Re: The Grand Battle II! [Final Round: Dimensional Speakeasy]
03-21-2011, 11:57 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Frank didn't seem to have any weapons on her person, or even a way to protect herself; it seemed like the patchwork abomination should have been able to easily gun down Frank and her charge before they could get more than a few feet towards him. Such an expectation would have been quickly dashed by Gestalt though, as the golem simply plucked the bullets out of the air as soon as they were fired. The firearm's retorts soon faded as its chamber emptied, and the Observer's minion found that its head was surrounded by a halo of shells and bullets, its targets unscathed and its ammunition lacking. It took a few halting steps backwards before turning to flee in earnest; the wooden woman finally moved, sprinting with unnatural speed towards the escaping "munc". "I'll take it from heah, kid."
As she ran, the joints in Frank's right arm and hand spread, revealing that they were held together by some kind of wire; she lashed the extending limb at her target, sweeping its legs out from under it and winding the now-snakelike appendage around the writing monstrosity. Gestalt calmly slid behind her, watching as she bore down on the bound amalgamation; if the golem had a face, it would have been impassive as blades emerged from Frank's free hand and began gutting and dismembering the creature. The screams that issued from no visible orifice died down soon enough; after a few moments of silence, Gestalt's electronic voice purred, "Who and what was that?"
Frank stood up, her arms returning to their usual configuration, and pulled a handkerchief out of the very definitely dead monster's pocket. As she began wiping various unknowable ichors from her 'skin' and clothes, she grinned and dismissed the question with a cheery "Nothin' you need ta worry about!".
"I would really rather know, Frank. I am allowing myself to be a pawn in whatever metaphorical game of chess these grandmasters are playing, and while I don't demand to know the strategy of the players, I would like to know where the other pieces are."
"You really know how ta stretch a metaphowa, don'tcha? Alright, I'll give you the skinny, but let's walk and talk. Places to be, places to be."
Without waiting for a response, she dropped the sullied handkerchief and began striding away, pristine as ever. With no other option, the train of boxes slithered behind her, slightly heavier with the addition of a pilfered pocketwatch, a new shoe, and a tommy gun with nothing to fire.
"That baby grand back theah's what we call a homunculus. 'Munc fa short, get it? Lotta the swells around this kinda social club use 'em ta do the sort of thing they don't wanna be seen doin themselves. Nothin' classy about stabbin' somebody, all the class in tha worlds in gettin' somebody ta do it for ya, right? So they make these little extensions of themselves, right, send 'em out to do the messy stuff, the unglamorous stuff, while they get to sit cool and omnippatint up in the bahs. Make 'em look enough like 'emselves to get the point across without just bein a tacky copy. I'm surprised ya didn't catch that, actually. Ol' 'Servah ain't got a whole lotta creativity."
"No-one in my battle ever actually saw the Observer. He was always a disembodied voice, and the carvings in the last round weren't particularly representative."
"Ya don't say? Huh. Actually, in a lotta ways, they've fallen outta style. Not gonna boah ya with what passes for politics among the kinda things that hang out heah, but the short version is that at first, only the really big guys used 'muncs. Like I said, it was a style thing. Well, the little guys with somethin' ta prove stahted usin' 'em too, tryin' ta look like they was in the big leagues too, and soon the real powahful ones had moved on, and 'muncs stahted to be tacky. Theah's still a good few things out theah that use 'em, since they can definitely be useful and some people just can't let go of a thing once they staht it. Like our old pal the Observah! If I read the boss right, 'Servah's got some kind of attachment to them or somethin', somethin' about how he came to be. I dunno, not really my thing, not really my place."
Gestalt digested this all for a few moments before responding, simultaneously snatching a few things from the walls. "So you're saying that this creature was a servant of the Observer, sent to carry out his will because it would be unfashionable or unsporting to simply crush our plans of rebellion himself?"
"Yeah, somethin' like that."
"So, he's aware of what we're doing?"
