Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 3: Las Orbitas]
07-03-2011, 12:33 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MrGuy.
Holly tentatively knocked on the thick steel door, incongruous against the wooden huts of the town. The knock echoed loudly, and the elf looked back and forth, frowning slightly; she peered once again at the slip of paper, which Ruby had clearly written “Rolf Grellend, 24 Peat Blvd” on when “Cherry” had come to her with the news that she was having trouble finding a place to stay. After a few moments, a short man in a labcoat and goggles opened the door, staring up at her. “Well, hello. Wasn’t expecting you.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Oh, a scientist dwarf. That’s new.”
“You’d certainly be the authority on defying stereotypes, miss haughty elf.” He turned and began walking back into the hut, as Holly winced. Way to go. You managed to go twenty whole minutes without being a bitch. God, is it really so hard? He beckoned, and she shuffled in after him. Several odd devices crackled and sparked throughout the halls, several apparently unfinished and none with an obvious functionality. “Who sent you, hm?”
“O-oh. That’d be, um, Ruby LaReed?”
He grinned. “Ah, Ms. LaReed. Do thank her for those diamonds she acquired for me the other day. Needed to fix up a saw, see.”
Holly blinked and rubbed the back of her neck. “Um, yeah, hahaha! Absolutely. Completely. Um, what exactly did she send me here for?”
He took out a rag and polished his goggles as he approached a large tube with a thin coating of white dust lining the bottom. “You can transform emotions into matter, can you not? It happens that I could use something along those lines. If you’d just stick your hands in there, please.” He gestured to two gloves embedded in the tube, so that someone could place their hands in from the outside.
Holly tentatively did as implied, and the man pressed a few buttons on a nearby panel. The tube began filling up with mist, and Holly began to feel an increasing sense of dread. “What exactly should I be doing?”
He fiddled with a dial, adjusting his goggles, and then waved his hand dismissively. “Solidify it. I’m curious what’ll happen.”
She bit her lip and slowly reached out to the mist. Slowly, a thick, curved, pitch-black vine materialized in the center of the tube. Holly flinched backwards and attempted to stop, but the vines kept growing, evidently flourishing in the environment of the mist. They undulated slightly, ambient light gleaming off its leaves, extending out in almost-but-not-quite-symmetrical patterns that made the pathomancer feel vaguely unnerved. The scientist grinned and approached the elf, giving her a hearty slap on the back.
“Very good, there, very good. Not quite what I expected, but it can almost certainly be weaponized. Defensive purposes, of course.” He dug around in an icebox in the corner of his lab, then tossed a sandwich to Holly before beginning to chew on one himself. “You can only imagine what’d happen if a Grandmaster showed up. So, I’ve been working on a bioweapon that can take one down.”
Holly blinked. “Okay, well… thanks for the sandwich. You mind getting me a place to stay?” He responded by nodding and turning back to the vine, examining it intently.
“Yes, yes, all taken care of. Just go to the hotel two blocks down—“ he pointed—“and they’ll get a nice room for you.” Holly nodded and took her leave, closing the massive steel door behind her. The dwarf, now satisfied that he was alone, sauntered down the hallway and unlocked an even larger and thicker door, pushing it aside to reveal a room full of chained-up people. All of them were completely mad from the influence of the mist, which was the only thing that allowed Rolf Grellend to maintain faith that he was not evil. He was helping others, after all, and if that meant that he had to use test subjects once in a while, better ones that already had their brains broken anyway—soon, they would no longer be a threat to society, and they’d be out of their misery.
He headed over to one, an oracle, who was crumpled in a corner muttering to herself about buzzing and screeching or some nonsense. He would be quite glad to be rid of her. Not at all like that child—that was the one he had regretted, the one that made him realize the regrettable truth, that his ingenuity simply could not proceed without sapient guinea pigs. He gently pressed a syringe of tranquilizer into her jugular, unchained her, and dragged her down the hall.
Grellend grabbed a gas mask off of a nearby table and secured it tightly to his face, then opened the tube. A bit of mist wafted out, but not too much, and none of the vines escaped; he was able to fairly quickly toss the oracle in there, as she halfheartedly screamed and babbled all the way, before finally sealing her in. Sure enough, the vines coiled around her, and she slowly stopped. Once that was done, she stared into the distance, before finally tearing at herself. After ten minutes of this, she made the transition from a horribly bloody and scratched-up woman to a corpse, crumpled against the floor.
He nodded solemnly. This would do for stage one of the weapon. Combined with the draining device he’d perfected, the paralyzing venom of that nice scorpion down the way, and a hearty dose of anti-magical gemstones (courtesy of Ms. LaReed) crumbled to powder, there was little to stop him—or anyone—from killing a Grandmaster, at least in theory.
