RE: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 5: GrandCon]
06-05-2013, 03:14 AM
Holly took a deep breath and placed Annaliese's money on the counter, trying to avoid looking at the guy manning the fruit cart. What kind of outfit was that, anyway? It looked like he'd just put on some cheap fake ears and claws. "One..." she struggled to balance not sounding like an idiot with not coming across as disdainful - "uh, Sen salad, please." He handed it over without a word, which she was silently grateful for as she sat down at one of the benches.
She used one hand to massage her temples, the other frantically venting stress into a tote bag. God, I can't believe I was actually worried about her. Can't go two goddamn minutes without causing a scene and I thought she'd get the better of me. She stared at her fork, tilting it back and forth before shrugging and taking a couple bites of pineapple. And that would make everything simple if I could just figure out how to kill her already. She ate another forkful of fruit, silently wishing she'd paid more attention in class. Maybe then, at least, she could do something about all this.
Suddenly, irritation was replaced with panic. She hadn't even been considering the others. Was Algernon okay? Was Ouroborous still around?
Holly quickly ate the rest of the salad and then stood up. She had to find Algernon and get this sorted out, preferably before she started hearing voices again.
---------
LeMarche sighed, mashing the backspace. He managed to get about half a sentence in before deleting it once more. Maybe he should call it a day - he still had a while before deadline. Maybe he'd gotten enough done today.
He glanced over what he'd managed to write, mainly to make sure he hadn't made any glaring continuity mistakes; anything else could be edited later. Everything seemed fine until he reached a particular line:
"Everything seemed fine until he reached a particular line:
Everything seemed fine until he reached - everything seemed fine -"
He broke out into a sweat, hastily deleting most of the repeats. Maybe he could use the rest for effect, but for now it was unreadable. That wasn't the main thing he was concerned with, though. He glanced at the clock. Had it seriously been an hour already? Time was going by too quickly.
And that was exactly what it said on the page, too.
He mumbled "no, that can't be right" under his breath, only to see that was precisely what he had typed up. It just kept going, until eventually it got ahead of him. It started talking about Algernon attending a panel that wouldn't take place for another thirty minutes, and Countess managing to -
Elmo took a deep breath, permitting himself to chuckle and roll his eyes once he exhaled. "You're reading way too much into it, LeMarche." He stretched and yawned. "Let's see... bang out the rest of this section, then see what's on the tube, maybe. I could stand to relax more. Just... finish this bit up, right quick."
He stared at that screen, perfectly motionless, for another fifteen minutes. Finally, he added a perspective change and a couple more sentences:
"Elmo was immediately shaken out of his reverie. The screeching was unmistakable, if lower-pitched than he usually thought of it. Within seconds, a single Ouroborite - lost from its pack and half-starved, it was almost pitiable - latched onto Elmo LeMarche's arm and began to chew." Satisfied, he gave the next section the once-over to make sure there weren’t any glaring continuity errors, before pulling his chair away and shuffling over to the bed.
------------------
God dammit, how big was this stupid place? Holly groaned as she carefully slipped between two swordfights. She'd never find Algernon at this rate. You should just give up anyway, it's not like he means anything to you.
Oh, good, this again. Of course he meant something, she told herself - he was her anchor. She wasn't sure she could've... been Cherry very long, if not for him there. And you've already failed at that, haven't you? As soon as a little bitty problem comes up, you go right to backstabbing. You're not any better than you used to be. The only difference is you don't realize it now.
That was a momentary slip, of course. She wouldn't do it again. She couldn't do it again, it wouldn't be right, she'd just end up right where she was, insane and lost in some stupid swamp. Not that "lost in some stupid hotel" was that much of an upgrade, to be fair.
She continued trudging through the hall, doing her best to ignore the people around her, as well as the annoying hum that seemed to fade in and out of the background.