Frank stopped and turned to look at the golem. "Look, kiddo, I don't think you're really thinkin' about what words like "omnipresent" and "omniscient" mean. Shuwa, there's degrees, and shuwa, 'Servah ain't at the top of the heap, but you're way outta your league heah. Ya ain't a squishy little human or nothin', but there ain't nothin' nearly special enough aboutcha to put you even close to the level of even the lowest of the low who come to this bah. Ya ain't gettin' nowheah because you managed to hide ya plans or because you're so dang clevah. Ya gotta chance because these guys think it's funny or entahtaining to watch ya flail."
She paused for a moment to light up another cigarillo and take a drag. Gestalt wondered in the back of its mind where the smoke went. "The only advantages you got ah pragmatism and, and this is important, knowin' just how weak you ah by comparison. You gotta know yourself, because theah's no way you got the time or the mindspace to know ya enemy heah. Plus you got that starry wild cahd, but you really gotta know when to play her, and how."
Gestalt continued in its still silence. Frank's speech had strongly reminded him of the one Clara's mouth had delivered to Konka Rar. There was no ire, no taunting, just a cold statement of the facts and the sheer certainty that the listener had some very inaccurate ideas about itself. Frank was right; it was easy to make plans, to plot against the unseen foe while fighting against allies that were roughly on one's level. And it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the coming battle would be like those that had come before it. Easy to believe that since the Organizer so clearly derided his fellow grandmaster, the Observer would be a pushover.
It was so easy to be an ant with plans to kill a planet. A star.
And yet, even through these realizations, there was no sense of dread, or desire to change course. Just the knowledge that what was going to be done had to be done, regardless of the potential outcome, and that hubris was both the enemy and the weapon to be wielded. The greatest threat to every contestant and grandmaster in these twisted games was overconfidence.
"I... Understand."
"See? I knew ya was smaht. None of that silly brain mattah to go messin' with things eithah. I needja ta keep that stuff with ya, because I think ya entropic friend mighta forgotten. I think she mighta forgotten a lotta stuff, and you need ta remind her."
Another drag, with no exhalation.
"In tha meantime, theah's some otha stuff we gotta do while ya heah. Some othah people you gotta meet. Some of 'em might even be alive aftah we talk to 'em!"
Frank didn't seem to have any weapons on her person, or even a way to protect herself; it seemed like the patchwork abomination should have been able to easily gun down Frank and her charge before they could get more than a few feet towards him. Such an expectation would have been quickly dashed by Gestalt though, as the golem simply plucked the bullets out of the air as soon as they were fired. The firearm's retorts soon faded as its chamber emptied, and the Observer's minion found that its head was surrounded by a halo of shells and bullets, its targets unscathed and its ammunition lacking. It took a few halting steps backwards before turning to flee in earnest; the wooden woman finally moved, sprinting with unnatural speed towards the escaping "munc". "I'll take it from heah, kid."
As she ran, the joints in Frank's right arm and hand spread, revealing that they were held together by some kind of wire; she lashed the extending limb at her target, sweeping its legs out from under it and winding the now-snakelike appendage around the writing monstrosity. Gestalt calmly slid behind her, watching as she bore down on the bound amalgamation; if the golem had a face, it would have been impassive as blades emerged from Frank's free hand and began gutting and dismembering the creature. The screams that issued from no visible orifice died down soon enough; after a few moments of silence, Gestalt's electronic voice purred, "Who and what was that?"
Frank stood up, her arms returning to their usual configuration, and pulled a handkerchief out of the very definitely dead monster's pocket. As she began wiping various unknowable ichors from her 'skin' and clothes, she grinned and dismissed the question with a cheery "Nothin' you need ta worry about!".
"I would really rather know, Frank. I am allowing myself to be a pawn in whatever metaphorical game of chess these grandmasters are playing, and while I don't demand to know the strategy of the players, I would like to know where the other pieces are."
"You really know how ta stretch a metaphowa, don'tcha? Alright, I'll give you the skinny, but let's walk and talk. Places to be, places to be."
Without waiting for a response, she dropped the sullied handkerchief and began striding away, pristine as ever. With no other option, the train of boxes slithered behind her, slightly heavier with the addition of a pilfered pocketwatch, a new shoe, and a tommy gun with nothing to fire.
