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Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1282 Joined: 1 Jun 2008     | |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008    | Armitage Shanks, my old adversary, it is a pleasure to meet with you again. My happy anticipation of your entry fills me with excitement. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1897 Joined: 22 Jul 2008    | Hey now now, the smallest things are crushing me now- The figure certainly didn't look like an angel. Or a demon. He was just, ordinary. Wore a zippered grey bomber jacket, over a white shirt and thin black tie, with grey slacks and leather shoes. Like a 20-something misunderstanding the smart casual requirement of a job interview. He even responded with bored disinterest. 'Sorry, I never played your earthly "Tekken".' The entitiy chuckled 'Heh, course I knew it was Mortal Kombat. I'm on fuckin Purgatory Patrol, what else do you think I got to do besides gaming. And Sub-Zeros always my choice as well... what are the chances, huh?' Henry sighed, a glance at the watch told him exactly what the chances were. Well, you'll need it for the fight. 'Speaking of games mein freund, seems like you're finally up.' The waiting room began to shimmer. It had been literally a waiting room, a few metal frame chairs, low coffee table with magazienes at least two years out of date. A loud ticking clock was even mounted above a sign explaining its donation by the local Womens Association. The 'Purgatory Womens Association', apparently. Henry was beginning to think the Almighty, or whoever ran this joint, didn't get out much. And had too much of a thing for literal metaphors. It wasn't a 'ZAP' like a sci-fi teleport, but just a slow creeping insubstantiality. The joke waiting room seemed to become softer, duller. An 'Uhhhhh....whatever...' kind of teleport, if anything. He didn't want to try it, but Henry was sure if put his hand on the table now, it would sink in to it. '-but you probably knew that already, so I won't need to explain it again.' Too late, he realised the entity had been talking the whole time. 'Anyway, give em a Down, Away, Y and you should be fine,' he finished with a wink, and Henry saw the second thing he hadn't realised, the angel-man had also been fading. The last traces of waiting room blurred and winked out. Well if thats Purgatory, the perpetual wait, then hell must be one of those ironic interpretations, like the concrete cell without god... maybe the environment won't be a factor here. The battleround didn't softy fade into existence. It burst. With fwoosh. And flames. And the voices of the wrongs. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1053 Joined: 29 Aug 2008    |
I'm not the most humble person, in fact, usually i'd raise a fancy wine glass right about now to toast how true you are. But nah, I thought that your post was perfectly fine. I'd only win because i'd waste two-and-a-half days on mine. My only problem with your story was technically my fault. It didn't portray Oliver correctly, but that's only because I never properly described him. And thanks Higu, napkins always cheer me up. Also, to Sorrow, i've decided not to participate in any future Ratings Wars. However, if you have any other nice tournament-esque projects, I would enjoy them. |
Paperboy  Posts: 35 Joined: 27 Oct 2008     | |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1897 Joined: 22 Jul 2008 | And if there just isn't a need to be so fucking polite... Henry, that you?_________________________________________________________________________ Hard. =============================================== |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008 | Shanks, I'm confused by this. Is this the end or is there going to be more. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1897 Joined: 22 Jul 2008 |
More, I know I've really been stringing it out, but the next one will be the last one, and the actual fight. And it should make sense. That thing is kind of like what is going on inside Henry's head. EDIT: Also, think of the post with the lines and stuff as like sheet music. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 2141 Joined: 23 Jan 2008    | Mm... Placebo - Spite and Malice. Like that. ^_^ |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1659 Joined: 7 Mar 2008 | Devon woke up, cracked his neck, put on a pair of pants. Same routine as he'd had for the last four days. In continuing that routine, he had no idea what the hell it was that he was going to do next, sat on the bed for a few minutes, rubbed his face. Devon had been contemplating his situation, and had decided that he was over his head. What he knew was that the "Seat of God" was open, or something along those lines, that he was fighting in a tournament to decide who the hell got this seat, and that, as he had suspected since before he could remember, that there was something different about him, something that made him special, importiant. What he didn't know was the circumstances in the vacancy in this seat, why he was chosen for this, instead of the next mook over, and exactly what it was that made him so goddamn importiant that a guy with a gun, a massive sword, and a shitload of razors would rather die than let him do the same. Then there were the things he didn't want to know; how a being like God, something that was supposed to be all knowing and all powerful, capable not only of creating the universe, but knowing every fucking thing that was going to fucking happen could up and die. Things like what exactly it was he was fighting for, because the angel seemed to be very good at dancing around that subject or sending him to deathmatches in frozen wastes before Devon could think to ask. Things like how a person who clearly wanted Devon to die, who clearly had the means to kill him, who had a gun, a massive gun, pointed at his head, could be somehow physichally unable to pull the trigger. It was the last thing that scared Devon most. He'd never belived in God, and he didn't give a damn about the tournament he was in the middle of. He didn't mind being importiant, either; all the more reason to have a super-inflated ego. What he did mind was knowing that he was so importiant that someone couldn't kill him, physichally couldn't kill him, someone, even someone who was barely more than a machine, would rather die than let Devon do the same. Devon wasn't the most morally riteous prick in the universe, but he knew it wasn't right to control people the way the guy he fought had been controlled. Devon had used that against him, turned the whole idea around, but he didn't know it would mean the guy would die. I killed him. Devon thought, continuing his daily routine. I fucking killed a man. Imagined doing a lot of things in my life, but not killing a person, not like that. He didn't even know he had a choice, what the hell- And the routine was broken. "It's about fucking time." Devon said, looking up. "I've been waiting for four days for one of you tossers to show up." In front of Devon stood an angel. Not an angel of the same stature as the one who dragged him into this nonsense; Devon could see the wall thourgh this one, and the other one radiated with an almost painful brilliant white light; this one had more of a gentle, warm, peach colored light, and somethign familiar about her. Devon wondered briefly if her gender had anything to do with it. "I feel it my responsibility to tell you that such language doesn't behoove you. My name is Boldero." "Sweet. I'm Devon. Pleasure's all mine." Boldero smiled, sat down next to Devon. "Are you comfortable?" "Comfortable isn't the word I would use, but it's more comfortable than the last place the other guy sent me." "I understand." "Oh?" "Pretty as it may be, a prison is still a prison." Devon took a deep breath, looked Boldero over agian. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking. Are all angels telepathic?" "No, but most of them are." "Is that why you're here? You think I need help?" "Yes." "Kay. So..." Devon shrugged. "Help." "What would you like to know?" "...the fuck?" "Are you familiar with James 1:5?" "No, I'm agnostic." "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally, and without reaproach, and it shall be given to them." "Y'know, I've thought a lot of things about God, but I would never think he was a democrat." Boldero smiled. "God is many things." "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So explain to me how this works." "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him-." "Fine, fine, I get it. No easy answers, nothing I didn't already know in the first place." "Perhaps." Devon thought for a moment, thought hard. He knew what he needed to ask, but he knew that any question he would ask would lead to something he didn't want to know. "It is difficult." Boldero said. "Would you stop doing that? It does't make it any easier to think." "Child, I have been around humans for thousands of years. I may not know exactly what you are thinking, but I know how you are thinking about it." Devon looked at Boldero hard, again. "What are you?" "A guide, for those who care to listen. It is our calling." "So you think I need help?" "More than most. You are many things, Devon, and you are usually not unaware of your situation; however, you were sent with very little information to do something you were not prepared to do. It was only through His divine will-" "Wait, I thought he was dead?" "No. He is always here, watching, guiding." "Then what the hell-" "The being that was killed-" "Killed?