------------------
Elmo sighed and gave the television a third cycle of channel-surfing. As usual, none of the free channels were interesting and everything else was overpriced. His mind wandered briefly to “why would anyone rent porn at a hotel nowadays anyway,” then scuttled to “how the hell is Survivor still on the air?” before finally passing through “do I have another panel this evening, and if so, should I eat a quick dinner before it or a short dinner afterwards?” and managing to fixate on the Acquisition. It was basically guaranteed that the fans would be unhappy with it – if there was one thing LeMarche hated about writing, it was knowing that no matter what he did, there would be somebody somewhere that griped about it, good Lord he still had to decide who to off, especially since people were sympathizing with Countess more since the Swamp, what the hell was he even going to do with the whole –
Elmo was immediately shaken out of his reverie. The screeching was unmistakable, if lower-pitched than he usually thought of it. Within seconds, a single Ouroborite - lost from its pack and half-starved, it was almost pitiable - latched onto Elmo LeMarche's arm and began to chew. Surprisingly, he found that he wasn’t panicking, maybe because he’d already written this bit and knew what needed to be done. He slammed his shoulder into the wall, smashing the bug up in the process; once this was done, he ran over to his jacket, grabbed a pocketknife and pried the damn thing off, crushing it under his boot once it fell to the ground. He stared at it less with horror or surprise, and more with regret: it was real, somehow, and he had just killed it. The psychological implications didn’t quite hit home, though, because other, more important matters quickly distracted him.
“Oh, fuck, that means they’re –”
------------------
Holly did her best to chat with the man in plaid, but her mind was elsewhere, mainly with regards to how absolutely doomed they all were. She’d been so focused on dealing with Countess that she’d gotten distracted from figuring out how to kill Ouroborous. Fire did alright, but it was too easy to get away from, and went away too quickly. They needed something bigger, stronger, impossible for the little fuckers to escape from.
She frowned. What did they need, then? They were alive, so food and... maybe water? They probably got that from all the blood, though. Either way, too hard to deprive them of that, they’d just eat each other eventually. What did those bastards need that she could take away?
...They couldn’t fly forever, she realized. They got tired eventually, and they were on an island. And everything needed air to breathe, right?
She smiled and nodded, then quickly glanced at her wrist before lowering it again (hoping the man wouldn’t notice she had no watch, and was in fact trying to concoct a pretty pathetic excuse to stop talking about supervillainous plans and why a certain ray gun would be designed to turn ice cream into ravenous bears). “Uh, thanks, uh...”
“Angus MacScoffman.”
“Yeah that. Thanks, but I have a... panel, thing, to go to! I’ll see you later!” She ran off, desperate to find Algernon and explain the plan, seeking out trails of confusion wherever she could find them. Finally, she found one she was pretty sure was strong enough to be his, and chased it.
------------------
Harold Bauer stalked through the halls, mind spinning. If the rumors he’d just heard were true, then Grand Battles were about to be ruined. What could he do about it, though? The damn company was all about the money, like all of them. He’d trusted them. He’d trusted the writers. He’d shelled out the money for the trading cards and the Season Three memorabilia and even those godawful tie-in toaster pastries, and this was how they repaid him?
He ran a hand over the sleeve of his robes, entering the elevator in a daze. He could fix it, though. He could fix it. He had to show them what happened when you crossed the fans. No violence, of course, that would reflect badly on the fans, but a bit of burglary and vandalism shouldn’t hurt all that much. Taking some laptops and phones and notebooks. They’d have to start from scratch, and he’d have something new for his collection, right between the bookshelf of signed copies and the replica James Raven armor. The PR would be horrible, and, and the company wouldn’t want to buy them anymore, and everything would be okay. He pressed five, the floor LeMarche was on, and rubbed the ring he’d spent weeks working on until it was absolutely perfect, the ring he’d commissioned thrice over because the first time the topaz was a slightly different shade and the second time it was an inch too thick. They couldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t let them.
As the elevator doors closed, the woman in the red suit smiled and turned to walk away. Things were about to get very entertaining, and security would undoubtedly be too distracted to deal with a break-in even if somebody did witness it.
------------------
There were too many of them to fit in the vents, now. They pushed each other against the walls, making clumps and clangs in a greater and greater volume. Their cry was louder and louder, and people were beginning to wonder why their ears were suddenly ringing.
