Gant chuckles, and lets his head melt away into a slurry that runs down his back before it snaps back into solid metal, the flat surface dark and unreflective. "There is very little that you could call human about this-" he motions over his body, "except for the mind. You can draw your own conclusion."
He leans forward, one hand under his chin. "Introductions, however, are not my main focus here. As my colleagues have no doubt told you, a sizable contingent of armed men wants us dead; while normally I would be exceptionally glad to test myself against them-" subconsciously, the hand on the table mold itself into a mechanized claw, spikes covering the knuckles and extending over the fingers, "-the presence of others complicates the matter. How well do you fight?"
If she says she is no fighter, he has an excuse to pressure her if she appears on the front lines. If she is a fighter, he can put her in the dangerous part of the battle, or 'accidentally' kill her if he finds evidence of treachery. Life is all too often apparent as a song
- and for now, it flows slowly.
edited 26th Feb '11 6:34:54 PM by Morgulion
This is this.Flinn looks around - the more he hears from this mishapen man, the less he wants to do with him. The women... Flinn supposes some of them can fight. They act like it, anyway. The horrible mess of a body in the middle of the camp catches his eye, and he winces and looks away.
He notices the pointy-eared woman pressing a hand to her head. She doesn't look so good.
He walks over to her. "You all right, miss?" he says quietly. "You look a little unwell."
edited 26th Feb '11 6:40:16 PM by LoniJay
Be not afraid...As she regards Gant, taking note of his gestures, his words, trying to find a sense of who he is beneath the superficiality, she's calculating how to handle him, in the later course of the night.
She says, "—Fight? Have you said 'Fight?' Fight what? The terrorists? Mister, look at me! I'm far from being fighting material. I haven't taken any fighting or kung-fu courses. I don't know— a 9mm round from a 5. whatever mm round. Do you expect me to shoot someone you tell me to, all of a sudden? I'm just a lost woman, wanting to return back to the city!"
Clare finishes munching down her pork portions. Mmmm. "For now, I'm thinking of taking a rest overnight. You'll see me gone before the next morning. If any funny stuff happens.. There's still some room left in the house, if you don't mind my asking?"
edited 26th Feb '11 6:46:48 PM by QQQQQ
Gant nods. "In that case, madam, I would request that you abstain from the front lines when it does come time to fight. Just as a simple precaution."
He dug into the pig, ripping out a handful of flesh from a haunch, his tongue plucking it from the barbs of his claw. It was a fitting thing, to partake in flesh at the defeat of one's enemies.
Checkmate. Now he had all the power he needed to control her at his whim, superiority in position and strength.
This is this.(OOC:
Clare remains silent as Gant tears through his pork like a madman. When it seems she's lost in the depths of her own mind, she says out of the blue, "Did you ever sleep with a love before, Gant?"
Watching Gant and Clare reminded him of watching Sigmund and Senator Alexander Gray go at each other. Each trying to out-scheme, out-wit, and out-plan the other, each utterly confident the other was the fool. Who was being played? Who was really in control? Time would tell, he supposed. Isaac decided it wasn't his problem, and went to sit with Alice. He said, "damn biomechnical cock-block is busy scaring Clare. Though I'm starting to think he might be on to something. He kinda reminds me of Sigmund. Except he's a giant robot. And not flamboyantly gay. You getting that Sigmund v. Alex vibe off him and Clare?"
Alice said, "a bit. Total cock-waving contest — except Clare presumably doesn't have a cock to wave. Not sure 'bout Gant either. Any rate, this is why I let Sig do all the scheming. I just eat meat, drink beer, and stab people."
"Same. Well, not really. I eat tofu, drinking fruit juice, and work with dangerous chemicals. But, yeah, not my problem. I'm just curious how much more quiet we'll get."
"Yeah. Actually, Izzy, I'd rather they attacked now and got it over with. I can't stand this waiting."
"Always so eager to spill some blood, aren't you? I can wait all night myself. Ah well, we'll see how it goes."
