Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 2: Destructo World!]
10-12-2009, 04:59 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Maxwell was starting to get ever so slightly freaked out by his current surroundings. For one, the absence of life in such an otherwise vibrant and excited a place was a little... curious. But of course, no civilians to intefer with the conflict, whether it was for their own safety (if they existed, thinking about it...) or so as not to spoil the game.
But another little thing that was unnerving him was the fact that everything and anything here could very well be a death trap, and there was currently a fair portion of Maxwell's brain devoted to tormenting him with bucketloads of unique and clever ways that humble attractions could lead to his demise. Add that to the fact he was worried sick about Vyrm'n, and you had one rather disconcerted Maxwell.
Right now, though, there was something he wanted to do. Finding Cabaret at the shooting range had sent a part of his imagination on overtime, and whilst doing so conjured up an interesting idea. Retracing his steps, he was soon face to face with the gallery, with its vivid yellow plastic ducks waiting, just waitingfor someone to pull the trigger, oblivious, totally oblivio-
Of course, he wasn't exactly here to murder some rubber ducks. That, that would be foolish. They weren't exactly the world's most threatening creatures, right? But it was to means as to their demise that he wished to harvest.
Making sure no-one was watching (and why would there be anyone?), Maxwell dug around in another pocket and pulled out a roll of cloth, unwrapped rather hastily to reveal a considerable toolkit. An observer might notice a lockpick or two, a minature screwdriver for which Maxwell was currently fumbling over, a small antenna for some forgotten purpose and a whole range of small metal things that had absolutely no use whatsoever except for fleshing out an amateur's kit to make it look a little more... full. Still, taking a shotgun off its stand? Simple. If the screwdriver doesn't work, then there's always the mallet...
Now, of course, Maxwell didn't want to kill anybody. But quite a lot of people very probably wanted to kill him. Self defense. Simpl-
*BANG*
Where there was once a duck, there was no longer a duck. Whether or not there was some kind of philosophical significance to this, Maxwell had no idea; all he knew was that he'd just blown it into lots of little pieces and alerted every contestant in the vicinity as to his deeds. The mallet had proven not to be such a good idea after all, then... still, it had proved his hunch that they were indeed dealing with proper guns here, and it was actually pretty loose now, so...
It's not too difficult to hide a shotgun under a greatcoat. Whistling sheepishly might give you away, but you'd probably never see the evidence until you were staring down the barrel of it.
Maxwell was starting to get ever so slightly freaked out by his current surroundings. For one, the absence of life in such an otherwise vibrant and excited a place was a little... curious. But of course, no civilians to intefer with the conflict, whether it was for their own safety (if they existed, thinking about it...) or so as not to spoil the game.
But another little thing that was unnerving him was the fact that everything and anything here could very well be a death trap, and there was currently a fair portion of Maxwell's brain devoted to tormenting him with bucketloads of unique and clever ways that humble attractions could lead to his demise. Add that to the fact he was worried sick about Vyrm'n, and you had one rather disconcerted Maxwell.
Right now, though, there was something he wanted to do. Finding Cabaret at the shooting range had sent a part of his imagination on overtime, and whilst doing so conjured up an interesting idea. Retracing his steps, he was soon face to face with the gallery, with its vivid yellow plastic ducks waiting, just waitingfor someone to pull the trigger, oblivious, totally oblivio-
Of course, he wasn't exactly here to murder some rubber ducks. That, that would be foolish. They weren't exactly the world's most threatening creatures, right? But it was to means as to their demise that he wished to harvest.
Making sure no-one was watching (and why would there be anyone?), Maxwell dug around in another pocket and pulled out a roll of cloth, unwrapped rather hastily to reveal a considerable toolkit. An observer might notice a lockpick or two, a minature screwdriver for which Maxwell was currently fumbling over, a small antenna for some forgotten purpose and a whole range of small metal things that had absolutely no use whatsoever except for fleshing out an amateur's kit to make it look a little more... full. Still, taking a shotgun off its stand? Simple. If the screwdriver doesn't work, then there's always the mallet...
Now, of course, Maxwell didn't want to kill anybody. But quite a lot of people very probably wanted to kill him. Self defense. Simpl-
*BANG*
Where there was once a duck, there was no longer a duck. Whether or not there was some kind of philosophical significance to this, Maxwell had no idea; all he knew was that he'd just blown it into lots of little pieces and alerted every contestant in the vicinity as to his deeds. The mallet had proven not to be such a good idea after all, then... still, it had proved his hunch that they were indeed dealing with proper guns here, and it was actually pretty loose now, so...
It's not too difficult to hide a shotgun under a greatcoat. Whistling sheepishly might give you away, but you'd probably never see the evidence until you were staring down the barrel of it.