"That baby grand back theah's what we call a homunculus. 'Munc fa short, get it? Lotta the swells around this kinda social club use 'em ta do the sort of thing they don't wanna be seen doin themselves. Nothin' classy about stabbin' somebody, all the class in tha worlds in gettin' somebody ta do it for ya, right? So they make these little extensions of themselves, right, send 'em out to do the messy stuff, the unglamorous stuff, while they get to sit cool and omnippatint up in the bahs. Make 'em look enough like 'emselves to get the point across without just bein a tacky copy. I'm surprised ya didn't catch that, actually. Ol' 'Servah ain't got a whole lotta creativity."
"No-one in my battle ever actually saw the Observer. He was always a disembodied voice, and the carvings in the last round weren't particularly representative."
"Ya don't say? Huh. Actually, in a lotta ways, they've fallen outta style. Not gonna boah ya with what passes for politics among the kinda things that hang out heah, but the short version is that at first, only the really big guys used 'muncs. Like I said, it was a style thing. Well, the little guys with somethin' ta prove stahted usin' 'em too, tryin' ta look like they was in the big leagues too, and soon the real powahful ones had moved on, and 'muncs stahted to be tacky. Theah's still a good few things out theah that use 'em, since they can definitely be useful and some people just can't let go of a thing once they staht it. Like our old pal the Observah! If I read the boss right, 'Servah's got some kind of attachment to them or somethin', somethin' about how he came to be. I dunno, not really my thing, not really my place."
Gestalt digested this all for a few moments before responding, simultaneously snatching a few things from the walls. "So you're saying that this creature was a servant of the Observer, sent to carry out his will because it would be unfashionable or unsporting to simply crush our plans of rebellion himself?"
"Yeah, somethin' like that."
"So, he's aware of what we're doing?"
Frank stopped and turned to look at the golem. "Look, kiddo, I don't think you're really thinkin' about what words like "omnipresent" and "omniscient" mean. Shuwa, there's degrees, and shuwa, 'Servah ain't at the top of the heap, but you're way outta your league heah. Ya ain't a squishy little human or nothin', but there ain't nothin' nearly special enough aboutcha to put you even close to the level of even the lowest of the low who come to this bah. Ya ain't gettin' nowheah because you managed to hide ya plans or because you're so dang clevah. Ya gotta chance because these guys think it's funny or entahtaining to watch ya flail."
She paused for a moment to light up another cigarillo and take a drag. Gestalt wondered in the back of its mind where the smoke went. "The only advantages you got ah pragmatism and, and this is important, knowin' just how weak you ah by comparison. You gotta know yourself, because theah's no way you got the time or the mindspace to know ya enemy heah. Plus you got that starry wild cahd, but you really gotta know when to play her, and how."
Gestalt continued in its still silence. Frank's speech had strongly reminded him of the one Clara's mouth had delivered to Konka Rar. There was no ire, no taunting, just a cold statement of the facts and the sheer certainty that the listener had some very inaccurate ideas about itself. Frank was right; it was easy to make plans, to plot against the unseen foe while fighting against allies that were roughly on one's level. And it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the coming battle would be like those that had come before it. Easy to believe that since the Organizer so clearly derided his fellow grandmaster, the Observer would be a pushover.
It was so easy to be an ant with plans to kill a planet. A star.
And yet, even through these realizations, there was no sense of dread, or desire to change course. Just the knowledge that what was going to be done had to be done, regardless of the potential outcome, and that hubris was both the enemy and the weapon to be wielded. The greatest threat to every contestant and grandmaster in these twisted games was overconfidence.
"I... Understand."
"See? I knew ya was smaht. None of that silly brain mattah to go messin' with things eithah. I needja ta keep that stuff with ya, because I think ya entropic friend mighta forgotten. I think she mighta forgotten a lotta stuff, and you need ta remind her."
Another drag, with no exhalation.
"In tha meantime, theah's some otha stuff we gotta do while ya heah. Some othah people you gotta meet. Some of 'em might even be alive aftah we talk to 'em!"