Re: The Battle Majestic (Round 3 - Oxbow Inc.)
04-22-2011, 11:16 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
“... Hrm.”
The Composer studied the globe for a further moment before turning to greet the interruption. The planet whose ghostly image she turned beneath her fingers was overwhelmingly green - an eerily silent planet shrouded in forest, lorded over by one gargantuan tree.
“What do you want?”
“Just, humour me,” snapped the Overseer. He dispensed with the smirking sass from their previous, first encounter; opting for light conversation over a sardonic reply. “Where's that?”
“I believe it's called Babylon by the mortals – an inhospitable planet which supports life, but only of one particular species of plant.”
“Cute. Did you make it?”
“No. A mere curious life-form which appeared in the universe I... employ. Provided the sapients therein refrain from exterminating themselves, I see fit to not dabble in it.”
“Are you... feeding off their brainwaves, or something?”
“Your arrogance poorly disguises the fact you're not fit to survive here. I'm sure you have some contestants to be almost murdered by, Overseer.”
There was an angry snap. “Fine then, Composer.” The Overseer spat the last word out. “I'll quit playing the idiot and tell you something you might get off your high horse to hear.” Blank eyes stared into a multitude of black ones, uttterly unconcerned. Another snap, and the Overseer had his sunglasses back.
“That plant. On Babylon. It's got a weird fruit, right?”
“Get to the-”
“Battle Majestic.” The Overseer allowed himself a little grin at her silence. “Yeah. I did my research, and you're the only other Grandmaster with a stake in this. So I'm doing you a favour.”
The Composer's domain juddered a little at that jibe, but the Grandmaster herself maintained her demeanour. “Yours is the goat, I presume?”
“Heh. You guessed. Now come with me, there's a guy you need to meet.”
- - - - -
Cyrris got the Yagg to the medical bay, picked up a few extra canisters of foam to further subdue the specimen, and was about halfway to Warehouse 17 before the wail of an alarm interrupted. He groaned, though he really shouldn't have been surprised.
Intruders. The jabbering coming through on his walkie-talkie said it was humans, even. Just great. Knowing the Yagg was probably going to survive, Cyrris' main priorities had shifted to getting the most out of his specimen. The consummate scientist.
Of course, the facility entering lockdown until this threat got dealt with meant the bunker. All the jabbering bigwigs trying to discuss their way to a solution while whatever idiots had tripped the alarm ran amok through Oxbow. Which meant dumping the specimen in formaldehyde, and getting as much out of the dissection as he could once it was dead and pickled for a good few hours. If he was lucky. Cyrris wasn't sure if it was possible to drug a plant, but didn't really want to risk it with this one.
A tinny squawking issued from a loudspeaker attached to a nearby roof, and was repeated again and again and again, until Cyrris' radio joined in. Crow-seven-ave-four, crow-seven-ave-four. Immediate evacuation from Station Seven (the nearest train out of Oxbow, presumably), with a backup arriving at Station Four somewhere in the region of “later”. Neither option appealed to the Deejan, which meant the bunker. He slammed the brakes outside Warehouse Seventeen, swiped the door open, and jogged to grab a cart. By the time Cyrris returned to the truck, Sen had figured out how to set his unbreakable pod rocking from side to side. A muffled clicking still forced its way out somehow.
Cyrris ignored the specimen's protests, and let it drop itself off the truck onto his cart. He drove through the warehouse, feathers rising and lowering in agitation as he considered how best to preserve this thing. Releasing it from the foam would be nice, seeing as the stuff was impervious to water, but that would likely take too long. Best just submerge the whole thing, let it break out, and drown. Simple.
The Deejan screeched to a halt in his lab's loading bay, unaware he'd been followed all this while.
- - - - -
“So you're the Composer. Pleasure to meet you. Charlatan.”
The Composer glanced briefly at her guide, who hadn't mistaken the introduction for a jab at the most casually-dressed of the three scheming bastards. He turned to the Composer. “Alright, so the deal here is-”
“You didn't think to explain the situation beforehand?”
“She's difficult to take anywhere, alright!?”
“Even for you? I'm impressed!” The Charlatan casually deflected the venomous glare both Grandmasters shot him. “So. The Battle Majestic. Your guys' buddy the Director only just realised it's meandered off into subspace. Or superspace. Or something. Look, I wasn't there for the briefing. Point is, the Director was getting antsy, the Executive wasn't answering his love-letters, so he's passing on the battle to more capable hands.”
