Re: The Battle Majestic (Round 4 - Magpie Skies)
06-08-2012, 02:39 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
<font color="#ff5c48">The princess tangled at her (imaginary) hair nervously as Twenty-Five paced back and forth in front of his desk - which was just as needlessly baroque as her dress. Eryntse had been arrested a couple of times before (for “harassment” reasons; she still did not quite understand how her actions could be deemed as “harassment”) but they usually ended with a stint in a small cell and a stern warning. However, that was when she was inexperienced and lost in the place she deemed her home. The false woman eventually adapted to the concept of no-touchie (when people are looking at least). However, this “imprisonment” (well, at least she pretty sure it was one) by the gentlemen of the castle was a bit more unnerving to her.
Perhaps it was the rude welcome she received (they are so rude). Perhaps it was the amount of light in the room (she was never a big fan of light). Perhaps it was the stupid amounts of documents she had to fill out. The stack they gave her was her arm’s length and it was especially hard to fill these ridiculous forms with two arms (did she mention she only had two arms). There were many things that made her feel disheartened but she was pretty sure what the biggest upsetting thing after affidavits was: interrogation. The concept of one-on-one was incredibly intimidating and scary, especially with Twenty-Five and his imposing helmet (which probably felt awesome to wear, she thought quietly to herself). She was not going to look forward to it. And it was going to happen.
Twenty-Five frowned down at her completed papers – well at least, she thought he did. Helmets often obscure face registration of moods. “So your name is Earny…this?”
“Oh no no no no,” Eryntse dithered nervously, daintily waving with a hand. “It’s E-rinte-cheh. It’s Western. Although my family originally came from the East-”
“It doesn’t sound Western,” Twenty-Five interrupted (which she found rude, but she was not that undignified to interrupt him and do the same – and she was nervous). “Or Eastern. Or anything from this realm at all. In fact, the local arcana could not register anything about you” He stared at Eryntse “Where are you exactly from.”
A couple of tedious seconds passed. “West,” Eryntse piped up so quietly, that it could be more suitably described as an onomatopoeic meep.“I filled it here” she darted a finger at the appropriate section “remember?”
“Uh huh” Eryntse desperately hoped that was a sound of acceptance but judging from the knight’s gestures, it probably was not. He had stopped pace and was slowly rubbing a palm over his face – also he was sighing. Eryntse knew that Very Huge Sighs never bode well. “That’s a pretty large place to be from. So why are you here.”
“Uh, um,” Eryntse felt the volume of her voice drop along with some of her confidence points. In uneasy instinct, she teased at her fanciful hair, tugged at her illusive dress, trying her best to keep her other arms inside of her. She was getting uncomfortable, really uncomfortable. “To...make friends?”
The faulty princess cringed as Twenty-Five dropped the heavy documents on his extravagant desk, the thud ringing in her over-decorated ears. At this point, her uneasiness evolved into full-blown agitation, eating away at her core like a virulent disease. To Eryntse, that action meant a lot of things. He was upset, impatient, serious, vindictive, and do those things even matter? They were all incredibly bad things and Eryntse was afraid (so afraid) of getting the receiving end of it.
“Who sent you here, ” Twenty-Five said.
“A lady, I g-guess? I couldn’t tell the difference.” She added more nervous curls around her finger . “I was kind of dragged here though.” Eryntse looked downwards, the shameful tilt of her head reminiscent of a dog being heavily scolded by her owner as if she had done a Very Bad Thing.
“What was her name.” It was as if Twenty-Five had all the questions in the world – and all the time too.
“I don’t know,” Eryntse teetered; her chair creaked in empathetic desperation. “I didn’t even ask. Maybe I could find he--”
“Why are you dressed like royalty,” he interrupted.
“It’s pretty and everyone does it? I don’t kn--”
“Are you affiliated with any other coalition or castle.”
“I don’t kno-- ”
“Do you intend or wish any harm to our prisoners.”
“I don’t k--”
Twenty-Five was currently staring at one of the many portraits on the walls - all which exclusively contained knights that could be described as identical if it were not for their differentiable armor. That one portrait all of Twenty-Five’s attention was intent had the fanciest regalia ever - probably the head honcho or the originator of these knights, Eryntse guessed. She was taking in all these details because she was nervous and her nervousness was going to spike when her interrogator turned around and practically shoved his helmet into her face.
