Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Two: BJ
10-24-2011, 03:31 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.
As a side effect of not having anything resembling organs that might wear out, Klendel had led a very long life. He had seen the turn of at least three centuries and the ends of countless regimes and rulers, many of them at his own hands. Although the previous round had lasted nearly an entire day, to him, it was but the blink of an eye, all but lost among the other countless blinks he could remember.
He glanced around himself darkly. A common sort of city presented itself to him; gloomy, dark and moody. Just how he liked it. He wandered around for the few minutes it took him to find a seedy bar. He didn't drink, but every time something went wrong with a plan of his he liked to have a nice sulk. It was something he had done less and less frequently as his plans became more and more successful, and he found himself anticipating it with a feeling approaching eagerness. He wondered idly if there was something wrong with him, then chuckled at the absurdity of it. Only one person had ever been right where he was wrong, and she was...
He cut off the train of thought sharply as a painful memory threatened to overtake him, the effort actually forcing him to grunt. He disliked this recent trend of memories physically affecting him. An unintentional grunt, or heaven forbid a flashback at a critical moment could easily ruin an entire scheme. Not that memories he hadn't thought about for most of his life resurfacing on their own wasn't worrisome enough. Just like to count my...blessings, I guess.
He wandered into the bar and took a seat in a dark corner, away from the windows and the main lighting. He received a lot of curious and frightened looks on the way in and while he was sitting. He made sure that the former quickly turned into the latter, and soon the entire bar lapsed into silence, everyone inside it trying to pretend that the terrifying abomination in the corner wasn't actually there. A grin spread across his face; he always liked being feared.
But the Tome...she'd almost escaped from the battle, and then the opportunity had slipped out of her hands. She balled her fingers into a fist and hit the wall with it. Damn Phere! She'd ruined everything! She rubbed her hand as she cursed Phere, Phere's plans and schemes, and her own stupid ambitions.
She sighed. She needed a drink to nurse and a quiet atmosphere. Looking around, she noticed a number of what were labeled "jazz bars," but the patrons were laughing. That wouldn't do at all; far too noisy, and far too cheerful for what she was intending to contemplate. Wherever she went, there could be no laughing, that was for sure.
Unfortunately, Harmon found, as she strolled along the surprisingly empty streets, that finding a bar whose patrons weren't laughing and which didn't have jazzy music oozing out of every crack was like finding a needle in a haystack. She was about to call it quits when she noticed an out-of-place bar - or rather, she nearly walked by it, since the reason it was out of place was that it was silent as a tomb. The patrons had their heads ducked down and few were talking above a whisper, and the jazz music was so soft she could barely hear it. Perfect. She walked in.
He had let that detective get too close. He had been sloppy. The thought sifted inside of his head like a fly trapped inside a room, desperate to get out, smashing itself into any source of light available in a vain attempt to escape. Worse still, it was constantly sparking more of his newley released memories, those half-remembered past blinks he had struggled to ignore all his life. Memories of other times he had messed up and someone who was just doing their job had gotten too close. It wasn't his fault, Klendel thought angrily, squeezing his fists. Why did he have to die for it?
He glanced up vaguely at the sound of the door opening, returned his gaze to the window, then quickly snapped his eyes back up as it registered in his mind that Harmon had just walked in through the door. As soon as her saw her start to look around, he faded into the shadows and shut his eyes to prevent their bright redness from giving him away. After about half a minute, he reopened them; as he expected, Harmon had decided there was nothing in the bar that was more pressing than getting a drink, and was already ordering one at the counter. Klendel kindly waited until the bartender had, with a shaking hand, poured her drink, before announcing his presence. "Miss Harmon! So nice of you to join me!"
Harmon whirled around, somehow managing not to spill her drink in the process. She recognized the shadowy figure from the beginning of the battle, but had only caught a few glimpses of him since then. Her mind struggled to come up with a name for him, and she recalled a brief exchange with Phere where she had referred to him as "Klendel." This was not what she needed right now. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times in astonishment before managing to blurt out, "Where the hell did you come from?"
