Re: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round One: Vio Maleficat)
01-10-2011, 05:19 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
To be honest, Scofflaw just stood there for a moment and hoped that Chaos would do something, if not to his favor, then at least to break the tension. The dim lighting and sort of awkward stand-off reminded him of the second act of a 1990s-era action movie, one in which everyone’s problems could be solved by the hero’s plucky “hacker” sidekick with a cursory knowledge of computers.
Chaos, due to the efforts of Murdoch, was unobliging, and instead Scofflaw felt a surprisingly hard punch to the jaw. He crumpled like a sack full of freshly laundered money, tried to turn the crumple into a graceful backwards roll, succeeded in turning it into a graceless and moronic-looking backwards roll, got up, adjusted his pants, and lunged at Tor.
As a stout fellow, you don’t make as many enemies as Scofflaw does without becoming rather adept in the “cornered mouse” school of close combat. It mostly involves lunging, usually when your foe has a back to an unreinforced window (Scofflaw, as a rule, never reinforces the windows in buildings he owns). Following the lunge, assuming both combatants aren’t tumbling out of a window, the lunger proceeds to punch and, failing that, headbutt one’s opponent until someone succeeds in drawing and aiming a weapon or someone’s backup arrives. It is extraordinarily embarrassing for everyone involved.
Tor, feeling all off Scofflaw’s weight pushing his shoulders at a nice forty-five degree angle, went down. Predictably, this was followed by a whole lot of punching, headbutting, and rolling around on the floor.
A few rooms over, Tengeri chuckled through her damaged vocal cords; it came out as a wheeze.
Scofflaw felt his nose break (for what, the fourth time?) and took that as a sign to release. Seeming to agree that round one was over, the two combatants separated, each cursing profusely in their own separate native languages. Scofflaw painfully adjusted his nose to what he considered to be an appropriate shape, and watched Tor twitching and scratching himself in a matter he usually associated with drug addicts and captives who weren’t allowed bathroom breaks. What was it the Fool had said about this one? Some sci-fi bullshit. Scofflaw didn’t have time to think on it more before Chaos gave an asthmatic sputter that filled the air with a smell he recognized as pixie dust.
Scofflaw was allergic to pixie dust. He sneezed something that was mostly blood all over his new tuxedo and the floor.
A few rooms over, Kerak sniffed the air. ”I’m going to go, um, check on Tor,” he said. Tengeri shrugged, or whatever the Leviathan equivalent of shrugging is. Kerak left his companions to do the important work, and set out on the hunt.
Before he could do much in the way of tracking, Kerak’s prey, dressed in a tuxedo, flew out of a nearby room, trailing something sparkly. “Happy thoughts, Tor!” called Scofflaw into the room. “Wedding bells! Clownfish! Ferris Bueller’s Day Off! You can do it!”
”Oh, come on,” came a rather stressed-out reply. ”This is your stupidest lie yet. You have an anti-grav belt on, right?”
”Don’t be such a negative Nanook, Captain Hook!” called Scofflaw, prancing about in midair. “Maybe they don’t have fairies in the North, but welcome to Neverland, bitch! I am Pandaemonium, leader of the Lost Larceners!” Scofflaw rebounded off the far wall back into the room; Kerak tiptoed by the doorway and peered in. There was Tor, sitting grumpily in a wedding dress, keeping one eye on Scofflaw flying circles around him and babbling like an idiot. “Pirates and Indians alike try to shut us down,” Scofflaw whispered to Tor, conspiratorially, “but we are the Ageless Anarchists, and we take what we please.” The plump, raw villain gave Tor a pat on the head and giggled. “There’s no problem that can’t be solved by smallpox and clocks! Haha! I feel fantastic!” Scofflaw flew out of the room almost, but not quite, as fast as Kerak judged he could run. Kerak stretched his neck and thought of how much of Scofflaw could be eaten before he died and the round changed. Then he began to run.
The dinosaur’s legs backpedaled awkwardly, because he was no longer touching the ground. ”Happy thoughts,” he mused. It took him a few seconds to figure out how to pilot himself, and then he gave chase.
Tor watched Kerak fly off and decided not to say anything. The happiest thought he could muster was thinking of the moment when he would get to burn away this ridiculous dress.
