Re: Mini-Grand 5109 [Round 1: The Great Catacombs]
09-23-2011, 06:15 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.
Talmadge was thinking about a song.
He couldn’t remember how it went, though; was it something like this? (The skeleton lunges and he dances aside) da-ta-ta da da da da (he’s bringing up the sword) tch tch ch ch ch ch ch (he watches it flash in the light that’s not there) ck-ck-ck-ck (he swings without meaning to)
Talmadge was still humming as the flat of the blade slapped against the skeleton’s head and its head jerked in surprise. Or did he imagine that? t-t-t-ch-ch-ch-ch heard it through a window once, someone walking by the door with a music box. The only sound he’d heard in years. t-tch-ta-ta-ta-ck-ck-ck-tch-tch Talmadge had never been a good dancer. He held the sword clumsily in front of him and sidestepped around the floating skeleton, realizing with a sinking feeling that if the music stopped he would never get to hear it again.
“Give me that fucking bird,” the skeleton was saying, and he was pointing to Talmadge’s head with his bony claw. Was it still there? There were someone’s feet in his hair, but he wasn’t sure whose. Proper would woooaaahhh-ahhh-aaaaahhhh (that wasn’t how it went) Proper would always know.
“Talmadge the Tea, a terrible man, wolves in his head and a blade in his hand…”
That wasn’t the song at all, he thought sadly. Proper was getting it wrong.
“Talmadge the Tea, a miserable soul, made out of iron and pigeons and coal…”
“That’s not it!” Talmadge said frantically, waving the sword at the skeleton, who was clacking its teeth. “You’re not doing it right!”
“What the hell are you on about?” The dead man yelled. Why hadn’t Talmadge noticed his horns before now? Was he the devil? This seemed like a convoluted way to damn someone. “It’s my pigeon, idiot! Give it back!”
“Talmadge the Tea, screaming in pain!”
“That’s not it! That’s not it!”
“Talmadge the Tea, dying in vain!”
“YOU’RE SAYING IT WRONG,” Talmadge roared, and shrieked in surprise as his sword suddenly exploded into flames. He saw the skeleton leap back as well, or as close as it could come to leaping without having legs. He hoped he wasn’t hallucinating this. This made even less sense than his normal delusions.
The sword continued to burn, scarlet runes now visible in the steel. Amber light lit up the ice tomb and cast writhing shadows against the corpses frozen in the walls, almost making them appear to dance. There was no sound in the cave except for Talmadge’s panting and a soft cooing coming from somewhere on his head.
Nervously he stuck out a hand towards the floating skeleton and tried to make his mouth form a smile. “I’m Talmadge,” he said. “I think we got off to a bad start.”
Talmadge was thinking about a song.
He couldn’t remember how it went, though; was it something like this? (The skeleton lunges and he dances aside) da-ta-ta da da da da (he’s bringing up the sword) tch tch ch ch ch ch ch (he watches it flash in the light that’s not there) ck-ck-ck-ck (he swings without meaning to)
Talmadge was still humming as the flat of the blade slapped against the skeleton’s head and its head jerked in surprise. Or did he imagine that? t-t-t-ch-ch-ch-ch heard it through a window once, someone walking by the door with a music box. The only sound he’d heard in years. t-tch-ta-ta-ta-ck-ck-ck-tch-tch Talmadge had never been a good dancer. He held the sword clumsily in front of him and sidestepped around the floating skeleton, realizing with a sinking feeling that if the music stopped he would never get to hear it again.
“Give me that fucking bird,” the skeleton was saying, and he was pointing to Talmadge’s head with his bony claw. Was it still there? There were someone’s feet in his hair, but he wasn’t sure whose. Proper would woooaaahhh-ahhh-aaaaahhhh (that wasn’t how it went) Proper would always know.
“Talmadge the Tea, a terrible man, wolves in his head and a blade in his hand…”
That wasn’t the song at all, he thought sadly. Proper was getting it wrong.
“Talmadge the Tea, a miserable soul, made out of iron and pigeons and coal…”
“That’s not it!” Talmadge said frantically, waving the sword at the skeleton, who was clacking its teeth. “You’re not doing it right!”
“What the hell are you on about?” The dead man yelled. Why hadn’t Talmadge noticed his horns before now? Was he the devil? This seemed like a convoluted way to damn someone. “It’s my pigeon, idiot! Give it back!”
“Talmadge the Tea, screaming in pain!”
“That’s not it! That’s not it!”
“Talmadge the Tea, dying in vain!”
“YOU’RE SAYING IT WRONG,” Talmadge roared, and shrieked in surprise as his sword suddenly exploded into flames. He saw the skeleton leap back as well, or as close as it could come to leaping without having legs. He hoped he wasn’t hallucinating this. This made even less sense than his normal delusions.
The sword continued to burn, scarlet runes now visible in the steel. Amber light lit up the ice tomb and cast writhing shadows against the corpses frozen in the walls, almost making them appear to dance. There was no sound in the cave except for Talmadge’s panting and a soft cooing coming from somewhere on his head.
Nervously he stuck out a hand towards the floating skeleton and tried to make his mouth form a smile. “I’m Talmadge,” he said. “I think we got off to a bad start.”