Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Two: BJ
04-27-2012, 04:06 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by engineclock.
She held the pistol like someone who’d never seen a gun before, pointed straight at Alexis’ heart.
The cramped apartment was in shambles. Pieces of torn fabric were scattered across the floor amidst wrinkled scraps of paper bearing images of animal-headed figures and receipts for metal and paint; chairs and cheap pine desks were upended and shoved roughly into corners and closets. Half of the room’s tattered carpet was soaked, foul-smelling water leaking sluggishly from a badly cracked aquarium upended on the floor. The pistol flashed in the glow of a desk lamp obscured by the rags of a badly outdated poster, shaking almost imperceptibly.
“Jennie,” Alexis said slowly, keeping her hands up, “You’re sick. Something’s wrong, okay? Something’s really wrong. It’s not your fault. Just calm down, alright? Put it down. Put it down, Jennie. You’re not like this.”
Her roommate gestured clumsily at the walls with the barrel of the gun. Her dark eyes darted sightlessly from surface to surface. She frowned, staring at a particularly frayed section of the carpet. “They’re… gonna make me pay room damages again, Lexy.”
Alexis shook her head, cautiously feeling behind her for the drawer of her desk, now leaning against the room’s single door. The handle had been knocked off at some point in the chaos. “No they aren’t,” she lied, trying to wedge the drawer open with her fingers. She yelped as a splinter stabbed into her skin and froze at Jennie’s sudden frown.
“What are you doing?” Jennie demanded. She stepped back a pace and stumbled over a broken jewelry box, waving the pistol wildly. She scrabbled at the edge of a dresser for balance and swung the gun back to Alexis’ chest, closing one eye and playfully miming taking a shot. She giggled. “Don’t get bitchy. It’s not your turn anyway. Not yet.”
“Jennie? Jennie, please, I know you’re upset,” Alexis said gently. She felt the drawer give and carefully reached inside, relieved to feel the plastic handle of a boxcutter press itself into her palm. Nervously she shot a glance at her roommate, now frowning at the remains of the fishtank. “We took a long time, but people are busy this time of year. School and… things like that. Before you… left, we were busy. Remember?”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “You’re like, way too nice. Seriously.” She lifted her bare foot and stamped it down onto the body of a small betta splendens, grinding the mess into the carpet. “You’re starting to rub off on me.”
Alexis paled, watching the other girl trying to scrape fish remains off onto the edge of her bed. A sleek-looking laptop peeked out from under the edge, impaled with a brightly polished hammer. “Who was it?” She heard herself ask.
“Norm,” Jennie said. With her free hand she yanked down her scarf, revealing several deep scratches running down her neck and onto her chest, glistening in the dim light. She rubbed at them idly. “Had to make a big goddamn deal about it.”
“You liked him,” Alexis said dully.
“I like a lot of people. I like you too,” Jennie said. She turned away, tripping through the rubble towards a screened window. She fumbled at the catch for a moment before giving up and kicking it, sending the screen clattering to the street below. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back towards Alexis, raising her eyebrows in surprise at the knife now clutched in her roommate’s hand.
“If you wanted to host you could have just asked,” Jennie said, and fired the pistol in Alexis’ direction. It missed by several feet, punching through the thin walls like paper as Alexis screamed and ducked to the floor, dropping the blade. For the briefest instant something like confusion passed over Jennie’s face and she took a half-step towards her roommate; then it was gone and she smiled and turned to climb out the window.
“You have a few more hours,” she called to Alexis, now frantically trying to clear the door. She raised her voice over the concerned yells now coming from outside the hall, asking if the two of them were alright. “It’s… you should really apply one day. It’s fun. A lot of responsibility. A lot of power.” Slowly Jennie started to laugh, holding the pistol like a dead thing. She kicked open the grate to the fire escape, then paused. “You know what, Lexy?”
Alexis said nothing, only starting at the bleeding apparition outside her window.
“No one man should have all that power.”
______________________________
“POWER?”
The tower boomed with laughter. The pale walls reverberated with the echoes of its voice as the floors swayed and bucked with mirth, throwing Phere to the ground with a clatter of metal on bone. Eyes flickered open across the tower, flashing glimpses of distant worlds before fluttering closed as the spasm passed. The green eye squinted at Phere. “WELL NO WONDER YOU AND OUR DEAR DEAD CROWE WERE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS. POWER.”
Phere squirmed against the uncomfortably warm floor and glared back. She let the silence stretch out, studying the behemoth carefully. “Answer my question.”
