Re: Epic Clash Round 3 - The Ascended City
06-18-2010, 06:11 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Thomas swayed back and forth a bit as the battle inside him raged.
"You lying bitch!" Bern, eloquent as always, lunged at Asteira. She dodged, simply rotating the chair and catching him with the corner, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"I'm lying? If I'm lying, then why are you so mad? It only hurts because you know it's true."
"No! If we had an underlying personality, the scans back home would've detected it!" Eric wasn't bothering with the physical violence. It was really all just a representation of a conflict of wills, and the form the fighting took only affected the confidence one had in their skills.
"Not if it was being repressed by a quartet of malevolent spirits, it wouldn't."
"No! No, that's not true! What have we ever done that makes us seem malevolent?!" Tears of desperation and anger rolled down Walt's face.
"Please! You use poor Thomas as a vessel, nothing more! What have you ever done for him that doesn't benefit you in some way?"
"But we are Thomas! Anything we do to benefit him benefits us as well!" Eric, of all of them, seemed the most calm. He was shaking, but that was a lot less than Bern and Walt.
The argument continued to rage, Asteira holding her own against Thomas' three personalities.
Wait, Asteira thought, three?
"Party's over, bitch."
Greg's voice filled the room, his calm confidence shocking against the desperate shouting and conflict. It was surprising to Asteira, and even more so to everyone else- Greg usually phrased things carefully and precisely, using a variety of words and phrases to accurately and concisely convey his meaning. He swore about as much as Bern tried to resolve his conflicts peacefully, and that, more than anything, gave the others pause.
Near the beginning of the conflict, Greg had seen something. He was by far the most detached and analytical of the group, and because of that, while most of him was caught up in countering Asteira's accusations, a small part realized that the others weren't exactly themselves. They were... off, somehow. They'd been affected by her presence more than they should've.
So he slipped away into his room.
The others kept their rooms fairly simple and clean. They spent most of their time with each other, so their private spaces weren't often used. Greg, on the other hand, was rather introverted. He spent substantial time alone, thinking, so his room was much more developed.
It was a fairly large room, and a cot sat dishevelled in one corner. The rest of the space was taken up by floor-to-ceiling shelves, filing cabinets, data servers, and all sorts of other data-storage methods. He kept facts and memories meticulously stored here, all carefully organized and catalogued.
That didn't mean finding things was fast, not by any stretch of the imagination. The volume of data was just too high, so even though he knew what he was looking for, it still took him time to find.
Asteira, he reasoned, was doing more than just talking. She was pumping pure emotion into the confrontation, using her own feelings to make them irrational and defensive. As soon as he'd closed the door to his room, he'd felt the difference- he was truly cut off in there, and any emotions other than his own were severed. He'd quickly formed a plan to counter it, and he had sought out a particular slim file.
It would've been nice if it had been thicker, but when it came down to it, he was a freak. He was lucky the file existed at all, really.
So he stood in his doorway, with all eyes turned towards him, and opened it.
Emotions, powerful and primal, rushed out into the room, sweeping over everyone in a wave. Its overwhelming, mind-numbing goodness filled their souls with fire, and all else was forgotten. Nothing mattered but that electric feeling, that sense of pure right, as though all that mattered was there, in that moment. Nothing else was relevant, nothing was important but the two lives, intertwined. Their souls burned bright, together as one-
And then it was over. Greg had been prepared, so he was still standing. He was the only one, though- everyone else was slumped, exhausted both physically and spiritually. It didn't take much effort to roll Asteira out of the chair at that point; she was probably affected more than any of the others. Greg supposed she hadn't felt that alive in a while.
He stood over her, glowering down at her unfocused eyes. She was still in a haze, and he wanted to make a point.
After a few moments, she began to focus, gazing vaguely in his direction.
He kicked her, sending a jolt of pain through her body. "Listen up. You broke into our mind once, and we let you go in peace. We were even willing to work with you at one point."
"No longer. You just declared war. If it were just up to me, I'd kill you here and now. Instead, I'm going to let you go. Run off and try your tricks elsewhere. For now, everyone stays alive."
"Just remember this: once we're done in this city, your life, such as it is, is forfeit."
"Now get the hell out of our mind."
Another kick sent her tumbling out the window.
Greg slumped down in the captain's chair. Just staying focused and coherent had been hard, what with Asteira's meddling and the intensity of the memory, so he just sat there. He breathed slowly, in and out, walling off his emotions once more and waiting for the others to regain their senses.
Thomas swayed back and forth a bit as the battle inside him raged.
"You lying bitch!" Bern, eloquent as always, lunged at Asteira. She dodged, simply rotating the chair and catching him with the corner, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"I'm lying? If I'm lying, then why are you so mad? It only hurts because you know it's true."
"No! If we had an underlying personality, the scans back home would've detected it!" Eric wasn't bothering with the physical violence. It was really all just a representation of a conflict of wills, and the form the fighting took only affected the confidence one had in their skills.
"Not if it was being repressed by a quartet of malevolent spirits, it wouldn't."
"No! No, that's not true! What have we ever done that makes us seem malevolent?!" Tears of desperation and anger rolled down Walt's face.
"Please! You use poor Thomas as a vessel, nothing more! What have you ever done for him that doesn't benefit you in some way?"
"But we are Thomas! Anything we do to benefit him benefits us as well!" Eric, of all of them, seemed the most calm. He was shaking, but that was a lot less than Bern and Walt.
The argument continued to rage, Asteira holding her own against Thomas' three personalities.
Wait, Asteira thought, three?
"Party's over, bitch."
Greg's voice filled the room, his calm confidence shocking against the desperate shouting and conflict. It was surprising to Asteira, and even more so to everyone else- Greg usually phrased things carefully and precisely, using a variety of words and phrases to accurately and concisely convey his meaning. He swore about as much as Bern tried to resolve his conflicts peacefully, and that, more than anything, gave the others pause.
Near the beginning of the conflict, Greg had seen something. He was by far the most detached and analytical of the group, and because of that, while most of him was caught up in countering Asteira's accusations, a small part realized that the others weren't exactly themselves. They were... off, somehow. They'd been affected by her presence more than they should've.
So he slipped away into his room.
The others kept their rooms fairly simple and clean. They spent most of their time with each other, so their private spaces weren't often used. Greg, on the other hand, was rather introverted. He spent substantial time alone, thinking, so his room was much more developed.
It was a fairly large room, and a cot sat dishevelled in one corner. The rest of the space was taken up by floor-to-ceiling shelves, filing cabinets, data servers, and all sorts of other data-storage methods. He kept facts and memories meticulously stored here, all carefully organized and catalogued.
That didn't mean finding things was fast, not by any stretch of the imagination. The volume of data was just too high, so even though he knew what he was looking for, it still took him time to find.
Asteira, he reasoned, was doing more than just talking. She was pumping pure emotion into the confrontation, using her own feelings to make them irrational and defensive. As soon as he'd closed the door to his room, he'd felt the difference- he was truly cut off in there, and any emotions other than his own were severed. He'd quickly formed a plan to counter it, and he had sought out a particular slim file.
It would've been nice if it had been thicker, but when it came down to it, he was a freak. He was lucky the file existed at all, really.
So he stood in his doorway, with all eyes turned towards him, and opened it.
Emotions, powerful and primal, rushed out into the room, sweeping over everyone in a wave. Its overwhelming, mind-numbing goodness filled their souls with fire, and all else was forgotten. Nothing mattered but that electric feeling, that sense of pure right, as though all that mattered was there, in that moment. Nothing else was relevant, nothing was important but the two lives, intertwined. Their souls burned bright, together as one-
And then it was over. Greg had been prepared, so he was still standing. He was the only one, though- everyone else was slumped, exhausted both physically and spiritually. It didn't take much effort to roll Asteira out of the chair at that point; she was probably affected more than any of the others. Greg supposed she hadn't felt that alive in a while.
He stood over her, glowering down at her unfocused eyes. She was still in a haze, and he wanted to make a point.
After a few moments, she began to focus, gazing vaguely in his direction.
He kicked her, sending a jolt of pain through her body. "Listen up. You broke into our mind once, and we let you go in peace. We were even willing to work with you at one point."
"No longer. You just declared war. If it were just up to me, I'd kill you here and now. Instead, I'm going to let you go. Run off and try your tricks elsewhere. For now, everyone stays alive."
"Just remember this: once we're done in this city, your life, such as it is, is forfeit."
"Now get the hell out of our mind."
Another kick sent her tumbling out the window.
Greg slumped down in the captain's chair. Just staying focused and coherent had been hard, what with Asteira's meddling and the intensity of the memory, so he just sat there. He breathed slowly, in and out, walling off his emotions once more and waiting for the others to regain their senses.