriously doubted that, considering he was built like two bullocks lashed together and had a stupid little helmet on that didn’t cover his face. Then again, the other two didn’t look too smart, either – the boy was thin enough to turn to paste beneath his horse’s hooves, and the thing made of limbs… the less said about that, the better. Khagan’s frustrations were growing – if this man did not offer a reasonable explanation, then he would-
The intercom crackled to life.
“No, you idiot, I asked for DECAFF coffee! What kind of MISERABLE establishment dares to serve-“
And then it clicked off again. But as it did, an idea clicked into Johnny’s head. It was a good idea. Not the sort that would get into the trophy room with the pike-breaking award, but it was pretty damn close, if he was any judge. What better way to redirect the annoyance of this confused horseman and boost up their team? Johnny Raptor, you goddamned genius. Give yourself a medal.
He looked Khagan in the face – no easy feat – and grinned.
“The rules of the game,” he said in his usual swarthy Johnny Raptor voice, “is to find the guy on the other end of that intercom and kill him.”
There was a long pause.
“Then Khagan grinned – this was the facial equivalent of a fissure splitting open in the earth.
“Well, why not say so first?” he boomed, suddenly looking a lot less fearsome. “Let us go, friends! First to kill gets head as trophy!”
And with that, the warlord yanked on his reigns. The horse gave an ear-splitting whinny as it turned on it’s hind legs, then broke into a manic gallop down another hallway, hooves striking sparks off of the floor as it ran. The group watched in amazement as he sped away from them, not even glancing back in his eargerness to get wherever the main control room was first.
There was another long pause, which was thankfully interrupted when Artemis cleared his throat.
“I… think we’d better follow him,” he suggested, quietly.
No shit, grumbled Grendel within his head.
Whatever counterargument Artemis could have made was lost when Johnny scooped him up under one arm.
“Let’s go, boys!” he shouted. “After that man!” And with that, he set off at a rousing pace, [color=#99z8rz]quickly followed by Felgurd, who, for reasons it's couldn't quite place was starting to get rather excited by what was going on.
Maybe there would be hands where they were going.[/color]
--
As they ran, Johnny found the time for idle banter.
"So," he said as followed the sound of impossibly-loud hoofsteps, "Demon of the Second Circle, eh?"
That's right, responded Grendel.
"What's it like, working in Hell?"
A brief pause.
Utter shite.
"Really? What did you do?"
You know how in the circle of Lust, people get blown about by winds for some really poorly-defined reason? Well, guess who had to turn the handle to make the winds blow? Three hours in and your spine starts turning into a modern art masterpiece.
Johnny could feel the resentment dripping off Grendel's words. He himself never cared for hard labour - it was the sort of thing best left to other, less handsome folks. Why break your back doing boring, routine work when you could be travelling the world, saving countries from Viper and wooing cute secretaries?
"So I take it there's not much to see in Hell, then?" he enquired.
Well, if you like seeing a lot of naked-
"Grendel!"
Alright, kid, I'm only saying. So yeah, not much.
"Fair enough."
[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd wondered why the large man was talking to himself.[/color]
--
“He’͠s WHAT?̵!͡”
͜
̴“͡Um̢… He̴’̀s at́ a̡ ͟g̨o̕ver͟nme̸nt b̷ui͞ld̶ing͜, ̶mý ͜l͢o̵r͟d.”
̴
“̨…̷L̴u̧ci̡fe̵r b̴e̕lo̸w,͠ ͘I ͜k̕n͘ow ̸he ͟wan̴te͜d ͘to ͏mák̶e a ͏s̴p̷l͞a̸s̛h,̀ b҉ut ̷thi͏s̸ ͠i҉s ͝a̵ ̛bit̵ too͠ ͜m̨u͠c̶h,̶ ͟d̕on’t ̨y͏o͡u͠ t͢hińk̢?”͠ ̡
͡ ̷
̨“̨He ͏alw̕ay҉s͞ had͝ ̵amb̀it̀i̛o͞n͢,͏ m҉y͠ l͝or͘d͠.͡ H̕e̴ll̡ ͠know͜s ́what̕ ͘h͘e͟ ̡w̴ill̴ ̶do.͜”͏
̴
“̸H́m̡m…̴”̧ ͜
“̨M͢y͢ ͘lo͘rd̀?̷”
"̸Ke̷ep an eye͡ ́on ̷h͢im̵.̀ T̷h͘is͠ cou͝ld͏ ͢be ̛wo̢r͏th ͢w̕a̡t̵c̶hi͟ńg̶...̴"