“Then why are you here.”
Eryntse was incredibly upset. There were many variables that factor into her conclusive emotion: the largeness of the foreign world, the unkindness of strangers, the lack of progress in her quest, the lack of any things to touch, and so forth. Needless to say, the unpleasantries of Twenty-Five’s mug in her face was the last straw, the provocation that made her degenerate into waterworks. Oh damn, did she cry. The room was completely filled with the sniffling and crying and hacking and other types of gross sobbing from one singular and distraught person.
“I don’t knooooooow,” Eryntse wheedled out. “I don’t even knooooooooooooow.”
Twenty-Five could only stare in shock as the sight of a giant pink…thing suddenly appeared nowhere. He had a hard time believing that enormous segmented oh-god-what draped over the seat and the fashion-disaster princess were the same exact person, but the creature was despondently sobbing, her many, many arms all reaching towards her head in consolidation. Despite the lack of eyes, there were big, fat tears disconcertingly streaming down her face. The knight shifted slightly in confusion and befuddlement. She was definitely not human – or from this world anyway.
“Uh--”
“I-I don’t know anything” The fleshy slug coughed in fearful mid-sob.
“Well--”
“Don’t hurt meeeeee,” she bawled fearfully.
“Huh.”
Twenty-Five could only shake his head as definitely-not-a-princess continued to drown in her lachrymose. Even though she was a foreign entity (the likes that the knight had never seen before), she meant no harm. On the other hand, she was definitely not going to answer any more questions in this state. How do you deal with a pink creature that just suddenly appeared out of nowhere? In front of you, nevertheless?
The knight pondered what to do. Well, she did illegally broke into place (a security one, no less) and fraudulently claimed she was a Queen at first. Perhaps, she has more information in her head that could prove valuable to the Six For Gold Police Department. Twenty-Five finally decided. She would have to detain in a cell for some period of time. You know, to cool down for a bit.
Twenty-Five made a motion with his hand.
“W-what’s this?” Eryntse stammered as a couple of knights came into the room. Despite the volume of the office, the amount of people in the room made her feel a brand of claustrophobic anxiety, especially since they were shackling her many, many arms.
“Well,madam,” Twenty-Five simply put it, “I am afraid we are going to take you in.”</font>
---
Far below the insignificant commotions from Twenty-Five’s office, there were dark secrets.
In the most abyssal levels of this castle (otherwise known as a basement), there were many things – moth-eaten tax returns, tattered canvas, forlorn bits of metal, outdated swords, even more outdated magazines, other sorts of riff-raff, and so forth. There was something interesting about the juxtaposition of the miscellaneous objects though. From the edges, the junk were few and scattered. However as the eyes furthered from the walls, the rummage seemed to condense, twist, warp in form in shape to form the tumultuous machine dead center of the room. The contraption was an awe-inspiring piece of work. Animated by arcane magic and other vaguely-defined sciences, the vaguely clockwork-like apparatus ran forever – its humming wires feeding ambient energies upwards to other rooms. This was the Engine that kept the Six For Gold Department lively and intact.
Inside the Engine, there was a balloon.
A rubbery red bag filled tightly with ambiguous gases, it was a simple thing with a simple mind. Its intelligence capacities could be barely called sentient, but it registered enough comprehension to realize it was in a Very Bad Scenario and acted in a way that in high cognitive functions, it would have been called “panic.” As such, it bumped fruitlessly against the glass walls, hoping to purchase some sort of force to shatter out of its penitentiary (which was more suited for goldfish than for balloons) into freedom. However, it was a balloon, not an unstoppable force of nature.
The prisoner could only helpless watch as his bumping was silently amplified and converted into energy for this accursed location. The balloon squeaked in plastic-y fear as it started to bump against the walls again. It was getting incredibly frustrated, so frustrated that it sent a mental ripple of fear from its cage, into the basement, up the castle, out of the castle, and into the air. The invisible cry of psychic help travelled through the horizons to search for the receiving end – one that was eternally linked to the Balloon.