Of course, theories are rarely if ever perfect, especially when they’ve only just been come up with, still a vague idea coalescing in the dreamer’s mind. And if the dwarf Rolf Grellend had remembered this fact, there is the slightest chance that there might have been more survivors—but only the slightest.
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Holly was not happy with kitchen work. She considered herself above it, and would have much preferred to be performing, say, psychology work, or fighting in some sort of arena. However, the arena had been long since closed down due to collateral damage and encouraging “violent activities” which were deemed counterproductive to society as a whole. So now, she was stuck doing dishes for a donkey—a donkey, of all things—just to have three squares a day and a place to sleep.
She supposed it could be worse. She could be doing something far worse, such as… well, cleaning out sewers or stables wasn’t really an option, given the location. The more she thought about it, the more trouble she had, and she started wishing she could simply do some odd jobs. I could have majored in constructional alchemy. Could be making intricate little figurines, or beds, or something. Instead I’m stuck with clumsy rock spikes and creepy-ass red vines. She saw the jerry-rigged stove’s feeble flame begin to peter out, and too impatient to bother relighting it the hard way (it had taken her half an hour the first time, and she didn’t want to go through with it again), she simply stoked it with a wave of her hand and a supply of her rage.
Having been vented thus, she felt considerably better. Hey, I’m alive, right? And I’ve managed not to snap and kill anybody. She thought for a moment, then appended In town, at least. She shrugged and slowly stirred the mixture of vegetables in the pan. Actually, I could get used to living here. No loss for fascinating people. Besides, this is my chance to finally make it up to Algernon.
She scowled. …He’s alive, and he’s here. Must mean the rest are too, most of ‘em at least. Good god, I hope I don’t see a one of them. She shuddered to even contemplate the ticking of clockwork; bile rose in her throat as she considered the cold synthesized voice of Acacia, and wondered how desperate she must have been to consider that love. She grabbed a bottle, and barely resisted the temptation to smash it into the counter. That won’t help. Just have to stay calm. If there’s any problems, I can handle them, because I’m Cherry now.
She blinked, and for a brief moment, she even contemplated her life up to that point, her life of brief flings and indiscriminate chaos-sowing and general lack of close acquaintances. She quickly turned her thoughts away, back to the here and now. I’m Cherry now, and Cherry has friends to help her.
Holly tentatively knocked on the thick steel door, incongruous against the wooden huts of the town. The knock echoed loudly, and the elf looked back and forth, frowning slightly; she peered once again at the slip of paper, which Ruby had clearly written “Rolf Grellend, 24 Peat Blvd” on when “Cherry” had come to her with the news that she was having trouble finding a place to stay. After a few moments, a short man in a labcoat and goggles opened the door, staring up at her. “Well, hello. Wasn’t expecting you.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Oh, a scientist dwarf. That’s new.”
“You’d certainly be the authority on defying stereotypes, miss haughty elf.” He turned and began walking back into the hut, as Holly winced. Way to go. You managed to go twenty whole minutes without being a bitch. God, is it really so hard? He beckoned, and she shuffled in after him. Several odd devices crackled and sparked throughout the halls, several apparently unfinished and none with an obvious functionality. “Who sent you, hm?”
“O-oh. That’d be, um, Ruby LaReed?”
He grinned. “Ah, Ms. LaReed. Do thank her for those diamonds she acquired for me the other day. Needed to fix up a saw, see.”
Holly blinked and rubbed the back of her neck. “Um, yeah, hahaha! Absolutely. Completely. Um, what exactly did she send me here for?”
He took out a rag and polished his goggles as he approached a large tube with a thin coating of white dust lining the bottom. “You can transform emotions into matter, can you not? It happens that I could use something along those lines. If you’d just stick your hands in there, please.” He gestured to two gloves embedded in the tube, so that someone could place their hands in from the outside.
Holly tentatively did as implied, and the man pressed a few buttons on a nearby panel. The tube began filling up with mist, and Holly began to feel an increasing sense of dread. “What exactly should I be doing?”
He fiddled with a dial, adjusting his goggles, and then waved his hand dismissively. “Solidify it. I’m curious what’ll happen.”
She bit her lip and slowly reached out to the mist. Slowly, a thick, curved, pitch-black vine materialized in the center of the tube. Holly flinched backwards and attempted to stop, but the vines kept growing, evidently flourishing in the environment of the mist. They undulated slightly, ambient light gleaming off its leaves, extending out in almost-but-not-quite-symmetrical patterns that made the pathomancer feel vaguely unnerved. The scientist grinned and approached the elf, giving her a hearty slap on the back.
