Re: Epic Clash Round 1 - Dungeon of the Crimson Fish
02-08-2010, 02:05 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Alice.
EDITED AGAIN...FOR THE LAST TIME I SWEAR
Running. Air. Cold. Sensation.
Hair stood on end, as feet slammed against rocks. Shaggy white hair fluttered in the wind as muscles tightened and released, breath went in and out sharply. So many new feelings, thoughts came in crashes—ebbing and flowing rapidly, wave upon wave. The thoughts bubbled out into a belly-laugh so deep, Michelle herself was surprised that she'd made it.
Freedom was this. This was freedom. No missions, no tasks, no errands. Just Michelle and the crystal air roughly brushing her smooth skin. The floor slid under her feet as wall became ceiling, and floor became side. She had her wish, why would she need another one?
But, losing this: losing this is not an option. Neither was getting her hands dirty. Blood-tinted hands make for blood-tainted fun. We'll just have to make do with what the other contestants have planned for now. No use in wearing me out yet, right?
No, for now, the Runner was on a mission. What started out as merely a vendetta against a lost beverage now meant something deeper. Michelle promised herself against forming silly alliances and petty feuds. For now, Betsy rested snug against Davis' back. Okay, status check time.
Michelle's foot slid from under her, and she landed in a crouch, left leg out safely to the side. Her knuckles were white against her fingers gripping the floor tightly. Excellent, not even the sound of ice crunching. I'm doing pretty well for a newbie, if I may say so myself. She made another silly face and replied to herself. Oh, Michelle, you're too kind!
Still in her landing crouch, she fiddled with the knobs on her goggles. With her goggles calibrated properly, Michelle could see a small girl in tattered garb leaned against the wall, facing the other direction. She knew immediately this wasn't the source of the giggling; in fact, she had to control every reflex she had to not pull Betsy's trigger. Every reflex not to spit. Every reflex not to charge. Not a gasp or even a wisp of air escaped her lips, as she watched the girl intently.
A crumpled wad of paper fell from the girl's limp hands and thudded neatly on the icy ground, which, in a nauseating instant was suddenly the right wall. Michelle quickly decided not to get involved, and stomped off as soon as she could, in pursuit of the elusive giggling scoundrel. Her goggles were picking up some thermal signal, but she couldn't place it. It was no matter, her quarry remained afoot, and Michelle Davis never gives up! Except when it's profitable, of course.
Taking a break to think, the Runner leaned against the nearest wall, bracing herself in case of another sudden gravity flop. True to its form, however, the cave did not perform as expected, which Michelle realized as she tumbled backwards through a solid wall and landed on her side. She grimaced as Betsy flew off and slid through a puddle of purple liquid.
Uncomfortable. Unexpected. Unusual. Doable, though. She grinned, wiping the violet goo off of Betsy's muzzle. The crouched girl fired a test shot into the darkness, and was thrown back by the rifle's kick. A sizzling, molten, amethyst aura surrounded the slug, but it still flew true. Surprised, she looked down at her rifle--what used to be her rifle. It felt the same, she could still shoot it, but in her hands rest an item she'd never seen before; a giant, dark machine lay cradled in her arms. Her eyes widened, pupils dilated. Betsy almost slipped from her sweating hands. Michelle's breath came in short bursts. Shorter. Shorter. Now breath was held, while a cold bead of sweat trickled down her neck. What. the. hell. is. This.
EDITED AGAIN...FOR THE LAST TIME I SWEAR
Running. Air. Cold. Sensation.
Hair stood on end, as feet slammed against rocks. Shaggy white hair fluttered in the wind as muscles tightened and released, breath went in and out sharply. So many new feelings, thoughts came in crashes—ebbing and flowing rapidly, wave upon wave. The thoughts bubbled out into a belly-laugh so deep, Michelle herself was surprised that she'd made it.
Freedom was this. This was freedom. No missions, no tasks, no errands. Just Michelle and the crystal air roughly brushing her smooth skin. The floor slid under her feet as wall became ceiling, and floor became side. She had her wish, why would she need another one?
But, losing this: losing this is not an option. Neither was getting her hands dirty. Blood-tinted hands make for blood-tainted fun. We'll just have to make do with what the other contestants have planned for now. No use in wearing me out yet, right?
No, for now, the Runner was on a mission. What started out as merely a vendetta against a lost beverage now meant something deeper. Michelle promised herself against forming silly alliances and petty feuds. For now, Betsy rested snug against Davis' back. Okay, status check time.
Michelle's foot slid from under her, and she landed in a crouch, left leg out safely to the side. Her knuckles were white against her fingers gripping the floor tightly. Excellent, not even the sound of ice crunching. I'm doing pretty well for a newbie, if I may say so myself. She made another silly face and replied to herself. Oh, Michelle, you're too kind!
Still in her landing crouch, she fiddled with the knobs on her goggles. With her goggles calibrated properly, Michelle could see a small girl in tattered garb leaned against the wall, facing the other direction. She knew immediately this wasn't the source of the giggling; in fact, she had to control every reflex she had to not pull Betsy's trigger. Every reflex not to spit. Every reflex not to charge. Not a gasp or even a wisp of air escaped her lips, as she watched the girl intently.
A crumpled wad of paper fell from the girl's limp hands and thudded neatly on the icy ground, which, in a nauseating instant was suddenly the right wall. Michelle quickly decided not to get involved, and stomped off as soon as she could, in pursuit of the elusive giggling scoundrel. Her goggles were picking up some thermal signal, but she couldn't place it. It was no matter, her quarry remained afoot, and Michelle Davis never gives up! Except when it's profitable, of course.
Taking a break to think, the Runner leaned against the nearest wall, bracing herself in case of another sudden gravity flop. True to its form, however, the cave did not perform as expected, which Michelle realized as she tumbled backwards through a solid wall and landed on her side. She grimaced as Betsy flew off and slid through a puddle of purple liquid.
Uncomfortable. Unexpected. Unusual. Doable, though. She grinned, wiping the violet goo off of Betsy's muzzle. The crouched girl fired a test shot into the darkness, and was thrown back by the rifle's kick. A sizzling, molten, amethyst aura surrounded the slug, but it still flew true. Surprised, she looked down at her rifle--what used to be her rifle. It felt the same, she could still shoot it, but in her hands rest an item she'd never seen before; a giant, dark machine lay cradled in her arms. Her eyes widened, pupils dilated. Betsy almost slipped from her sweating hands. Michelle's breath came in short bursts. Shorter. Shorter. Now breath was held, while a cold bead of sweat trickled down her neck. What. the. hell. is. This.
Spoiler