Someone was selling burgers, fresh-cooked. The scent of blood and grease wafted through a vent cover, into a vent that some of the Ouroborites had only just reached. Blood and grease. Blood and grease.
Food.
She used one hand to massage her temples, the other frantically venting stress into a tote bag. God, I can't believe I was actually worried about her. Can't go two goddamn minutes without causing a scene and I thought she'd get the better of me. She stared at her fork, tilting it back and forth before shrugging and taking a couple bites of pineapple. And that would make everything simple if I could just figure out how to kill her already. She ate another forkful of fruit, silently wishing she'd paid more attention in class. Maybe then, at least, she could do something about all this.
Suddenly, irritation was replaced with panic. She hadn't even been considering the others. Was Algernon okay? Was Ouroborous still around?
Holly quickly ate the rest of the salad and then stood up. She had to find Algernon and get this sorted out, preferably before she started hearing voices again.
---------
LeMarche sighed, mashing the backspace. He managed to get about half a sentence in before deleting it once more. Maybe he should call it a day - he still had a while before deadline. Maybe he'd gotten enough done today.
He glanced over what he'd managed to write, mainly to make sure he hadn't made any glaring continuity mistakes; anything else could be edited later. Everything seemed fine until he reached a particular line:
"Everything seemed fine until he reached a particular line:
Everything seemed fine until he reached - everything seemed fine -"
He broke out into a sweat, hastily deleting most of the repeats. Maybe he could use the rest for effect, but for now it was unreadable. That wasn't the main thing he was concerned with, though. He glanced at the clock. Had it seriously been an hour already? Time was going by too quickly.
And that was exactly what it said on the page, too.
He mumbled "no, that can't be right" under his breath, only to see that was precisely what he had typed up. It just kept going, until eventually it got ahead of him. It started talking about Algernon attending a panel that wouldn't take place for another thirty minutes, and Countess managing to -
Elmo took a deep breath, permitting himself to chuckle and roll his eyes once he exhaled. "You're reading way too much into it, LeMarche." He stretched and yawned. "Let's see... bang out the rest of this section, then see what's on the tube, maybe. I could stand to relax more. Just... finish this bit up, right quick."
He stared at that screen, perfectly motionless, for another fifteen minutes. Finally, he added a perspective change and a couple more sentences:
"Elmo was immediately shaken out of his reverie. The screeching was unmistakable, if lower-pitched than he usually thought of it. Within seconds, a single Ouroborite - lost from its pack and half-starved, it was almost pitiable - latched onto Elmo LeMarche's arm and began to chew." Satisfied, he gave the next section the once-over to make sure there weren’t any glaring continuity errors, before pulling his chair away and shuffling over to the bed.
------------------
God dammit, how big was this stupid place? Holly groaned as she carefully slipped between two swordfights. She'd never find Algernon at this rate. You should just give up anyway, it's not like he means anything to you.
Oh, good, this again. Of course he meant something, she told herself - he was her anchor. She wasn't sure she could've... been Cherry very long, if not for him there. And you've already failed at that, haven't you? As soon as a little bitty problem comes up, you go right to backstabbing. You're not any better than you used to be. The only difference is you don't realize it now.
That was a momentary slip, of course. She wouldn't do it again. She couldn't do it again, it wouldn't be right, she'd just end up right where she was, insane and lost in some stupid swamp. Not that "lost in some stupid hotel" was that much of an upgrade, to be fair.
She continued trudging through the hall, doing her best to ignore the people around her, as well as the annoying hum that seemed to fade in and out of the background.
