Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Three: The Sable Masque
08-12-2012, 06:41 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.
"But why are they having a party?" demanded Cedric as Ivan fumbled with the extravagant display of crystal glasses surrounding the punch bowl. Even his extra senses weren't enough to tell where one ended and the other began. "They didn't even kill anything," he muttered, folding his arms.
As usual, they'd been redressed for the occasion; Cedric's suit of armor had been replaced with a tuxedo with red trim, Sigrar had taken the form of an elegant saber, and Ivan was stuck in some sort of waistcoat. Ivan took a deep breath, pulled his hands from the dense fractal of glassware, and tried to fish one from the very top. Somehow, he ended up arms-deep in physics-defying crystal glasses, and as he finally managed to get his hands around one, the whole thing began to collapse inwards. As he scrambled to support the entire structure, a couple in clothing so decadent that it was impossible to tell which was the suit and which was the dress strolled past and delicately drew a pair of glasses from the bottom. The woman(?) simply passed her glass through the punch bowl, filling it up, and took a sip from the man(?)'s glass, which was now somehow full.
"I killed a dragon once," muttered Sir Cedric. "The city of Klangsbor threw me a party, and they'd never even heard of me."
Ivan coughed politely.
"But after that, of course, everyone had."
Ivan looked around helplessly.
"Excuse me, sir," he muttered to Cedric. "Could you, uh - could you help me with these?"
Cedric grunted and simply swatted the glasses off of Ivan's arms, scattering them across the table and sending several over the edge. Before any of them could hit the floor, half a dozen waiters and a few of the carpet valets swooped in and began expertly catching and restacking the glasses. Ivan watched intently, using the refraction of light through them and the perfect musical notes they made as they clinked together - good lord, the empty glasses were actually playing a symphony - to try and construct an accurate picture of the physical structure of the sculpture in his head, but something about how the glasses fit together gave him a headache if he thought about it too much. Which he did.
A waiter silently came up to Sir Cedric with a tray and a single glass of champagne to distract him from the minor inconvenience. Cedric picked up the flute-shaped glass, took a bite out of it, swallowed the champagne, and spat the crumbled glass out on the tray while glaring directly at the waiter.
The waiter's composure broke for just a second, and he took a step back. Cedric took a step forward, and the waiter turned and fled. Cedric smirked. That sure showed him.
"You ever fought niceras, Sir Ivangar?"
"What are those?" he asked exasperatedly, fidgeting with his little bow tie. Weren't they supposed to be fighting to the death, or something?
"They're... they're big nasty sea things. You know, with teeth."
"With teeth," said Ivan, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you know," said Cedric, miming a big pair of jaws in front of his mouth. Ivan snorted and covered his mouth, hiding his laughter. Cedric grinned, but his expression faded after a moment.
"Hey, Ivan. Sir Ivangar."
"Hm?"
"Why's everyone staring at us?"
“I, uh…” Hrm. Now that Ivan looked around, people were staring at them, weren’t they. Well, Ivan supposed he was kind of underdressed in just regular old formal wear for humans. At least Spectator seemed to have a sense of what regular people clothing was like, even though she was always prancing around in that skeleton thing of hers.
Wait, no, Crowe said she was dead.
Her assistant, Crowe, who died right in front of everyone.
“Sir Ivangar?”
But the Vivacious Deadlock was still going. Was there yet another person running this battle? Did battles just continue on their own once you started one? Did they know what to do once there was only one person left?
There had to be a way to figure out whether this battle was manned or unmanned, as it were, but Ivan found himself realizing that he had absolutely no idea how to go about doing any of it. In fact, Ivan, realized, he’d been so focused on lying and smiling his way to power and survival that he’d hardly put any thought into figuring out who The Spectator and Crowe were. That seemed really relevant, didn’t it?
What kind of people gather up mere mortals, stick them in a room together, and pressure them until they start killing each other?
The bits of his brain that were still human called up a memory of when he was just a kid – when Gavin Stiles-who-never-seemed-to-leave-the-playground brought a jar of beetles to school and shook it to make them fight.
Probably the sort of people who think we’re too small for it to matter, Ivan thought darkly, his mind wandering back to CARET, or people who think being bigger gives them the right to do it. He wrung the pen he’d stolen in his hands, and jerked away violently when a sharp little blade dug into his thumb. A delicate ivory fountain pen in the shape of a quill clattered to the floor. He hadn’t even noticed the pen had changed into something else.
He picked it up with a shudder.
“Maybe it’s my beard.”
“Do you think it’s my beard?” Cedric asked worriedly. This was important.
---
beeeeep
beeeeep
beeeeep
(Those were a phone’s dial tone, by the way, not Jack Moulin’s thoughts right about now. Specifically, they were the three rings Gerald Botterson always allowed his phone to get through before he could be sure that it wasn’t just a text message that he could ignore.)
beeeclick.