“Yours?” asked the Composer, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
“You kidding? I just intercepted Director's invitation to Observer to run it for him.”
The Composer glanced over at the Overseer again. He was smirking and nodding just a little bit. “What stops you from running this without my and his assistance?”
The Charlatan grinned behind his mask.
“Well, it's only good manners. Unrelatedly, I've got no intention of being hunted down as a thief by some smoke-faced figurehead clinging to his dregs of authority. You ran a battle for him anyway, so if you're behind it it's just... redistribution.”
“Yours would be...”
“Petty Squabble.”
The Composer merely twitched. The Charlatan uncharacteristically politely pretended to not notice his companions had split off for a private discussion.
“Do all these upstarts have such ridiculous names?”
“Babe, you're asking me that like I'm paying attention.”
“I thought we agreed you would drop the idiot 'act'.”
“Fine. Phrase your questions better next time; pretty sure his is the time swordsman.”
“And the sponsors behind the other contestants?”
“He never mentioned any. I couldn't find any notables either.”
“... Hmph. What stops us from merely snatching the battle off him?”
“He's got the co-ordinates, he's showing us a shred of courtesy by inviting us along. But whatever. I'm joining him. You can go lament your god complex with that nutcase Organizer if you're too damn holy to languish with us mortals.”
No time had passed. “So?”
“Yes.” The Composer cut across the Overseer with a voice like a blizzard. “I will assist.”
“Awesome.”
snap
- - - - -
Cyrris slapped the button to lower his cargo into the formaldehyde vat. Then he was tackled by a human. Iris got to her feet first and kicked his radio under a shelf, letting him flee while she searched for the power button.
The Deejan sprinted out onto the deserted street, hunting for the nearest lift. There was a dawning realisation of the eerie, sirenless silence; the curtailed clang-thump of a heavy footfall – pierced by the rattle of gunfire.
The drone waited until the Deejan's thermal signature began to cool, before marching ponderously toward the building it had sprinted out of. Another lifeform was present inside. The drone had its orders.
“... Hrm.”
The Composer studied the globe for a further moment before turning to greet the interruption. The planet whose ghostly image she turned beneath her fingers was overwhelmingly green - an eerily silent planet shrouded in forest, lorded over by one gargantuan tree.
“What do you want?”
“Just, humour me,” snapped the Overseer. He dispensed with the smirking sass from their previous, first encounter; opting for light conversation over a sardonic reply. “Where's that?”
“I believe it's called Babylon by the mortals – an inhospitable planet which supports life, but only of one particular species of plant.”
“Cute. Did you make it?”
“No. A mere curious life-form which appeared in the universe I... employ. Provided the sapients therein refrain from exterminating themselves, I see fit to not dabble in it.”
“Are you... feeding off their brainwaves, or something?”
“Your arrogance poorly disguises the fact you're not fit to survive here. I'm sure you have some contestants to be almost murdered by, Overseer.”
There was an angry snap. “Fine then, Composer.” The Overseer spat the last word out. “I'll quit playing the idiot and tell you something you might get off your high horse to hear.” Blank eyes stared into a multitude of black ones, uttterly unconcerned. Another snap, and the Overseer had his sunglasses back.
“That plant. On Babylon. It's got a weird fruit, right?”
“Get to the-”
“Battle Majestic.” The Overseer allowed himself a little grin at her silence. “Yeah. I did my research, and you're the only other Grandmaster with a stake in this. So I'm doing you a favour.”
The Composer's domain juddered a little at that jibe, but the Grandmaster herself maintained her demeanour. “Yours is the goat, I presume?”
“Heh. You guessed. Now come with me, there's a guy you need to meet.”
- - - - -
Cyrris got the Yagg to the medical bay, picked up a few extra canisters of foam to further subdue the specimen, and was about halfway to Warehouse 17 before the wail of an alarm interrupted. He groaned, though he really shouldn't have been surprised.
Intruders. The jabbering coming through on his walkie-talkie said it was humans, even. Just great. Knowing the Yagg was probably going to survive, Cyrris' main priorities had shifted to getting the most out of his specimen. The consummate scientist.