The green eye’s laughter was joined by a murmuring chorus of quieter voices nervously giggling to one another, whispering jumbled words and phrases in languages Phere didn’t recognize. Their hisses undercut the green eye’s booming roar as it rolled languidly in its socket, casting its gaze across the slopes of its countless sleeping lids. “VERY WELL, LITTLE QUEEN. SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELY, I’LL TELL YOU A STORY. LET’S SEE NOW. OH, IT’S SUCH A FAAAR WAY BACK, I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN REMEMBER IT … THERE WAS A SILLY OLD MAN WHO MADE A WORLD AND GAVE IT AS A GIFT TO HIS HUNDRED THOUSAND CHILDREN. WHEN THEY HAD HAD THEIR FILL OF KILLING EACH OTHER THEY CAME FOR HIM AND HE TOLD A TINY RED WORM TO MAKE THEM SUFFER. TO MAKE THE WHOLE WORLD DISAPPEAR. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A WORM EATS A GOD?”
The tower paused and it took Phere a moment to realize it was waiting for her answer. The quiet voices snickered distantly; she glanced around irritably for their source but found nothing other than the tower’s slumbering eyes. “I don’t know.”
“REALLY? CROWE GOT THAT ONE THE FIRST TIME WE ASKED.” The eye turned dismissively away. Under her chair Phere felt the tower’s floor tremble as the whispers grew more urgent. “HOW ARE YOU GOING TO REPLACE HIM IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE YOUR RESEARCH? YOUR APPLICATION’S LOOKING SHODDY, PHERE. IF THE RED LADY COULD PULL HERSELF TOGETHER SHE WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU WERE TRYING.”
“Replace him?” Phere snapped, futilely tugging at her wrists. The metal was beginning to chafe her skin: already she could see flushed red rings where the binds had bitten into her arms. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “As the Spectator’s errand boy? Are you mad?”
“OH, DON’T CALL IT THAT, HE GETS SO INSULTED,” the tower sighed. “BADMOUTHING YOUR COWORKERS IS AGAINST COMPANY POLICY.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” the queen said coldly. Composing herself, she swept the room for anything that seemed likely to free her from her shackles but found that the tower was completely bare: its surface was spotless and pristine, lacking even seams where the walls met the floor. There was nothing but smooth planes of bone-white stone everywhere she looked. “I serve no one. No man or woman alive. Not even the Spectator.”
“PHERE, PHERE, DON’T BE HASTY, NOW. CONSIDER YOUR OPTIONS.” The tower’s tone was casual, aloof, as though it was discussing particular tepid weather, but the green eye’s gaze held Phere like a floodlight. It flashed with an image too quick for her to recognize. “YOU BROKE HER FAVORITE TOY, AFTER ALL. HER POOR LITTLE MOCKINGBIRD. YOU AND ALL THOSE OTHERS SHE WANTED SO MUCH, ALL GOING BEHIND HER BACK AND MEDDLING WITH HER THINGS. WHAT DID YOU THINK SHE WAS GOING TO DO? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR BELOVED SPECTATOR DOES TO THINGS THAT HURT HER? LOOK AT ME. SHE LIKED ME.”
“Crowe did this to himself!” Phere snapped, irritated by the tower’s condescension. She gave her wrists another jerk and was rewarded with a searing burn from the suddenly blistering metal encircling her arms. She yelped and bit her tongue; the whispering voices screamed with laughter, spitting her name like a blasphemy amidst their hissing curses.
“IS THAT SO?” The tower said. The green eye glowed like an ember, a brilliant green sun nestled in the bone walls. “HOW ODD. I SEEM TO REMEMBER HE BEGGED FOR HIS WORTHLESS LIFE FOR HOURS WHEN THE SYMPHONY ATE HIS BONES. I REMEMBER HE DIED SCREAMING YOUR NAME. WHAT WILL THE RED LADY SAY WHEN I TELL HER? POOR BLIND SPECTATOR. SHE’LL CRY FOR DAYS. HOW SAD.”
“What will you gain from this madness?” Phere snarled through her teeth. The metal of her bonds was rising in temperature; she’d pressed as far back from them as she could but the iron chair afforded her nothing. The heat radiated against her skin in a constant threat. “Kill me now if that’s what you want. I don’t fear you,” she lied. “The Spectator will know what happened.”
“AND WHY DO YOU THINK THAT?” the tower purred. Slowly the metal began to glow, silvery orange with the runes burned out in white-hot strokes. The floor rippled around the chair, inching away from the heat. “OUR DEAR LADY’S IN PARTS AND SHE’S SO VERY CONFUSED. WOULD YOU TRUST YOUR EYES WHEN THEY’RE ALL YOU HAVE, PHERE? WOULD THEY LIE TO YOU? OH, YOU SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION TO CROWE, LITTLE QUEEN. HE KNEW WHAT POWER WAS. WHEN YOU SEE HIM AGAIN, ASK HIM HOW A WORM BECOMES A GOD.”