Klendel grinned widely. "I think you may find me to be very good at getting where I want to be." He gestured towards the chair across the table from him. "Please, have a seat. Perhaps we could have a nice chat while we drown our sorrows?"
Harmon hesitated. The very look of the dark creature in the corner made him untrustworthy in her mind. Every impulse told her to get the hell out of the bar that very instant. Unbidden, an image of Cedric popped into her mind. "Wait for me, milady! It's not safe for a princess here!" She grated her teeth and grabbed her drink, striding over to where Klendel was sitting. I can take care of myself, you pompous buffoon! She slammed her drink down on the table and sat down in the chair haughtily. "Yes, let's," she responded huffily, glaring into his red eyes. "I've got some questions for you anyway."
The psychotic grin on the Cog's face grew wider. "And I have some for you. Perhaps we can organize a trade? For every question of yours I answer, you answer one of mine." He was confident that she wouldn't know enough about him to ask anything he'd prefer to keep secret. She was a doctor, but that blasted hair woman had described her in a manner that made Klendel see her as a scientist. Either way, he doubted she would be able to ask only what was necessary, and avoid wasting questions on things she could deduce on her own. The ability to do that took experience, which Klendel had more than a century's worth of.
Harmon sipped her drink as she considered the offer. She was sure Klendel had some kind of agenda; he certainly looked shifty enough, and all the signs pointed to a background manipulator. She'd barely caught a glimpse of him since the battle had begun, and suddenly he seemed interested in her? It smelled fishy to her, but she decided that she needed information about him just as badly as he needed information about her. Alright. She would play Klendel's little game for now. "It's a deal, but only if I get to ask the first question."
"I accept your condition." Klendel was already able to anticipate what she would ask first. She didn't know his name, but he knew hers. A position like that would make most people feel uncomfortable, and she would almost certainly seek to rectify that at once.
Which is why he was understandably surprised when Harmon's first question turned out to be, "What are you?" The scientist leaned forward expectantly, although it was clear she didn't want to get too close.
The grin on Klendel's face shrunk almost imperceptibly. How had she known? A number of inane theories ran through his head, from mind reading powers to sheer luck, but he quickly had to admit that he was at a loss. He was forced to admit that he had underestimated her, and decided to be thankful that he had not done so under circumstances where the consequences might have been far harsher.
"I," he announced, idly stirring the lukewarm drink in his glass with a long clawed forefinger, "am a Cog."
"What the hell's a Cog?" Harmon demanded.
Klendel pulled the claw out of his drink and wagged it at her. "Now now, wait your turn! I get to ask you a question now." He took a moment to ponder what he wanted to ask her. He suspected she had already met several combatants he hadn't, and even if she was a bit biased about some of them, knowing her viewpoints would be useful. "What do you think of each of the other combatants, including myself?"
Be vague, would he? Well, two could play at that game. "Well," Harmon said through her teeth, "I've only met Cedric, Phere, Nalzaki, and you, and I think I can say with confidence that you're all egomaniacal lunatics and you all deserve each other." The toothy, unfading grin on Klendel's face was starting to get on her nerves. "Now, my turn. Why were you chosen for this battle, or if you don't know, what is your best guess?"
Klendel leaned back in his chair as he mulled over his answer. His best guess was that Her Royal Hairiness had brought him into the battle because of his extensive experience in manipulation and subterfuge, but that wasn't information he wanted to become widely spread. He spent a few moments constructing a lie before replying. "You might recall during the introductions that the...Spectator whispered something to me." He spat the hostess' name out without intending to. Star, I hate that bitch. "Well, I heard it well enough. I think she feels I remind her of herself for some reason, but that's the only real reason I can think of. Most of the others are much stronger than me." He looked Harmon up and down. "That much, I think we may have in common."
