((Created thanks to the Mako week giving me ideas. What if
))
Grandville Tower, Early Evening
The dark, metallic door hissed quietly back into place behind the tall, dark figure. Spider arms shifting and twitching around him, Lord Recluse paced slowly towards the bizarre setup in the middle of the room.
It had actually taken a second Strike Team to retrieve the blasted thing, after the slouched and previously immobile crowd had suddenly burst into life and, frankly, mobbed the first team to death. Some of the defenders had been Arachnos, for Tartarus sakes!
And now here it was, complete with the mouldy, slouched old sofa that had been sat in front of it.
With no better option, Recluse moved around and sat on the thing, the beaten old springs groaning as he did so. He sat forward, fingers drumming against each other as he watched
and waited.
I know you are not what you seem, he said eventually. It is not normal for such as you to turn hated foes into brainless, passive watchers.
At first it said nothing. Then, abruptly, it burst into life, a bright flash of light and sound.
Welcome, to the News at Seven! Did you know that Television is actually good for your health? Thats right, you heard it here first!
The Lord of the Isles rested his right elbow on his knee, fingers drumming at chin level on his helmet as he stared at the seemingly non-descript television set.
What are you?
A scene from a war film suddenly replaced the news feed.
You cant handle the truth!
That is not the sort of answer I am looking for.
The picture abruptly swapped again to what looked like a pre-school program, hosted by a frumpy, middle aged woman in a knitted cardigan and with sensible hair.
Aww, whos pulling such a grumpy faaaace?
There was a complaining of springs as Recluse leant forward, a spider arm stretching out and resting against the TVs screen, before being dragged slowly diagonally across the display, resulting in a horrible scraping sound.
The TV
screamed. The image was suddenly that of fleeing people, running from some invisible threat in the movie but also, apparently, from the progress of the sharp metal blade. Eventually Recluse withdrew the bladed arm, leaving the screen with a new, pale white scar across it.
Have I made my point clear? he growled.
There was a long pause, the television screen displaying a Do not adjust your set! error message. Then it returned to motion, a stereotypical military man from some low budget movie throwing a salute.
Yessir.
Good. What sort of thing are you?
The scene swapped to what looked like a sci fi action film, where a hologram was talking to a detective.
Im sorry, but my responses are limited. You must ask the right questions.
Very well
are you alive?
There was a longer pause, so much so that Recluse raised a bladed-arm again, hovering it threateningly close to the screen. The screen flickered and shifted channels rapidly, punctuated by bursts of static, before eventually settling on a stern, moustached man presenting a quiz show.
That would be
Correct.
The TV swapped rapidly again, before catching the end of a sentence in a science documentary.
-in a manner of speaking.
Recluse sat back, nodding slowly.
I see. Then you may be of some use to me
Perhaps Aeon can unravel just what you-
The Television growled with static, shifting channels again until it settled on what looked like an old version of a British detective film.
Elementary, my dear chap. The man is an idiot.
The Lord of Many Arms allowed himself a thin smile.
In that case, this is my offer. You can either be of use to me
or Aeon can have you, with or without your protests. To do with you as he sees fit. Am I clear?
There was silence, the screen displaying the Do not adjust error message, before returning to one of the military films, with a square jawed Sergeant receiving orders he didnt look best pleased about, but seemed resigned to.
Roger that. Understood.
Good.
Quote:
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Originally Posted by Zwillinger
GG, I would tell you that "I am killing you with my mind", but I couldn't find an emoticon to properly express my sentiment.
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Quote:
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Originally Posted by Captain_Photon
NOTE: The Incarnate System is basically farming for IOs on a larger scale, and with more obtrusive lore.
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((And, following on from previous…))
St Martial, Giza Strip
Traffic was gridlocked. The truck driver, who had the terrifically exciting name of Steve, sat back and smacked the dashboard with annoyance before resigning himself to the long wait. Forms, filing and HR could go to hell, he was getting over-time for this.
