Re: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round Two: The Great Battlefield)
09-16-2011, 03:40 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Tor paced back and forth next to the helicopter. He'd had Walters land it in whatever cover he'd been able to manage (which amounted a smallish hill and half a dozen trees), and when his two subordinates and his two allies had gone off to investigate Scofflaw's "establishment," he'd stayed behind, claiming to want to keep an eye on the chopper.
In actual fact, he just hadn't trusted himself to not go in there with guns blazing and shoot Scofflaw's smug little face. This mission called for restraint, and that'd never been one of Tor's strengths. Talking to Huebert hadn't helped, and neither had the reports Ester and Walters had brought back.
Ester coughed. "Sir, are you alright?"
Tor didn't stop pacing and didn't look up. "Perfectly fine, Miss Rawlin." His words were terse, clipped.
"So you're scratching your arm raw because you're fine?"
This time, he did stop pacing. He hadn't realized he'd been scratching. How long had it been since he'd regenerated? An hour? More? He hadn't thought about it, but now that he did, the urge to cleanse his system came out fairly powerfully.
He didn't let it happen just yet, though. Shaking his head, he replied, "Sorry, I just, uh... My species bursts into flame on a regular basis, resulting in- Oh, forget it. I'm itchy, I'll live. Don't worry about it." He turned away from her and started walking again, his feet carrying him to just short of one tree, then back around to tread on a weed. Back to the tree, back to the weed. Back to the tree, back to the- wait.
An idea filled Tor's mind, pieces falling together. He knew what he was going to do.
"Wait here," he told the local pair. "If I'm not back in a few minutes, try to find a floating snake with its own personal bubble of water. She'll help you if she can."
"What?! What about you?"
Tor smiled over his shoulder at them, a small puff of smoke accompanying a short laugh. "Don't worry about me. I just want a drink."
-
As a young boy, the other kids had called Trev Whitehouse a freak, a weirdo. His mother had called him special. The therapists, abnormal.
As he'd grown up, he'd decided he didn't much care what people called him. He'd found uses for his weirdness, and when he went into the military, he'd been called an asset. (Well, that and freak and weirdo still. Some things never changed.)
At the moment, he was sitting at the bar in the Trench, sipping a beer and idly wondering about the point of it all. When he happened to glance ahead, though, he choked on his drink, spluttered a bit, and stumbled his way out the door as fast as possible, passing the currently-lanky Brown commander as he did.
It didn't take long for Tor to spot Scofflaw, standing behind the bar in his record-settingly garish outfit and serving something in tiny glasses from a bottle that had had the label "gasoline" scratched out. "Yeah, totally flaming," he was saying, "you should've seen him in Towering Inferno. I couldn't believe- Well, look what the cat dragged in! Mon capitan, please, have a drink!"
The Telpori-Hal tightened his smile a bit and made his way across the room. He made no attempt to look truly cheerful- anyone paying attention would've described him as "doing his best to be civil."
"Scofflaw," he said, sidling up the bar. "I must say, I'm surprised."
"What, that I, the Tartan Tyrant, would ever be capable of using my skills to effect peace?" He put extra emphasis on his new name by both deepening his tone a bit and sliding Tor a glass.
"No," the captain responded, sipping the drink and guessing it was something a few slivers short of rubbing alcohol. "I just didn't figure you for the kilt sort." He grinned over his glass at the Tyrant as he took another drink.
Scofflaw wasn't quite sure why Tor was suddenly in a joking mood with him, but he was damned if he was going to be out-amiabled. "So what brings you to my humble establishment?"
Tor finished his drink and gestured for another. "I just had to see it for myself. I mean really, a zone of complete peace sitting right in the middle of a warzone, and started by you at that? I could hardly believe what I was hearing."
"And now that you've seen it, what do you think? You still convinced I'm evil incarnate or whatever it is you see me as?"
"I wouldn't go that far. I'd still wager you've got an ulterior motive here, and- hang on, pour me another?"
The Tyrant obliged. "Might want to take it easy there, Captain Morgan. This is some of the strongest stuff I've whipped up, and-"
"Just keep it coming. My people don't react to alcohol in the same way; it's one of the healthier things we can overindulge in, really."
Scofflaw chuckled a bit, refilled the glass, and just set the bottle down next to it. "Whatever you say." After a few moments of silence while Tor sucked back his drink, he added, "So, you planning to drink the place dry, or you just stopping in?" Something was obviously up, given that Tor went from punching him on sight to chatting jovially. He had no illusions about Tor's opinion of him, but with any guns nullified for a mile around and a good-sized meat cleaver sitting behind the bar just in case, he wasn't terribly worried.
"Nah," Tor replied, refilling his glass himself. "I just wanted to test something out."
"Oh?" Scofflaw rested one hand on the cleaver beneath the counter but kept up his sociable demeanour.
Tor set down his half-full glass and leaned in a bit, lowering his voice so that Scofflaw had to lean in to listen. "People have been getting drunk out of their heads in here, and that got me thinking. You've got guns and things nullified, but I had to wonder if you'd covered all the bases."