He steepled his fingers and grinned across them at Harmon. "I liked that question. So much so that I think I'll ask you the same thing. Why do you think you were chosen for this battle?"
Harmon took another sip of her drink, thankful that she hadn't gotten something too strong. "I was the scientist who developed the Many-Worlds Hypothesis. I don't know if that applies everywhere, but back home that was sort of a big deal." She shrugged. "Other than that, I'm not sure why I'd make a particularly interesting combatant in a battle to the death."
She gazed at Klendel, staring at him speculatively. Something about him set off alarm bells in her head, but she wasn't sure what until she took a good hard look at him for several seconds. "I'm getting sick of seeing your stupid face, so this'll be my last question. Why haven't you blinked, exhaled, inhaled, or taken a drink at any point during this entire conversation?"
Klendel's grin shrunk noticeably and his eyes narrowed. "Clever girl," he said softly. "I haven't done any of those things because Cogs don't need to." He pointed a finger at her. "And let me tell you, was it ever a chore being one of you sacks of meat during the last round! I don't know how you stand it."
Harmon stood up abruptly. "Great, thanks for answering my questions. I'm out of here."
Klendel grabbed her arm. "Wait!"
Harmon tried to shake him off, but found his grip curiously strong. "What? I don't see why I need to sit here and listen to you insult my species."
Klendel's grin grew wider. "You asked the first question. The deal was an answer for an answer. That means I get one more question."
Harmon rolled her eyes and turned back to the Cog. "Fine. Ask away."
Klendel cackled softly. "But you see, I can't think of a question at the moment!" He stared at her with his eerie, unblinking eyes. "So I suppose I'll just have to tag along with you until I think of one."
Harmon's mouth fell open. "You're joking."
He wasn't.
As a side effect of not having anything resembling organs that might wear out, Klendel had led a very long life. He had seen the turn of at least three centuries and the ends of countless regimes and rulers, many of them at his own hands. Although the previous round had lasted nearly an entire day, to him, it was but the blink of an eye, all but lost among the other countless blinks he could remember.
He glanced around himself darkly. A common sort of city presented itself to him; gloomy, dark and moody. Just how he liked it. He wandered around for the few minutes it took him to find a seedy bar. He didn't drink, but every time something went wrong with a plan of his he liked to have a nice sulk. It was something he had done less and less frequently as his plans became more and more successful, and he found himself anticipating it with a feeling approaching eagerness. He wondered idly if there was something wrong with him, then chuckled at the absurdity of it. Only one person had ever been right where he was wrong, and she was...
He cut off the train of thought sharply as a painful memory threatened to overtake him, the effort actually forcing him to grunt. He disliked this recent trend of memories physically affecting him. An unintentional grunt, or heaven forbid a flashback at a critical moment could easily ruin an entire scheme. Not that memories he hadn't thought about for most of his life resurfacing on their own wasn't worrisome enough. Just like to count my...blessings, I guess.
He wandered into the bar and took a seat in a dark corner, away from the windows and the main lighting. He received a lot of curious and frightened looks on the way in and while he was sitting. He made sure that the former quickly turned into the latter, and soon the entire bar lapsed into silence, everyone inside it trying to pretend that the terrifying abomination in the corner wasn't actually there. A grin spread across his face; he always liked being feared.
---
Harmon leaned against a wall, rubbing her throat gingerly. She could still feel Phere's fingers gripping it, slowly squeezing the life out of her. All her work had in a lab before. No androids trying to strangle her, no hydras trying to kidnap her, no overcompensating knights trying to do everything for her. But, she found herself arguing, it was much more boring.But the Tome...she'd almost escaped from the battle, and then the opportunity had slipped out of her hands. She balled her fingers into a fist and hit the wall with it. Damn Phere! She'd ruined everything! She rubbed her hand as she cursed Phere, Phere's plans and schemes, and her own stupid ambitions.