Steve twiddled the dials on the dashboard for a moment, before settling on a station with decent music.
You gave them all those old time stars
Through wars of worlds - invaded by Mars
You made 'em laugh - you made 'em cry
You made us feel like we could fly
There was a brief burst of static, which earned the dashboard another thump.
So don't become some background noise
A backdrop for the girls and boys
Who just don't know or just don't care
And just complain when you're not there
You had your time, you had the power
You've yet to have your finest hour
Radiooooooooooo!
Free Opportunity…
Steve blinked a second later. Had the thing…
He stared at the dashboard for a moment, before shaking his head. He was tired, annoyed and in dire need of some coffee and something deep-fried and smothered in bacon. He’d be seeing flying pigs next. At least that would mean flying bacon…
You've yet to have your finest hour
Radiooooooooo! Free Opportunity!
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by Zwillinger
GG, I would tell you that "I am killing you with my mind", but I couldn't find an emoticon to properly express my sentiment.
|
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by Captain_Photon
NOTE: The Incarnate System is basically farming for IOs on a larger scale, and with more obtrusive lore.
|
((Some random thoughts, ideas and Canon character related pieces that, obviously, are not official canon but, eh, I figured I might as well have a shot at writing. See if I could do them right, or at least be mildly entertaining for peeps to read. Enjoy, heh.))
Somewhere in International Waters, near the American East Coast
The room was, to say the least, extravagant. The wall opposite the door was made up nearly entirely of wardrobes. The floor space was taken up by a massive, four-poster King sized bed against the left wall, intricately carved and with a perfect finished that practically sang of money, and also by a large, snow-tiger skin rug. The right hand wall was dominated entirely by mirrors. Other items of note included two expensive looking urns, and a marble bust on a pedestal.
A door that did not belong to a wardrobe swung open as a man strode into the room, humming Wagners Ride of the Valkyries under his breath, the smell of water and shampoo following him from the shower. He was tall, with shoulder length blonde hair, a toned physique and wearing only a long towel around his waist. His face was also a near exact likeness to the one belonging to the marble bust in the corner. As he swung open one of the massive wardrobes and stepped in, he seemed to be deep in conversation with someone.
The man was an idiot, of course. I did suspect that Quite good style, of course. Oh, nothing in comparison to yourself, dear boy, dont be ridiculous. Yes, yes I know we could have put Featherby in his place, but you know the mans so damned dull, wot? Oh well, seems youll have to put him in anyway. Eadward shouldnt have been such a useless cad. I mean, taken down by the Council? Thats just embarrassing! Of course, you cant let that stand, hm? Doesnt do to let scruffy, uncouth yobs like them think they can do what they please. Hmn, yes, Ill get right on that, right on it indeed. Now does this work, dyou think?
Stepping out of the wardrobe, the man examined himself critically in the mirror. A fully black jumpsuit, accented by flame markings from the knee up, knee length flame-patterned combat boots and ornate gauntlets to match, topped with his harness, golden eagle chest-buckle and his epaulets.
My dear chap, you look stunning. Only one person is equal to that, and shell come round. In time, in time, the man stated to his reflection, flicking his hair back and flashing a grin.
The rooms door was swung open, and Captain Ernest Castillo stepped out, marching smartly along the corridor. He snapped his fingers, and two attendants dashed forward, hefting the Captains customised jetpack into place and strapping him in quickly and, above all, carefully. Woe betide anyone who sullied the Captains suit, that much was fact. With no given order, the pair of Sky Raiders moved ahead, swinging open the doors at the end of the corridor and slamming to attention.
Castillo stepped out onto the balcony, overlooking the main assembly hall. With a shouted order below, the battalion of Sky Raiders snapped to attention.
Gentleman! Castillo leaned both hands on the railing, flashing a pearly grin, I do believe we have some business with the Council. We shall depart momentarily, and I shall lead you in a glorious assault of the base that Lieutenant Eadward so sloppily got defeated in. At least someone can show you how things are done properly, hmm?