To be honest, Scofflaw just stood there for a moment and hoped that Chaos would do something, if not to his favor, then at least to break the tension. The dim lighting and sort of awkward stand-off reminded him of the second act of a 1990s-era action movie, one in which everyone’s problems could be solved by the hero’s plucky “hacker” sidekick with a cursory knowledge of computers.
Chaos, due to the efforts of Murdoch, was unobliging, and instead Scofflaw felt a surprisingly hard punch to the jaw. He crumpled like a sack full of freshly laundered money, tried to turn the crumple into a graceful backwards roll, succeeded in turning it into a graceless and moronic-looking backwards roll, got up, adjusted his pants, and lunged at Tor.
As a stout fellow, you don’t make as many enemies as Scofflaw does without becoming rather adept in the “cornered mouse” school of close combat. It mostly involves lunging, usually when your foe has a back to an unreinforced window (Scofflaw, as a rule, never reinforces the windows in buildings he owns). Following the lunge, assuming both combatants aren’t tumbling out of a window, the lunger proceeds to punch and, failing that, headbutt one’s opponent until someone succeeds in drawing and aiming a weapon or someone’s backup arrives. It is extraordinarily embarrassing for everyone involved.
Tor, feeling all off Scofflaw’s weight pushing his shoulders at a nice forty-five degree angle, went down. Predictably, this was followed by a whole lot of punching, headbutting, and rolling around on the floor.
A few rooms over, Tengeri chuckled through her damaged vocal cords; it came out as a wheeze.
Scofflaw felt his nose break (for what, the fourth time?) and took that as a sign to release. Seeming to agree that round one was over, the two combatants separated, each cursing profusely in their own separate native languages. Scofflaw painfully adjusted his nose to what he considered to be an appropriate shape, and watched Tor twitching and scratching himself in a matter he usually associated with drug addicts and captives who weren’t allowed bathroom breaks. What was it the Fool had said about this one? Some sci-fi bullshit. Scofflaw didn’t have time to think on it more before Chaos gave an asthmatic sputter that filled the air with a smell he recognized as pixie dust.
Scofflaw was allergic to pixie dust. He sneezed something that was mostly blood all over his new tuxedo and the floor.
A few rooms over, Kerak sniffed the air. ”I’m going to go, um, check on Tor,” he said. Tengeri shrugged, or whatever the Leviathan equivalent of shrugging is. Kerak left his companions to do the important work, and set out on the hunt.
Before he could do much in the way of tracking, Kerak’s prey, dressed in a tuxedo, flew out of a nearby room, trailing something sparkly. “Happy thoughts, Tor!” called Scofflaw into the room. “Wedding bells! Clownfish! Ferris Bueller’s Day Off! You can do it!”
”Oh, come on,” came a rather stressed-out reply. ”This is your stupidest lie yet. You have an anti-grav belt on, right?”
”Don’t be such a negative Nanook, Captain Hook!” called Scofflaw, prancing about in midair. “Maybe they don’t have fairies in the North, but welcome to Neverland, bitch! I am Pandaemonium, leader of the Lost Larceners!” Scofflaw rebounded off the far wall back into the room; Kerak tiptoed by the doorway and peered in. There was Tor, sitting grumpily in a wedding dress, keeping one eye on Scofflaw flying circles around him and babbling like an idiot. “Pirates and Indians alike try to shut us down,” Scofflaw whispered to Tor, conspiratorially, “but we are the Ageless Anarchists, and we take what we please.” The plump, raw villain gave Tor a pat on the head and giggled. “There’s no problem that can’t be solved by smallpox and clocks! Haha! I feel fantastic!” Scofflaw flew out of the room almost, but not quite, as fast as Kerak judged he could run. Kerak stretched his neck and thought of how much of Scofflaw could be eaten before he died and the round changed. Then he began to run.
The dinosaur’s legs backpedaled awkwardly, because he was no longer touching the ground. ”Happy thoughts,” he mused. It took him a few seconds to figure out how to pilot himself, and then he gave chase.
Tor watched Kerak fly off and decided not to say anything. The happiest thought he could muster was thinking of the moment when he would get to burn away this ridiculous dress.