Life was full of schemers. Alexander, Sigmund, and now these two. All dancing to the same song
.
edited 26th Feb '11 8:31:56 PM by KillerClowns
(OOC: I thought your characters didn't have ESP powers, Mr Clowns, or that they're reading this very thread on TV Tropes right now. I'm sure there's nothing in Clare's or Gant's dialogue that even remotely hints at their antagonism. They're just two cool fellows, sitting at a table in the jungle.. having light talk.. each having heavy suspicions against the other.)
edited 26th Feb '11 8:35:04 PM by QQQQQ
(OOC: Which is exactly how the aforementioned Sigmund and Alexander treat each other. Friendly smiles, polite chats, small talk over a martini or two... they go shake hands, maybe play some golf, swap stories, and plan each other's demises. I'm actually only guessing this is how power-brokers operate with each other, but similar conversations can be witnessed in Orthodox Jewish synagogues between rival rabbis, in Masonic lodges between two brothers with radically different interpretations of the basic oaths of Freemasonry, and family reunions if the family is large enough to have internal factions. I'm assuming their antagonism is implied via body language similar to the above examples. EDIT: Though I suppose I could have made that assumption clearer — I suppose this is what editors are for.)
edited 26th Feb '11 8:46:56 PM by KillerClowns
Gant looked at her, suspicion confirmed. She was going after something odd with that odd tangent. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile, exposing more even teeth, these as flat and dark as tombstones. "Indeed I have. Both as a machine and before. One does not live to be my age without a great amount of amorous encounters, false or true."
He chuckled. "You do not possess any interest in psychology, do you? That reminds me of the questions that those of certain schools enjoy asking." And some of his most faithful friends, but there was no point in mentioning that. "Or is it simple curiosity in meeting such an alien being? A desire to learn of my mind?"
With any luck, she'd think of him as arrogant, distanced, none too observant to the fact that she was seeking vulnerabilities. And then he would surprise her, preferably after disposing of her stronger opponents.
This is this.Aleister looked on at the chess match between Gant and Clare. It was cunning and brilliant, but grotesque. It reminded Aleister of past unpleasantness.
Do you like heavy metal?
He shook the bothersome voice out of his head. He was dead, Aleister knew that. But then again...
With your mind in such a state, could I ever really die Aleister?
Shut it up. Just shut it up.
Aww, don't be like that. I wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to be.
He couldn't stand it. This had to stop. Now. Aleister butted into their game of wits, hoping to break it up. "As fascinating as my metal friend is, I suggest we spend less time bouncing questions off eachother and more time fortifying our base of operations. The Heralds could be here in but a few hours, and they may have brought more God Seeds. Any kind of trap we can jury rig will be of use."
It was weak, but he knew he'd lose it if this continued. He tried to mask his racing heart and clammy hands with a stony face. Violet had better get here soon.
(OOC: Why do I always end up using that name? Then again, this character is a bit of a Deconstruction of the original, so whatever)
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial"It is a heart-to-heart, from one person to another," Clare tells. "Do not confuse me with having pretensions beneath what ought to be a pure act. Because I think you are the type of person who will appreciate what I need to say, instead of dismissing this with either small talk or looks of confusion.
"What are we on this planet, anyways? I think.. apart from the blood pumping, the muscular cells, the nervous system, and the brain, our bodies are just matter. Like this table, the pork we eat, the trees.. the air. And us — I suppose you can call ourselves magically thinking, feeling creatures.
"Then you ask, why are we above plants, also a magically thinking, feeling creature? Because we can move freely from place to place, never having to be rooted to a spot you never chose. Why are we above ants? Because, other than the fact we're bigger, we know the distinction between our individual selves and those around us. Why are we above the lizards and frogs who fuck out of reproducing instinct? Because we find the greatest pleasure in ourselves.. like an intimate adventure. Many people don't even think of having babies when they do this.
"And why are we above the dolphins, the gorillas and chimpanzees — our nearest neighbours in terms of intelligence? They have fun, they can make friends or enemies.. like we do.
"Because we can comprehend. We understand things, life, other people in such ways that we just feel about it. And because of that.. we understand.. we have to die. Maybe one minute, maybe in one year — maybe in a distant 365 years, who cares what happens so far in future? But.. it happens. The light of our souls get snuffed out, and we collapse to gravity like stones. Millions of galaxies of hundreds of millions of stars, in a speck on one in a blink. That's us, lost in space and time. Long after we disappear.. you, me, everyone.. Who notices?