The Balloon needed the Hat.
<font color="#ff5c48">The princess tangled at her (imaginary) hair nervously as Twenty-Five paced back and forth in front of his desk - which was just as needlessly baroque as her dress. Eryntse had been arrested a couple of times before (for “harassment” reasons; she still did not quite understand how her actions could be deemed as “harassment”) but they usually ended with a stint in a small cell and a stern warning. However, that was when she was inexperienced and lost in the place she deemed her home. The false woman eventually adapted to the concept of no-touchie (when people are looking at least). However, this “imprisonment” (well, at least she pretty sure it was one) by the gentlemen of the castle was a bit more unnerving to her.
Perhaps it was the rude welcome she received (they are so rude). Perhaps it was the amount of light in the room (she was never a big fan of light). Perhaps it was the stupid amounts of documents she had to fill out. The stack they gave her was her arm’s length and it was especially hard to fill these ridiculous forms with two arms (did she mention she only had two arms). There were many things that made her feel disheartened but she was pretty sure what the biggest upsetting thing after affidavits was: interrogation. The concept of one-on-one was incredibly intimidating and scary, especially with Twenty-Five and his imposing helmet (which probably felt awesome to wear, she thought quietly to herself). She was not going to look forward to it. And it was going to happen.
Twenty-Five frowned down at her completed papers – well at least, she thought he did. Helmets often obscure face registration of moods. “So your name is Earny…this?”
“Oh no no no no,” Eryntse dithered nervously, daintily waving with a hand. “It’s E-rinte-cheh. It’s Western. Although my family originally came from the East-”
“It doesn’t sound Western,” Twenty-Five interrupted (which she found rude, but she was not that undignified to interrupt him and do the same – and she was nervous). “Or Eastern. Or anything from this realm at all. In fact, the local arcana could not register anything about you” He stared at Eryntse “Where are you exactly from.”
A couple of tedious seconds passed. “West,” Eryntse piped up so quietly, that it could be more suitably described as an onomatopoeic meep.“I filled it here” she darted a finger at the appropriate section “remember?”
“Uh huh” Eryntse desperately hoped that was a sound of acceptance but judging from the knight’s gestures, it probably was not. He had stopped pace and was slowly rubbing a palm over his face – also he was sighing. Eryntse knew that Very Huge Sighs never bode well. “That’s a pretty large place to be from. So why are you here.”
“Uh, um,” Eryntse felt the volume of her voice drop along with some of her confidence points. In uneasy instinct, she teased at her fanciful hair, tugged at her illusive dress, trying her best to keep her other arms inside of her. She was getting uncomfortable, really uncomfortable. “To...make friends?”
The faulty princess cringed as Twenty-Five dropped the heavy documents on his extravagant desk, the thud ringing in her over-decorated ears. At this point, her uneasiness evolved into full-blown agitation, eating away at her core like a virulent disease. To Eryntse, that action meant a lot of things. He was upset, impatient, serious, vindictive, and do those things even matter? They were all incredibly bad things and Eryntse was afraid (so afraid) of getting the receiving end of it.
“Who sent you here, ” Twenty-Five said.
“A lady, I g-guess? I couldn’t tell the difference.” She added more nervous curls around her finger . “I was kind of dragged here though.” Eryntse looked downwards, the shameful tilt of her head reminiscent of a dog being heavily scolded by her owner as if she had done a Very Bad Thing.
“What was her name.” It was as if Twenty-Five had all the questions in the world – and all the time too.
“I don’t know,” Eryntse teetered; her chair creaked in empathetic desperation. “I didn’t even ask. Maybe I could find he--”
“Why are you dressed like royalty,” he interrupted.
“It’s pretty and everyone does it? I don’t kn--”
“Are you affiliated with any other coalition or castle.”
“I don’t kno-- ”
“Do you intend or wish any harm to our prisoners.”
“I don’t k--”
Twenty-Five was currently staring at one of the many portraits on the walls - all which exclusively contained knights that could be described as identical if it were not for their differentiable armor. That one portrait all of Twenty-Five’s attention was intent had the fanciest regalia ever - probably the head honcho or the originator of these knights, Eryntse guessed. She was taking in all these details because she was nervous and her nervousness was going to spike when her interrogator turned around and practically shoved his helmet into her face.