-" "Was as a vassal. He protects this place, and all the places within it. He was not God, but the voice of God." Devon took a deep breath. "So this whole thing is to determine-" "Who will be the next after him." "Yeah, who's fucked up idea was it to have people like me fight each other to death." "Not to death, not always. One can surrender, one can be incapacitated." "What do you know about the guy I fought?" "He was a being named The Conduit. His duty was to preserve reality, keep it as it is." "Why couldn't he kill me?" "His duty, the only thing he knew, was to uphold existence. He was, as you have proven to yourself, little more than a machine." "He had a soul." "Which is of little use if you do not know you have it." Devon stood up, putting one fist on his hip and another on his temple. "Goddamn it. God fucking damn it." "He found out in the end. I will not say he was happy, but he did not regret his decision." "He could have folded." "He could not." "He could have shot me through the shoulder or some fucking thing, knocked me out." "He could not." "Then I could have fucking folded!" "You could not." "Bullshit!" "You had no way of knowing. You cannot blame yourself for what happened." "The fuck I can't. I knew there was a better way, I knew there was a better fucking way, I should have tried-" "You did try.You did very well, better than anyone could have or would have expected. You did the impossible; You changed The Conduit's mind, taught him that there was something better than what he had. Even if it was for a moment, for him, it was worth a thousand lifetimes of waiting." Devon sat down, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Why couldn't he kill me?" "You know why." "Yeah, I know I'm special, I know I'm different, I know I'm The Eighth, The Pillar of Sun or some fucking thing like that, but I don't know what that means." "Neither do I." "Bullshit." "You are...I will not say crucial, but importiant to existence." "How?" "I told you, I do not know." Devon rose again, fingers coursing through his hair. "How the hell can't you know?" "Sephiroth-" "Sephiroth? Long-ass white hair, Maursame, 'And now to blow up the earth for no reason' Sephiroth?" "-the angel that chose you for this, chose you for that very reason, I belive. He chose you because he belived you would come to little harm, if any." "Proved his ass wrong." "Yes and no. You were harmed, but you were not killed, and, in fact, were not harmed by your opponent." "Yes I was, he was going to leave me to die-" "While that may be true, it is very easy not to see it that way. You live, do you not?" Devon kicked the bed in front of him. "Fuck me." "My sincerest apologies, but I am incapable." Devon stared at Boldero for a moment before she said, "I can make a funny, too." "So what do I do now?" "Wait. There is little more you can do. You have a weapon now, as well." Devon looked to the small table next to his bed, on top of which was a massive revolver. He hadn't touched it since he had gotten here. "I'm not going to shoot anybody..." "I know you will not want to hear this, but you will likely not be so lucky again. There are not only killers in this competitin, but monsters that can and will tear you to pieces. Reason will not avail you in this competition." "Fine, fine; I'll take it with me, if this Sephiroth guy lets me." "I do not belive he has any control over when you leave, or where you go." Devon sighed, breath hissing through his teeth. "I don't like this." "I imagine you do not." "You said...You said that the guy in the seat, the last guy, he was killed, right?" "I did." "You think Sephiroth did it?" Boldero shook her head. "No, I do not." Devon sat back down on the bed. "Can you lie?" "I would say no..." Boldero replied, standing. "But would you belive me?" Devon didn't reply. |
On the Record  Posts: 5391 Joined: 14 Jun 2008   | I'm sorry to bring this up, but there was actually a perfectly valid reason that I've been 'bitching for my round to come'. I've got about 11 days until I'm going to be forbidden from any source of internet (And generally any happiness as well) For a 3 and a half month period. I could try to get more time, but A) I'm not going to put my future on hold for a writing contest and B) The US military will likely have issues with me changing my leaving date. Just to keep everybody informed... |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1368 Joined: 27 Jan 2008    | Guys, the deadline is five days. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1897 Joined: 22 Jul 2008 | EDITED FOR GRAMMAR! Now with caps! I'd like to pull the wires from the wall- Henry stood up. Ephemeral grey stretched in every direction. It was the beach. The beach of the island resort. It was the beach, but it was wrong. "I didn't hurt them. I didn't mean to." The voices tried to tear at him, to take him down. But he knew they were false. They were not real voices. He had no control of this condition. He could not be held accountable. Surely I can't be held accountable? "Ya here, where are ya?" It was a whisper, but luckily for the entropical challenger, volume didn't matter to this whisperer. It was initially a soft beat, the recurring basline swapped and switched, paused and sampled. Lullabies, sung over his crib, fragments from the radio of his dads car, his first cassette when God knows (and he could check with the big fella if he survived the battle) how old: The Offspring. Ixnay on the Hombre And it feels The teenage years, rebellious punk: Your life's gotta really suck The all, the all of it. The variety the snippets, the snatches. "Aye mon, you know what I is talkin' bout." There was no body, there didn't need to be a body. The beach had gone. Replaces by space. Empty space. He couldn't see, couldn't smell. But he could hear. Oh he could hear. The watch, I gotta check the watch! The voices had gone. The kid, the one in the car accident. He hoped it hadn't been real. He was sure the DJ was masking the real voices. The music let him mask everything. He was sure there was no real voices. But doubt niggled at his mind. "Why the doubt mon? Why let it niggle? So maybe da voices ain't be real, but you still gotta say you gotta crap lot in life," The factory mass producing fear, "Ya hear? Ya hear what I is sayin'. I know ya do, I know tru da music ya listen to. I know it 'fects you. I do 'way with all that. We ain't enemies mon, we ain't never been enemies. You let me win, I become king high boss man and get da whole planet grooving to a laid back beat? Oh come on mon, don't make me." A club. The end of school formal had taken place in a remarkably similar venue. In fact, his classmates and their dates slowly flowed into vision. Crystallized, stuck in the rhapsody. Derek pirouetted, eternally frozen with Monica, the music they had spun to blaring out from unseen speakers. The music. The music. The DJ A friends a friend who knows what being a friend "I bin wathcin out for you, you take your cues from music, I been seein' you through the beat. You know it ain't it right, you know that mon. Da music tells you dat mon. You maybe beat me, but you beat the bad guys? Eh? You beat the real bad guys? No, you don't. And they change the tune mon, They make it bad music. They make it angry beat. They make it hate chorus. You beat dem? You kiddin. But you good mon. De lyrics tell me you good mon deep down. I beat them mon, I beat them and I make it better. I fix it all mon. You just give in, let the music wash over you mon, it cleanses an' it sweeps you clean. You be better, I be better, the world be better, mon. Don't hog ya solo cause o' pride mon." If he could reach the watch, he might have a- Might have a what? Might tell whether luck is gonna be on your side today? Might interpret the entropy? Face it Henry, it isn't something you control. But this DJ, he controls everything. Everything, and he could win. He could do it. Hell, listen to him through the lyrics. He's right, what better way to soothe the world than with music? Revolution. Dope. Guns. Fucking in the streets. "No." Cut the deck, The frozen figures were still there. Will and Jonno posing in a mock tango for a crowd who roared with still laughter. "Mon, you makin' de silly mistake. You tink you know what choo doin'? You makin de silly mistake cause it don't matter. You tink you gotta chance 'gainst me?" The echo, and it was an echo without an original sounded looped, distorted. The students had vanished. A hall. An empty hall. The faint ringing all thats there. "You think you have it all. But your an idiot. You change. You change with time. You try and keep current. You think your immune to luck? You think you're universal? Maybe you are. But you change. And whatever you were, whatever lullabies you sung doesn't matter. Because you don't sing anymore. You panel. You spin tracks." The lights across the dance floor flickered. Then the dance floor itself flickered. "You see it now don't you? You've become reliant on that stuff." If they say that nothing lasts forever, And I'm sure, I am sure.... "You have no power without it anymore. Its not just symbolic, maybe once it was. So you try to bluff me with those souls. Because, and heres the irony, because you forget