Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 4: Showtime!]
02-11-2010, 05:48 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Dealing with Vyrm'n and the audience at the same time was going to be tricky, worth rounding up to impossible, so Maxwell made the hopeful tactful decision to abandon his ramshackle performance and concentrate on the Faceless instead. A quick glimpse provided him with the knowldge that Gestalt was going to be taking centre stage...
Let's get out of the spotlight, Vyrm'n. You and me have some catching up to do...
Leaving the schrotgolem to take its baby steps in its own time, Maxwell tried his best at "whisking" Vyrm'n and himself away, but, stubbornly refusing to remove the mask until he was far enough from the audience to keep his illusion of a professional attitude in check, this whisk was rather closer to the noun than the verb. The several spirals required to circumnavigate the curtains would have tarnished his reputation even more, were it not for the audience's current bemusement concerning the tottering tower of armour that was trying its hardest not to topple itself. Still, once they could confide in the shadows once more, the mask was off and the connection recieved the appreciation it so throughouly deserved.
It is quieter here, is it not? Much better to explain in the calm...
Admittedly, the biggest problem with this new rendevous was the darkness, but there was no real reason to be fearful of what might happen in it. Well, yes, there was, but Vyrm'n was worried enough as it was...
Forgive me if I come across in a manner quite derogatory, but are you familiar with the idea of "performing"? To do things willingly, or at least with partial consent, for the benefit of others?
...the resultant pause was a tad too long, Maxwell noted. He might have accidentally struck something sinister there...
-Yes-
That was... a bit short. Dare I ask, or do you want some answers. No, no, don't tell me, you-
-want answers. I don't like this one bit, Maxwell-
Yeah, neither do I. The Observer wishes us to perform in front of an audience of... I think it is thousands. They all kinda blur into each other when you look at them; goodness only knows quite how far back their seats go, but they are here to be entertained. And...
Something struck Maxwell. Metaphorically, not literally - the tomatoes had long since been put away for another shocking performance, and instead two and two were put together in quite a violent mental explosion.
I think... I think they are a bit like you, Vyrm'n. I think... I hope, I guess, I believe, I might as well bet on the fact that they get excited... by the prospect of death. I know, Vyrm'n. That you find your fix, for want of a better term, in the demise of others. It must be their songs - the conclusion to any piece has to reek of grandeur; going out with a bang, make a lasting impression, be it through the blood that never quite comes out of the carpet or the mental playback of a scream that harbingers the end. So they ooh and aah at simple conjuring tricks, but that is pity, not praise. Sadist be it, but they want to see someone suffer.
Devil's advocate didn't quite come close. Treading a fine line overestimated the width of the tightrope severly. Cutting it close was only accurate in so far as Maxwell was quite partial to most of his appendages. But it was going to work, wasn't it?
I can't provide them what they want. But I know who can. You can. You find this setting mind-bogglingly confusing, right? So how do you deal with it? You get out. Simple. What the audience want is the same as what you want, when it comes down to it. Pick your foe - it would be rude of me to recommend, but I can think of a being who hardly deserves to breathe, let alone live, not naming any names of course. Sorry, sorry, sorry, but someone's gonna die. I intend to see what I can do about getting us out of this mess and I promise I shall keep my intestines to myself, Vyrm'n. In the meantime, if I can't succeed, and I'm sad to point out that so far I've been fairly futile, there's the other way. And that's your domain to rule.
Privately, half of Maxwell's brain wanted to push the other half out of his ears for what he'd just been thinking. Conversely, the other half was staying as calculating and cold as it could under the heat of the moment, and it was looking for loopholes. Two kinds of loopholes. The kind that would get them out, and the kind that would let his conscience take a break from reality for a while.
Dealing with Vyrm'n and the audience at the same time was going to be tricky, worth rounding up to impossible, so Maxwell made the hopeful tactful decision to abandon his ramshackle performance and concentrate on the Faceless instead. A quick glimpse provided him with the knowldge that Gestalt was going to be taking centre stage...
Let's get out of the spotlight, Vyrm'n. You and me have some catching up to do...
Leaving the schrotgolem to take its baby steps in its own time, Maxwell tried his best at "whisking" Vyrm'n and himself away, but, stubbornly refusing to remove the mask until he was far enough from the audience to keep his illusion of a professional attitude in check, this whisk was rather closer to the noun than the verb. The several spirals required to circumnavigate the curtains would have tarnished his reputation even more, were it not for the audience's current bemusement concerning the tottering tower of armour that was trying its hardest not to topple itself. Still, once they could confide in the shadows once more, the mask was off and the connection recieved the appreciation it so throughouly deserved.
It is quieter here, is it not? Much better to explain in the calm...
Admittedly, the biggest problem with this new rendevous was the darkness, but there was no real reason to be fearful of what might happen in it. Well, yes, there was, but Vyrm'n was worried enough as it was...
Forgive me if I come across in a manner quite derogatory, but are you familiar with the idea of "performing"? To do things willingly, or at least with partial consent, for the benefit of others?
...the resultant pause was a tad too long, Maxwell noted. He might have accidentally struck something sinister there...
-Yes-
That was... a bit short. Dare I ask, or do you want some answers. No, no, don't tell me, you-
-want answers. I don't like this one bit, Maxwell-
Yeah, neither do I. The Observer wishes us to perform in front of an audience of... I think it is thousands. They all kinda blur into each other when you look at them; goodness only knows quite how far back their seats go, but they are here to be entertained. And...
Something struck Maxwell. Metaphorically, not literally - the tomatoes had long since been put away for another shocking performance, and instead two and two were put together in quite a violent mental explosion.
I think... I think they are a bit like you, Vyrm'n. I think... I hope, I guess, I believe, I might as well bet on the fact that they get excited... by the prospect of death. I know, Vyrm'n. That you find your fix, for want of a better term, in the demise of others. It must be their songs - the conclusion to any piece has to reek of grandeur; going out with a bang, make a lasting impression, be it through the blood that never quite comes out of the carpet or the mental playback of a scream that harbingers the end. So they ooh and aah at simple conjuring tricks, but that is pity, not praise. Sadist be it, but they want to see someone suffer.
Devil's advocate didn't quite come close. Treading a fine line overestimated the width of the tightrope severly. Cutting it close was only accurate in so far as Maxwell was quite partial to most of his appendages. But it was going to work, wasn't it?
I can't provide them what they want. But I know who can. You can. You find this setting mind-bogglingly confusing, right? So how do you deal with it? You get out. Simple. What the audience want is the same as what you want, when it comes down to it. Pick your foe - it would be rude of me to recommend, but I can think of a being who hardly deserves to breathe, let alone live, not naming any names of course. Sorry, sorry, sorry, but someone's gonna die. I intend to see what I can do about getting us out of this mess and I promise I shall keep my intestines to myself, Vyrm'n. In the meantime, if I can't succeed, and I'm sad to point out that so far I've been fairly futile, there's the other way. And that's your domain to rule.
Privately, half of Maxwell's brain wanted to push the other half out of his ears for what he'd just been thinking. Conversely, the other half was staying as calculating and cold as it could under the heat of the moment, and it was looking for loopholes. Two kinds of loopholes. The kind that would get them out, and the kind that would let his conscience take a break from reality for a while.