Of course, the facility entering lockdown until this threat got dealt with meant the bunker. All the jabbering bigwigs trying to discuss their way to a solution while whatever idiots had tripped the alarm ran amok through Oxbow. Which meant dumping the specimen in formaldehyde, and getting as much out of the dissection as he could once it was dead and pickled for a good few hours. If he was lucky. Cyrris wasn't sure if it was possible to drug a plant, but didn't really want to risk it with this one.
A tinny squawking issued from a loudspeaker attached to a nearby roof, and was repeated again and again and again, until Cyrris' radio joined in. Crow-seven-ave-four, crow-seven-ave-four. Immediate evacuation from Station Seven (the nearest train out of Oxbow, presumably), with a backup arriving at Station Four somewhere in the region of “later”. Neither option appealed to the Deejan, which meant the bunker. He slammed the brakes outside Warehouse Seventeen, swiped the door open, and jogged to grab a cart. By the time Cyrris returned to the truck, Sen had figured out how to set his unbreakable pod rocking from side to side. A muffled clicking still forced its way out somehow.
Cyrris ignored the specimen's protests, and let it drop itself off the truck onto his cart. He drove through the warehouse, feathers rising and lowering in agitation as he considered how best to preserve this thing. Releasing it from the foam would be nice, seeing as the stuff was impervious to water, but that would likely take too long. Best just submerge the whole thing, let it break out, and drown. Simple.
The Deejan screeched to a halt in his lab's loading bay, unaware he'd been followed all this while.
- - - - -
“So you're the Composer. Pleasure to meet you. Charlatan.”
The Composer glanced briefly at her guide, who hadn't mistaken the introduction for a jab at the most casually-dressed of the three scheming bastards. He turned to the Composer. “Alright, so the deal here is-”
“You didn't think to explain the situation beforehand?”
“She's difficult to take anywhere, alright!?”
“Even for you? I'm impressed!” The Charlatan casually deflected the venomous glare both Grandmasters shot him. “So. The Battle Majestic. Your guys' buddy the Director only just realised it's meandered off into subspace. Or superspace. Or something. Look, I wasn't there for the briefing. Point is, the Director was getting antsy, the Executive wasn't answering his love-letters, so he's passing on the battle to more capable hands.”
“Yours?” asked the Composer, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
“You kidding? I just intercepted Director's invitation to Observer to run it for him.”
The Composer glanced over at the Overseer again. He was smirking and nodding just a little bit. “What stops you from running this without my and his assistance?”
The Charlatan grinned behind his mask.
“Well, it's only good manners. Unrelatedly, I've got no intention of being hunted down as a thief by some smoke-faced figurehead clinging to his dregs of authority. You ran a battle for him anyway, so if you're behind it it's just... redistribution.”
“Yours would be...”
“Petty Squabble.”
The Composer merely twitched. The Charlatan uncharacteristically politely pretended to not notice his companions had split off for a private discussion.
“Do all these upstarts have such ridiculous names?”
“Babe, you're asking me that like I'm paying attention.”
“I thought we agreed you would drop the idiot 'act'.”
“Fine. Phrase your questions better next time; pretty sure his is the time swordsman.”
“And the sponsors behind the other contestants?”
“He never mentioned any. I couldn't find any notables either.”
“... Hmph. What stops us from merely snatching the battle off him?”
“He's got the co-ordinates, he's showing us a shred of courtesy by inviting us along. But whatever. I'm joining him. You can go lament your god complex with that nutcase Organizer if you're too damn holy to languish with us mortals.”
No time had passed. “So?”
“Yes.” The Composer cut across the Overseer with a voice like a blizzard. “I will assist.”
“Awesome.”
snap
- - - - -
Cyrris slapped the button to lower his cargo into the formaldehyde vat. Then he was tackled by a human. Iris got to her feet first and kicked his radio under a shelf, letting him flee while she searched for the power button.
The Deejan sprinted out onto the deserted street, hunting for the nearest lift. There was a dawning realisation of the eerie, sirenless silence; the curtailed clang-thump of a heavy footfall – pierced by the rattle of gunfire.
The drone waited until the Deejan's thermal signature began to cool, before marching ponderously toward the building it had sprinted out of. Another lifeform was present inside. The drone had its orders.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow