Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 4: Showtime!]
02-08-2010, 11:46 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Vyrm'n shivered as the Balancer was dragged into the all-consuming dark, fixated upon that final defiant bellow. The Faceless had seen death, even administered it on most occasions. From first awareness to being dragged across incomprehensible space to this Grand Battle, all its life the shadow held the position of being a killer. Vyrm'n had never expressed sentiment one way or the other over this fact. The bequeather of the shadow's present sum life experiences; the researcher's servant; Vyrm, had possessed a detached comprehension of what death meant. Admittedly, to her, having experienced it once before, perhaps it wasn't such a big deal.
Regardless, beauty was another concept that Vyrm found negligible in her life; so in turn Vyrm'n could barely comprehend, let alone savour, free of the shackles of perpetual introspection. Until now.
The Sunset's fading howl was the most invigorating thing the Faceless had ever heard. It had no idea why this peculiar arrangement of atomic pitch stirred up this new emotion within itself; its origin was alien and immune to the grinding gears of Vyrm'n's metacognition.
The shadow had been so engrossed in this new sensation that it did not notice the world disappearing about it. Then, darkness; followed by more darkness with a fresh quality - a new battlefield. With this new-found excitement, Vyrm'n suddenly wanted to fuel it; make this intriguing feeling even more manifest in its quiet song.
"Showtime."
The backstage dark was no impediment to Vyrm'n's vision - if anything, the song of the approaching suited man set her more on edge. It spoke of space folded up and packed away, out of logical sight, with a tantalising ellipsis of a decrescendo that left the rest to one's expansive imagination. As trite as it seemed, with this strange, smoke-wreathed entity, anything truly was possible. The Stage Director exhaled a wreath of smoke which failed to dislodge the cloud hanging about his obscured face.
"Get moving, FAcelESs. You're needed up front." Neither Vyrm'n nor the clouded man noticed the way "Faceless" seemed grafted into that sentence. In fact, the man seemed supremely unconcerned that one of his actors was a seven-foot-tall pillar carved from the night sky. He motioned Vyrm'n along with a hand that had more force behind it than the Faceless was expecting - it was fairly propelled onto stage. The audience, who had been muttering disapprovingly at Gestalt's uninspired soliloquy, acquiesced a few oohs and aahs as the shadow poured onto the stage. Maxwell, who seemed to be entertaining the spectral crowd with some degree of success, turned mid-conjuration to see what the distraction was. He blanched at the sight of the Balancer, and his mind wandered enough to cause a perpetual chain of silk scarves to flow from his greatcoat pocket. Trying his best to make the mistake look deliberate (the mask helped hide his confusion, though it could not disguise his fumbling hands to a bemused audience), Maxwell furiously worked over through his head what he was witnessing.
What the Sunset just said, how it had said it, what in fact it was saying... None of it added up. Its movements jerky, almost puppet-like - though increasing in grace even as he watched through the side of his mask. Voice... looking to the other side, Gestalt noted with some relief to see Vyrm'n pounding onto the stage; definitely smaller, no doubt, but no less magnificent.
It had to be Gestalt. As his train of thought halted, so too did the stream of scarves. Standing up with a flourish, Maxwell took in the polite applause; though he knew what this crowd was assembled here today to see. Vyrm'n slid across the stage, and coiled around him to more lukewarm appreciation. The darkness, warmed slightly by the overbearing stage lights, brushed against the back of Maxwell's neck as the Faceless towered over him.
-What's going on Maxwell- The confusion in Vyrm'n's voice was absolute; encompassing all manner of subjects which were not helping the wellbeing of the Faceless' mind - The crowd, the Stage Director, Cabaret's mask, the smoking suit of violet armour on the other side of the stage - all of it was starting to be too much.
Vyrm'n shivered as the Balancer was dragged into the all-consuming dark, fixated upon that final defiant bellow. The Faceless had seen death, even administered it on most occasions. From first awareness to being dragged across incomprehensible space to this Grand Battle, all its life the shadow held the position of being a killer. Vyrm'n had never expressed sentiment one way or the other over this fact. The bequeather of the shadow's present sum life experiences; the researcher's servant; Vyrm, had possessed a detached comprehension of what death meant. Admittedly, to her, having experienced it once before, perhaps it wasn't such a big deal.
Regardless, beauty was another concept that Vyrm found negligible in her life; so in turn Vyrm'n could barely comprehend, let alone savour, free of the shackles of perpetual introspection. Until now.
The Sunset's fading howl was the most invigorating thing the Faceless had ever heard. It had no idea why this peculiar arrangement of atomic pitch stirred up this new emotion within itself; its origin was alien and immune to the grinding gears of Vyrm'n's metacognition.
The shadow had been so engrossed in this new sensation that it did not notice the world disappearing about it. Then, darkness; followed by more darkness with a fresh quality - a new battlefield. With this new-found excitement, Vyrm'n suddenly wanted to fuel it; make this intriguing feeling even more manifest in its quiet song.
"Showtime."
The backstage dark was no impediment to Vyrm'n's vision - if anything, the song of the approaching suited man set her more on edge. It spoke of space folded up and packed away, out of logical sight, with a tantalising ellipsis of a decrescendo that left the rest to one's expansive imagination. As trite as it seemed, with this strange, smoke-wreathed entity, anything truly was possible. The Stage Director exhaled a wreath of smoke which failed to dislodge the cloud hanging about his obscured face.
"Get moving, FAcelESs. You're needed up front." Neither Vyrm'n nor the clouded man noticed the way "Faceless" seemed grafted into that sentence. In fact, the man seemed supremely unconcerned that one of his actors was a seven-foot-tall pillar carved from the night sky. He motioned Vyrm'n along with a hand that had more force behind it than the Faceless was expecting - it was fairly propelled onto stage. The audience, who had been muttering disapprovingly at Gestalt's uninspired soliloquy, acquiesced a few oohs and aahs as the shadow poured onto the stage. Maxwell, who seemed to be entertaining the spectral crowd with some degree of success, turned mid-conjuration to see what the distraction was. He blanched at the sight of the Balancer, and his mind wandered enough to cause a perpetual chain of silk scarves to flow from his greatcoat pocket. Trying his best to make the mistake look deliberate (the mask helped hide his confusion, though it could not disguise his fumbling hands to a bemused audience), Maxwell furiously worked over through his head what he was witnessing.
What the Sunset just said, how it had said it, what in fact it was saying... None of it added up. Its movements jerky, almost puppet-like - though increasing in grace even as he watched through the side of his mask. Voice... looking to the other side, Gestalt noted with some relief to see Vyrm'n pounding onto the stage; definitely smaller, no doubt, but no less magnificent.
It had to be Gestalt. As his train of thought halted, so too did the stream of scarves. Standing up with a flourish, Maxwell took in the polite applause; though he knew what this crowd was assembled here today to see. Vyrm'n slid across the stage, and coiled around him to more lukewarm appreciation. The darkness, warmed slightly by the overbearing stage lights, brushed against the back of Maxwell's neck as the Faceless towered over him.
-What's going on Maxwell- The confusion in Vyrm'n's voice was absolute; encompassing all manner of subjects which were not helping the wellbeing of the Faceless' mind - The crowd, the Stage Director, Cabaret's mask, the smoking suit of violet armour on the other side of the stage - all of it was starting to be too much.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow