Re: Epic Clash Final Round - Mnemonocyst Bearers
01-23-2011, 07:38 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
"...But midway through that, the Overseer stopped it all. Apparently Michelle had died, and we were being moved on."
He paused, staring down at the ground in front of him for a minute. "We didn't even think about it at the time, but it was probably us who did it. We were throwing that storm around like nothing, so focused on tearing the place open at the seams that we forgot about the few actually-real people there. Good intentions and all that, but we still probably killed her, and-" He choked, looked to one side, then blinked.
"None of us are particularly proud of much of what we've done in this battle, Ms. Stacey," Greg said, straightening up and clasping his arms behind his back in an effort to project some semblance of dignity. "Our misguided plot in the Colosseum, our reckless abuse of power in the City... We've done terrible things here, but we can't think about them right now. As it stands, there's still one other combatant here, and the absolute best outcomes we can hope for is them dying accidentally or dying ourselves."
Eric took back control, moving his hands back in front of him. He took a breath before he started, visibly sorting his thoughts out. "...Have you ever had someone's death on your hands, Linda? Someone who would be alive if it weren't for you?"
Something dark flashed over her face for a moment, but her professional training quashed it almost immediately. "Once," she replied. She looked up at the other sphere as the memory came back to her.
"Nearly twelve years ago," she eventually said, "someone died on my show. In some ways, it made my career- the clip circulated the datanet, a few execs liked my professionalism and calm" -she spat the two qualities out- "and pretty soon, my show was being broadcast across half the city-ships of the Confederation. So yes," she said, turning to look Thomas straight in the face, professionalism shockingly absent for the moment, "I know what it's like to have blood on my hands."
Both were silent for a moment.
"We're... sorry," Eric replied. "We didn't know."
"That's quite alright," the newswoman replied, taking a deep breath and willing herself to be calm once more. "Please, continue."
"Right." Taking a deep breath, Thomas paused. After a second, he pointed back the way they were going, a questioning look on his face. Linda nodded tersely, and the two started back on their way.
"Anyway, from there, he sent us to this haunted- well, he didn't want to call it haunted, per se..."
-
Standing halfway concealed behind a dormant blister, a shadowy figure watched their exchange. As they moved on, so did their observer.
-
Teival, meanwhile, had moved upstairs, looking through the bland and barely-furnished rooms he and his siblings had slept in for those years they had had together. Each room had been the same as the last- four cots, a bowl for water on a spindly wooden table, and a padlock on the door. It hadn't been any more than symbolic, given that even the smallest of the children could unscrew the hinges with barely any thought, but the thoughts it inspired were clear enough. Opening the door required active disobedience, and that would mean opposing their parents, and that would mean, by extension, opposing the family. The establishment of "family" was all that kept them from going at each others' throats, and to go against that was to invite the others to seek your days for their own.
Eventually, of course, the establishment had come crashing down. Looking at the locks now, it all seemed silly- it had been bound to happen eventually, and opposing that inevitability was a losing battle. He'd seen several of his siblings look at him like a piece of meat, judging how many years he had left and thinking of making them their own. He'd looked at them the same way, and they'd all known the day would come eventually when one of them would take what they wanted.
Stopping at one door, Teival took the lock in his hand. It seemed small and fragile, but even now, decades later, some part of him still felt a pull of wrongness about disobeying it. It was still ingrained in him somewhere, that sense of authority it represented.
In a burst of anger, he tore it and its latch out of the wall by the screws and threw it all out a shattered window. He was not going to be controlled any longer. He was not going to have his choices dictated by a small, meaningless chuck of metal. He'd put so much effort into becoming what he was, and he was not going to let that little trinket make him something he hadn't been for ages.
Spoiler
"...But midway through that, the Overseer stopped it all. Apparently Michelle had died, and we were being moved on."
He paused, staring down at the ground in front of him for a minute. "We didn't even think about it at the time, but it was probably us who did it. We were throwing that storm around like nothing, so focused on tearing the place open at the seams that we forgot about the few actually-real people there. Good intentions and all that, but we still probably killed her, and-" He choked, looked to one side, then blinked.
"None of us are particularly proud of much of what we've done in this battle, Ms. Stacey," Greg said, straightening up and clasping his arms behind his back in an effort to project some semblance of dignity. "Our misguided plot in the Colosseum, our reckless abuse of power in the City... We've done terrible things here, but we can't think about them right now. As it stands, there's still one other combatant here, and the absolute best outcomes we can hope for is them dying accidentally or dying ourselves."
Eric took back control, moving his hands back in front of him. He took a breath before he started, visibly sorting his thoughts out. "...Have you ever had someone's death on your hands, Linda? Someone who would be alive if it weren't for you?"
Something dark flashed over her face for a moment, but her professional training quashed it almost immediately. "Once," she replied. She looked up at the other sphere as the memory came back to her.
"Nearly twelve years ago," she eventually said, "someone died on my show. In some ways, it made my career- the clip circulated the datanet, a few execs liked my professionalism and calm" -she spat the two qualities out- "and pretty soon, my show was being broadcast across half the city-ships of the Confederation. So yes," she said, turning to look Thomas straight in the face, professionalism shockingly absent for the moment, "I know what it's like to have blood on my hands."
Both were silent for a moment.
"We're... sorry," Eric replied. "We didn't know."
"That's quite alright," the newswoman replied, taking a deep breath and willing herself to be calm once more. "Please, continue."
"Right." Taking a deep breath, Thomas paused. After a second, he pointed back the way they were going, a questioning look on his face. Linda nodded tersely, and the two started back on their way.
"Anyway, from there, he sent us to this haunted- well, he didn't want to call it haunted, per se..."
-
Standing halfway concealed behind a dormant blister, a shadowy figure watched their exchange. As they moved on, so did their observer.
-
Teival, meanwhile, had moved upstairs, looking through the bland and barely-furnished rooms he and his siblings had slept in for those years they had had together. Each room had been the same as the last- four cots, a bowl for water on a spindly wooden table, and a padlock on the door. It hadn't been any more than symbolic, given that even the smallest of the children could unscrew the hinges with barely any thought, but the thoughts it inspired were clear enough. Opening the door required active disobedience, and that would mean opposing their parents, and that would mean, by extension, opposing the family. The establishment of "family" was all that kept them from going at each others' throats, and to go against that was to invite the others to seek your days for their own.
Eventually, of course, the establishment had come crashing down. Looking at the locks now, it all seemed silly- it had been bound to happen eventually, and opposing that inevitability was a losing battle. He'd seen several of his siblings look at him like a piece of meat, judging how many years he had left and thinking of making them their own. He'd looked at them the same way, and they'd all known the day would come eventually when one of them would take what they wanted.
Stopping at one door, Teival took the lock in his hand. It seemed small and fragile, but even now, decades later, some part of him still felt a pull of wrongness about disobeying it. It was still ingrained in him somewhere, that sense of authority it represented.
In a burst of anger, he tore it and its latch out of the wall by the screws and threw it all out a shattered window. He was not going to be controlled any longer. He was not going to have his choices dictated by a small, meaningless chuck of metal. He'd put so much effort into becoming what he was, and he was not going to let that little trinket make him something he hadn't been for ages.
Spoiler