“H’lo?” groaned Gerald in the voice that he’d reserved specifically for wishing he’d changed his number.
“Gerald, when was the last time you saw Jennie?” Jack blurted out.
The other end of the line went quiet.
Wait, shit.
“Gerald, I’m sorry, I didn’t –”
“Jennie’s dead, you asshole!”
“I know, I know, that, I was –”
“You, you came to her funeral!”
“Gerald, I know, I’m sorry,”
“Did you forget? Did you forget about when they buried my fucking girlfriend? How could you just – just call me and –”
“Shut up!”
There was a moment of shocked silence on both ends of the line. Jack took a deep breath. “I, I know it sounds weird, Gerald,” he continued carefully, “but I was at work, and I saw Jennie – she came to me, and –”
“What?”
“Gerald, I know, I know it sounds weird, but she, she – how could you not have heard about this, she killed Norm –”
“Jack, what the fuck –”
“She pointed a gun at me –”
“Shut up! Do you think this is funny? Do you think you can just trick me into believing that my girlfriend is alive – I was there too, Jack! I was there too when they buried her in the...”
“...Gerald, I know, I’m sorry, but –”
“What, Jack.”
“…Forget it.”
There was a long, pregnant silence, and Gerald hung up without a word. Jack wanted to bow his head and massage his temples, but he had to keep his eyes on the road. He wanted to pull over. Heated conversations and phone calls were both supposed to cause accidents.
If Jennie caught up to him, though, it wouldn’t be an accident.
Jack kept driving.
---
Gerald looked at his phone in silence for a moment before quietly setting it facedown on his desk. As he took a few deep breaths, his eyes naturally tracked towards his closed window – the room’s only source of light.
There was never much to look at outside – just some bare trees and a few mottled brick buildings across the street with shuttered windows that never seemed to have anybody in them. Even when people still came by here.
He shifted his weight and looked at the towering wall of infinite churning darkness maybe three feet to the right of his window.
It’s not like it was his fault. Why’d all this have to happen to him?
The void rumbled faintly, and Gerald got the vague impression of a roaring jet engine that he was completely tuning out.
His eyes followed the edge of the void past his window, into his building and along the space that one of his walls used to occupy. There was usually a faint purple glow behind the cheap paper screen he’d put up.
He followed the void to the other end of the room, where the girl in red aviators was occupying the room’s only chair.
“You are still my girlfriend, right?”
The void droned again, and she grinned to herself.
"But why are they having a party?" demanded Cedric as Ivan fumbled with the extravagant display of crystal glasses surrounding the punch bowl. Even his extra senses weren't enough to tell where one ended and the other began. "They didn't even kill anything," he muttered, folding his arms.
As usual, they'd been redressed for the occasion; Cedric's suit of armor had been replaced with a tuxedo with red trim, Sigrar had taken the form of an elegant saber, and Ivan was stuck in some sort of waistcoat. Ivan took a deep breath, pulled his hands from the dense fractal of glassware, and tried to fish one from the very top. Somehow, he ended up arms-deep in physics-defying crystal glasses, and as he finally managed to get his hands around one, the whole thing began to collapse inwards. As he scrambled to support the entire structure, a couple in clothing so decadent that it was impossible to tell which was the suit and which was the dress strolled past and delicately drew a pair of glasses from the bottom. The woman(?) simply passed her glass through the punch bowl, filling it up, and took a sip from the man(?)'s glass, which was now somehow full.
"I killed a dragon once," muttered Sir Cedric. "The city of Klangsbor threw me a party, and they'd never even heard of me."
Ivan coughed politely.
"But after that, of course, everyone had."
Ivan looked around helplessly.
"Excuse me, sir," he muttered to Cedric. "Could you, uh - could you help me with these?"
Cedric grunted and simply swatted the glasses off of Ivan's arms, scattering them across the table and sending several over the edge. Before any of them could hit the floor, half a dozen waiters and a few of the carpet valets swooped in and began expertly catching and restacking the glasses. Ivan watched intently, using the refraction of light through them and the perfect musical notes they made as they clinked together - good lord, the empty glasses were actually playing a symphony - to try and construct an accurate picture of the physical structure of the sculpture in his head, but something about how the glasses fit together gave him a headache if he thought about it too much. Which he did.
A waiter silently came up to Sir Cedric with a tray and a single glass of champagne to distract him from the minor inconvenience. Cedric picked up the flute-shaped glass, took a bite out of it, swallowed the champagne, and spat the crumbled glass out on the tray while glaring directly at the waiter.
The waiter's composure broke for just a second, and he took a step back. Cedric took a step forward, and the waiter turned and fled. Cedric smirked. That sure showed him.
"You ever fought niceras, Sir Ivangar?"
"What are those?" he asked exasperatedly, fidgeting with his little bow tie. Weren't they supposed to be fighting to the death, or something?