“Then why are you here.”
Eryntse was incredibly upset. There were many variables that factor into her conclusive emotion: the largeness of the foreign world, the unkindness of strangers, the lack of progress in her quest, the lack of any things to touch, and so forth. Needless to say, the unpleasantries of Twenty-Five’s mug in her face was the last straw, the provocation that made her degenerate into waterworks. Oh damn, did she cry. The room was completely filled with the sniffling and crying and hacking and other types of gross sobbing from one singular and distraught person.
“I don’t knooooooow,” Eryntse wheedled out. “I don’t even knooooooooooooow.”
Twenty-Five could only stare in shock as the sight of a giant pink…thing suddenly appeared nowhere. He had a hard time believing that enormous segmented oh-god-what draped over the seat and the fashion-disaster princess were the same exact person, but the creature was despondently sobbing, her many, many arms all reaching towards her head in consolidation. Despite the lack of eyes, there were big, fat tears disconcertingly streaming down her face. The knight shifted slightly in confusion and befuddlement. She was definitely not human – or from this world anyway.
“Uh--”
“I-I don’t know anything” The fleshy slug coughed in fearful mid-sob.
“Well--”
“Don’t hurt meeeeee,” she bawled fearfully.
“Huh.”
Twenty-Five could only shake his head as definitely-not-a-princess continued to drown in her lachrymose. Even though she was a foreign entity (the likes that the knight had never seen before), she meant no harm. On the other hand, she was definitely not going to answer any more questions in this state. How do you deal with a pink creature that just suddenly appeared out of nowhere? In front of you, nevertheless?
The knight pondered what to do. Well, she did illegally broke into place (a security one, no less) and fraudulently claimed she was a Queen at first. Perhaps, she has more information in her head that could prove valuable to the Six For Gold Police Department. Twenty-Five finally decided. She would have to detain in a cell for some period of time. You know, to cool down for a bit.
Twenty-Five made a motion with his hand.
“W-what’s this?” Eryntse stammered as a couple of knights came into the room. Despite the volume of the office, the amount of people in the room made her feel a brand of claustrophobic anxiety, especially since they were shackling her many, many arms.
“Well,madam,” Twenty-Five simply put it, “I am afraid we are going to take you in.”</font>
---
Far below the insignificant commotions from Twenty-Five’s office, there were dark secrets.
In the most abyssal levels of this castle (otherwise known as a basement), there were many things – moth-eaten tax returns, tattered canvas, forlorn bits of metal, outdated swords, even more outdated magazines, other sorts of riff-raff, and so forth. There was something interesting about the juxtaposition of the miscellaneous objects though. From the edges, the junk were few and scattered. However as the eyes furthered from the walls, the rummage seemed to condense, twist, warp in form in shape to form the tumultuous machine dead center of the room. The contraption was an awe-inspiring piece of work. Animated by arcane magic and other vaguely-defined sciences, the vaguely clockwork-like apparatus ran forever – its humming wires feeding ambient energies upwards to other rooms. This was the Engine that kept the Six For Gold Department lively and intact.
Inside the Engine, there was a balloon.
A rubbery red bag filled tightly with ambiguous gases, it was a simple thing with a simple mind. Its intelligence capacities could be barely called sentient, but it registered enough comprehension to realize it was in a Very Bad Scenario and acted in a way that in high cognitive functions, it would have been called “panic.” As such, it bumped fruitlessly against the glass walls, hoping to purchase some sort of force to shatter out of its penitentiary (which was more suited for goldfish than for balloons) into freedom. However, it was a balloon, not an unstoppable force of nature.
The prisoner could only helpless watch as his bumping was silently amplified and converted into energy for this accursed location. The balloon squeaked in plastic-y fear as it started to bump against the walls again. It was getting incredibly frustrated, so frustrated that it sent a mental ripple of fear from its cage, into the basement, up the castle, out of the castle, and into the air. The invisible cry of psychic help travelled through the horizons to search for the receiving end – one that was eternally linked to the Balloon.
The Balloon needed the Hat.