Re: The Grand Battle II! [Final Round: Dimensional Speakeasy]
03-11-2011, 02:52 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
As usual, the last remaining pair of survivors from the second grand battle were immobilized and struck dumb as they appeared in their newest arena. As usual, they were treated to a brief description of the newest rounds features and perils. As usual, they were released from their intangible bonds as the mental voice of their captor faded. It's not quite ubiquitous for one contestant to immediately fly into a violent fury as soon as they're released, but it's certainly frequent enough to be called typical. The usuals and typicals stopped there, though: for one, it's by no means normal for the wordless barrage of rage and violence to be directed against the scenery rather than another contestant or hapless passerby; for another, rarely does another entrant simply watch silently and unmovingly as their compatriot or competitor release their wrath. Even more uncommon was the presence of a grandmaster not in charge of the battle, especially one casually watching the proceedings.
As Vyrm'n continued her fruitless attack on the display, Gestalt watched dispassionately; it intended to wait until she wore herself out or realize how foolish she had been and was being, and to be there to engage her when she did. This plan revealed fairly well its understanding of emotions in general and the faceless's psyche in particular. It was fortunate for the schrotgolem (and a number of other interested parties) that the Organizer had taken an interest in ensuring that this battle didn't become, well, a battle. Or at least a straightforward battle like the one that promised to occur if Gestalt sat where it was until Vyrm'n turned her attention to him. With no real fanfare, the being inside Clara's shell sent him elsewhere, then stepped towards the rippling avatar of entropy.
---
One moment, the golem had been patiently waiting for Vyrm'n's choler to die down while idly examining the small, largely-featureless entry hall they had been dropped in; the next, and with no warning, it found itself in an enormous room, carrying the vague knowledge that it was here for its own good. The new room was substantially larger than the last; for that matter, it was substantially larger than a football field. Despite its size, the ceiling was quite low, and ordinary vision was obscured by a considerable haze in the air that could charitably be called "smoke". For all the expansiveness, it felt quite cluttered: there were hundreds of tables scattered about the colossal floor, with drinkers, diners, and gawkers seated at them in surprising numbers; at the farthest end of the room was a bar, being tended by something Gestalt couldn't quite make out but that certainly wasn't human; uncountable doors lead in and out of the place, many of which didn't seem to have any kind of mechanism to operate them. In spite of all the interesting and distracting things for the curious golem to look at, it found its attention drawn inexorably to a woman sitting alone at the nearest table, not least because she began addressing it as soon as it appeared.
"Well theah ya ah!" she effused, accent thick enough to float lead on. "I was beginnin ta wondah whethah he was gonna getcha heah at all!" She paused for a moment, taking a long drag on a cigarillo, then continued. "The name's Frances, but you get ta call me Frank. Daddy's brought me here ta help things along a little, right?"
Gestalt was taken rather aback, but after a moment its new voice purred out "I'm not sure who you or your father are, but–"
Frank rolled her eyes. "Not my fathah, ya rube, my daddy. The lilac fellah that broughtcha heah. He's got plans, alright, and he needs ya not to getchaself lost an' killed and all that. Yer a real odd bird, he says, butcha gotcha uses. Now come on, we got places ta be."
As she spoke, the little spirit had been taking her in in greater detail; it was probably only a being like Gestalt that would have noticed it without having it pointed out, but Frank's fingers were all made of wood, cleverly interlocked to give the appearance of normal joints. So, for that matter, were her arms and shoulders and legs, and in fact all of her. Her face was an exceptionally-complicated series of tiny, sliver-thin plates of wood in an ingenious layout that let her realistically express any emotion she needed to. Were it not for the fact that she had what appeared to be a will of her own (and a point about the urgency of their situation), Gestalt could have spent hours exploring her mechanisms. As it was though, the golem simply vocalized a sigh and muttered "I suppose this is no worse an idea that cooperating with the Organizer in the first place."
