Re: Mini-Grand 5102 [Round 3: Rome, 2020]
09-25-2011, 09:47 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
Rome –known as the capital of Italy, a place of rich history, countless cultures, and of course, sports. In this glorious year, this prestigiously reputed spot has the honor of hosting the 2020’s Olympics, which thankfully was today. Of course, the seats were rapidly taken up and the tickets for the front (and the remaining) seats were awfully expensive, but hey, Olympics! On this very day, every country set aside their differences and participates in this grand display sportsmanship in order to promote peace and egalitarianism between each of the existing nations.
Too bad this was stage for a particular brawl.
Now in this very early morning, the skies were misty and a wet sleepy mist condensed on this city. As the white sun brightly smiled on the stadium (no doubt, billions of Euros spent on furnishing this place), the contestants and the audience paid no heed to the tedium of the wet sunrise and the noticeable haze. This was the beginning of Olympics. Time and weather would not stop this glorious day! Men and women participating in this international drama as they wait for the first event: women’s hurdles! Everyone loves women’s hurdles.
Happy cheering echoed from the seats as the contestants grouped on the starting line. Little spheres flew close to the starting action, their comically miniscule helicopter blades rapidly providing lift. These ergonomic flying objects are actually cameras, bolstered with rudimentary artificial intelligence and the latest technology. Their purpose is simple: to get the highest definition of important events, such as right now. The crowd erupted in deafening applause (and a smattering of honking from vuvuzeulas) as the contestant entered the track field.
"Wonderful weather today," an upbeat newscaster voice chirped. "Well then, today is the beginning of the 2020 Olympiad, the thirty-second series of this grand tradition. Things are a little wet, but a little damp never hurt the contestants! Interestingly enough, the first event up will be Women’s 100 meter hurdles. Now…"
The commentators began to drone on about the contestants - their histories, their experiences, and their aspirations. However, the crowd and the watchers with their televisions mostly pushed how Louisa Rina of United Kingdom was attempting to defend gold or how Sally Mackenzie of Australia was recovering from a knee injury. The viewers wanted competition – wanted action, so it was no surprise that the roaring of the crowd halted as the women of this competition loosened their muscles with stretching exercises and made their way to the starting line.
Silence dominated the stadium; the quiet was almost tangible, save for the almost indiscernible sound of the whirring from the flying cameras. The women leaned into their starting positions, condensed beads of nervousness and determination rolling off their faces. As their mindsets automatically locked into game mode, hammered on by Spartan training from their respective nations, the contestants awaited the referee. He grimly lifted his hand, pistol lifted high above the air and –
"Goodness, what is this?"
A streak of navy-blue bolted between the surprised competitors, altering clusters of gasps and screams from the crowd. Of course, the unusual phenomenon did not last very long as the indiscernible blur soon collided with the wooden hurdles set on the track field. As soon as the viewers managed to figure out who was tangled between the artificial obstacles, the crowd began to scream even louder.
"Well, um," The commentator stammered. "This is certainly interesting. How did that thing get there in the first place? What is that thing anyway? Some sort of human…thing? What the hell is going on? What the hell is going on?"
Miecz was not exactly happy at his situation. He was tangled, tired, and in a really bad mood. Not only that, he was freaking tired. His jaw was split all the way, a pool of sticky spit pooling from his cheeks as his tongued darted back and forth, desperate for oxygen. The swordmonster was honestly tired of this shit. He kind of reached his threshold. He really did not want to fight anymore. He wanted to live and do normal things, well normal for his situation anyway.
Needless to say, his situation was definitely not normal. Metal spheres darted around him, whirring loudly in his ears. They were annoying him. The crowd was annoying him. They were so loud and he was so defenseless. Miecz hated being defenseless. Defenseless creatures tend to get killed and he definitely did not want to get killed. He definitely thought his death was for certain when he could hear walking in the distance. He was definitely going to die. Yep, he was.
People were hovering above him. Miecz did not want to move; moving tends to encourage people to strike. However, the people peering condescendingly on them – they look like those uniformed people from the first round, expect they were skinnier and there were a lot more of them. So, was this how he was going to die, trussed up in this confounding wooden stands at the hands of such unworthy opponents? This was a truly inglorious death for him, but he willing to accept that. After all, he did that particular brash act of murdering his leader in a fit of rage. Perhaps, this so-called karma was biting him in the ass…
The waft of rust alerted him and his regrets were abruptly replaced with panic. As typical of his kind, Miecz has no fears, but there was this definite danger behind him! Billows of choking rust were noticeable in the distance and he was really flipping out. Struggling with the hurdles, Miecz splintered the wooden beams with his sheer strength (and panic). At the surprise of the uniformed men, the swordmonster bolted away on fours, knocking over a few more obstacles in the process.
"Well, interesting all right, but - the hell? Apparently there is some sort of [color=#933E19]deer…dragon…thing…oh god"</font>
Rome –known as the capital of Italy, a place of rich history, countless cultures, and of course, sports. In this glorious year, this prestigiously reputed spot has the honor of hosting the 2020’s Olympics, which thankfully was today. Of course, the seats were rapidly taken up and the tickets for the front (and the remaining) seats were awfully expensive, but hey, Olympics! On this very day, every country set aside their differences and participates in this grand display sportsmanship in order to promote peace and egalitarianism between each of the existing nations.
Too bad this was stage for a particular brawl.
Now in this very early morning, the skies were misty and a wet sleepy mist condensed on this city. As the white sun brightly smiled on the stadium (no doubt, billions of Euros spent on furnishing this place), the contestants and the audience paid no heed to the tedium of the wet sunrise and the noticeable haze. This was the beginning of Olympics. Time and weather would not stop this glorious day! Men and women participating in this international drama as they wait for the first event: women’s hurdles! Everyone loves women’s hurdles.
Happy cheering echoed from the seats as the contestants grouped on the starting line. Little spheres flew close to the starting action, their comically miniscule helicopter blades rapidly providing lift. These ergonomic flying objects are actually cameras, bolstered with rudimentary artificial intelligence and the latest technology. Their purpose is simple: to get the highest definition of important events, such as right now. The crowd erupted in deafening applause (and a smattering of honking from vuvuzeulas) as the contestant entered the track field.
"Wonderful weather today," an upbeat newscaster voice chirped. "Well then, today is the beginning of the 2020 Olympiad, the thirty-second series of this grand tradition. Things are a little wet, but a little damp never hurt the contestants! Interestingly enough, the first event up will be Women’s 100 meter hurdles. Now…"
The commentators began to drone on about the contestants - their histories, their experiences, and their aspirations. However, the crowd and the watchers with their televisions mostly pushed how Louisa Rina of United Kingdom was attempting to defend gold or how Sally Mackenzie of Australia was recovering from a knee injury. The viewers wanted competition – wanted action, so it was no surprise that the roaring of the crowd halted as the women of this competition loosened their muscles with stretching exercises and made their way to the starting line.
Silence dominated the stadium; the quiet was almost tangible, save for the almost indiscernible sound of the whirring from the flying cameras. The women leaned into their starting positions, condensed beads of nervousness and determination rolling off their faces. As their mindsets automatically locked into game mode, hammered on by Spartan training from their respective nations, the contestants awaited the referee. He grimly lifted his hand, pistol lifted high above the air and –
"Goodness, what is this?"
A streak of navy-blue bolted between the surprised competitors, altering clusters of gasps and screams from the crowd. Of course, the unusual phenomenon did not last very long as the indiscernible blur soon collided with the wooden hurdles set on the track field. As soon as the viewers managed to figure out who was tangled between the artificial obstacles, the crowd began to scream even louder.
"Well, um," The commentator stammered. "This is certainly interesting. How did that thing get there in the first place? What is that thing anyway? Some sort of human…thing? What the hell is going on? What the hell is going on?"
***
Miecz was not exactly happy at his situation. He was tangled, tired, and in a really bad mood. Not only that, he was freaking tired. His jaw was split all the way, a pool of sticky spit pooling from his cheeks as his tongued darted back and forth, desperate for oxygen. The swordmonster was honestly tired of this shit. He kind of reached his threshold. He really did not want to fight anymore. He wanted to live and do normal things, well normal for his situation anyway.
Needless to say, his situation was definitely not normal. Metal spheres darted around him, whirring loudly in his ears. They were annoying him. The crowd was annoying him. They were so loud and he was so defenseless. Miecz hated being defenseless. Defenseless creatures tend to get killed and he definitely did not want to get killed. He definitely thought his death was for certain when he could hear walking in the distance. He was definitely going to die. Yep, he was.
People were hovering above him. Miecz did not want to move; moving tends to encourage people to strike. However, the people peering condescendingly on them – they look like those uniformed people from the first round, expect they were skinnier and there were a lot more of them. So, was this how he was going to die, trussed up in this confounding wooden stands at the hands of such unworthy opponents? This was a truly inglorious death for him, but he willing to accept that. After all, he did that particular brash act of murdering his leader in a fit of rage. Perhaps, this so-called karma was biting him in the ass…
The waft of rust alerted him and his regrets were abruptly replaced with panic. As typical of his kind, Miecz has no fears, but there was this definite danger behind him! Billows of choking rust were noticeable in the distance and he was really flipping out. Struggling with the hurdles, Miecz splintered the wooden beams with his sheer strength (and panic). At the surprise of the uniformed men, the swordmonster bolted away on fours, knocking over a few more obstacles in the process.
"Well, interesting all right, but - the hell? Apparently there is some sort of [color=#933E19]deer…dragon…thing…oh god"</font>