Re: The Spectacular Exhibition (S3G2) [Round 1: Parallels/Perpendicularities]
02-18-2011, 04:10 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Grin-nh-nh-ngh-Ngh-NGHK-NGHK-NGHK.
Maybe it was the painkillers wearing off or the unaccustomed heat wearing away at her nerves, but the chainsaw's resounding, graunching snarl as it burst from a sand dune terrified Tria. Different parts of it were smoking and humming and gleaming in the unforgiving sun, the traitorous sand giving way under Tria's slipping feet as she turned too quickly to flee. The chainsaw seemed to slow a little as the last of the sand streamed off it, seemingly considering, before the blade rose like the scythe of Death himself, backed by that maniacal, rattling cackle-
The arm, and the reactor within, acted of its own accord as Tria threw it in front of her face. All it took was one look at the mess of metal, exploding from the sand, and the generator within kicked into defense of the subject. The air shimmered before Brooklyn could grumble about her ventfuls of sand or even notice the terrified young woman sprawled in front of her, a little rusty iron rising like dust around Tria as the field stabilised.
The ghost finally noticed the girl, then the futuristic machinery that had replaced her arm. Then the magnetic field it generated forcibly slungshot her into another sand-bank.
Brooklyn snarled angrily, though this was more at the dune she was up to her hilt in rather than at the poor girl radiating fear enough that even the ghost's senile senses could read it. Tria whimpered as the engines went dead, then flinched with the whine and a plume of sand. She was still too shaken by Brooklyn's arrival to stand, though the quiet, professional whir of the prosthetic arm was a vague comfort - one that the screaming machine seemed to be trying to drown out.
The chainsaw rose from the desert floor, dusting herself off as best she could with a few sharp jet bursts and arrested freefalls. She topped the crest she'd been tossed into with a clank and grunt, admiring the girl's apparatus from a safe distance. Not surprisingly, the ex-engineering professor was fascinated by it, and only wished she could take a closer look. One rocket-propelled equivalent attempt at a tentative step forward just made Tria flinch again.
Brooklyn sighed. This kind of reaction, as reasonable as Brooklyn could concede it was, made grand plans like "work together to stick it to that Counselor" rather difficult. More difficult than impaling unscrupulous folks, anyway.
With a rather exasperated chatter, she shut off the axillary rockets and crashed upon the crest of sand she had just been hovering above. Tria flinched again but finally risked standing, albeit with her arm still raised in front of her. Pinpricks of light drifted around her, the only sign the magnetic field remained. She had no wish to let that monster near her, and backed away on slightly steadier feet. Brooklyn made no move to pursue, save for a muffled snap as her blowtorch unbuckled. It still couldn't travel much more than three feet, but it was hopefully enough.
Tria took a few more steps away, before the little roar of concentrated fire filled the rocketless void of sound, or at least tried its hissing best to. She stared at the contraption with a look of horrified fasination, panic threatening to consume her as the blowtorch scorched a circle in the sand. It bisected its ring down the middle, then down this line of symmetry burned two symmetrical radii in an upside-down 'v'.
Brooklyn waited expectantly, but the magnetic field still drifted unwavering around Tria. The ghost sighed again. The girl's weird future-tech certainly implied a different time than her, but she assumed parallel universes would have weird coincidences like this. I guess not. Damnit.
Grin-nh-nh-ngh-Ngh-NGHK-NGHK-NGHK.
Maybe it was the painkillers wearing off or the unaccustomed heat wearing away at her nerves, but the chainsaw's resounding, graunching snarl as it burst from a sand dune terrified Tria. Different parts of it were smoking and humming and gleaming in the unforgiving sun, the traitorous sand giving way under Tria's slipping feet as she turned too quickly to flee. The chainsaw seemed to slow a little as the last of the sand streamed off it, seemingly considering, before the blade rose like the scythe of Death himself, backed by that maniacal, rattling cackle-
The arm, and the reactor within, acted of its own accord as Tria threw it in front of her face. All it took was one look at the mess of metal, exploding from the sand, and the generator within kicked into defense of the subject. The air shimmered before Brooklyn could grumble about her ventfuls of sand or even notice the terrified young woman sprawled in front of her, a little rusty iron rising like dust around Tria as the field stabilised.
The ghost finally noticed the girl, then the futuristic machinery that had replaced her arm. Then the magnetic field it generated forcibly slungshot her into another sand-bank.
Brooklyn snarled angrily, though this was more at the dune she was up to her hilt in rather than at the poor girl radiating fear enough that even the ghost's senile senses could read it. Tria whimpered as the engines went dead, then flinched with the whine and a plume of sand. She was still too shaken by Brooklyn's arrival to stand, though the quiet, professional whir of the prosthetic arm was a vague comfort - one that the screaming machine seemed to be trying to drown out.
The chainsaw rose from the desert floor, dusting herself off as best she could with a few sharp jet bursts and arrested freefalls. She topped the crest she'd been tossed into with a clank and grunt, admiring the girl's apparatus from a safe distance. Not surprisingly, the ex-engineering professor was fascinated by it, and only wished she could take a closer look. One rocket-propelled equivalent attempt at a tentative step forward just made Tria flinch again.
Brooklyn sighed. This kind of reaction, as reasonable as Brooklyn could concede it was, made grand plans like "work together to stick it to that Counselor" rather difficult. More difficult than impaling unscrupulous folks, anyway.
With a rather exasperated chatter, she shut off the axillary rockets and crashed upon the crest of sand she had just been hovering above. Tria flinched again but finally risked standing, albeit with her arm still raised in front of her. Pinpricks of light drifted around her, the only sign the magnetic field remained. She had no wish to let that monster near her, and backed away on slightly steadier feet. Brooklyn made no move to pursue, save for a muffled snap as her blowtorch unbuckled. It still couldn't travel much more than three feet, but it was hopefully enough.
Tria took a few more steps away, before the little roar of concentrated fire filled the rocketless void of sound, or at least tried its hissing best to. She stared at the contraption with a look of horrified fasination, panic threatening to consume her as the blowtorch scorched a circle in the sand. It bisected its ring down the middle, then down this line of symmetry burned two symmetrical radii in an upside-down 'v'.
Brooklyn waited expectantly, but the magnetic field still drifted unwavering around Tria. The ghost sighed again. The girl's weird future-tech certainly implied a different time than her, but she assumed parallel universes would have weird coincidences like this. I guess not. Damnit.
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