Re: Epic Clash Round 3 - The Ascended City
06-16-2010, 12:31 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
There was an organizational structure between Thomas' four personalities. It wasn't really a chain of command- one of them did not give out orders, and no one personality had the final say in every decision. It was more fluid than that, more practical. They had lived with each other since the day they were born, and they knew that they each had their own strengths and weaknesses. They knew full well they would disagree in some situations, that much was obvious, but they recognized the fact that, just as they had their own areas of competence, so did the others. When the time came to balance a budget, there was no question about who would take charge. When they were going into a job interview, the choice was obvious. If someone had an idea that was squarely under their domain, the others would listen, even if it didn't make complete sense to them at the time.
So when Walt, looking distant, put his hand on Greg's shoulder, it was a relief. This was partially due to the confusion the others felt- Greg, like Eric and Bern, hadn't understood the significance of the graveyard. Yes, they realized what it held, but they didn't see how it affected this city. It was, while touching and sad, rather non-sequitous.
The thought that Walt knew what was going on was comforting, in a way. Walt didn't really do much on his own. The vast majority of the things he did, he did at the behest of others. He was patient and dexterous, so he could pick locks and do delicate work like that, but he never really chose those actions. He did those things because someone asked him to, not because he had decided it was the best thing for the situation. He didn't really volunteer ideas to get them out of this or that temporary predicament or come up with a devious plan to outwit the villain of the week. He wasn't going to argue something to obtain a particular goal or form an alliance; he was going to talk to someone to help them work through a personal issue or overcome a self-imposed barrier.
Eric knew the people, but Walt knew their spirits.
So when Walt stepped up to take charge, it was a relief. Greg vacated the seat, and Walt sat down, not saying a word, just staring off into the distance.
Once more, Spender was at work, raining destruction down on the city. It was different, though- the rhythm that once pervaded his effort was gone. It was just a series of blows, no longer united in a magnificent, raging symphony of chaos. He just hung there, suspended by his flight spell in midair, sending one blow down after another.
Clouds began to form beneath his feet. The coming storm was still a ways off- these were just clouds of ambient moisture, drawn artificially together to form a mostly-flat plane.
Walt walked up behind him. He wasn't really walking, of course- it was still the flight spell. Flying just isn't a natural state for humans, and every small step towards the rational norm was helpful.
He stood in silence for a minute.
Silence can actually be a very expressive thing. There are tense silences, awkward silences, silences that kids shouldn't be exposed to until they're older, all kinds of silences. The differences are incredibly subtle, influenced by posture, tiny movements, breathing speed, and any number of other factors, and contrary to popular belief, they are anything but silent.
Walt was good at silence.
He just stood behind and slightly to the left of Spender. It was a respectful silence, the kind where one person is letting another finish something important before interrupting. No subtle movements to indicate impatience, no tiny coughs to draw attention. He did not waver in place as though uncertain of how to proceed or roll his head as though bored. He stood just in view, enough to be seen but not enough to distract. He stood with his hands in his pockets, making it clear his intentions weren't violent.
He stood in respectful silence and waited.
The building Spender was working on finally collapsed in on itself, and he turned around. For a moment, the two simply regarded each other in silence. It was a calm silence, but not at all devoid of communication.
This place was doomed. The buildings, the people, the planet below, all were going to be returned to the void from whence they came when the surviving competitors moved on. There was no way to avoid it- even if a peace was reached between the remaining five, one of them would die of old age, and this place would be lost. There was nothing anyone could do- every life, every soul here would simply be unmade when the Overseer's playthings were shuffled along to the next place.
And there was nothing Spender could do to stop it. There was no monster to slay, no nightmare to overcome. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of lives here, and there was nothing Spender could do to save them.
The silence lasted for several seconds, broken eventually by Thomas.
"We're sorry."
He said it not as an apology, but as a consolation, as one who knows another has been dealt a great blow and understands how they feel. Indeed, he now understood how Spender felt- he was a soldier. His whole life revolved around protecting the innocent, and now he found himself unable to make the slightest difference. There was quite simply nothing he could do.
He was pissed, and rightfully so.
Thomas' gaze hardened, transitioning from remorse to determination. Spender was going to do everything he could to take the Overseer down, and Thomas was right there with him. There were only two outcomes: either the Overseer went down or they did, and until one of those happened, there would be no resting, no breaks, no peace or calm.
Just fury.
The two nodded to each other, and Spender returned to his work, a renewed fire flowing through him. Walt simply turned and raised a hand, beckoning towards the dark clouds.
The storm surged forward, the moisture in the clouds drawn towards the city, particles rubbing together, charging the roiling mass, lightning flashing inside. The tempest bore down on the city, and the winds began to whip around them. The floor of clouds vanished, and the two were left hanging in midair before the oncoming storm.
Soon, sooner that should be possible, it was upon them, rain pouring down in sheets. Lightning flashed out at random intervals, striking the tips of towers and being channelled down lightning rods and disposed of safely.
Walt, his part done, handed control back over to Bern. He kept his hand raised, and the storm changed, shifting. He reached inside it, found the fires within, took hold, and brought them lashing down.
A sustained blast of lightning tore straight through a building, cutting it neatly in two and sending both sides swinging down and away. A few seconds later, another blast, and another building was destroyed. And another. And another.
The two fell into a rhythm. Spender's song had returned, and it was louder, stronger, underlined by the deep bass rumblings of the storm and punctuated by the repeated roar of lightning.