With a sudden surge of movement, he was halfway over the bar, grabbing Scofflaw's collar in both hands and pulling his face to within inches of the bartender's. With pitch-black smoke pouring out of his mouth, seeping out of his skin, and filling the air around them, the captain said, "You left me my metabolism, then offered me sentrali fuel."
"Time for you to burn, motherfucker."
-
Huebert and Jessica had retreated from the bar proper a bit earlier to find themselves some privacy. When their search had taken them down a staircase and into a maintenance hall below the bar, they'd been reasonably happy. When they'd found a mattress randomly sitting near one wall, they were delighted.
When a soot-blackened figure dropped onto Huebert's broad, bare back, they were less than thrilled.
A blast of hot air followed Scofflaw through the trapdoor, and had it not closed behind him, a shower of burning alcohol probably would've followed him as well. With a groan, he rolled off of the big man's back and onto the cold, stone floor.
"Huebert," he said, coughing a fair bit as he did, "has anyone ever told you you've got a painful spine?"
-
Patrons flooded out of the trench from several exits as the bar's impressive wealth of alcohol caught fire and exploded. Smoke poured out of each of the bunker's limited number of orifices.
After a few moments of basking in the feeling of being suspended mid-regeneration, with no body whatsoever to bother him, Tor walked out of the front door. His woven-metal clothes were glowing bright red, and a trail of smoke followed him as he headed back to the helicopter.
Ester saw him coming first, and if it hadn't been for her mental rewiring, she wouldn't have recognized him at all. His skin this time around was soot-black, and his short, curly hair was the same. His frame was burdened by a more typical mass than before, and he was a good five or six inches shorter.
She saluted as he came up to the chopper, and as she did, her uniform rippled and changed to represent his new skin colour.
"Stop that," he ordered. "We need to get up in the air."
Ester did as she was told, and as she clambered into the back of the helicopter, its colouration shifted as well. Walters, seated in the pilot's seat, looked back as Tor got in as well. The young man's uniform was black as well.
The captain put on one of the cabin's headsets and said, "Walters, take this thing up. We've got to-"
"No," came a voice, "don't go anywhere."
Tor blinked and looked at Ester. Despite also having a headset on, she didn't seem to find anything wrong.
"Who is this? Walters, get them off this frequency."
Walters shook his head. "No sir, communications from command are priority one."
Tor was incredulous. "Command?!"
"Yes, Captain Kajan, command. Take a look at your helicopter: you're flying Black colours, and that means you take your orders from us."
Tor swore.
"Language, Captain. You can take off in a few minutes, after which you'll be briefed in full. You just need to wait for our agent to join you."
Tor paced back and forth next to the helicopter. He'd had Walters land it in whatever cover he'd been able to manage (which amounted a smallish hill and half a dozen trees), and when his two subordinates and his two allies had gone off to investigate Scofflaw's "establishment," he'd stayed behind, claiming to want to keep an eye on the chopper.
In actual fact, he just hadn't trusted himself to not go in there with guns blazing and shoot Scofflaw's smug little face. This mission called for restraint, and that'd never been one of Tor's strengths. Talking to Huebert hadn't helped, and neither had the reports Ester and Walters had brought back.
Ester coughed. "Sir, are you alright?"
Tor didn't stop pacing and didn't look up. "Perfectly fine, Miss Rawlin." His words were terse, clipped.
"So you're scratching your arm raw because you're fine?"
This time, he did stop pacing. He hadn't realized he'd been scratching. How long had it been since he'd regenerated? An hour? More? He hadn't thought about it, but now that he did, the urge to cleanse his system came out fairly powerfully.
He didn't let it happen just yet, though. Shaking his head, he replied, "Sorry, I just, uh... My species bursts into flame on a regular basis, resulting in- Oh, forget it. I'm itchy, I'll live. Don't worry about it." He turned away from her and started walking again, his feet carrying him to just short of one tree, then back around to tread on a weed. Back to the tree, back to the weed. Back to the tree, back to the- wait.
An idea filled Tor's mind, pieces falling together. He knew what he was going to do.
"Wait here," he told the local pair. "If I'm not back in a few minutes, try to find a floating snake with its own personal bubble of water. She'll help you if she can."
"What?! What about you?"
Tor smiled over his shoulder at them, a small puff of smoke accompanying a short laugh. "Don't worry about me. I just want a drink."
-
As a young boy, the other kids had called Trev Whitehouse a freak, a weirdo. His mother had called him special. The therapists, abnormal.
As he'd grown up, he'd decided he didn't much care what people called him. He'd found uses for his weirdness, and when he went into the military, he'd been called an asset. (Well, that and freak and weirdo still. Some things never changed.)
At the moment, he was sitting at the bar in the Trench, sipping a beer and idly wondering about the point of it all. When he happened to glance ahead, though, he choked on his drink, spluttered a bit, and stumbled his way out the door as fast as possible, passing the currently-lanky Brown commander as he did.
It didn't take long for Tor to spot Scofflaw, standing behind the bar in his record-settingly garish outfit and serving something in tiny glasses from a bottle that had had the label "gasoline" scratched out. "Yeah, totally flaming," he was saying, "you should've seen him in Towering Inferno. I couldn't believe- Well, look what the cat dragged in! Mon capitan, please, have a drink!"