something very important." The echo of the sound paused. "I wandered, I'd heard you were meant to influence with music. But you've only been using words on me. Is it perhaps, because you forgot something. The floor flickered. White space. White space. White space and nothing. The sound. The sound but distorted. The sound but dying. "and you trick me. Because you trick me now I know I shouldn't let you win. You won't fix things, because you like chaos. You deceive, you lie, you cheat. You create. And you usually do it in that order. Its how you work. Without chaos, half of your inspiration is gone. Well I am chaos. I am chaos and I know you can't hurt me. And I also know you can't hurt me, because I've got what you need" Henry, by freak chance at that moment, materialized a power lead in his hands. It was unplugged. "Yes, and you aren't getting it. For the record, your acoustic work is terrible. So piss off." No voice. No reply. No nothing. It was possible it had gone. Could you vanquish the DJ? Could you kill it? Who knew. From shame? From humiliation? Intimidation? Damage? Did the power lead trick actually work? It went. It went. It went and the songs no longer shaped him. Henry dropped to what approximated for the floor, and began to feel welcome transformation of the surroundings into the waiting room. He didn't usually consider himself a confrontational person, and now knew why. He was exhausted. Bollocks. Now I gotta fight someone else. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1282 Joined: 1 Jun 2008 |
Oh. Shit. I was under the impression it was a 10 day deadline... My plan is still to have it done by Sunday. I'm deeply sorry for delaying. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1282 Joined: 1 Jun 2008 | I forfiet. I'm deeply sorry to everyone and most especially my opponent meatspace but I cannot bring myself to write for my character. I don't like Lex. Early in the tournament I thought that that was mostly the point of my character, he was a bad guy after all, and that in time I'd learn to write for him anyway. Recently this has been proven to be not the case. I thought, for the better part of two weeks and before that when I was writing Lex's intro, that I was suffering from writer's block. I'd get to my computer and loose all motivation and focus. The thing I've realized recently however is that I'm still perfectly capable of writing for extended periods of time, just not when I'm writing for Lex or even thinking about Lex. Subconciously I avoid writing his stories. I'll sit at my computer and suddenly remember I have laundry to do, or a really bad desire to go swimming. Subconciously, I find excuses to avoid writing Lex and if that's the case I can't reliably participate in this tournament. I'm in three other RP's and my performance in them is suffering because of my preoccupation (and subsequent inability) to write for Lex. All these factors combined, the best thing I can think to do is call a forfieture. I'll probably still hang around, and if there is an RW4 I'll be back with a character I can actually tolerate to try and win my third tournament, but for now I'm out. I apologize to everyone. For anyone who cares, I've put a plot summary of Lex's fight in the following spoiler box. I had it all imagined out, I just couldn't put it on paper. Please don't consider this an entry, Lex is out of the tournament. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008 | My apologies. It's very strange, I've been checking this thread and yet somehow missed all the posts that came after the The Logician's until just now. I am actually in the middle of moving today (and probably tomorrow too) so I will have to get to this later on tonight. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008 |
CONTACT IMPROV - Solo Piece for Piano, Transcribed for Duet for Human Percussion There a Frenchman once said, "Hell is other people." He been to this place I think. This place Karma, this Hell to some way o' thinkin', this crowd, gray, faceless, millin' about. Hell is the place o' payback, Karma is you gettin' another chance to do right what you done wrong last time. People come here and they hearts break, they despair that they coulda wronged so many, that they could owe so much. They thought they live a righteous life, never did no knowin harm to any they met, so they don' unnerstand this vast atonement demanded o' them. They expect the crowd t'attack, but it just wander about, lost 'n' sad, an' they don' unnerstand that either. It never occur to them that they looking at sins of ommission, that this judgement called on them for all they never done. This one here, now, this Henry, this how I find him in the crowd, by his