Re: Mini-Grand 5102 [Round 1: Sprawl-Mart]
06-06-2011, 02:25 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.
There was thunder in its hooves and iron clanging in its ears like a carillon as Rome leapt, over the spaces between the shelves and over the screaming- so much screaming! Like their lungs were filled with burning ash! Rome was above them and already past and paid them no mind. There was metal collapsing underneath it, up through its bones, and the sound of crashing glass down below. The songs of the dead had come back to Rome; each blow of its feet against the shelves was a note and its rhythm ran in the breaking glass. Rome opened its mouth and called to the ruin around it; it answered back with screams of tearing metal and cries of terror between the gaps.
The dead emperors would slaver in their mausoleums at the wealth under its hooves, the Beast thought in the vague way that Beasts do. Its tongue drank only blood and wine but Rome knew what food was. Its dust, its ashes, they spoke of figs in honey and birds drowned in milk. Were the people hungry here? They didn’t look hungry, most of them. None of them were taking the things below, not when they were full of red, red dust and glass glittered on the floor.
There was a shriek and a shattering behind it- burn while the fiddle plays- and more shelves came down, their rows and rows of precious priceless glass bursting on the ground. The scents of vinegar and long-dead plant-things rose up under Rome’s nose and it spat them away angrily. There was no life here! These were the collected deaths of little things, too quiet to have voices. Rome hated them for the secrets they kept. It was glad the dust was unmaking them, breaking the silent little glasses and spilling their insides. There was no fire here, no burning with sweat under the hateful sun and bite of the plow into the seething earth!
Baying like a wolf, Rome lifted its head to the air and snapped at the too-bright lights. They were so sharp! Like little suns! But they weren’t suns, weren’t stars, they belonged with the quiet-jar keepers and the fake false stone on the too-far floor. Sow your fields with salt, this was no place for a Beast like itself.
Far, far off on the stale breeze, Rome caught the scent of blades. A warrior? Here? Triarii! Celeres! Numerii! The dust roiled behind its heels and the metal beneath the Beast’s hooves screamed and buckled as it lunged for the ground. Rome hit the tiles hard, gouging them deeply, and then it was galloping with craters in its footsteps and the Beast was gone.
There was thunder in its hooves and iron clanging in its ears like a carillon as Rome leapt, over the spaces between the shelves and over the screaming- so much screaming! Like their lungs were filled with burning ash! Rome was above them and already past and paid them no mind. There was metal collapsing underneath it, up through its bones, and the sound of crashing glass down below. The songs of the dead had come back to Rome; each blow of its feet against the shelves was a note and its rhythm ran in the breaking glass. Rome opened its mouth and called to the ruin around it; it answered back with screams of tearing metal and cries of terror between the gaps.
The dead emperors would slaver in their mausoleums at the wealth under its hooves, the Beast thought in the vague way that Beasts do. Its tongue drank only blood and wine but Rome knew what food was. Its dust, its ashes, they spoke of figs in honey and birds drowned in milk. Were the people hungry here? They didn’t look hungry, most of them. None of them were taking the things below, not when they were full of red, red dust and glass glittered on the floor.
There was a shriek and a shattering behind it- burn while the fiddle plays- and more shelves came down, their rows and rows of precious priceless glass bursting on the ground. The scents of vinegar and long-dead plant-things rose up under Rome’s nose and it spat them away angrily. There was no life here! These were the collected deaths of little things, too quiet to have voices. Rome hated them for the secrets they kept. It was glad the dust was unmaking them, breaking the silent little glasses and spilling their insides. There was no fire here, no burning with sweat under the hateful sun and bite of the plow into the seething earth!
Baying like a wolf, Rome lifted its head to the air and snapped at the too-bright lights. They were so sharp! Like little suns! But they weren’t suns, weren’t stars, they belonged with the quiet-jar keepers and the fake false stone on the too-far floor. Sow your fields with salt, this was no place for a Beast like itself.
Far, far off on the stale breeze, Rome caught the scent of blades. A warrior? Here? Triarii! Celeres! Numerii! The dust roiled behind its heels and the metal beneath the Beast’s hooves screamed and buckled as it lunged for the ground. Rome hit the tiles hard, gouging them deeply, and then it was galloping with craters in its footsteps and the Beast was gone.