Re: Epic Clash Final Round - Mnemonocyst Bearers
01-08-2011, 02:04 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
High heels weren't exactly ideal for walking on soft ground, but Linda was a professional. There was no way she was going to wobble her way forward and hold back her companion- the ground may have been rubbery and disgusting, but that wasn't going to stop her from taking off her shoes and keeping pace with Thomas.
"So how long has this battle been going?", she asked, grounding herself in her profession in an effort to keep calm. "By the looks of things, you've been here what, weeks? Months?"
Thomas shot her a look over his shoulder. "Hours," he replied, Eric in control, "maybe a day at most. What makes you think it's been so long?"
"Your face," she replied. "I've seen soldiers who've been through terrible things, spending weeks and months in terrible conditions, fighting for their lives, and they almost all have the same look. Shell-shocked, tired, and cold, emotionally drained by what they've been through."
Eric frowned for a moment, then slowly replied, "We've seen some things in this battle that people shouldn't have to go through, to be sure, but it's not been any sort of eternal torment. We suppose what you're seeing is probably the results of an explosion. We're not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it damaged our... Well, it's hard to explain."
"Your packstonian backdrop?"
Eric stopped in his tracks, staring at her for a moment before Greg took over. "It could hardly have been recognition, and I suspect you've met more than one Thomas in your life. The pronouns?"
A small, approving smile flashed across her face before it returned to its professional calm. "Dr. Porter may have been an ordinary, unexciting doctor, but the audience loves kids."
Well, Eric thought, looks like that's the eidetic memory rumour confimed.
Not really, Greg replied. Remember, she's based on our memories of her- it's quite possible the real Linda Stacey has terribly bad memory, but since we have always seen her as demonstrating impressive memory, the Linda we see here will have that.
-
In the distance behind them, a small plume of gas began to rise and dissipate.
-
A fair ways ahead of them and unknowingly on a path to intercept the two, Teival brooded. He'd been nearing a cluster of exceptionally large blisters for a few minutes, and just before he reached them, one had decided to burst and envelop the whole area in dense fog. He'd stumbled around awkwardly for a brief moment until nearly tripping over something rather reminiscent of a corpse.
After a minute or two, the fog had cleared enough for him to see where he was: the blister had recreated his home for him. It was exactly as he had left it- the servants killed mid-stride, his twenty-odd siblings slaughtered in the halls, his parents cut down in the courtyard. It was a gut-wrenching scene of brutality and violence, and Teival had been lucky to escape it alive.
His siblings had put up a tough fight, to be sure, but he had been just that much better. Where they'd dodged attacks, he'd dodged and countered. Where they'd stabbed, he'd stabbed and twisted. His edge had been small, but it had been enough. One by one, they'd fallen and he'd survived, and as their numbers were whittled down to none, their mother and father had simply watched. Theirs was a simple view- they brought their children into the world, and they could do so again. If the gift of life was to be disrespected by not building up the skills to defend it, then so be it.
-
"It's all happened so quickly," Eric continued, "it hasn't all sunk in yet. I'm sure that, looking back, it'll seem incredibly short, but it feels right now that this has been my life for months. I'm sure I could go back and see that it was only a few hours, but things are always distorted as you're living them."
"I've heard that said by many people before," Linda replied. She was glad to keep him talking- she'd always been able to inspire trust in people, and if talking was going to help calm him down as much as asking questions did for her, it made sense for them both to continue. "What sorts of things have happened so far?"
"It started with eight of us. The Overseer, as he calls himself, sent us to a cave system with unusual gravity as the first "round" of the battle..."
-
Teival's wanderings brought him to the courtyard at the center of the building. There, his father and mother had fought side by side, defending one another and acting in concert as only two people bound by their souls can do. Unfortunately, that same binding that gave them strength proved to be a fatal weakness; when his mother had fallen to an expertly-placed blow, his father's strength and will left him. In his final moments, though, he hadn't seemed sad. Instead, he had looked from the wound in his chest to his remaining son and smiled, the expression one of pride. The gift of life had not gone to waste for one, at least, and that was all a parent could hope for.
Staring down at his father's lifeless corpse, Teival remained stoic. As his father had taught him, a life took skill to protect, and those unable to protect their own were not worthy to keep it.