confusion an' guilt an' fear. He got a heap o' things to atone for, he knows, but he knows it wrong. He got a gift but he fear it, and the fear of the gift make it a fearful gift. He lookin' round, waitin' t'be recognize an' punish by the crowd, but the crowd don't know him from the flow o' daily chance. There only one here who know what he done, what he ain't done. There only one here lookin' for payback. That one ain't me, by th'way. That one comin', I jus' gotta hold Henry here long enough for the other to find him and hold him t'account. He young, wavy brown hair, taller'n average but he keep his head and eye low, a long habit of avoidin' catastrophe an' eye contact. He see me seein' him an' recoil, until he realize I ain't one of his victims. Not yet. He don't even notice his hand slippin' to the pocketwatch, but I do. "You the other one?" he ask. I nod. He look at me, tryin'a figure me out. I don't look dangerous. I'm not. He don't know that. I smile and that scare him. I'm not a bad man and he was afraid o' that. He ain't surprise, though. He's come to expect the worst. I come to teach him not to expect the worst, but to welcome it. I approach him and hold out my hand, but he don't take it. Instead he look at his watch and frown. "That watch make you frown, you should get a different watch," I tell him. "And you should get out of here." "Really? Why?" "Because it's running slow, and that's a bad sign." "Are you sure it's a bad sign?" He surprise I ask him that, surprise and a liddle irritated. "Trust me on this," he say. "Why should I trust you when you don' trust yourself?" "What?" Now he a liddle confuse and more than a liddle irritated. "That ain't a watch you got there, that a shackle, friend. You in a prison what ticks." I hold out my hand an' he step back. "Why don't you take the chains off, boy? Give up th' watch. I'll take it for ya, carry the weight of th' curse for a time?" He look at the watch again, "I'm warning you, mister, you better get out of here. This watch is getting farther and farther behind. You might not know what that means, but I do and it's not good." "How far behind is it?" "Four minutes and--" "--thirty three seconds?" He look at the watch again. "How did you--?" "You right, it ain't good," I tell him, "it's perfect." |
On the Record  Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008   | Don't you see Ratings War? You can't die.... you can't... because... I love you. Some excellent stories, and not a whiff of recognition? And Rex leaves? And my dog gets heartburn from a heartworm tablet? What kind of dystopian nightmare is this!? I feel like I crawled out of bed to find, instead of my carpet, the underside of the ballroom floor from the set of Titanic, only instead of that it was also alive and singing Grindcore. In short, I did a crap down the rabbit hole only to find it in my sandwich later, what is going on? I'm lost, later tonight i'll be making a list for myself of who is still playing and what colour underpants they wear, to try and get a hold on things and make my hypothetical artists-impression voyeurism more accurate. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1897 Joined: 22 Jul 2008 | Msh, how do you always work out my characters (almost) to a T? Are you actually a mind reader? Or is it just really obvious. And bad luck Rex, you'll be missed. Its a pity cause that outline looked half decent. I reckon with just a bit of your usual magic you could have produced a good rival for Meatspace's piece. |
On the Record Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008 | Ok, what's the plan? Do we need stand-ins, or are we going to press forward with the forfeits in tow? Do we need the stories of the default victors? Where is my hat? I'm so confused. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1282 Joined: 1 Jun 2008 |
How do you mean? I am the only one whose dropped out in this round so fortunately nothing fancy has to be done now. Meatspace already provided a default victory story, so everything is taken care of. As far as past drop-outs are concerned, we've generally required all default victors to submit their winning stories. I'm pretty sure everyone who went up against a forfiet has done so. I'm unsure how many have dropped out, but I'm sure there were no double forfietures as I would have noticed. That means we're basically advancing according to schedule. No changes will need to be made in the next round and everything is generally dandy. Oh, and your hat is on your hat-rack. And if you don't have a hat-rack, it is on a hat-rack owned by someone in your neighborhood. Just keep breaking into peoples houses and shouting "WHERE IS YOUR HAT-RACK?!" You'll find it eventually.
