Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round One: Genreshift
06-04-2011, 07:19 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by fluxus.
Six. And then dark.
Six. An incessant pounding. It echoed through his bones.
Six. His fingers twitched.
Six.
No. No, there were seven, and they were moving quickly. Seven pairs, and nearly 500 feet to his left. Their footfalls were heavy; seven pairs. They were men and, if Ivan felt like being specific, they were 486 feet from where he was prone, like a cadaver, on his back.
Ivan breathed in the damp smell of the earth, his fingers lacing into heavy grass and dirt, thick strands tangling beneath his nails and between his toes. The pungent smell of wet soil was thick about him and his tongue felt swollen and dry in his mouth. There was something acrid in the air that set him at unease, something unusual.
Opening his eyes was almost a chore, he’d been so soundly asleep. Ivan found himself staring awkwardly, squinting without his glasses, at a clouded sky, still dark, the stars fighting desperately for dominance over a swiftly approaching storm. He was apparently sprawled in a field of yellowing grass that crackled when he moved. His shirt was stuck to him with a sheen of cold sweat.
It was strange. Ivan couldn’t remember falling asleep in a field. In fact, the last he’d checked, Nevada was strictly lacking in grass fields of any kind at all. And yet, here he found himself, surrounded by tall fronds that smelled of rain and sweat. And there were seven men to his left.
Sitting up with a groan, Ivan clumsily groped the surrounding area for his missing spectacles, a small frown upon his lips. He hoped they’d not been lost sometime during the night, or whatever journey had brought him here… But no, here they were, and in good shape, too- not even a scratch to the lenses. But his hands faltered as he brought his glasses to his eyes. All at once, it seemed, the events of the previous night flooded his brain. He could see the luminescent glow of Las Vegas, lights all around. Then, as if from no where, he’d been pulled down, down… as though dragged by his naval into a deep pit where She’d been waiting. The Spectator.
Ivan pinched the bridge if his nose, eyes rammed shut behind his glasses, and breathed in deeply. Things had certainly taken an interesting turn. He cracked open a glassy gaze and turned it to his surroundings.
Rather than grass, great fronds of some unknown plant sprung from the ground around him, tapered ferns that were so thick he could see nothing through their woven masses; their furry tops ended a good six inches above his head. Ivan found himself in a small clearing, the ferns folded carefully beneath him. He gripped the ground uncertainly, as though to verify that it was truly there, for where he sat had been neatly carved into a circle. His eyes narrowed. If his judgment was correct, his body looked to be its diameter.
Sitting barefoot, his knees drawn up, Ivan could hear nothing but the walking men and the rustle of an incessant breeze through the field. He stared down at the webbing of grass beneath him and broke a few sun-dried fronds between his fingers. There were no bugs crawling there. Strange.
Suddenly Ivan heard a dry sort of crunch as something solid fell into the grasses. Two of the men were very close now. Ivan saw a dark and twisted hunk of metal fly through the air and land, with another sound crunch, in the sea of grass to his left. It had not been heavy enough to break through the fronds and instead was left to lay in a canopy of grass. Ivan’s body stiffened into a crouch as his instincts kicked in.
“Alls I’m sayin’ is that I don’t see any more reasons to keep sendin’ us out here when it’s pretty fuckin’ clear all’s left are some nasty rotters and a few bits of this junk,” one man said as another piece of machinery was thrown into the grassland. It landed , hard, a few inches from where Ivan was crouched. The men were no more than five feet in front of him now, their voices only slightly muffled by the grass. Their footfalls were loud as ever- as though on hard, solid ground- so the field couldn’t end any more than a few feet in front of him.
The second man began to speak, his accent slightly unusual just like his friend‘s. “You know it’s what we signed up for; in the job description plain as day, wouldn’t you think?” A pause. “What, you thought we’d be part of his gang, glorified, and all that? Might as well be the cleaning crew, you and I, so- hey! Stop throwing those!”
Ivan frowned slightly as the two men walked past where he sat, hidden. He was having a hard time deciding whether or not to feel relieved. On the one hand, it was fairly obvious that, whoever these two non-soldiers were looking for, it was not him. Or at least they weren’t working for Ninian. Ivan smiled slightly at that. James would’ve had their necks by now, he was sure. He touched the pen where it hung innocently from the collar of his shirt.
On the other hand, however, he was in a completely foreign location and, if his memory served, he’d been thrust into… what, another universe? In order to participate in a fight to the death? It appeared his life was a valuable commodity, seeing as he was wanted dead in the two universes he was currently aware of. Ivan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and, not for the first time, questioned his sanity.
“…but what d’you suppose he’s after, anyways? Scouring over this junk? Because it ain‘t the dead, I can tell you that.” The two non-soldiers had changed their course and had doubled back towards Ivan‘s hole in the grass.
“I say were lucky not to have found nothing, so quit with the questions, eh?” Soldier number two was clearly exasperated. Ivan thought he sounded very sensible.
