RE: Petty Squabble [ROUND 3] [Goldhenge]
12-22-2013, 10:23 PM
A month was barely anything to an immortal, or at least that's how it should be. Compared to the long eternity that had already passed and the long eternity yet to come, a month was a mere pebble on the cobblestones of time. But even a pebble could really bother your feet if it got in your shoe, except in this metaphor ‘bothering your feet’ translated into ‘devolving from a full-fledged deity to an abstract concept.’
The upshot was, Carnea was dying.
She was nowhere near in danger of death though. It might be more accurate to describe her situation as an existential limbo. But either way, she was certainly dying. It wasn’t very fun.
What also wasn’t very fun was muttering the same things to herself over and over, but her options were rather limited, considering that she wasn’t even particularly physical anymore. Her mind felt like a marsh, swirling around the same thoughts over and over again, and she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that she was forgotten, lost…
Thoughts, prayers, even mere awareness was her lifeblood. And who had thought of her today? Or even yesterday, or even the entire week? How could this have happened? Why, right as the Charlatan disappeared, why did it feel like her connection with her sect back home had severed? Why wasn’t there a pantheon here who could offer help, or at least who she could try to leech some power off of? Even with a cathedral erected, why was there no faith? Goldhenge didn’t even have the air of a graveyard; it was oblivion, theologically speaking, and she was right at the edge of it, teetering over, and she would have gladly fallen after a month of this wretched existence except something was keeping her alive.
Why?
That one was more of a rhetorical exclamation than anything. Of course she knew why. How could she spend a month completely inert and not know everything about this insipid town with its insipid people? Filled with typical, simple biologicals who got fooled by reality, even Alison (traitorous Alison), who was probably off having fun luck-related adventures, but (un)fortunately for Carnea, those of a more mechanical nature had more discerning senses.
“I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you,” she said with a tone that could have been grateful, maybe a couple weeks ago, but not anymore. Six continued his routine, repeating himself in the way Carnea repeated herself. Two individuals with nothing but a long life ahead of them filled with immobility and even the thought of it made Carnea wearier than she already was. Almost as a clarification, she added, “If you could die, then I wouldn’t have to keep living.”
“Question 294,612: Will you help me?”
Carnea turned her eyes towards Six, even though she no longer had eyes. Despite this, they crossed at the sight of tangled wires that snaked their way left, down, up, all around in this secluded room, all converging, enveloping the lone robot suspended in the middle. She looked away.
“Questions, always questions. You do like questions, don’t you?”
“Question 294,613: Is that a no?” The cords around him seemed to slacken with a sigh, even as they were meant to keep him taut. The electronic air of some sort of prearranged routine continued on.
“Why must you always ask questions you know the answer to?” Carnea tried to sound like an explosion but could barely even manage combustion. “I saw it, you know. The shape of your knowledge. So pristine…I wanted to break it. You were supposed to be my little project.” There was a space where a sigh could have gone, laden with nostalgia for a time when she actually felt like a goddess.
Six inclined his head, the first movement in a long while. This was new. This was different. “Question 294,614: You…chose me?”
There was a brief silence that usually accompanies a sudden shift, the first in a month. “I…suppose.”
“Question 294,615: And you are the contestant known as Carnea, also known as ‘the goddess of locks and doorknobs?’”
“Yee-es,” Carnea replied with less confidence than she’d have liked.
“Individuals chosen by deities typically enjoy favors, revelations, or divine providence (see: Moses, Muhammad, Pythia, etc.) after a show of good virtue and/or enduring a test of faith. Question 294,616: Have I not endured enough? Question 294,617: Will you refuse to help your chosen? Question 294,618: Will you refuse to give the answers I seek?”
A shift in the air that, if it hadn’t already been stifled by electrical currents, could have been described as electrifying. Carnea’s mired mind was starting to stir. “Are…are you…praying to me?”
“I am aware of your existence and I ask you for your assistance.”
“Close enough,” said Carnea, with a voice that implied an enthusiastic handshake. “Welcome to prophethood! You’ve passed the test and I anoint you with my holy symbol…as soon as I get one, that is, and you shall soon receive newfound purpose and the answers to absolutely everything – “
Six let out an electronic whine. The streetlamps had turned on.
“ – after we figure out how to get you out of here.” Carnea stretched out the mental equivalent of arms and perused her still-limited options. The prayer had certainly been exciting, even invigorating, but that didn’t change the fact that she could barely even perform small-time miracles. “Right, right. Okay. Which one of these thingies keeps your arm from making that buzzing sharp thing?”
Six couldn’t gesture, but his impulsive thought got the message across and Carnea concentrated around one winding wire. She was out of practice, but her mind still thought in terms of doors and locks, and this thing was definitely locked. She started to pull, but without any actual hands, this was proving tough.
“They will realize something has happened,” Six said, his voice tuning down to a hush. With a bit of a jostle and some wiggling, the cord finally popped out and Carnea pulled back, rather winded, while the wire did the opposite and unwound. Power stopped flowing to something or other, who even cares. Metaphysically sagging, Carnea started to stretch her awareness outwards and upwards.