I'm glad you liked it. Honestly, it would have been nice to be able to finish the story and submit it, but I'm at least partially relieved to be out from under Lex. That character was not my style at all and I really disliked getting into his mindset to write his stories. It's going to be a bummer not being able to play, but I'll be in next round. In the meantime, I guess I'll spectate and provide reviews ... Meh. |
On the Record Posts: 5391 Joined: 14 Jun 2008 | It's getting close to that time, to be honest. If I don't get my round called soon, I'm not going to have enough time to write my story before I am exiled to two and a half months of hard work and preparation for my future life, and because the military will never allow computer access during basic, I will be gone from July 7th to mid September. Sorrow, I really don't want out of this tournament, but it may come to that if I don't get started soon. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1368 Joined: 27 Jan 2008 | Alright, judges, get to work on this fight. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 2307 Joined: 1 Jul 2008   |
As much as I would love to judge at the moment, we've got two entries to non-matching matches and half of another entry. We can't judge that. We either lose Msh or wait for the rest of the entry. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1368 Joined: 27 Jan 2008 | Fuck... |
On the Record Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008 |
And now I am no longer confused. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1368 Joined: 27 Jan 2008 | Just so it's up. Elsewise Ipswitch vs. Garian |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008 |
I have nothing to say This kid, this Henry, he fear th' worst, he been fearin' th' worst ever since he could 'magine what th' worst might be. An' tha's about how long th' worst been happenin' ta him again an again. Coincidence, ya think? That a trick question. He look at me confuse. He expect a beat, a tune, a tone, a whistle, a wail, an alarm, a boom, a crash. He expect anything but what I give him, this clear, open, expectant and welcoming space. I'm playin' him a paradox, music with no notes, a concert where the musician listen rather than play. People talk about 4'33" bein' a silent piece, but it just music turn inside out. People think of the concert hall bein', in a perfec' world, divided between th' music and the silence, like the music so delicate, can't no other sound be allowed to touch it except for applause at th' end, and even then, th' sound a'that applause only touch the music like the hands of the doctor closing th' eyes a'one that just died. People want their music apart from other sound the way children want the food on their plate not to touch. That's the dread o' the concert hall - the candy wrapper, the coughin' fit, the whisperer in th' row behind. Did I mention that even now, Henry delicately nudge his peas away from the gravy on his dinner plate when he think no one lookin'? Right now, we got 4 minute an' 33 seconds in which nothin' expected, nothin' unexpected. We got 4 minute an' 33 seconds in which nothin can go wrong. Let th' candy wrapper crackle, let the throat tickle, let the baby cry, let the cell phone ring. It all suppose to happen just as it happen. Let the worst come and, while this music not-play, be welcome. In this place o' Karma where you get to do right what you done wrong before, I open this to him, for him, in him. He run away, a'course. But that a'right. I could let him go, let him play drum solo with his feet onna ground, until the other find him, an' true to his luck, as he would say, he runnin' right at him, but instead I grab his hand, th' one with th' watch, an' pull him back. Contact improv, it become, dancin' a trio, him, me, an' physics. He don' trust any o' us three, but for 4 minutes and 33 seconds, it don't matter if we stumble, tumble, twist, an' fall. In that crowd o' th' lost and wronged, th' music take shape inside the minutes, a percussion of collidin' bodies, feet thumpin' onna groun', BPM o' th' heart climbin' to 140, all syncopatin' with the grunt an' the breath, as he try an' shove me off. I just pivot 'round an' roll back to him, lettin' th' physics an' chance o' th' encounter improv an' improve th' connection between us. Henry feel it comin'. He know th' feel of thunder inna air, and he been struck by lightnin' more than once. He feel