Re: The Spectacular Exhibition (S3G2) [Round 1: Parallels/Perpendicularities]
03-23-2011, 09:06 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
There was a certain absurdity to this whole situation, a realisation starting to trickle into the peripheries of Tria's consciousness like the sweat down her back. It was the (understandable) stress of finding oneself tossed in a battle to the death with monsters beyond her imagination. The stress of a supposed opponent in said battle, a rocket-powered chainsaw, sitting back and carving alien symbols in the ground without any obvious intent to attack her. Tria wasn't sure whether she would've preferred the contraption fly at her shrieking, just so things made a shred of sense.
Then the pyramid happened. Brooklyn's mechanical affinity had been vaguely aware of something going on in the vague region of 'underground', and she pirouetted smartly and u-turned off to greet the rising structure as soon as the rumbling struck up. Tria just stared as the chainsaw zoomed away, before it jack-knifed in the middle distance and chased the apex into the sky.
The rumbling subsided, though Brooklyn's growls persisted as the chainsaw orbited inquisitive circles round the pyramid's metal cap. Tria actually managed a laugh at this point; it was choked with stress and dehydration. She took a few nervous steps toward the pyramid, with its promise of shade; after scrambling up a crest of sand (and losing her footing and sliding down the other side) failed to attract the chainsaw's attention Tria hastened for the doorway.
The woman's movement hadn't escaped Brooklyn's attention, but considering how their first meeting had gone the ghost thought it prudent to let Tria find her own way out of the desert heat. Cutting the rockets, Brooklyn hovered atop a block of limestone and just took the pyramid in.
Lacking eyes or ears or any other typical sense organs (being dead), Brooklyn saw things a little differently to the living. Being vaguely aware of nearby obstacles and very sensitive to the presence of living things had generally avoided accidents, though the ghost had learned after one fateful excursion to avoid forests. Slightly more useful was what Brooklyn called her sense of context, the curious ability to know (to various degrees) when and how and why man-made things had come about. Machines were the ex-engineering professor's specialty, but pratice through necessity had improved the ability. Brooklyn considered it a poor substitute for colour vision or never again experiencing the smell of chai mixed with engine oil in the small hours of the morning, but she couldn't complain.
It was this 'sight' Brooklyn was focussing on now – though the considerable age of the pyramid was making it hard to discern why the thing had been built in the first place. The ghost settled for “lofty”. The chainsaw spun slowly through its centre, until the blade rested a hair's width from the spike of iron at the top of the pyramid. Brooklyn paused, grinned, revved the engine, and jumped forward with a little blast of the rockets.
Tria flinched at the pyramid's foot, the staccato clang of metal on metal cackling across the desert like gunfire. She quit deliberating whether to enter or not, and sprinted in.
The chainsaw staggered about drunkenly, rocket-bursts barely keeping it afloat as Brooklyn waited for the ringing to stop. Not that the exercise had been useless – for one thing, the ghost had discovered it wasn't just a cap – it was a square-sided, veritable monolith of metal, descending the full height of the pyramid – then deeper.
What's more, it was hollow. Brooklyn charged down the pyramid's slope, banked sharply, and shot down a passageway with the delighted roar of impending adventure.
There was a certain absurdity to this whole situation, a realisation starting to trickle into the peripheries of Tria's consciousness like the sweat down her back. It was the (understandable) stress of finding oneself tossed in a battle to the death with monsters beyond her imagination. The stress of a supposed opponent in said battle, a rocket-powered chainsaw, sitting back and carving alien symbols in the ground without any obvious intent to attack her. Tria wasn't sure whether she would've preferred the contraption fly at her shrieking, just so things made a shred of sense.
Then the pyramid happened. Brooklyn's mechanical affinity had been vaguely aware of something going on in the vague region of 'underground', and she pirouetted smartly and u-turned off to greet the rising structure as soon as the rumbling struck up. Tria just stared as the chainsaw zoomed away, before it jack-knifed in the middle distance and chased the apex into the sky.
The rumbling subsided, though Brooklyn's growls persisted as the chainsaw orbited inquisitive circles round the pyramid's metal cap. Tria actually managed a laugh at this point; it was choked with stress and dehydration. She took a few nervous steps toward the pyramid, with its promise of shade; after scrambling up a crest of sand (and losing her footing and sliding down the other side) failed to attract the chainsaw's attention Tria hastened for the doorway.
The woman's movement hadn't escaped Brooklyn's attention, but considering how their first meeting had gone the ghost thought it prudent to let Tria find her own way out of the desert heat. Cutting the rockets, Brooklyn hovered atop a block of limestone and just took the pyramid in.
Lacking eyes or ears or any other typical sense organs (being dead), Brooklyn saw things a little differently to the living. Being vaguely aware of nearby obstacles and very sensitive to the presence of living things had generally avoided accidents, though the ghost had learned after one fateful excursion to avoid forests. Slightly more useful was what Brooklyn called her sense of context, the curious ability to know (to various degrees) when and how and why man-made things had come about. Machines were the ex-engineering professor's specialty, but pratice through necessity had improved the ability. Brooklyn considered it a poor substitute for colour vision or never again experiencing the smell of chai mixed with engine oil in the small hours of the morning, but she couldn't complain.
It was this 'sight' Brooklyn was focussing on now – though the considerable age of the pyramid was making it hard to discern why the thing had been built in the first place. The ghost settled for “lofty”. The chainsaw spun slowly through its centre, until the blade rested a hair's width from the spike of iron at the top of the pyramid. Brooklyn paused, grinned, revved the engine, and jumped forward with a little blast of the rockets.
Tria flinched at the pyramid's foot, the staccato clang of metal on metal cackling across the desert like gunfire. She quit deliberating whether to enter or not, and sprinted in.
The chainsaw staggered about drunkenly, rocket-bursts barely keeping it afloat as Brooklyn waited for the ringing to stop. Not that the exercise had been useless – for one thing, the ghost had discovered it wasn't just a cap – it was a square-sided, veritable monolith of metal, descending the full height of the pyramid – then deeper.
What's more, it was hollow. Brooklyn charged down the pyramid's slope, banked sharply, and shot down a passageway with the delighted roar of impending adventure.
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