"So, we just indulge ourselves until then. We fight each other, write a book, play a game.. have a chat with a friend. In moments like these. And we also can love. One heart to another. You know where I'm going at. One of the greatest feelings of all is to find another soul.. look beneath all the trappings, and you just let them know— in spite of all the good things, bad things that happen, that they are not alone. You are there for them, filling that cosmic emptiness. Such a pity though you have to run through so much talk just to feel that.
"It's just like how the woman envelops the man, when they suckle on each other's dear life. The woman's there, but who's there to hug? And the man.. he stands, but with no one to be blissfully hugged. Until these souls meet.
"And I suppose you, Gant— a soul trapped in this.. body, are vying to have that emptiness filled also? I can tell.. you had loved.. only to have lost that love? You feel what I feel. It follows your footsteps like a shadow and is the mad, subconscious pixie sparking your will. My question for you: what are you going to do about it?"
This is all Clare has to say, before zoning back into her whirling mind.
edited 26th Feb '11 9:57:07 PM by QQQQQ
For the first time in a long time, Aleister was stunned. She'd read him like an open book. He wondered how many times he'd asked himself and how many times he'd came to the same conclusion.
She's lying you know.
The whisper wasn't Aleister's voice, nor his. It was the voice of self-preservation. Oh good. He hadn't done away with it entirely after all. That settled it. He'd have to keep an eye on her.
edited 26th Feb '11 9:57:29 PM by KSPAM
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial(OOC: QQQQQ, that was beautifully written. A tear has been brought to my eye.)
"Emptiness?" This time, Gant's laugh is loud, echoing among the trees as he throws his head back. "Oh, how mistaken you are about me. Let me say what differentiates humans from ants or monkeys. Power. Some, such as you, are filled in the soul by love. I consume and am consumed by battle; every time I can test myself against a yet-stronger foe, I am assured of my own capacity for pure might. I can move just a bit faster, strike just a bit harder, solve my opponent just a bit better."
He shrugged. "Yes, love pleases. But the world cares not for pleasure, and fate demands that certain qualities be met by her champions. Those who overcome her whims, through strength, obtain more. Those who are weak have the destiny of losing what they have. And power, that universal moral negotiator, determines who makes the morals, who makes their decisions the force of law and damnation."
"For all the praise that love garners, it is specific. Limited. I have tasted the scent of love, and it is a fine thing, but it should be a footnote, a thing secondary to the perfecting of oneself, and it must be understood within fatalistic limits. If fate orders me to fight instead of loving, there can be no other choice, and I fight. Because power does for me what love can not. Demonstrates that my destiny has been cast by my own hand."
He straightens his head, looks straight at her. "I am sated with war; there is nothing that love offers me. Of course, there exists one whom I love, but we have been separated for a while; I expect to see her again in a year or two." Or a decade. It depended on how long it would take him to hammer out the oddities of his mind.
"I have found that this is what dwells inside me. Nothing more."
edited 26th Feb '11 10:15:38 PM by Morgulion
This is this.With his knives clean and ready for the next meal, Vince wiped them dry, put them back in the bag, then started to head on back. He could've sworn he saw something and heard other voices among the insects, but he pretended not to pay attention to it, whatever it may have been.
edited 26th Feb '11 10:42:18 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."He looked up.
"It's a bit of a long sto- Are you all right?"
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception."I'm fine," said Genovefa, swaying slightly where she stood. She caught a tree to maintain her balance and attempted a grin. "It's just... the heat." The heat that was causing her face to burn. That, or some bizarre alien disease which she had no immunity to; it could be that.
"So, these elfkind. Did they come through any kind of portal or anything?" she asked, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of nausea which had washed over her.
The dosage of poison in her veins, sufficient only to cause a fever in a human, was far more dangerous to a less robust elf body.
Welcome To TV Tropes | How To Write An Example | Text Formatting Rules | List Of Shows That Need Summary | TV Tropes Forum | Know The Staff(OOC: Morgulion, QQQQQ, nicely done, both of you. In particular, QQQQQ, I ask that you don't mistake Alice's contemptuous reaction for an insult to your writing.)
"Damn," Isaac said, "she's good. I'd never thought of it like that..."
Alice slapped Isaac on the back of his head and said, "what is it with you people and fucking? Why, why are you all so hellbent on making such a big, poetic deal out of what is a very simple process?" With an expression of utter disgust, she continued, "penis goes in and out," she demonstrated with a crude hand gesture, "and the rest is a... oh, let me quote you after you finally got that long-overdue divorce: 'a bunch of cultural bullshit dreamed up by peddlers of trite memorabilia.' All these metaphors, all this talk about 'embraces' and 'souls' and 'hearts'. From where I'm standing, it's all window dressing. All just fucking in the end." She made a gagging noise to punctuate her disgust with the whole business.
Isaac shook his head and said, "Alice, Alice, Alice. You don't understand what it is to love. When I said that, I wasn't thinking clearly. I was bitter, angry..."
"Get a hold of yourself, Izzy! Didn't you swear you'd stick to fuck buddies? A roll in the hay and none of that gooey lovey-dovey shit?" Seeing that Isaac was still mulling over Clare's words, she said, "OK. That's it." She grabbed his hand and dragged him away, saying, "you need to fuck a woman and get all that warm, fuzzy nonsense out of you. That Clare will turn you into a piece of clay, I have no idea where the woman in the suit got off to, and I'm pretty sure Yomiko won't put out fast enough. So we're going to see what that skinny chick is up to. It's worth a shot."
She dragged him over to Genovefa, and said, "Isaac, meet Genovefa. Genovefa, meet Isaac..." she paused, noticing how weak and pale Genovefa had gone, leaning against a tree for dear life.
Isaac's face filled with concern as he went over to Genovefa. He was, once again, regretting that he hadn't listened to his mother and become a doctor. Looking over her, he said, "uh, Genovefa? Are you feeling alright? You look a bit... off. Have you eaten recently? Do you need water? I... I'm not a doctor, and I don't think we have one around, but... but I'll do my best..."
Well, Alice thought, at least it'll keep him busy.
Genovefa responded to this series of questions by stumbling sideways and vomiting into a nearby patch of artillery ferns. Oh, gross, gross, gross. There could be no doubt about it; she had contracted some horrific alien virus. There was no way she could go back to Earth now, portal or no portal. She'd probably start some kind of pandemic. Why wasn't the voice protecting her?
Scary telepathic voice? Where are you? she thought, desperately. Do something!
No response. Only more vomit.
The thought struck her - what if this is what the voice had meant all along? The portal was closed to her, metaphorically, because she'd contracted a deadly otherworld disease and only the eerie demonic voice could cure her! Her mind was racing.
So if that were true - if she had picked up some foul extraterrestrial contagion that only an unholy evil voice in her head could cure - then she had no choice but to carry out its request. Which was... no, not cool. NECDM, bro. Not even Certain Death music could make slowly stabbing wild jungle beasts to death cool. That had been a meme on the Communications Space. An old meme, now.
Ah, Certain Death. That had been an awesome game. Genovefa had owned at that game.
She staggered backwards and sat down on some damp ferns. The smell of vomit was overwhelming. She suddenly became aware of how dry her throat felt.
"Water... would be great, thanks," she managed.
Welcome To TV Tropes | How To Write An Example | Text Formatting Rules | List Of Shows That Need Summary | TV Tropes Forum | Know The StaffWater. Yes. Water. Isaac rushed off to fetch Genovefa some water. Hadn't that chef found a supply of fresh water? Yes, that's right.
He returned shortly with a clean bucket full of water and a plate of pork — just in case. "Here," he said, offering the bucket. "Not exactly a wine glass, I know, but it'll do. Do you think you can lift it? If not, I'll help you."
"I can lift it," said Genovefa.
She couldn't. She nearly knocked the whole thing over.
She wiped her mouth, still feeling disgusted, and rather stunned by how quickly this feeling of sickness had come on. No, not sickness. This was shivering, burning, nauseating, dizzying agony.