"I knew we'd getcha on the trolley! Now come on, let's ditch these high hats. We gotta see a man about a dog." She stood up and began moving towards a nearby wall, then turned back towards her charge and gave it a playful smack on the lid. "And don't think I didn't catch ya sneakin' a peak at the chassis!"
If Gestalt had any idea of what half her slang meant, or in fact any appreciation for wordplay, it might have enjoyed the pun. As it was, the schrotgolem simply wondered how Frank could possibly have known what or where its attention was focused at any given time while it followed her demurely towards the door.
Once through, the pair began trudging through branching corridors, filled with more bizarre, mismatched doors, Frank idly chatting about nothing in particular. They occasionally passed another patron, some of which seemed surprisingly normal given the setting, but most of which gave off an impression like the one Gestalt got from being around the Organizer. While Frank and her tagalong did gather the occasional look, none of the beings they passed seemed interested in stopping them or talking, which suited Gestalt fine.
However, after only a minute or two of walking, a door opened in front of the pair, and a strange figure stepped out. It was clad in a zoot suit much like the one favored by the Observer, and in fact its head was a similar one-eyed, largely-featureless globe, but the rest of the humanoid frame seemed to be composed of random bits of other organisms, favoring mollusks and arthropods. Frank sniffed and moved as though to pass it, but it held out an arm and pushed her back.
"Well, hello there 'Frank'," it clicked, quote marks clanging. "What a happy coincidence, finding you here."
The woman's wooden face curled into an angry sneer. "Mind ya potatoes, ya ugly 'munc. I got biggah fish ta fry."
"Look," came the mouthless reply. "you must know that you haven't escaped his notice, and he has no intention of letting you go through with this. Your options are to abandon this foolishness, or to die here."
"Ha! Ya slay me, 'munc."
"That's the intention." With that, a firearm materialized in in what could perhaps be called a hand, but might more rightly be referred to as a claw. "I've been looking forward to this."
Frank dropped into an aggressive stance and grinned. "Likewise, pal. It nevah gets old that you little fleshnuggets think ya can stand up to a real construct." She glanced briefly at Gestalt and effused, "Come on, little buddy, let's show him what for."
As usual, the last remaining pair of survivors from the second grand battle were immobilized and struck dumb as they appeared in their newest arena. As usual, they were treated to a brief description of the newest rounds features and perils. As usual, they were released from their intangible bonds as the mental voice of their captor faded. It's not quite ubiquitous for one contestant to immediately fly into a violent fury as soon as they're released, but it's certainly frequent enough to be called typical. The usuals and typicals stopped there, though: for one, it's by no means normal for the wordless barrage of rage and violence to be directed against the scenery rather than another contestant or hapless passerby; for another, rarely does another entrant simply watch silently and unmovingly as their compatriot or competitor release their wrath. Even more uncommon was the presence of a grandmaster not in charge of the battle, especially one casually watching the proceedings.
As Vyrm'n continued her fruitless attack on the display, Gestalt watched dispassionately; it intended to wait until she wore herself out or realize how foolish she had been and was being, and to be there to engage her when she did. This plan revealed fairly well its understanding of emotions in general and the faceless's psyche in particular. It was fortunate for the schrotgolem (and a number of other interested parties) that the Organizer had taken an interest in ensuring that this battle didn't become, well, a battle. Or at least a straightforward battle like the one that promised to occur if Gestalt sat where it was until Vyrm'n turned her attention to him. With no real fanfare, the being inside Clara's shell sent him elsewhere, then stepped towards the rippling avatar of entropy.
---
One moment, the golem had been patiently waiting for Vyrm'n's choler to die down while idly examining the small, largely-featureless entry hall they had been dropped in; the next, and with no warning, it found itself in an enormous room, carrying the vague knowledge that it was here for its own good. The new room was substantially larger than the last; for that matter, it was substantially larger than a football field. Despite its size, the ceiling was quite low, and ordinary vision was obscured by a considerable haze in the air that could charitably be called "smoke". For all the expansiveness, it felt quite cluttered: there were hundreds of tables scattered about the colossal floor, with drinkers, diners, and gawkers seated at them in surprising numbers; at the farthest end of the room was a bar, being tended by something Gestalt couldn't quite make out but that certainly wasn't human; uncountable doors lead in and out of the place, many of which didn't seem to have any kind of mechanism to operate them. In spite of all the interesting and distracting things for the curious golem to look at, it found its attention drawn inexorably to a woman sitting alone at the nearest table, not least because she began addressing it as soon as it appeared.