“Very good, there, very good. Not quite what I expected, but it can almost certainly be weaponized. Defensive purposes, of course.” He dug around in an icebox in the corner of his lab, then tossed a sandwich to Holly before beginning to chew on one himself. “You can only imagine what’d happen if a Grandmaster showed up. So, I’ve been working on a bioweapon that can take one down.”
Holly blinked. “Okay, well… thanks for the sandwich. You mind getting me a place to stay?” He responded by nodding and turning back to the vine, examining it intently.
“Yes, yes, all taken care of. Just go to the hotel two blocks down—“ he pointed—“and they’ll get a nice room for you.” Holly nodded and took her leave, closing the massive steel door behind her. The dwarf, now satisfied that he was alone, sauntered down the hallway and unlocked an even larger and thicker door, pushing it aside to reveal a room full of chained-up people. All of them were completely mad from the influence of the mist, which was the only thing that allowed Rolf Grellend to maintain faith that he was not evil. He was helping others, after all, and if that meant that he had to use test subjects once in a while, better ones that already had their brains broken anyway—soon, they would no longer be a threat to society, and they’d be out of their misery.
He headed over to one, an oracle, who was crumpled in a corner muttering to herself about buzzing and screeching or some nonsense. He would be quite glad to be rid of her. Not at all like that child—that was the one he had regretted, the one that made him realize the regrettable truth, that his ingenuity simply could not proceed without sapient guinea pigs. He gently pressed a syringe of tranquilizer into her jugular, unchained her, and dragged her down the hall.
Grellend grabbed a gas mask off of a nearby table and secured it tightly to his face, then opened the tube. A bit of mist wafted out, but not too much, and none of the vines escaped; he was able to fairly quickly toss the oracle in there, as she halfheartedly screamed and babbled all the way, before finally sealing her in. Sure enough, the vines coiled around her, and she slowly stopped. Once that was done, she stared into the distance, before finally tearing at herself. After ten minutes of this, she made the transition from a horribly bloody and scratched-up woman to a corpse, crumpled against the floor.
He nodded solemnly. This would do for stage one of the weapon. Combined with the draining device he’d perfected, the paralyzing venom of that nice scorpion down the way, and a hearty dose of anti-magical gemstones (courtesy of Ms. LaReed) crumbled to powder, there was little to stop him—or anyone—from killing a Grandmaster, at least in theory.
Of course, theories are rarely if ever perfect, especially when they’ve only just been come up with, still a vague idea coalescing in the dreamer’s mind. And if the dwarf Rolf Grellend had remembered this fact, there is the slightest chance that there might have been more survivors—but only the slightest.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holly was not happy with kitchen work. She considered herself above it, and would have much preferred to be performing, say, psychology work, or fighting in some sort of arena. However, the arena had been long since closed down due to collateral damage and encouraging “violent activities” which were deemed counterproductive to society as a whole. So now, she was stuck doing dishes for a donkey—a donkey, of all things—just to have three squares a day and a place to sleep.
She supposed it could be worse. She could be doing something far worse, such as… well, cleaning out sewers or stables wasn’t really an option, given the location. The more she thought about it, the more trouble she had, and she started wishing she could simply do some odd jobs. I could have majored in constructional alchemy. Could be making intricate little figurines, or beds, or something. Instead I’m stuck with clumsy rock spikes and creepy-ass red vines. She saw the jerry-rigged stove’s feeble flame begin to peter out, and too impatient to bother relighting it the hard way (it had taken her half an hour the first time, and she didn’t want to go through with it again), she simply stoked it with a wave of her hand and a supply of her rage.
Having been vented thus, she felt considerably better. Hey, I’m alive, right? And I’ve managed not to snap and kill anybody. She thought for a moment, then appended In town, at least. She shrugged and slowly stirred the mixture of vegetables in the pan. Actually, I could get used to living here. No loss for fascinating people. Besides, this is my chance to finally make it up to Algernon.
She scowled. …He’s alive, and he’s here. Must mean the rest are too, most of ‘em at least. Good god, I hope I don’t see a one of them. She shuddered to even contemplate the ticking of clockwork; bile rose in her throat as she considered the cold synthesized voice of Acacia, and wondered how desperate she must have been to consider that love. She grabbed a bottle, and barely resisted the temptation to smash it into the counter. That won’t help. Just have to stay calm. If there’s any problems, I can handle them, because I’m Cherry now.
She blinked, and for a brief moment, she even contemplated her life up to that point, her life of brief flings and indiscriminate chaos-sowing and general lack of close acquaintances. She quickly turned her thoughts away, back to the here and now. I’m Cherry now, and Cherry has friends to help her.