She sighed. She needed a drink to nurse and a quiet atmosphere. Looking around, she noticed a number of what were labeled "jazz bars," but the patrons were laughing. That wouldn't do at all; far too noisy, and far too cheerful for what she was intending to contemplate. Wherever she went, there could be no laughing, that was for sure.
Unfortunately, Harmon found, as she strolled along the surprisingly empty streets, that finding a bar whose patrons weren't laughing and which didn't have jazzy music oozing out of every crack was like finding a needle in a haystack. She was about to call it quits when she noticed an out-of-place bar - or rather, she nearly walked by it, since the reason it was out of place was that it was silent as a tomb. The patrons had their heads ducked down and few were talking above a whisper, and the jazz music was so soft she could barely hear it. Perfect. She walked in.
---
Klendel sat in his corner of solitude and fumed silently. He hadn't actually ordered the drink in front of him; a terrified but daring, waiter had brought it to him. Klendel had given the him his best slasher smile for the effort. He was pretty sure the poor man had nearly wet his pants on the spot.He had let that detective get too close. He had been sloppy. The thought sifted inside of his head like a fly trapped inside a room, desperate to get out, smashing itself into any source of light available in a vain attempt to escape. Worse still, it was constantly sparking more of his newley released memories, those half-remembered past blinks he had struggled to ignore all his life. Memories of other times he had messed up and someone who was just doing their job had gotten too close. It wasn't his fault, Klendel thought angrily, squeezing his fists. Why did he have to die for it?
He glanced up vaguely at the sound of the door opening, returned his gaze to the window, then quickly snapped his eyes back up as it registered in his mind that Harmon had just walked in through the door. As soon as her saw her start to look around, he faded into the shadows and shut his eyes to prevent their bright redness from giving him away. After about half a minute, he reopened them; as he expected, Harmon had decided there was nothing in the bar that was more pressing than getting a drink, and was already ordering one at the counter. Klendel kindly waited until the bartender had, with a shaking hand, poured her drink, before announcing his presence. "Miss Harmon! So nice of you to join me!"
Harmon whirled around, somehow managing not to spill her drink in the process. She recognized the shadowy figure from the beginning of the battle, but had only caught a few glimpses of him since then. Her mind struggled to come up with a name for him, and she recalled a brief exchange with Phere where she had referred to him as "Klendel." This was not what she needed right now. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times in astonishment before managing to blurt out, "Where the hell did you come from?"
Klendel grinned widely. "I think you may find me to be very good at getting where I want to be." He gestured towards the chair across the table from him. "Please, have a seat. Perhaps we could have a nice chat while we drown our sorrows?"
Harmon hesitated. The very look of the dark creature in the corner made him untrustworthy in her mind. Every impulse told her to get the hell out of the bar that very instant. Unbidden, an image of Cedric popped into her mind. "Wait for me, milady! It's not safe for a princess here!" She grated her teeth and grabbed her drink, striding over to where Klendel was sitting. I can take care of myself, you pompous buffoon! She slammed her drink down on the table and sat down in the chair haughtily. "Yes, let's," she responded huffily, glaring into his red eyes. "I've got some questions for you anyway."
The psychotic grin on the Cog's face grew wider. "And I have some for you. Perhaps we can organize a trade? For every question of yours I answer, you answer one of mine." He was confident that she wouldn't know enough about him to ask anything he'd prefer to keep secret. She was a doctor, but that blasted hair woman had described her in a manner that made Klendel see her as a scientist. Either way, he doubted she would be able to ask only what was necessary, and avoid wasting questions on things she could deduce on her own. The ability to do that took experience, which Klendel had more than a century's worth of.
Harmon sipped her drink as she considered the offer. She was sure Klendel had some kind of agenda; he certainly looked shifty enough, and all the signs pointed to a background manipulator. She'd barely caught a glimpse of him since the battle had begun, and suddenly he seemed interested in her? It smelled fishy to her, but she decided that she needed information about him just as badly as he needed information about her. Alright. She would play Klendel's little game for now. "It's a deal, but only if I get to ask the first question."
