Re: The Relentless Slaughter [STARTING SOON]
02-21-2011, 09:56 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
The alligator made a perplexed face as much as its limited facial textures allowed it, and would have furrowed its brow at the entrance of water-bending girl if only its creator had given it one. Instead, it just stared at her for a while with an expression that much more meant “Do you mind, we're having a battle here,” rather than anything remotely resembling threat. Apparently it was thinking she would just feel uncomfortable walking in on the scene and wait around the corner until they were done but it should have been clear by now she didn't back out for the same reason she had that column of water appear in the pool of blue lines.
White dots perforated both of the reptile's firearms, lazily splattered on as if by an incredibly ugly spray can. The graffiti bore through the devices, first only tearing some holes through it (the lines it bore were white, and in this world that meant empty space) but it became obvious the being in charge wasn't planning to stop spraying any time soon, and before either of the contestants gazing in bewilderment had fully realised, the guns had been separated almost molecularly, each of the dots silently and serenely hanging in the air. The serenity soon vaporised when the mechanics of the world they were in mistook those dots (or simply took, because it seemed to have the intended effect) to be bugs. Millions of minuscule bugs, each headed for the young girl, their new foe.
Black shades were drawn several feet above the lake, and became boxed in by white and black lines before a cursor picked them up to hover them over the crocodile. It in turn screamed in sheer agony as the area around and complementary to the shades in the box ate away its face. That face was restored after the cursor trailed up to fiddle with transparency options, and the construct from the Tormentor's pen gained another traumatic experience. As if it would make up for the horror, the god quickly etched a crooked smile on the animal's face, and added in the blank space around it the letters D, W, and I.
Every word to describe the Tormentor's utter enjoyment has already been used by one of his colleagues in their battle's name. Knowing that, the man took the liberty of instead just cackling his heart out.
He looked at the screen again, and his cackle faded for a malicious grin.
Samael hadn't even had a proper look of the girl standing at the dungeonlakeside and he could only assume she was the one who saved him just now, but he still felt that as it was within his power to save the young girl, he probably should before she goes all vengeful on him later on. The context of the scene would make it only slightly less confusing, but in and of itself the context was odd already. Samael sidetracked the mosquitoes headed for Dorin as he pulled an immense watermelon out of the nowhere the Tormentor also got his crocodile, and threw it to the side.
The Tormentor was a bit disgruntled at the sight of his threat being so easily outwitted, and he had to admit he had forgotten about Samael's abilities because he had dismissed fruit powers to be useful anywhere at all. Although he didn't have a lot of time to disgruntle, his pet was currently unarmed. The alligator received a rocket launcher mounted to its shoulder instead, but the way it fired without any pattern in entirely the wrong direction made the Tormentor realise the program he was using didn't allow layering objects by default. Zooming in revealed the shades he had drawn as a joke to be plastered over the animal's eyes, obstructing its view entirely.
After struggling with the menu on the program as much as Martin struggled with his nonexistant interface, he took a little solace in erasing Samael's dumb beanie and grey hoodie. As if ripped straight from a cartoon the eraser yanked on the fabric causing a thin wire to spring out through which he pulled his entire outfit apart. Then any trace of the Tormentor vanished.
Oh. Oh. Well at least he has the decency to let him keep the shoes. Great, so now everything about him being a demon was in plain sight and he had to find a quick way to cover this up fast or he was just going to die of embarrassment here and of course the first time anything like this happens there's a girl watching and she was watching without thatfreak look people always gave him and this was his one chance to not look like a complete idiot freak demon and then bam everything gone god he hated this place.
Samael's first attempt to cover up his horrible demonic markings was to jump in the water, but after noticing again the rocket launcher-wielding alligator in it he was able to stop his jump into the water. Instead he covered up the pentacle on his chest with his clawed hands but then noticed the claws on those hands and desperately wrapped them around even further to hide them behind his back. He tried to avert his head, but it met an uncanny position when colliding with his shoulder. Instead he buried his head in the folds between his arms.
“D-Don't look! Go away!” He stuttered.
“S-Sorry.” Dorin stuttered back.
Dorin, incredibly naïve, didn't look and went away. But soon Samael came to notice that guy-with-pentacle-on-his-chest and girl-with-spots-on-her-neck were more alike than he had thought.
“Wait! Um...”
Oblivious Dorin waited.
“How did you... Why do you have those spots?”
As if waiting for someone to mention them a small spider crept out of one, almost greeting the young man with a nod as if spiders could interpret anything like human courtesy and pricking Dorin as the girl let out a meek "Ow" instead of writhing in pain. Clearly the spirit of impeccable timing and interpersonal relationships.
“I am, um, well... not... sure?” Dorin had to admit. The tone of the sentence though inferred a question, as if this were a quiz.
They stared at each other for a while.
Samael looked right. Dorin looked left.
Samael kinda grinned when Crocodile Dumby shot down a wall in blind rage.
Over the course of the nonconversation, you could notice Samael's arms slowly loosening their grip on his chest, and it was pretty endearing to see him repeat the same process of opening up to someone, only this time in minutes rather than lifetimes.