High heels weren't exactly ideal for walking on soft ground, but Linda was a professional. There was no way she was going to wobble her way forward and hold back her companion- the ground may have been rubbery and disgusting, but that wasn't going to stop her from taking off her shoes and keeping pace with Thomas.
"So how long has this battle been going?", she asked, grounding herself in her profession in an effort to keep calm. "By the looks of things, you've been here what, weeks? Months?"
Thomas shot her a look over his shoulder. "Hours," he replied, Eric in control, "maybe a day at most. What makes you think it's been so long?"
"Your face," she replied. "I've seen soldiers who've been through terrible things, spending weeks and months in terrible conditions, fighting for their lives, and they almost all have the same look. Shell-shocked, tired, and cold, emotionally drained by what they've been through."
Eric frowned for a moment, then slowly replied, "We've seen some things in this battle that people shouldn't have to go through, to be sure, but it's not been any sort of eternal torment. We suppose what you're seeing is probably the results of an explosion. We're not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it damaged our... Well, it's hard to explain."
"Your packstonian backdrop?"
Eric stopped in his tracks, staring at her for a moment before Greg took over. "It could hardly have been recognition, and I suspect you've met more than one Thomas in your life. The pronouns?"
A small, approving smile flashed across her face before it returned to its professional calm. "Dr. Porter may have been an ordinary, unexciting doctor, but the audience loves kids."
Well, Eric thought, looks like that's the eidetic memory rumour confimed.
Not really, Greg replied. Remember, she's based on our memories of her- it's quite possible the real Linda Stacey has terribly bad memory, but since we have always seen her as demonstrating impressive memory, the Linda we see here will have that.
-
In the distance behind them, a small plume of gas began to rise and dissipate.
-
A fair ways ahead of them and unknowingly on a path to intercept the two, Teival brooded. He'd been nearing a cluster of exceptionally large blisters for a few minutes, and just before he reached them, one had decided to burst and envelop the whole area in dense fog. He'd stumbled around awkwardly for a brief moment until nearly tripping over something rather reminiscent of a corpse.
After a minute or two, the fog had cleared enough for him to see where he was: the blister had recreated his home for him. It was exactly as he had left it- the servants killed mid-stride, his twenty-odd siblings slaughtered in the halls, his parents cut down in the courtyard. It was a gut-wrenching scene of brutality and violence, and Teival had been lucky to escape it alive.
His siblings had put up a tough fight, to be sure, but he had been just that much better. Where they'd dodged attacks, he'd dodged and countered. Where they'd stabbed, he'd stabbed and twisted. His edge had been small, but it had been enough. One by one, they'd fallen and he'd survived, and as their numbers were whittled down to none, their mother and father had simply watched. Theirs was a simple view- they brought their children into the world, and they could do so again. If the gift of life was to be disrespected by not building up the skills to defend it, then so be it.
-
"It's all happened so quickly," Eric continued, "it hasn't all sunk in yet. I'm sure that, looking back, it'll seem incredibly short, but it feels right now that this has been my life for months. I'm sure I could go back and see that it was only a few hours, but things are always distorted as you're living them."
"I've heard that said by many people before," Linda replied. She was glad to keep him talking- she'd always been able to inspire trust in people, and if talking was going to help calm him down as much as asking questions did for her, it made sense for them both to continue. "What sorts of things have happened so far?"
"It started with eight of us. The Overseer, as he calls himself, sent us to a cave system with unusual gravity as the first "round" of the battle..."
-
Teival's wanderings brought him to the courtyard at the center of the building. There, his father and mother had fought side by side, defending one another and acting in concert as only two people bound by their souls can do. Unfortunately, that same binding that gave them strength proved to be a fatal weakness; when his mother had fallen to an expertly-placed blow, his father's strength and will left him. In his final moments, though, he hadn't seemed sad. Instead, he had looked from the wound in his chest to his remaining son and smiled, the expression one of pride. The gift of life had not gone to waste for one, at least, and that was all a parent could hope for.
Staring down at his father's lifeless corpse, Teival remained stoic. As his father had taught him, a life took skill to protect, and those unable to protect their own were not worthy to keep it.