It was then that Ivan turned his eyes to the small piece of black machinery where it lay within his circle, frayed wires sticking out from a melted end. He picked it up gingerly, turned it over in his hands, felt the dull spark of mechanized life still pulsing within it. Emblazoned on one side was a small logo in red and white. Dr Matic’s Mechanical Wares. Ivan’s brow furrowed. The non-soldiers were directly in front of him now. He stood with more energy than he’d intended, his back to the men and the ruined husk of metal still clutched in his hands.
One of the non-soldiers let out a small cry at his sudden appearance. “What the hell you doing?!”
Ivan swiveled to face them, the dried grass crackling noisily beneath his feet. The grass grew to the top of his ribs and there was not two feet of it between them. The two men were, indeed, dressed the part of soldiers, with heavy vests and boots. They couldn’t have been older than thirty and the circles under their sallow eyes were deep. Shocks of brightly-colored hair stuck out at all angles from beneath their helmets. A few miles behind them a great city blotted out the sky, war torn, a dark smoking hulk that marred the night.
Ivan swallowed his uncertainties and plastered on the cheekiest smile he could muster. “Evening boys,” he said, his eyes never leaving their faces. He could see something in his peripheral vision that looked suspiciously like an arm- and only an arm. His smile brightened and he hoped they did not detect the strain.
“Oi! You! What were you- how’d-” the first non-soldier spluttered, his eyes darting between Ivan and the grass field from which he’d miraculously appeared in what had to be disbelief. The second man kindly interpreted his friend’s fractured thoughts.
“I command you to state your name and business here, “ he said, reciting a blank speech he’d clearly memorized. His eyes betrayed nothing but the fingers on his left hand clenched slightly.
Ivan took a moment to observe his surroundings more thoroughly. The field was littered with massive pieces of mangled machinery and- to Ivan’s utter horror- the remains of a few soldiers, as well. As quickly as it had appeared, his smile was gone and he looked down at the metal bit in his hands. Dr Matic’s Mechanical Wares…
His eyes locked with the second man‘s. “I think it’s pretty obvious how I got here,” he said, his voice quiet but confident, a fake strength masking the roiling of his stomach. The mechanized husk in his hands had given him a spark of inspiration. “And as for my name… are either of you familiar with Matic?”
The second non-soldier nodded his compliance while the first‘s thick eyebrows furrowed as his mouth twisted into a slight frown. “Aye, o’ course.” He nodded at Ivan pointedly with his chin. “What’re you playin’ at?”
Ivan sincerely smiled at that. It seemed they took his statement to be facetious. Perfect.
He tossed Dr Matic‘s device to the first man who‘d spoken and said simply: “Matic’s my father.”
Six. And then dark.
Six. An incessant pounding. It echoed through his bones.
Six. His fingers twitched.
Six.
No. No, there were seven, and they were moving quickly. Seven pairs, and nearly 500 feet to his left. Their footfalls were heavy; seven pairs. They were men and, if Ivan felt like being specific, they were 486 feet from where he was prone, like a cadaver, on his back.
Ivan breathed in the damp smell of the earth, his fingers lacing into heavy grass and dirt, thick strands tangling beneath his nails and between his toes. The pungent smell of wet soil was thick about him and his tongue felt swollen and dry in his mouth. There was something acrid in the air that set him at unease, something unusual.
Opening his eyes was almost a chore, he’d been so soundly asleep. Ivan found himself staring awkwardly, squinting without his glasses, at a clouded sky, still dark, the stars fighting desperately for dominance over a swiftly approaching storm. He was apparently sprawled in a field of yellowing grass that crackled when he moved. His shirt was stuck to him with a sheen of cold sweat.
It was strange. Ivan couldn’t remember falling asleep in a field. In fact, the last he’d checked, Nevada was strictly lacking in grass fields of any kind at all. And yet, here he found himself, surrounded by tall fronds that smelled of rain and sweat. And there were seven men to his left.
Sitting up with a groan, Ivan clumsily groped the surrounding area for his missing spectacles, a small frown upon his lips. He hoped they’d not been lost sometime during the night, or whatever journey had brought him here… But no, here they were, and in good shape, too- not even a scratch to the lenses. But his hands faltered as he brought his glasses to his eyes. All at once, it seemed, the events of the previous night flooded his brain. He could see the luminescent glow of Las Vegas, lights all around. Then, as if from no where, he’d been pulled down, down… as though dragged by his naval into a deep pit where She’d been waiting. The Spectator.
Ivan pinched the bridge if his nose, eyes rammed shut behind his glasses, and breathed in deeply. Things had certainly taken an interesting turn. He cracked open a glassy gaze and turned it to his surroundings.
Rather than grass, great fronds of some unknown plant sprung from the ground around him, tapered ferns that were so thick he could see nothing through their woven masses; their furry tops ended a good six inches above his head. Ivan found himself in a small clearing, the ferns folded carefully beneath him. He gripped the ground uncertainly, as though to verify that it was truly there, for where he sat had been neatly carved into a circle. His eyes narrowed. If his judgment was correct, his body looked to be its diameter.
