Re: Epic Clash Round 1 - Dungeon of the Crimson Fish
02-20-2010, 11:52 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.
There are a lot of ways to tell if someone has had contact with the supernatural. Spender, being an dispatch and investigations agent, was familiar with reading scenes and people--mostly, however, he dealt with gateways and fissures into un-reality and mind-boggling, tormentuous hell-scapes filled with fanged drapery and long lines of famous political figures all doing the Macarena. Those kind of events are easy to sniff out. Here, though, reality was only tilted sideways a little, people were decently genre-savvy, and the worst thing that could happen to you was your own senseless and bloody murder.
He was more out of his element with Thomas, but as he managed to wedge himself awkwardly into a particularly comfortable position upside-down and sideways, such that a rounded bit was comforting his lower back and a small corner was right on an itch on his butt, he glanced over at the man, watching him heave the rocks around loudly. In only that moment, mostly by instinct, was struck by a certain tension in the man that he hadn't noticed a few minutes ago. Whatever it was, it was relatively minor, and the man hadn't said anything about it, but not knowing itched at him.
"... and let me tell you," he forced himself to finish without pausing, his tone becoming only slightly more measured and less jovial, "I'll never look at a rainbow without smelling HIM again. Not in this lifetime, at least." He finally let himself catch his breath, then broke the brief silence by wrenching off the component he'd been pleasantly engaged in steampunk yoga to find.
Inside it, he wasn't surprised to find, was some kind of unidentifiable crystal. Crystals always seemed to be part of otherwise-inexplicable devices, he reflected. He caught himself before he launched into another tirade, and just measured the man as he continued working.
It was hard to tell, he presumed because Thomas' four minds regulated his body's subconscious pretty well. Since Bern had been stolidly ignoring him, he couldn't really read into his silence or focus, and he hadn't really paid enough attention to know if his current behavior had deviated much. All he had was a moment's instinct, and that had been wrong before.
So, in his most disarming, conversationalist voice, he asked what to him was a fairly stock question, not sure what sort of effect the man might be under or have witnessed.
"What's wrong, Thomas? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
There are a lot of ways to tell if someone has had contact with the supernatural. Spender, being an dispatch and investigations agent, was familiar with reading scenes and people--mostly, however, he dealt with gateways and fissures into un-reality and mind-boggling, tormentuous hell-scapes filled with fanged drapery and long lines of famous political figures all doing the Macarena. Those kind of events are easy to sniff out. Here, though, reality was only tilted sideways a little, people were decently genre-savvy, and the worst thing that could happen to you was your own senseless and bloody murder.
He was more out of his element with Thomas, but as he managed to wedge himself awkwardly into a particularly comfortable position upside-down and sideways, such that a rounded bit was comforting his lower back and a small corner was right on an itch on his butt, he glanced over at the man, watching him heave the rocks around loudly. In only that moment, mostly by instinct, was struck by a certain tension in the man that he hadn't noticed a few minutes ago. Whatever it was, it was relatively minor, and the man hadn't said anything about it, but not knowing itched at him.
"... and let me tell you," he forced himself to finish without pausing, his tone becoming only slightly more measured and less jovial, "I'll never look at a rainbow without smelling HIM again. Not in this lifetime, at least." He finally let himself catch his breath, then broke the brief silence by wrenching off the component he'd been pleasantly engaged in steampunk yoga to find.
Inside it, he wasn't surprised to find, was some kind of unidentifiable crystal. Crystals always seemed to be part of otherwise-inexplicable devices, he reflected. He caught himself before he launched into another tirade, and just measured the man as he continued working.
It was hard to tell, he presumed because Thomas' four minds regulated his body's subconscious pretty well. Since Bern had been stolidly ignoring him, he couldn't really read into his silence or focus, and he hadn't really paid enough attention to know if his current behavior had deviated much. All he had was a moment's instinct, and that had been wrong before.
So, in his most disarming, conversationalist voice, he asked what to him was a fairly stock question, not sure what sort of effect the man might be under or have witnessed.
"What's wrong, Thomas? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Spoiler