Fury rained down upon the Ascended City.
There was an organizational structure between Thomas' four personalities. It wasn't really a chain of command- one of them did not give out orders, and no one personality had the final say in every decision. It was more fluid than that, more practical. They had lived with each other since the day they were born, and they knew that they each had their own strengths and weaknesses. They knew full well they would disagree in some situations, that much was obvious, but they recognized the fact that, just as they had their own areas of competence, so did the others. When the time came to balance a budget, there was no question about who would take charge. When they were going into a job interview, the choice was obvious. If someone had an idea that was squarely under their domain, the others would listen, even if it didn't make complete sense to them at the time.
So when Walt, looking distant, put his hand on Greg's shoulder, it was a relief. This was partially due to the confusion the others felt- Greg, like Eric and Bern, hadn't understood the significance of the graveyard. Yes, they realized what it held, but they didn't see how it affected this city. It was, while touching and sad, rather non-sequitous.
The thought that Walt knew what was going on was comforting, in a way. Walt didn't really do much on his own. The vast majority of the things he did, he did at the behest of others. He was patient and dexterous, so he could pick locks and do delicate work like that, but he never really chose those actions. He did those things because someone asked him to, not because he had decided it was the best thing for the situation. He didn't really volunteer ideas to get them out of this or that temporary predicament or come up with a devious plan to outwit the villain of the week. He wasn't going to argue something to obtain a particular goal or form an alliance; he was going to talk to someone to help them work through a personal issue or overcome a self-imposed barrier.
Eric knew the people, but Walt knew their spirits.
So when Walt stepped up to take charge, it was a relief. Greg vacated the seat, and Walt sat down, not saying a word, just staring off into the distance.
Once more, Spender was at work, raining destruction down on the city. It was different, though- the rhythm that once pervaded his effort was gone. It was just a series of blows, no longer united in a magnificent, raging symphony of chaos. He just hung there, suspended by his flight spell in midair, sending one blow down after another.
Clouds began to form beneath his feet. The coming storm was still a ways off- these were just clouds of ambient moisture, drawn artificially together to form a mostly-flat plane.
Walt walked up behind him. He wasn't really walking, of course- it was still the flight spell. Flying just isn't a natural state for humans, and every small step towards the rational norm was helpful.
He stood in silence for a minute.
Silence can actually be a very expressive thing. There are tense silences, awkward silences, silences that kids shouldn't be exposed to until they're older, all kinds of silences. The differences are incredibly subtle, influenced by posture, tiny movements, breathing speed, and any number of other factors, and contrary to popular belief, they are anything but silent.
Walt was good at silence.
He just stood behind and slightly to the left of Spender. It was a respectful silence, the kind where one person is letting another finish something important before interrupting. No subtle movements to indicate impatience, no tiny coughs to draw attention. He did not waver in place as though uncertain of how to proceed or roll his head as though bored. He stood just in view, enough to be seen but not enough to distract. He stood with his hands in his pockets, making it clear his intentions weren't violent.
He stood in respectful silence and waited.
The building Spender was working on finally collapsed in on itself, and he turned around. For a moment, the two simply regarded each other in silence. It was a calm silence, but not at all devoid of communication.
This place was doomed. The buildings, the people, the planet below, all were going to be returned to the void from whence they came when the surviving competitors moved on. There was no way to avoid it- even if a peace was reached between the remaining five, one of them would die of old age, and this place would be lost. There was nothing anyone could do- every life, every soul here would simply be unmade when the Overseer's playthings were shuffled along to the next place.
And there was nothing Spender could do to stop it. There was no monster to slay, no nightmare to overcome. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of lives here, and there was nothing Spender could do to save them.
The silence lasted for several seconds, broken eventually by Thomas.
"We're sorry."
He said it not as an apology, but as a consolation, as one who knows another has been dealt a great blow and understands how they feel. Indeed, he now understood how Spender felt- he was a soldier. His whole life revolved around protecting the innocent, and now he found himself unable to make the slightest difference. There was quite simply nothing he could do.
He was pissed, and rightfully so.
Thomas' gaze hardened, transitioning from remorse to determination. Spender was going to do everything he could to take the Overseer down, and Thomas was right there with him. There were only two outcomes: either the Overseer went down or they did, and until one of those happened, there would be no resting, no breaks, no peace or calm.
Just fury.
The two nodded to each other, and Spender returned to his work, a renewed fire flowing through him. Walt simply turned and raised a hand, beckoning towards the dark clouds.
The storm surged forward, the moisture in the clouds drawn towards the city, particles rubbing together, charging the roiling mass, lightning flashing inside. The tempest bore down on the city, and the winds began to whip around them. The floor of clouds vanished, and the two were left hanging in midair before the oncoming storm.
Soon, sooner that should be possible, it was upon them, rain pouring down in sheets. Lightning flashed out at random intervals, striking the tips of towers and being channelled down lightning rods and disposed of safely.
Walt, his part done, handed control back over to Bern. He kept his hand raised, and the storm changed, shifting. He reached inside it, found the fires within, took hold, and brought them lashing down.
A sustained blast of lightning tore straight through a building, cutting it neatly in two and sending both sides swinging down and away. A few seconds later, another blast, and another building was destroyed. And another. And another.
The two fell into a rhythm. Spender's song had returned, and it was louder, stronger, underlined by the deep bass rumblings of the storm and punctuated by the repeated roar of lightning.
Fury rained down upon the Ascended City.