"Well theah ya ah!" she effused, accent thick enough to float lead on. "I was beginnin ta wondah whethah he was gonna getcha heah at all!" She paused for a moment, taking a long drag on a cigarillo, then continued. "The name's Frances, but you get ta call me Frank. Daddy's brought me here ta help things along a little, right?"
Gestalt was taken rather aback, but after a moment its new voice purred out "I'm not sure who you or your father are, but–"
Frank rolled her eyes. "Not my fathah, ya rube, my daddy. The lilac fellah that broughtcha heah. He's got plans, alright, and he needs ya not to getchaself lost an' killed and all that. Yer a real odd bird, he says, butcha gotcha uses. Now come on, we got places ta be."
As she spoke, the little spirit had been taking her in in greater detail; it was probably only a being like Gestalt that would have noticed it without having it pointed out, but Frank's fingers were all made of wood, cleverly interlocked to give the appearance of normal joints. So, for that matter, were her arms and shoulders and legs, and in fact all of her. Her face was an exceptionally-complicated series of tiny, sliver-thin plates of wood in an ingenious layout that let her realistically express any emotion she needed to. Were it not for the fact that she had what appeared to be a will of her own (and a point about the urgency of their situation), Gestalt could have spent hours exploring her mechanisms. As it was though, the golem simply vocalized a sigh and muttered "I suppose this is no worse an idea that cooperating with the Organizer in the first place."
"I knew we'd getcha on the trolley! Now come on, let's ditch these high hats. We gotta see a man about a dog." She stood up and began moving towards a nearby wall, then turned back towards her charge and gave it a playful smack on the lid. "And don't think I didn't catch ya sneakin' a peak at the chassis!"
If Gestalt had any idea of what half her slang meant, or in fact any appreciation for wordplay, it might have enjoyed the pun. As it was, the schrotgolem simply wondered how Frank could possibly have known what or where its attention was focused at any given time while it followed her demurely towards the door.
Once through, the pair began trudging through branching corridors, filled with more bizarre, mismatched doors, Frank idly chatting about nothing in particular. They occasionally passed another patron, some of which seemed surprisingly normal given the setting, but most of which gave off an impression like the one Gestalt got from being around the Organizer. While Frank and her tagalong did gather the occasional look, none of the beings they passed seemed interested in stopping them or talking, which suited Gestalt fine.
However, after only a minute or two of walking, a door opened in front of the pair, and a strange figure stepped out. It was clad in a zoot suit much like the one favored by the Observer, and in fact its head was a similar one-eyed, largely-featureless globe, but the rest of the humanoid frame seemed to be composed of random bits of other organisms, favoring mollusks and arthropods. Frank sniffed and moved as though to pass it, but it held out an arm and pushed her back.
"Well, hello there 'Frank'," it clicked, quote marks clanging. "What a happy coincidence, finding you here."
The woman's wooden face curled into an angry sneer. "Mind ya potatoes, ya ugly 'munc. I got biggah fish ta fry."
"Look," came the mouthless reply. "you must know that you haven't escaped his notice, and he has no intention of letting you go through with this. Your options are to abandon this foolishness, or to die here."
"Ha! Ya slay me, 'munc."
"That's the intention." With that, a firearm materialized in in what could perhaps be called a hand, but might more rightly be referred to as a claw. "I've been looking forward to this."
Frank dropped into an aggressive stance and grinned. "Likewise, pal. It nevah gets old that you little fleshnuggets think ya can stand up to a real construct." She glanced briefly at Gestalt and effused, "Come on, little buddy, let's show him what for."