Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round One: Genreshift
05-30-2011, 01:38 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.
In a basement in a disputed area of town, an Empress dusted herself down. The room was dark and dismal, cluttered with wires and machine parts, only recognisable as such to Phere because of her excursion to the Deep Forge. She was equal parts comforted and terrified by the recent events. They proved that she wasn’t paranoid, an accusation that her guards had whispered to one another when they believed that she was not watching. While she had misidentified the source she had been correct that someone out there had been scheming against her. Though her satisfaction at this validation did not last long, despite the flowery language and the talk of sacrifices and doves she had caught onto The Spectator’s meaning, a battle to the death which only one of them would survive. She was not sure what to think about that. As a rule she did not like to have her hand forced in any situation and to be placed into a situation completely alien to her against her will should have been incredibly distasteful. But she was as a god, a wielder of the power of the creators themselves, surely no matter what the opposition she was fated to prevail, the Spectator seemed to agree with her upon this point. She was conflicted, and so seating herself upon a pile of mechanical parts for lack of anything more suitable she opened her eye.
In the Shining Kingdom all was as it had been before she had left, this Phere supposed was to be expected, she had been alone inside her chambers when she had been taken and she had not had anything scheduled for the day. Guards, heavily armed with back-engineered weaponry taken from the Deep Forge, stood in front of her private chambers guarding exactly nothing. It almost made her laugh, the amount of time she had wasted setting up security which when push had come to shove had amounted to exactly nought. Phere shifted her attention, away from her kingdom that did not at the moment warrant her attention. Her view focused back on the room full of eyes from which she had been so recently expelled. Inside she saw The Spectator sat back, relaxed upon one of the empty chairs, and a plain looking man in a grey suit stood nearby, silently observing. Phere watched for a minute or so, The Spectator did little other than observe through the eyes that lined the walls as they blinked through her competitors. Then suddenly The Spectator rose out of her chair and walked, though perhaps scuttled was a more apt word, over to the spot from wherein Phere was watching. For a moment Phere did not react as the Spectator’s face, that part of it not obscured by her constantly flowing hair, filled her vision. She was so accustomed to being an observer, watching from the sidelines; intangible to all that she saw that she did not immediately recognise that this was not the case with The Spectator. Phere tried to look elsewhere, to pull away, but pain shot across her face, coming directly from her Hollow, as though someone were gripping it with sharp metal fingers.
“Why do you watch me, my dove?” She asked. “Surely your attention should be on your fellow sacrifices? After all what use is it to you to watch someone who is only spectating?” She paused. “Let me be clear, my dove; do not watch me. Turn your eye to me again and I will take it from you.”
And with that her sight snapped back to the tiny basement where she actually was. Above her head she could hear the sound of footsteps, people hurrying around. Phere supposes she might have screamed out in pain when The Spectator seized control of her sight, and that this might have alerted whoever was nearby that there was someone in their basement. She looked into the room above and saw individuals with high-tech weaponry, alarmingly coloured hair and limbs made from machinery. They were standing at the door that she speculated lead down to the room in which she was currently stuck; one of them leant against it, one hand upon the handle, the other upon the butt of a fancy high-tech pistol. He counted down; three, two one and they burst through the door, flooding the basement with light and illuminating the empress; paralysed with indecision.
In a basement in a disputed area of town, an Empress dusted herself down. The room was dark and dismal, cluttered with wires and machine parts, only recognisable as such to Phere because of her excursion to the Deep Forge. She was equal parts comforted and terrified by the recent events. They proved that she wasn’t paranoid, an accusation that her guards had whispered to one another when they believed that she was not watching. While she had misidentified the source she had been correct that someone out there had been scheming against her. Though her satisfaction at this validation did not last long, despite the flowery language and the talk of sacrifices and doves she had caught onto The Spectator’s meaning, a battle to the death which only one of them would survive. She was not sure what to think about that. As a rule she did not like to have her hand forced in any situation and to be placed into a situation completely alien to her against her will should have been incredibly distasteful. But she was as a god, a wielder of the power of the creators themselves, surely no matter what the opposition she was fated to prevail, the Spectator seemed to agree with her upon this point. She was conflicted, and so seating herself upon a pile of mechanical parts for lack of anything more suitable she opened her eye.
In the Shining Kingdom all was as it had been before she had left, this Phere supposed was to be expected, she had been alone inside her chambers when she had been taken and she had not had anything scheduled for the day. Guards, heavily armed with back-engineered weaponry taken from the Deep Forge, stood in front of her private chambers guarding exactly nothing. It almost made her laugh, the amount of time she had wasted setting up security which when push had come to shove had amounted to exactly nought. Phere shifted her attention, away from her kingdom that did not at the moment warrant her attention. Her view focused back on the room full of eyes from which she had been so recently expelled. Inside she saw The Spectator sat back, relaxed upon one of the empty chairs, and a plain looking man in a grey suit stood nearby, silently observing. Phere watched for a minute or so, The Spectator did little other than observe through the eyes that lined the walls as they blinked through her competitors. Then suddenly The Spectator rose out of her chair and walked, though perhaps scuttled was a more apt word, over to the spot from wherein Phere was watching. For a moment Phere did not react as the Spectator’s face, that part of it not obscured by her constantly flowing hair, filled her vision. She was so accustomed to being an observer, watching from the sidelines; intangible to all that she saw that she did not immediately recognise that this was not the case with The Spectator. Phere tried to look elsewhere, to pull away, but pain shot across her face, coming directly from her Hollow, as though someone were gripping it with sharp metal fingers.
“Why do you watch me, my dove?” She asked. “Surely your attention should be on your fellow sacrifices? After all what use is it to you to watch someone who is only spectating?” She paused. “Let me be clear, my dove; do not watch me. Turn your eye to me again and I will take it from you.”
And with that her sight snapped back to the tiny basement where she actually was. Above her head she could hear the sound of footsteps, people hurrying around. Phere supposes she might have screamed out in pain when The Spectator seized control of her sight, and that this might have alerted whoever was nearby that there was someone in their basement. She looked into the room above and saw individuals with high-tech weaponry, alarmingly coloured hair and limbs made from machinery. They were standing at the door that she speculated lead down to the room in which she was currently stuck; one of them leant against it, one hand upon the handle, the other upon the butt of a fancy high-tech pistol. He counted down; three, two one and they burst through the door, flooding the basement with light and illuminating the empress; paralysed with indecision.
Heaven Help Us | Make Room!!!! | I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You