The Telpori-Hal tightened his smile a bit and made his way across the room. He made no attempt to look truly cheerful- anyone paying attention would've described him as "doing his best to be civil."
"Scofflaw," he said, sidling up the bar. "I must say, I'm surprised."
"What, that I, the Tartan Tyrant, would ever be capable of using my skills to effect peace?" He put extra emphasis on his new name by both deepening his tone a bit and sliding Tor a glass.
"No," the captain responded, sipping the drink and guessing it was something a few slivers short of rubbing alcohol. "I just didn't figure you for the kilt sort." He grinned over his glass at the Tyrant as he took another drink.
Scofflaw wasn't quite sure why Tor was suddenly in a joking mood with him, but he was damned if he was going to be out-amiabled. "So what brings you to my humble establishment?"
Tor finished his drink and gestured for another. "I just had to see it for myself. I mean really, a zone of complete peace sitting right in the middle of a warzone, and started by you at that? I could hardly believe what I was hearing."
"And now that you've seen it, what do you think? You still convinced I'm evil incarnate or whatever it is you see me as?"
"I wouldn't go that far. I'd still wager you've got an ulterior motive here, and- hang on, pour me another?"
The Tyrant obliged. "Might want to take it easy there, Captain Morgan. This is some of the strongest stuff I've whipped up, and-"
"Just keep it coming. My people don't react to alcohol in the same way; it's one of the healthier things we can overindulge in, really."
Scofflaw chuckled a bit, refilled the glass, and just set the bottle down next to it. "Whatever you say." After a few moments of silence while Tor sucked back his drink, he added, "So, you planning to drink the place dry, or you just stopping in?" Something was obviously up, given that Tor went from punching him on sight to chatting jovially. He had no illusions about Tor's opinion of him, but with any guns nullified for a mile around and a good-sized meat cleaver sitting behind the bar just in case, he wasn't terribly worried.
"Nah," Tor replied, refilling his glass himself. "I just wanted to test something out."
"Oh?" Scofflaw rested one hand on the cleaver beneath the counter but kept up his sociable demeanour.
Tor set down his half-full glass and leaned in a bit, lowering his voice so that Scofflaw had to lean in to listen. "People have been getting drunk out of their heads in here, and that got me thinking. You've got guns and things nullified, but I had to wonder if you'd covered all the bases."
With a sudden surge of movement, he was halfway over the bar, grabbing Scofflaw's collar in both hands and pulling his face to within inches of the bartender's. With pitch-black smoke pouring out of his mouth, seeping out of his skin, and filling the air around them, the captain said, "You left me my metabolism, then offered me sentrali fuel."
"Time for you to burn, motherfucker."
-
Huebert and Jessica had retreated from the bar proper a bit earlier to find themselves some privacy. When their search had taken them down a staircase and into a maintenance hall below the bar, they'd been reasonably happy. When they'd found a mattress randomly sitting near one wall, they were delighted.
When a soot-blackened figure dropped onto Huebert's broad, bare back, they were less than thrilled.
A blast of hot air followed Scofflaw through the trapdoor, and had it not closed behind him, a shower of burning alcohol probably would've followed him as well. With a groan, he rolled off of the big man's back and onto the cold, stone floor.
"Huebert," he said, coughing a fair bit as he did, "has anyone ever told you you've got a painful spine?"
-
Patrons flooded out of the trench from several exits as the bar's impressive wealth of alcohol caught fire and exploded. Smoke poured out of each of the bunker's limited number of orifices.
After a few moments of basking in the feeling of being suspended mid-regeneration, with no body whatsoever to bother him, Tor walked out of the front door. His woven-metal clothes were glowing bright red, and a trail of smoke followed him as he headed back to the helicopter.
Ester saw him coming first, and if it hadn't been for her mental rewiring, she wouldn't have recognized him at all. His skin this time around was soot-black, and his short, curly hair was the same. His frame was burdened by a more typical mass than before, and he was a good five or six inches shorter.
She saluted as he came up to the chopper, and as she did, her uniform rippled and changed to represent his new skin colour.
"Stop that," he ordered. "We need to get up in the air."
Ester did as she was told, and as she clambered into the back of the helicopter, its colouration shifted as well. Walters, seated in the pilot's seat, looked back as Tor got in as well. The young man's uniform was black as well.
The captain put on one of the cabin's headsets and said, "Walters, take this thing up. We've got to-"
"No," came a voice, "don't go anywhere."
Tor blinked and looked at Ester. Despite also having a headset on, she didn't seem to find anything wrong.
"Who is this? Walters, get them off this frequency."
Walters shook his head. "No sir, communications from command are priority one."
Tor was incredulous. "Command?!"
"Yes, Captain Kajan, command. Take a look at your helicopter: you're flying Black colours, and that means you take your orders from us."
Tor swore.
"Language, Captain. You can take off in a few minutes, after which you'll be briefed in full. You just need to wait for our agent to join you."