Abruptly the bonds of the Symphony chair flared a brilliant gold and melted, pooling away from Phere’s white-knuckled hands into puddles of smoking sludge. She rose to her feet, clenching her shaking fists and steadying a gaze at the waiting green eye. It shone back at her, glowing softly. Lights reflected in its massive curvature; it took Phere a moment to realize they weren’t the molten remnants of the chair but the fires of Santa Nada, smoldering into the night.
“NOW THEN,” the tower said as the city focused in its iris, “IT’S BEEN SO EXCITING SINCE YOU LEFT. ONE OF YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS IS DEAD, PHERE. DON’T YOU MISS THEM? WHAT WAS THEIR NAME…?”
Phere stared coldly at the eye, carefully stepping forward to examine the scene. The Thünderwölf fleet was in total disarray, what few ships remained now fleeing from the coast in haste. The center of Santa Nada itself was little more than a smoking crater. “Let me see them more closely,” she commanded.
“NOT IMPRESSED, ARE WE?” The tower laughed, but obliged. The green eye’s iris swelled with the image of her fellow contestants. Phere frowned. Nalzaki seemed to be missing, but it was possible the tower was lying to her. It had admitted as much earlier. It was clearly insane; who knew what its goals were?
“What now?” She asked, gazing at the thousands of eyes observing her. Surreptitiously she rubbed her wrists, her skin still hot from the molten chair.
The green eye rolled, giving Phere the impression of a shrug. “WHAT NOW INDEED? GO ON, PHERE. GIVE US AN ORDER. ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”
She bared her teeth. “I will not stand for mockery from you.”
“OH, RUDE,” the tower said huffily. “FINE THEN. DON’T SAY WE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO HELP YOU. I HOPE YOU’RE AS GOOD A DANCER AS YOU ARE A TERRIBLE GUEST, PHERE. IT MIGHT COME IN HANDY.”
She felt a pressure building in her Hollow, a tremendous force pressing out from inside her skull that made the tower’s walls flash gold and black, and she heard the eyes all laughing at her in the few seconds before she failed to feel anything at all.
Across the ruined city of Santa Nada, five similarly unfortunate beings vanished quietly into the night.
She held the pistol like someone who’d never seen a gun before, pointed straight at Alexis’ heart.
The cramped apartment was in shambles. Pieces of torn fabric were scattered across the floor amidst wrinkled scraps of paper bearing images of animal-headed figures and receipts for metal and paint; chairs and cheap pine desks were upended and shoved roughly into corners and closets. Half of the room’s tattered carpet was soaked, foul-smelling water leaking sluggishly from a badly cracked aquarium upended on the floor. The pistol flashed in the glow of a desk lamp obscured by the rags of a badly outdated poster, shaking almost imperceptibly.
“Jennie,” Alexis said slowly, keeping her hands up, “You’re sick. Something’s wrong, okay? Something’s really wrong. It’s not your fault. Just calm down, alright? Put it down. Put it down, Jennie. You’re not like this.”
Her roommate gestured clumsily at the walls with the barrel of the gun. Her dark eyes darted sightlessly from surface to surface. She frowned, staring at a particularly frayed section of the carpet. “They’re… gonna make me pay room damages again, Lexy.”
Alexis shook her head, cautiously feeling behind her for the drawer of her desk, now leaning against the room’s single door. The handle had been knocked off at some point in the chaos. “No they aren’t,” she lied, trying to wedge the drawer open with her fingers. She yelped as a splinter stabbed into her skin and froze at Jennie’s sudden frown.
“What are you doing?” Jennie demanded. She stepped back a pace and stumbled over a broken jewelry box, waving the pistol wildly. She scrabbled at the edge of a dresser for balance and swung the gun back to Alexis’ chest, closing one eye and playfully miming taking a shot. She giggled. “Don’t get bitchy. It’s not your turn anyway. Not yet.”
“Jennie? Jennie, please, I know you’re upset,” Alexis said gently. She felt the drawer give and carefully reached inside, relieved to feel the plastic handle of a boxcutter press itself into her palm. Nervously she shot a glance at her roommate, now frowning at the remains of the fishtank. “We took a long time, but people are busy this time of year. School and… things like that. Before you… left, we were busy. Remember?”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “You’re like, way too nice. Seriously.” She lifted her bare foot and stamped it down onto the body of a small betta splendens, grinding the mess into the carpet. “You’re starting to rub off on me.”