Welcome To TV Tropes | How To Write An Example | Text Formatting Rules | List Of Shows That Need Summary | TV Tropes Forum | Know The StaffClare strides to the elfin-like girl, who is convulsing with desperate sweat gleaning the face. For once, Clare's eyes lose the cuddly subterfuge, and you see their full glamour — intense, intelligent and absent. She recognizes Jacob's modus operandi, the poisonous ink melting through the skin, coursing the veins and decomposing live tissue.
She curses Jacob for making such a rash movement; but she couldn't have done much to prevent it beforehand. She ought to rectify this once it is over with.
Even though Clare recognizes the symptoms like one does a warm, familiar face, she acts the analyzing doctor role — her fingers reach for Genovefa's chin so she can take a good look at him, and she looks the tips of his ears. Then she listens to Genovefa's breathing ragged, and soon she has devised a way.
"She is poisoned," Clare says, resuming her traveller's gait. "Do you have any antidote in stock?"
(If conventional antidote works here, then Jacob would not have become so renowned for his kiss of death. The ink stains fast.)
edited 27th Feb '11 6:32:02 PM by QQQQQ
Gant watched from a distance as the group gathered around the girl. Poison. Second to none in the assassin's arsenal, it was a weapon for cowards, weak and distant, like assassins themselves. He hoped fervently that whatever the group carried with them was more dangerous, or at least more blunt in its methods of fighting.
He approached them, watching the proceedings silently. The limits of his medical knowledge were closely tied to torture, and had no overlap at all with the realm of true medicine. He felt a tinge of sympathy for the girl, of course, but he does not allow it to distract him from his focus on planning.
Firstly, if the new woman allows the girl to die- a mark against her, subconscious but nevertheless present. And an advantage to him. More importantly, it marked that the fun would soon commence.
This is this.Isaac said, "our stock's no good. Everything we packed is meant for psychiatric troubles. Shit, if we had a sample of blaue-rouge, I might hope it's as miraculous as I've been told. But other than that, hell, I ain't seen any other sorts of medicine around."
Alice leaned in, examining Genovefa. "Poison? I'm impressed. Looks like the work of a real master. I wonder how it was transmitted. She ate the same food as the rest of us. No sign of any wounds from a poison-coated weapon. If it was inhaled or radiation-based, someone else would have gotten sick as well. Might be physical contact with a toxic substance... hold on, what's that on your shirt?" Without waiting for a response or permission, Alice grabbed a stick and raised Genovefa's shirt, revealing a sickly mass underneath, where the ink had contacted Genovefa's skin.
Alice dropped the stick, a look of awe on her face. "Skin transmission. And so quick... soaked right through cloth... oh, my, oh my. This is no ordinary poison... this is the work of a master of the subtle art."
She tapped Isaac, who knelt beside her. Then she whispered, "they're gonna kill the man who did this if they find him. I can't let that happen. We have got to get the genius responsible for that masterpiece of toxicology out of here alive."
Nervously, Isaac replied, "well, if he made the poison, he must know the antidote. Not gonna lie, Alice, this is one of those moments where you are scaring the hell out of me, but I can see how someone like this could be useful."
(OOC: If anyone feels I'm taking liberties by having Alice figure out the method of poisoning, feel free to complain and I'll alter this post appropriately. I'm thinking her logic is rational, in-world process of elimination, but I could just be justifying metagaming.)
edited 27th Feb '11 8:02:28 PM by KillerClowns

Upon this thing's lurching on the seat opposite, Clare finds herself flinching. He looks like a very out-of-proportion man, if it can be considered even a 'he.' The voice is grating on the ears, and most of all which strikes her is the impression every one of his— its moves is all on purpose. This is Gant.
"I.. imagine you've overheard our conversation," Clare brings herself to say. "In case you've missed my name, I'm Clare Demerse. Are you wearing some sort of costume?" She hesitantly shakes hands with him— he feels icy cold.
If he's not, if he is an otherworldly creature— well, c'est la vie. Life is like that
, it can never be as ideal as you imagine it. This is where adaptation plays in.
edited 26th Feb '11 6:24:26 PM by QQQQQ