Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round One: Genreshift
06-28-2011, 11:10 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
Dr. Melissa Harmon was aware of a couple of things. One, a cold, rasping gauntlet was clasped around her wrist, rubbing it raw through the thick fabric of her shirt. Two, she was moving quite quickly, more quickly than she could really accommodate currently. She stumbled once or twice and continued to be yanked along by her arm. She watched her feet pound unsteadily across buckled and cracked asphalt, splashing in the odd puddle, but couldn't seem to put together a narrative of what was occurring.
Slowly, the muffled rushing that filled her ears gave way to a high-pitched whine, which then resolved into the clank and rustle of armor from in front of her and distant hollering and a rhythmic clatter from behind. She looked blankly at the metal glove clamped to her wrist, noting how the yellow sodium-vapor light of the street lamps reflected off the rivulets of rainwater running down the etched flame patterns and caused them to appear to leap and dance. Her gaze traveled up the metal encased arm to a massive shoulder guard, jutting out with overlapped points on which an inlaid dragon undulated menacingly with the arm's motion. Past that was a high-backed gorget, over which a dripping mop of dirty blonde hair spilled. Suddenly all these details snapped together into a coherent whole, and she was looking at Sir Cedric.
“You asshole!”
Harmon dug her heels in and almost flopped onto her face as Cedric continued to jog forward. He slowed and came to a stop, turning back to look at her.
”Madam? We must hie to safety. Once you are secure I may face the rogues of this festering pit without worry.”
As he was talking, Harmon ripped her wrist out of his grasp and touched it gingerly, wincing. She narrowed her eyes and looked up into Cedric's face.
“Seriously? You punch me in the chest, flinging me through a god-damned table, then nearly set me on fire, then try to rip my arm off, and you're claiming you're trying to protect me?”
Harmon realized she was starting to hyperventilate, and tried to take a deep breath. She immediately yelped in pain and doubled over.
“And I think you cracked one of my ribs, you fat sack of shit,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Cedric's face had turned a dark cherry red as this abuse was flung at him, and he squeezed his hand into a fist unconsciously. “Commoner whore,” he spat back in a low voice, “I am the Champion of Valthen, and I could crush your skull like a grape if I chose.”
The two stared at each other in astonished silence for a long beat.
“What the fu-”
Harmon's exclamation was cut off by a thunderclap of sound and Cedric stumbled forward as a handful of lead pellets slammed into the back of his armor. He spun around and saw ten paces away a V of five horse-mounted men, lead by the bartender from before and all packing iron. The bartender cracked his shotgun and the two spent shells clattered to the asphalt. He slowly drew two shells out of a bandolier and reloaded, looking Cedric dead in the eye the entire time.
“I'm here to take your tab out of your hide, cur. Nobody walks out of my bar with an unpaid bill.”
Lightning obligingly flashed between the clouds above, underlining this proclamation. Cedric reached back and pulled Sigrar out of its scabbard with an arc of flame. He brought it around to point at the ground, then with a snick of his gauntlet turned its blade to face towards his pursuers.
He turned his head slightly and whispered to to the woman, “Run.”
Dr. Melissa Harmon was aware of a couple of things. One, a cold, rasping gauntlet was clasped around her wrist, rubbing it raw through the thick fabric of her shirt. Two, she was moving quite quickly, more quickly than she could really accommodate currently. She stumbled once or twice and continued to be yanked along by her arm. She watched her feet pound unsteadily across buckled and cracked asphalt, splashing in the odd puddle, but couldn't seem to put together a narrative of what was occurring.
Slowly, the muffled rushing that filled her ears gave way to a high-pitched whine, which then resolved into the clank and rustle of armor from in front of her and distant hollering and a rhythmic clatter from behind. She looked blankly at the metal glove clamped to her wrist, noting how the yellow sodium-vapor light of the street lamps reflected off the rivulets of rainwater running down the etched flame patterns and caused them to appear to leap and dance. Her gaze traveled up the metal encased arm to a massive shoulder guard, jutting out with overlapped points on which an inlaid dragon undulated menacingly with the arm's motion. Past that was a high-backed gorget, over which a dripping mop of dirty blonde hair spilled. Suddenly all these details snapped together into a coherent whole, and she was looking at Sir Cedric.
“You asshole!”
Harmon dug her heels in and almost flopped onto her face as Cedric continued to jog forward. He slowed and came to a stop, turning back to look at her.
”Madam? We must hie to safety. Once you are secure I may face the rogues of this festering pit without worry.”
As he was talking, Harmon ripped her wrist out of his grasp and touched it gingerly, wincing. She narrowed her eyes and looked up into Cedric's face.
“Seriously? You punch me in the chest, flinging me through a god-damned table, then nearly set me on fire, then try to rip my arm off, and you're claiming you're trying to protect me?”
Harmon realized she was starting to hyperventilate, and tried to take a deep breath. She immediately yelped in pain and doubled over.
“And I think you cracked one of my ribs, you fat sack of shit,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Cedric's face had turned a dark cherry red as this abuse was flung at him, and he squeezed his hand into a fist unconsciously. “Commoner whore,” he spat back in a low voice, “I am the Champion of Valthen, and I could crush your skull like a grape if I chose.”
The two stared at each other in astonished silence for a long beat.
“What the fu-”
Harmon's exclamation was cut off by a thunderclap of sound and Cedric stumbled forward as a handful of lead pellets slammed into the back of his armor. He spun around and saw ten paces away a V of five horse-mounted men, lead by the bartender from before and all packing iron. The bartender cracked his shotgun and the two spent shells clattered to the asphalt. He slowly drew two shells out of a bandolier and reloaded, looking Cedric dead in the eye the entire time.
“I'm here to take your tab out of your hide, cur. Nobody walks out of my bar with an unpaid bill.”
Lightning obligingly flashed between the clouds above, underlining this proclamation. Cedric reached back and pulled Sigrar out of its scabbard with an arc of flame. He brought it around to point at the ground, then with a snick of his gauntlet turned its blade to face towards his pursuers.
He turned his head slightly and whispered to to the woman, “Run.”