Alexis paled, watching the other girl trying to scrape fish remains off onto the edge of her bed. A sleek-looking laptop peeked out from under the edge, impaled with a brightly polished hammer. “Who was it?” She heard herself ask.
“Norm,” Jennie said. With her free hand she yanked down her scarf, revealing several deep scratches running down her neck and onto her chest, glistening in the dim light. She rubbed at them idly. “Had to make a big goddamn deal about it.”
“You liked him,” Alexis said dully.
“I like a lot of people. I like you too,” Jennie said. She turned away, tripping through the rubble towards a screened window. She fumbled at the catch for a moment before giving up and kicking it, sending the screen clattering to the street below. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back towards Alexis, raising her eyebrows in surprise at the knife now clutched in her roommate’s hand.
“If you wanted to host you could have just asked,” Jennie said, and fired the pistol in Alexis’ direction. It missed by several feet, punching through the thin walls like paper as Alexis screamed and ducked to the floor, dropping the blade. For the briefest instant something like confusion passed over Jennie’s face and she took a half-step towards her roommate; then it was gone and she smiled and turned to climb out the window.
“You have a few more hours,” she called to Alexis, now frantically trying to clear the door. She raised her voice over the concerned yells now coming from outside the hall, asking if the two of them were alright. “It’s… you should really apply one day. It’s fun. A lot of responsibility. A lot of power.” Slowly Jennie started to laugh, holding the pistol like a dead thing. She kicked open the grate to the fire escape, then paused. “You know what, Lexy?”
Alexis said nothing, only starting at the bleeding apparition outside her window.
“No one man should have all that power.”
______________________________
“POWER?”
The tower boomed with laughter. The pale walls reverberated with the echoes of its voice as the floors swayed and bucked with mirth, throwing Phere to the ground with a clatter of metal on bone. Eyes flickered open across the tower, flashing glimpses of distant worlds before fluttering closed as the spasm passed. The green eye squinted at Phere. “WELL NO WONDER YOU AND OUR DEAR DEAD CROWE WERE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS. POWER.”
Phere squirmed against the uncomfortably warm floor and glared back. She let the silence stretch out, studying the behemoth carefully. “Answer my question.”
The green eye’s laughter was joined by a murmuring chorus of quieter voices nervously giggling to one another, whispering jumbled words and phrases in languages Phere didn’t recognize. Their hisses undercut the green eye’s booming roar as it rolled languidly in its socket, casting its gaze across the slopes of its countless sleeping lids. “VERY WELL, LITTLE QUEEN. SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELY, I’LL TELL YOU A STORY. LET’S SEE NOW. OH, IT’S SUCH A FAAAR WAY BACK, I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN REMEMBER IT … THERE WAS A SILLY OLD MAN WHO MADE A WORLD AND GAVE IT AS A GIFT TO HIS HUNDRED THOUSAND CHILDREN. WHEN THEY HAD HAD THEIR FILL OF KILLING EACH OTHER THEY CAME FOR HIM AND HE TOLD A TINY RED WORM TO MAKE THEM SUFFER. TO MAKE THE WHOLE WORLD DISAPPEAR. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A WORM EATS A GOD?”
The tower paused and it took Phere a moment to realize it was waiting for her answer. The quiet voices snickered distantly; she glanced around irritably for their source but found nothing other than the tower’s slumbering eyes. “I don’t know.”
“REALLY? CROWE GOT THAT ONE THE FIRST TIME WE ASKED.” The eye turned dismissively away. Under her chair Phere felt the tower’s floor tremble as the whispers grew more urgent. “HOW ARE YOU GOING TO REPLACE HIM IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE YOUR RESEARCH? YOUR APPLICATION’S LOOKING SHODDY, PHERE. IF THE RED LADY COULD PULL HERSELF TOGETHER SHE WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU WERE TRYING.”
“Replace him?” Phere snapped, futilely tugging at her wrists. The metal was beginning to chafe her skin: already she could see flushed red rings where the binds had bitten into her arms. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “As the Spectator’s errand boy? Are you mad?”
“OH, DON’T CALL IT THAT, HE GETS SO INSULTED,” the tower sighed. “BADMOUTHING YOUR COWORKERS IS AGAINST COMPANY POLICY.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” the queen said coldly. Composing herself, she swept the room for anything that seemed likely to free her from her shackles but found that the tower was completely bare: its surface was spotless and pristine, lacking even seams where the walls met the floor. There was nothing but smooth planes of bone-white stone everywhere she looked. “I serve no one. No man or woman alive. Not even the Spectator.”