it comin', it an it to him, not a person, but all people its to him these days, what is mosta th' problem right there. I don't feel it comin', I hear it, hear him, the it that got Henry half-hunched in dread. The watch know to. It tick, stop, hesitate, tick some more. Henry feel the cogs twitch 'gainst his palm an' get frantic. He sees the face of the watch, the second hand. He so busy checking to make sure his doom on schedule, he don't watch for the face o' th' one we been waiting for, an' the third hand that reach out an' grab him him from me. The third one, he young, wavy brown hair, taller'n average but he keep his head and eye low, a long habit of avoidin' catastrophe an' eye contact. Henry see him seein' him an' recoil, until Henry realize he ain't one of his victims. But he wrong about that. This one, he been Henry's victim all his life, an' he determine that gonna change. Henry don't even notice his hand curling protective 'round the pocketwatch, but the third one do, an' it put him in a fury. "Damn you!" the boy yell at him, "Damn you and that damn watch! Don't you care about anything but that fucking watch? You are ruining my life with that thing, you bastard, but I'm not letting you get away with it any more! Not for one more second!" An' he give Henry a hard shove an' the watch go flyin'. It hit the ground an' the glass shatter in a burst o' crystalline notes. The back pop open an' th' works fly out, chiming like th' notes of a music box 'gainst th' stones. Only the case an' th' face an' th' hands remain. Only the case an' th' face an' th' hands, and th' young man, wavy brown hair, taller'n average an' standin' straight now, finally. He ain't the third any more, or th' first, or th' second for that matter. He just Henry, lookin' down at the face of a busted pocketwatch. The time it tell, now an' forever, is 4:32. I pick up th' watch an' hand it to him. "You still wanna be god?" He look up at me, surprise at the question. He right, it a stupid question. He never wanna be god to begin with. "No, absolutely not. I got way to much other stuff I gotta do." "Better get t'doin' it then, eh?" "Yeah, I suppose I'd better." He put the watch in his pocket and start walkin' away, but before he disappear into th' crowd, he turn to me. "The way I...change things, you think I could make things better?" "I give you 4 minutes an' 33 seconds of open chance. Th' watch says you got one second o' that left. But you got it forever." He smile an' nod. He gettin' it now, slow, but he gettin' it. "Hey," he ask, "you think you are going to be god, or whatever?" I shrug. "Dunno. I'll be what I'm s'posed t' be. Jus' like ev'rythin' else in the world." He disappear in th' crowd. Hell got one less soul in it now. |
On the Record Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008 | Freeform Jazz, Improv Dancing, A Sudden Solo... with no music. My brain exploded from the delicious thematic awesome, as well as the all-accent of the DJ, which kicks ass. A hard one to call, makes me eager to gear up for RW4. Still... I'm kind of locked into one of two characters.... Anyway, awesome stories all. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 1368 Joined: 27 Jan 2008 | You made it, Msh. Don't worry. EDITL And won, incidentally. Meatspace and Msh advance, leaving one more fight left in the first round. |
Gone Gonzo Posts: 2837 Joined: 1 Feb 2008 |
Not really obvious, you characters are just well thought-out and well written. It's a lot easier to write someone else's character when that character is really good. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 1209 Joined: 22 Apr 2008   |
The secret to winning the Ratings War: write very poor characters and then write very good action. |
On the Record Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008 |
This is an upsettingly logical answer to why 'The Knight' made it to the final, and why Vherran got gutted in round 2. Vherran wasn't the deepest of characters, but he played by rules... rules can be used against me... I need to go back to vastly exploitable, unexplained powers... and flaming tornadoes. |
Gone Gonzo  Posts: 4201 Joined: 30 Oct 2008    |
The Lord of Godmode hath returned. |
On the Record Posts: 6467 Joined: 24 Apr 2008 |
And With Him Comes The Power Of Rock. |
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Should be fun. I've been looking forward to this round and this might just be the perfect setting.