"They're... they're big nasty sea things. You know, with teeth."
"With teeth," said Ivan, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you know," said Cedric, miming a big pair of jaws in front of his mouth. Ivan snorted and covered his mouth, hiding his laughter. Cedric grinned, but his expression faded after a moment.
"Hey, Ivan. Sir Ivangar."
"Hm?"
"Why's everyone staring at us?"
“I, uh…” Hrm. Now that Ivan looked around, people were staring at them, weren’t they. Well, Ivan supposed he was kind of underdressed in just regular old formal wear for humans. At least Spectator seemed to have a sense of what regular people clothing was like, even though she was always prancing around in that skeleton thing of hers.
Wait, no, Crowe said she was dead.
Her assistant, Crowe, who died right in front of everyone.
“Sir Ivangar?”
But the Vivacious Deadlock was still going. Was there yet another person running this battle? Did battles just continue on their own once you started one? Did they know what to do once there was only one person left?
There had to be a way to figure out whether this battle was manned or unmanned, as it were, but Ivan found himself realizing that he had absolutely no idea how to go about doing any of it. In fact, Ivan, realized, he’d been so focused on lying and smiling his way to power and survival that he’d hardly put any thought into figuring out who The Spectator and Crowe were. That seemed really relevant, didn’t it?
What kind of people gather up mere mortals, stick them in a room together, and pressure them until they start killing each other?
The bits of his brain that were still human called up a memory of when he was just a kid – when Gavin Stiles-who-never-seemed-to-leave-the-playground brought a jar of beetles to school and shook it to make them fight.
Probably the sort of people who think we’re too small for it to matter, Ivan thought darkly, his mind wandering back to CARET, or people who think being bigger gives them the right to do it. He wrung the pen he’d stolen in his hands, and jerked away violently when a sharp little blade dug into his thumb. A delicate ivory fountain pen in the shape of a quill clattered to the floor. He hadn’t even noticed the pen had changed into something else.
He picked it up with a shudder.
“Maybe it’s my beard.”
“Do you think it’s my beard?” Cedric asked worriedly. This was important.
---
beeeeep
beeeeep
beeeeep
(Those were a phone’s dial tone, by the way, not Jack Moulin’s thoughts right about now. Specifically, they were the three rings Gerald Botterson always allowed his phone to get through before he could be sure that it wasn’t just a text message that he could ignore.)
beeeclick.
“H’lo?” groaned Gerald in the voice that he’d reserved specifically for wishing he’d changed his number.
“Gerald, when was the last time you saw Jennie?” Jack blurted out.
The other end of the line went quiet.
Wait, shit.
“Gerald, I’m sorry, I didn’t –”
“Jennie’s dead, you asshole!”
“I know, I know, that, I was –”
“You, you came to her funeral!”
“Gerald, I know, I’m sorry,”
“Did you forget? Did you forget about when they buried my fucking girlfriend? How could you just – just call me and –”
“Shut up!”
There was a moment of shocked silence on both ends of the line. Jack took a deep breath. “I, I know it sounds weird, Gerald,” he continued carefully, “but I was at work, and I saw Jennie – she came to me, and –”
“What?”
“Gerald, I know, I know it sounds weird, but she, she – how could you not have heard about this, she killed Norm –”
“Jack, what the fuck –”
“She pointed a gun at me –”
“Shut up! Do you think this is funny? Do you think you can just trick me into believing that my girlfriend is alive – I was there too, Jack! I was there too when they buried her in the...”
“...Gerald, I know, I’m sorry, but –”
“What, Jack.”
“…Forget it.”
There was a long, pregnant silence, and Gerald hung up without a word. Jack wanted to bow his head and massage his temples, but he had to keep his eyes on the road. He wanted to pull over. Heated conversations and phone calls were both supposed to cause accidents.
If Jennie caught up to him, though, it wouldn’t be an accident.
Jack kept driving.
---
Gerald looked at his phone in silence for a moment before quietly setting it facedown on his desk. As he took a few deep breaths, his eyes naturally tracked towards his closed window – the room’s only source of light.
There was never much to look at outside – just some bare trees and a few mottled brick buildings across the street with shuttered windows that never seemed to have anybody in them. Even when people still came by here.
He shifted his weight and looked at the towering wall of infinite churning darkness maybe three feet to the right of his window.
It’s not like it was his fault. Why’d all this have to happen to him?
The void rumbled faintly, and Gerald got the vague impression of a roaring jet engine that he was completely tuning out.
His eyes followed the edge of the void past his window, into his building and along the space that one of his walls used to occupy. There was usually a faint purple glow behind the cheap paper screen he’d put up.
He followed the void to the other end of the room, where the girl in red aviators was occupying the room’s only chair.
“You are still my girlfriend, right?”
The void droned again, and she grinned to herself.