“PHERE, PHERE, DON’T BE HASTY, NOW. CONSIDER YOUR OPTIONS.” The tower’s tone was casual, aloof, as though it was discussing particular tepid weather, but the green eye’s gaze held Phere like a floodlight. It flashed with an image too quick for her to recognize. “YOU BROKE HER FAVORITE TOY, AFTER ALL. HER POOR LITTLE MOCKINGBIRD. YOU AND ALL THOSE OTHERS SHE WANTED SO MUCH, ALL GOING BEHIND HER BACK AND MEDDLING WITH HER THINGS. WHAT DID YOU THINK SHE WAS GOING TO DO? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR BELOVED SPECTATOR DOES TO THINGS THAT HURT HER? LOOK AT ME. SHE LIKED ME.”
“Crowe did this to himself!” Phere snapped, irritated by the tower’s condescension. She gave her wrists another jerk and was rewarded with a searing burn from the suddenly blistering metal encircling her arms. She yelped and bit her tongue; the whispering voices screamed with laughter, spitting her name like a blasphemy amidst their hissing curses.
“IS THAT SO?” The tower said. The green eye glowed like an ember, a brilliant green sun nestled in the bone walls. “HOW ODD. I SEEM TO REMEMBER HE BEGGED FOR HIS WORTHLESS LIFE FOR HOURS WHEN THE SYMPHONY ATE HIS BONES. I REMEMBER HE DIED SCREAMING YOUR NAME. WHAT WILL THE RED LADY SAY WHEN I TELL HER? POOR BLIND SPECTATOR. SHE’LL CRY FOR DAYS. HOW SAD.”
“What will you gain from this madness?” Phere snarled through her teeth. The metal of her bonds was rising in temperature; she’d pressed as far back from them as she could but the iron chair afforded her nothing. The heat radiated against her skin in a constant threat. “Kill me now if that’s what you want. I don’t fear you,” she lied. “The Spectator will know what happened.”
“AND WHY DO YOU THINK THAT?” the tower purred. Slowly the metal began to glow, silvery orange with the runes burned out in white-hot strokes. The floor rippled around the chair, inching away from the heat. “OUR DEAR LADY’S IN PARTS AND SHE’S SO VERY CONFUSED. WOULD YOU TRUST YOUR EYES WHEN THEY’RE ALL YOU HAVE, PHERE? WOULD THEY LIE TO YOU? OH, YOU SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION TO CROWE, LITTLE QUEEN. HE KNEW WHAT POWER WAS. WHEN YOU SEE HIM AGAIN, ASK HIM HOW A WORM BECOMES A GOD.”
Abruptly the bonds of the Symphony chair flared a brilliant gold and melted, pooling away from Phere’s white-knuckled hands into puddles of smoking sludge. She rose to her feet, clenching her shaking fists and steadying a gaze at the waiting green eye. It shone back at her, glowing softly. Lights reflected in its massive curvature; it took Phere a moment to realize they weren’t the molten remnants of the chair but the fires of Santa Nada, smoldering into the night.
“NOW THEN,” the tower said as the city focused in its iris, “IT’S BEEN SO EXCITING SINCE YOU LEFT. ONE OF YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS IS DEAD, PHERE. DON’T YOU MISS THEM? WHAT WAS THEIR NAME…?”
Phere stared coldly at the eye, carefully stepping forward to examine the scene. The Thünderwölf fleet was in total disarray, what few ships remained now fleeing from the coast in haste. The center of Santa Nada itself was little more than a smoking crater. “Let me see them more closely,” she commanded.
“NOT IMPRESSED, ARE WE?” The tower laughed, but obliged. The green eye’s iris swelled with the image of her fellow contestants. Phere frowned. Nalzaki seemed to be missing, but it was possible the tower was lying to her. It had admitted as much earlier. It was clearly insane; who knew what its goals were?
“What now?” She asked, gazing at the thousands of eyes observing her. Surreptitiously she rubbed her wrists, her skin still hot from the molten chair.
The green eye rolled, giving Phere the impression of a shrug. “WHAT NOW INDEED? GO ON, PHERE. GIVE US AN ORDER. ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”
She bared her teeth. “I will not stand for mockery from you.”
“OH, RUDE,” the tower said huffily. “FINE THEN. DON’T SAY WE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO HELP YOU. I HOPE YOU’RE AS GOOD A DANCER AS YOU ARE A TERRIBLE GUEST, PHERE. IT MIGHT COME IN HANDY.”
She felt a pressure building in her Hollow, a tremendous force pressing out from inside her skull that made the tower’s walls flash gold and black, and she heard the eyes all laughing at her in the few seconds before she failed to feel anything at all.
Across the ruined city of Santa Nada, five similarly unfortunate beings vanished quietly into the night.