“I believe some help may arrive soon, dear prophet,” she replied above the sound of desperate buzzing.
The upshot was, Carnea was dying.
She was nowhere near in danger of death though. It might be more accurate to describe her situation as an existential limbo. But either way, she was certainly dying. It wasn’t very fun.
What also wasn’t very fun was muttering the same things to herself over and over, but her options were rather limited, considering that she wasn’t even particularly physical anymore. Her mind felt like a marsh, swirling around the same thoughts over and over again, and she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that she was forgotten, lost…
Thoughts, prayers, even mere awareness was her lifeblood. And who had thought of her today? Or even yesterday, or even the entire week? How could this have happened? Why, right as the Charlatan disappeared, why did it feel like her connection with her sect back home had severed? Why wasn’t there a pantheon here who could offer help, or at least who she could try to leech some power off of? Even with a cathedral erected, why was there no faith? Goldhenge didn’t even have the air of a graveyard; it was oblivion, theologically speaking, and she was right at the edge of it, teetering over, and she would have gladly fallen after a month of this wretched existence except something was keeping her alive.
Why?
That one was more of a rhetorical exclamation than anything. Of course she knew why. How could she spend a month completely inert and not know everything about this insipid town with its insipid people? Filled with typical, simple biologicals who got fooled by reality, even Alison (traitorous Alison), who was probably off having fun luck-related adventures, but (un)fortunately for Carnea, those of a more mechanical nature had more discerning senses.
“I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you,” she said with a tone that could have been grateful, maybe a couple weeks ago, but not anymore. Six continued his routine, repeating himself in the way Carnea repeated herself. Two individuals with nothing but a long life ahead of them filled with immobility and even the thought of it made Carnea wearier than she already was. Almost as a clarification, she added, “If you could die, then I wouldn’t have to keep living.”
“Question 294,612: Will you help me?”
Carnea turned her eyes towards Six, even though she no longer had eyes. Despite this, they crossed at the sight of tangled wires that snaked their way left, down, up, all around in this secluded room, all converging, enveloping the lone robot suspended in the middle. She looked away.
“Questions, always questions. You do like questions, don’t you?”
“Question 294,613: Is that a no?” The cords around him seemed to slacken with a sigh, even as they were meant to keep him taut. The electronic air of some sort of prearranged routine continued on.
“Why must you always ask questions you know the answer to?” Carnea tried to sound like an explosion but could barely even manage combustion. “I saw it, you know. The shape of your knowledge. So pristine…I wanted to break it. You were supposed to be my little project.” There was a space where a sigh could have gone, laden with nostalgia for a time when she actually felt like a goddess.
Six inclined his head, the first movement in a long while. This was new. This was different. “Question 294,614: You…chose me?”
There was a brief silence that usually accompanies a sudden shift, the first in a month. “I…suppose.”
“Question 294,615: And you are the contestant known as Carnea, also known as ‘the goddess of locks and doorknobs?’”
“Yee-es,” Carnea replied with less confidence than she’d have liked.
“Individuals chosen by deities typically enjoy favors, revelations, or divine providence (see: Moses, Muhammad, Pythia, etc.) after a show of good virtue and/or enduring a test of faith. Question 294,616: Have I not endured enough? Question 294,617: Will you refuse to help your chosen? Question 294,618: Will you refuse to give the answers I seek?”
A shift in the air that, if it hadn’t already been stifled by electrical currents, could have been described as electrifying. Carnea’s mired mind was starting to stir. “Are…are you…praying to me?”
“I am aware of your existence and I ask you for your assistance.”
“Close enough,” said Carnea, with a voice that implied an enthusiastic handshake. “Welcome to prophethood! You’ve passed the test and I anoint you with my holy symbol…as soon as I get one, that is, and you shall soon receive newfound purpose and the answers to absolutely everything – “
Six let out an electronic whine. The streetlamps had turned on.
“ – after we figure out how to get you out of here.” Carnea stretched out the mental equivalent of arms and perused her still-limited options. The prayer had certainly been exciting, even invigorating, but that didn’t change the fact that she could barely even perform small-time miracles. “Right, right. Okay. Which one of these thingies keeps your arm from making that buzzing sharp thing?”
Six couldn’t gesture, but his impulsive thought got the message across and Carnea concentrated around one winding wire. She was out of practice, but her mind still thought in terms of doors and locks, and this thing was definitely locked. She started to pull, but without any actual hands, this was proving tough.
“They will realize something has happened,” Six said, his voice tuning down to a hush. With a bit of a jostle and some wiggling, the cord finally popped out and Carnea pulled back, rather winded, while the wire did the opposite and unwound. Power stopped flowing to something or other, who even cares. Metaphysically sagging, Carnea started to stretch her awareness outwards and upwards.
“I believe some help may arrive soon, dear prophet,” she replied above the sound of desperate buzzing.