Then his new acquaintance doubled over in agony.
The alligator made a perplexed face as much as its limited facial textures allowed it, and would have furrowed its brow at the entrance of water-bending girl if only its creator had given it one. Instead, it just stared at her for a while with an expression that much more meant “Do you mind, we're having a battle here,” rather than anything remotely resembling threat. Apparently it was thinking she would just feel uncomfortable walking in on the scene and wait around the corner until they were done but it should have been clear by now she didn't back out for the same reason she had that column of water appear in the pool of blue lines.
White dots perforated both of the reptile's firearms, lazily splattered on as if by an incredibly ugly spray can. The graffiti bore through the devices, first only tearing some holes through it (the lines it bore were white, and in this world that meant empty space) but it became obvious the being in charge wasn't planning to stop spraying any time soon, and before either of the contestants gazing in bewilderment had fully realised, the guns had been separated almost molecularly, each of the dots silently and serenely hanging in the air. The serenity soon vaporised when the mechanics of the world they were in mistook those dots (or simply took, because it seemed to have the intended effect) to be bugs. Millions of minuscule bugs, each headed for the young girl, their new foe.
Black shades were drawn several feet above the lake, and became boxed in by white and black lines before a cursor picked them up to hover them over the crocodile. It in turn screamed in sheer agony as the area around and complementary to the shades in the box ate away its face. That face was restored after the cursor trailed up to fiddle with transparency options, and the construct from the Tormentor's pen gained another traumatic experience. As if it would make up for the horror, the god quickly etched a crooked smile on the animal's face, and added in the blank space around it the letters D, W, and I.
Every word to describe the Tormentor's utter enjoyment has already been used by one of his colleagues in their battle's name. Knowing that, the man took the liberty of instead just cackling his heart out.
He looked at the screen again, and his cackle faded for a malicious grin.
Samael hadn't even had a proper look of the girl standing at the dungeonlakeside and he could only assume she was the one who saved him just now, but he still felt that as it was within his power to save the young girl, he probably should before she goes all vengeful on him later on. The context of the scene would make it only slightly less confusing, but in and of itself the context was odd already. Samael sidetracked the mosquitoes headed for Dorin as he pulled an immense watermelon out of the nowhere the Tormentor also got his crocodile, and threw it to the side.
The Tormentor was a bit disgruntled at the sight of his threat being so easily outwitted, and he had to admit he had forgotten about Samael's abilities because he had dismissed fruit powers to be useful anywhere at all. Although he didn't have a lot of time to disgruntle, his pet was currently unarmed. The alligator received a rocket launcher mounted to its shoulder instead, but the way it fired without any pattern in entirely the wrong direction made the Tormentor realise the program he was using didn't allow layering objects by default. Zooming in revealed the shades he had drawn as a joke to be plastered over the animal's eyes, obstructing its view entirely.
After struggling with the menu on the program as much as Martin struggled with his nonexistant interface, he took a little solace in erasing Samael's dumb beanie and grey hoodie. As if ripped straight from a cartoon the eraser yanked on the fabric causing a thin wire to spring out through which he pulled his entire outfit apart. Then any trace of the Tormentor vanished.
Oh. Oh. Well at least he has the decency to let him keep the shoes. Great, so now everything about him being a demon was in plain sight and he had to find a quick way to cover this up fast or he was just going to die of embarrassment here and of course the first time anything like this happens there's a girl watching and she was watching without thatfreak look people always gave him and this was his one chance to not look like a complete idiot freak demon and then bam everything gone god he hated this place.
Samael's first attempt to cover up his horrible demonic markings was to jump in the water, but after noticing again the rocket launcher-wielding alligator in it he was able to stop his jump into the water. Instead he covered up the pentacle on his chest with his clawed hands but then noticed the claws on those hands and desperately wrapped them around even further to hide them behind his back. He tried to avert his head, but it met an uncanny position when colliding with his shoulder. Instead he buried his head in the folds between his arms.
“D-Don't look! Go away!” He stuttered.
“S-Sorry.” Dorin stuttered back.
Dorin, incredibly naïve, didn't look and went away. But soon Samael came to notice that guy-with-pentacle-on-his-chest and girl-with-spots-on-her-neck were more alike than he had thought.
“Wait! Um...”
Oblivious Dorin waited.
“How did you... Why do you have those spots?”
As if waiting for someone to mention them a small spider crept out of one, almost greeting the young man with a nod as if spiders could interpret anything like human courtesy and pricking Dorin as the girl let out a meek "Ow" instead of writhing in pain. Clearly the spirit of impeccable timing and interpersonal relationships.
“I am, um, well... not... sure?” Dorin had to admit. The tone of the sentence though inferred a question, as if this were a quiz.
They stared at each other for a while.
Samael looked right. Dorin looked left.
Samael kinda grinned when Crocodile Dumby shot down a wall in blind rage.
Over the course of the nonconversation, you could notice Samael's arms slowly loosening their grip on his chest, and it was pretty endearing to see him repeat the same process of opening up to someone, only this time in minutes rather than lifetimes.
Then his new acquaintance doubled over in agony.
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.