------------------
Elmo sighed and gave the television a third cycle of channel-surfing. As usual, none of the free channels were interesting and everything else was overpriced. His mind wandered briefly to “why would anyone rent porn at a hotel nowadays anyway,” then scuttled to “how the hell is Survivor still on the air?” before finally passing through “do I have another panel this evening, and if so, should I eat a quick dinner before it or a short dinner afterwards?” and managing to fixate on the Acquisition. It was basically guaranteed that the fans would be unhappy with it – if there was one thing LeMarche hated about writing, it was knowing that no matter what he did, there would be somebody somewhere that griped about it, good Lord he still had to decide who to off, especially since people were sympathizing with Countess more since the Swamp, what the hell was he even going to do with the whole –
Elmo was immediately shaken out of his reverie. The screeching was unmistakable, if lower-pitched than he usually thought of it. Within seconds, a single Ouroborite - lost from its pack and half-starved, it was almost pitiable - latched onto Elmo LeMarche's arm and began to chew. Surprisingly, he found that he wasn’t panicking, maybe because he’d already written this bit and knew what needed to be done. He slammed his shoulder into the wall, smashing the bug up in the process; once this was done, he ran over to his jacket, grabbed a pocketknife and pried the damn thing off, crushing it under his boot once it fell to the ground. He stared at it less with horror or surprise, and more with regret: it was real, somehow, and he had just killed it. The psychological implications didn’t quite hit home, though, because other, more important matters quickly distracted him.
“Oh, fuck, that means they’re –”
------------------
Holly did her best to chat with the man in plaid, but her mind was elsewhere, mainly with regards to how absolutely doomed they all were. She’d been so focused on dealing with Countess that she’d gotten distracted from figuring out how to kill Ouroborous. Fire did alright, but it was too easy to get away from, and went away too quickly. They needed something bigger, stronger, impossible for the little fuckers to escape from.
She frowned. What did they need, then? They were alive, so food and... maybe water? They probably got that from all the blood, though. Either way, too hard to deprive them of that, they’d just eat each other eventually. What did those bastards need that she could take away?
...They couldn’t fly forever, she realized. They got tired eventually, and they were on an island. And everything needed air to breathe, right?
She smiled and nodded, then quickly glanced at her wrist before lowering it again (hoping the man wouldn’t notice she had no watch, and was in fact trying to concoct a pretty pathetic excuse to stop talking about supervillainous plans and why a certain ray gun would be designed to turn ice cream into ravenous bears). “Uh, thanks, uh...”
“Angus MacScoffman.”
“Yeah that. Thanks, but I have a... panel, thing, to go to! I’ll see you later!” She ran off, desperate to find Algernon and explain the plan, seeking out trails of confusion wherever she could find them. Finally, she found one she was pretty sure was strong enough to be his, and chased it.
------------------
Harold Bauer stalked through the halls, mind spinning. If the rumors he’d just heard were true, then Grand Battles were about to be ruined. What could he do about it, though? The damn company was all about the money, like all of them. He’d trusted them. He’d trusted the writers. He’d shelled out the money for the trading cards and the Season Three memorabilia and even those godawful tie-in toaster pastries, and this was how they repaid him?
He ran a hand over the sleeve of his robes, entering the elevator in a daze. He could fix it, though. He could fix it. He had to show them what happened when you crossed the fans. No violence, of course, that would reflect badly on the fans, but a bit of burglary and vandalism shouldn’t hurt all that much. Taking some laptops and phones and notebooks. They’d have to start from scratch, and he’d have something new for his collection, right between the bookshelf of signed copies and the replica James Raven armor. The PR would be horrible, and, and the company wouldn’t want to buy them anymore, and everything would be okay. He pressed five, the floor LeMarche was on, and rubbed the ring he’d spent weeks working on until it was absolutely perfect, the ring he’d commissioned thrice over because the first time the topaz was a slightly different shade and the second time it was an inch too thick. They couldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t let them.
As the elevator doors closed, the woman in the red suit smiled and turned to walk away. Things were about to get very entertaining, and security would undoubtedly be too distracted to deal with a break-in even if somebody did witness it.
------------------
There were too many of them to fit in the vents, now. They pushed each other against the walls, making clumps and clangs in a greater and greater volume. Their cry was louder and louder, and people were beginning to wonder why their ears were suddenly ringing.
Someone was selling burgers, fresh-cooked. The scent of blood and grease wafted through a vent cover, into a vent that some of the Ouroborites had only just reached. Blood and grease. Blood and grease.
Food.