"I accept your condition." Klendel was already able to anticipate what she would ask first. She didn't know his name, but he knew hers. A position like that would make most people feel uncomfortable, and she would almost certainly seek to rectify that at once.
Which is why he was understandably surprised when Harmon's first question turned out to be, "What are you?" The scientist leaned forward expectantly, although it was clear she didn't want to get too close.
The grin on Klendel's face shrunk almost imperceptibly. How had she known? A number of inane theories ran through his head, from mind reading powers to sheer luck, but he quickly had to admit that he was at a loss. He was forced to admit that he had underestimated her, and decided to be thankful that he had not done so under circumstances where the consequences might have been far harsher.
"I," he announced, idly stirring the lukewarm drink in his glass with a long clawed forefinger, "am a Cog."
"What the hell's a Cog?" Harmon demanded.
Klendel pulled the claw out of his drink and wagged it at her. "Now now, wait your turn! I get to ask you a question now." He took a moment to ponder what he wanted to ask her. He suspected she had already met several combatants he hadn't, and even if she was a bit biased about some of them, knowing her viewpoints would be useful. "What do you think of each of the other combatants, including myself?"
Be vague, would he? Well, two could play at that game. "Well," Harmon said through her teeth, "I've only met Cedric, Phere, Nalzaki, and you, and I think I can say with confidence that you're all egomaniacal lunatics and you all deserve each other." The toothy, unfading grin on Klendel's face was starting to get on her nerves. "Now, my turn. Why were you chosen for this battle, or if you don't know, what is your best guess?"
Klendel leaned back in his chair as he mulled over his answer. His best guess was that Her Royal Hairiness had brought him into the battle because of his extensive experience in manipulation and subterfuge, but that wasn't information he wanted to become widely spread. He spent a few moments constructing a lie before replying. "You might recall during the introductions that the...Spectator whispered something to me." He spat the hostess' name out without intending to. Star, I hate that bitch. "Well, I heard it well enough. I think she feels I remind her of herself for some reason, but that's the only real reason I can think of. Most of the others are much stronger than me." He looked Harmon up and down. "That much, I think we may have in common."
He steepled his fingers and grinned across them at Harmon. "I liked that question. So much so that I think I'll ask you the same thing. Why do you think you were chosen for this battle?"
Harmon took another sip of her drink, thankful that she hadn't gotten something too strong. "I was the scientist who developed the Many-Worlds Hypothesis. I don't know if that applies everywhere, but back home that was sort of a big deal." She shrugged. "Other than that, I'm not sure why I'd make a particularly interesting combatant in a battle to the death."
She gazed at Klendel, staring at him speculatively. Something about him set off alarm bells in her head, but she wasn't sure what until she took a good hard look at him for several seconds. "I'm getting sick of seeing your stupid face, so this'll be my last question. Why haven't you blinked, exhaled, inhaled, or taken a drink at any point during this entire conversation?"
Klendel's grin shrunk noticeably and his eyes narrowed. "Clever girl," he said softly. "I haven't done any of those things because Cogs don't need to." He pointed a finger at her. "And let me tell you, was it ever a chore being one of you sacks of meat during the last round! I don't know how you stand it."
Harmon stood up abruptly. "Great, thanks for answering my questions. I'm out of here."
Klendel grabbed her arm. "Wait!"
Harmon tried to shake him off, but found his grip curiously strong. "What? I don't see why I need to sit here and listen to you insult my species."
Klendel's grin grew wider. "You asked the first question. The deal was an answer for an answer. That means I get one more question."
Harmon rolled her eyes and turned back to the Cog. "Fine. Ask away."
Klendel cackled softly. "But you see, I can't think of a question at the moment!" He stared at her with his eerie, unblinking eyes. "So I suppose I'll just have to tag along with you until I think of one."
Harmon's mouth fell open. "You're joking."
He wasn't.
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