Sitting barefoot, his knees drawn up, Ivan could hear nothing but the walking men and the rustle of an incessant breeze through the field. He stared down at the webbing of grass beneath him and broke a few sun-dried fronds between his fingers. There were no bugs crawling there. Strange.
Suddenly Ivan heard a dry sort of crunch as something solid fell into the grasses. Two of the men were very close now. Ivan saw a dark and twisted hunk of metal fly through the air and land, with another sound crunch, in the sea of grass to his left. It had not been heavy enough to break through the fronds and instead was left to lay in a canopy of grass. Ivan’s body stiffened into a crouch as his instincts kicked in.
“Alls I’m sayin’ is that I don’t see any more reasons to keep sendin’ us out here when it’s pretty fuckin’ clear all’s left are some nasty rotters and a few bits of this junk,” one man said as another piece of machinery was thrown into the grassland. It landed , hard, a few inches from where Ivan was crouched. The men were no more than five feet in front of him now, their voices only slightly muffled by the grass. Their footfalls were loud as ever- as though on hard, solid ground- so the field couldn’t end any more than a few feet in front of him.
The second man began to speak, his accent slightly unusual just like his friend‘s. “You know it’s what we signed up for; in the job description plain as day, wouldn’t you think?” A pause. “What, you thought we’d be part of his gang, glorified, and all that? Might as well be the cleaning crew, you and I, so- hey! Stop throwing those!”
Ivan frowned slightly as the two men walked past where he sat, hidden. He was having a hard time deciding whether or not to feel relieved. On the one hand, it was fairly obvious that, whoever these two non-soldiers were looking for, it was not him. Or at least they weren’t working for Ninian. Ivan smiled slightly at that. James would’ve had their necks by now, he was sure. He touched the pen where it hung innocently from the collar of his shirt.
On the other hand, however, he was in a completely foreign location and, if his memory served, he’d been thrust into… what, another universe? In order to participate in a fight to the death? It appeared his life was a valuable commodity, seeing as he was wanted dead in the two universes he was currently aware of. Ivan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and, not for the first time, questioned his sanity.
“…but what d’you suppose he’s after, anyways? Scouring over this junk? Because it ain‘t the dead, I can tell you that.” The two non-soldiers had changed their course and had doubled back towards Ivan‘s hole in the grass.
“I say were lucky not to have found nothing, so quit with the questions, eh?” Soldier number two was clearly exasperated. Ivan thought he sounded very sensible.
It was then that Ivan turned his eyes to the small piece of black machinery where it lay within his circle, frayed wires sticking out from a melted end. He picked it up gingerly, turned it over in his hands, felt the dull spark of mechanized life still pulsing within it. Emblazoned on one side was a small logo in red and white. Dr Matic’s Mechanical Wares. Ivan’s brow furrowed. The non-soldiers were directly in front of him now. He stood with more energy than he’d intended, his back to the men and the ruined husk of metal still clutched in his hands.
One of the non-soldiers let out a small cry at his sudden appearance. “What the hell you doing?!”
Ivan swiveled to face them, the dried grass crackling noisily beneath his feet. The grass grew to the top of his ribs and there was not two feet of it between them. The two men were, indeed, dressed the part of soldiers, with heavy vests and boots. They couldn’t have been older than thirty and the circles under their sallow eyes were deep. Shocks of brightly-colored hair stuck out at all angles from beneath their helmets. A few miles behind them a great city blotted out the sky, war torn, a dark smoking hulk that marred the night.
Ivan swallowed his uncertainties and plastered on the cheekiest smile he could muster. “Evening boys,” he said, his eyes never leaving their faces. He could see something in his peripheral vision that looked suspiciously like an arm- and only an arm. His smile brightened and he hoped they did not detect the strain.
“Oi! You! What were you- how’d-” the first non-soldier spluttered, his eyes darting between Ivan and the grass field from which he’d miraculously appeared in what had to be disbelief. The second man kindly interpreted his friend’s fractured thoughts.
“I command you to state your name and business here, “ he said, reciting a blank speech he’d clearly memorized. His eyes betrayed nothing but the fingers on his left hand clenched slightly.
Ivan took a moment to observe his surroundings more thoroughly. The field was littered with massive pieces of mangled machinery and- to Ivan’s utter horror- the remains of a few soldiers, as well. As quickly as it had appeared, his smile was gone and he looked down at the metal bit in his hands. Dr Matic’s Mechanical Wares…
His eyes locked with the second man‘s. “I think it’s pretty obvious how I got here,” he said, his voice quiet but confident, a fake strength masking the roiling of his stomach. The mechanized husk in his hands had given him a spark of inspiration. “And as for my name… are either of you familiar with Matic?”
The second non-soldier nodded his compliance while the first‘s thick eyebrows furrowed as his mouth twisted into a slight frown. “Aye, o’ course.” He nodded at Ivan pointedly with his chin. “What’re you playin’ at?”
Ivan sincerely smiled at that. It seemed they took his statement to be facetious. Perfect.
He tossed Dr Matic‘s device to the first man who‘d spoken and said simply: “Matic’s my father.”