03-22-2010, 09:33 AM
Beep, beep, beep.
“Warning, incoming game. Warning, incoming game,” the pager announced.
Ander sighed, though still kept the smile on his face. “Saved by the bell.”
They both looked at their devices, checking the titles of their respective games.
“Space Battles,” Ander announced.
“Rusted Steel?” Ashe said. “Is that like, Twisted Metal? With the weapons and the insane clown in the ice cream truck? What was his name, like… Sweet Tooth? This should be interesting.”
The thief glanced up as the portals opened. Well, at least he wasn’t being randomly sucked in anymore. He flashed Ashe a confident look and a toothy grin. “Looks like we’re splitting up. Have fun with your, uh, rusty steel.” For good measure, he threw in a final parting comment and a wink. “Catch ya later, cutie.”
Before she could respond, he stepped into his portal in an attempt at a dramatic and suave exit. At least this time, it kind of worked, since if anything embarrassing happened to him on the other side, she couldn’t see it.
Damn, why am I failing so badly at this? I’m not hideous or anything, and I’m pretty sure I said all the right lines.
He emerged into some kind of strange, futuristic locker room that had certainly seen better days. Ander placed both hands on his hips, studying the room, still not quite fully immersed in his environment as his mind lingered on his recent letdown… strike two.
Although he had one more strike left, Ander contemplated the actual value of swinging at the next pitch versus simply stepping away from the plate. After all, he didn’t really even know her, and she represented no other foreseeable goal except as a potential source of information. He could also overlook the additional benefit of having some actual company, despite his slight underrating of the concept. The thief’s train of thought drifted helplessly into wonder, however, if his failure stemmed from bad timing, or a faulty approach. Tentatively, he allowed himself to perform a couple of discreet gestures as inconspicuously as possible to check the status of breath freshness and deodorant functionality. Both passed their respective yet fleeting tests, at least to him anyway. Ander mulled his options over in his head, deciding at almost random, as if his brain represented a shaken magic eight ball, and the answer that floated to the top was: “try again later.”
That was when he noticed that his clothes were no longer his clothes. He twisted and turned his neck to study the strange outfit that had made its way onto his body. He spotted a mirror out of the corner of his eye, and stepped in front of it. A long-sleeved, deep V-cut white shirt with a popped collar hung loosely about his torso, covered in a roguish black vest. He wore dark blue (almost black) jeans and black, already broken in boots. What caught his attention the most, however, was a leather belt that looked a bit like a pilot’s safety buckle hitched along his waist, and more specifically, the pistol holster on his right hip. The thief pulled the weapon free, and spun it experimentally along his index finger, feeling and judging its weight.
“Hello, how are you today?” Ander chuckled at it, before slinging the firearm back into its rightful holster after the fashion of a dueling cowboy. He quirked a brow at the other object hooked up to his belt, which looked like some kind of thin, sci-fi canister. He pressed the button, and in a sharp hum of electric energy, a blue beam shot out, the shaft standing steadily atop the handle. “Whoa!” the nomad cried out in surprise. He swung it around testily, surprised when it cleaved right through one of the lockers. “Ahh, a laser sword, huh? Very cool.” Ander tucked it safely away, stopping to take one last look at himself in the mirror. He cut a pretty impressive figure, if he didn’t say so himself.
Man, I look so cool! he gushed giddily, like a twelve-year-old assuming the role of his favorite hero, although he had no idea to whom the clothes actually belonged. Oh well. Finders, keepers, as they say.
Without further ado, the thief jaunted out of the locker room, and wandered into a very large hangar filled with X-shaped aircrafts. Dozens of men and women in orange jumpsuits with silver and red trimmed helmets hopped into the aerial vehicles. He grabbed a passing pilot by the arm.
“Hey buddy, what’s going on here?” Ander asked in a friendly tone.
“We’re going to blow up the Kill Cluster and free the galaxy from the clutches of the Republic Conglomerate!”
“Oh,” Ander replied, as if it were obvious. “And why are we doing that?”
“Because we’re the Insurgent Coalition, man! Now get into your X-Wing and let’s go!” With that, he darted off.
The thief rooted to the spot, contemplating his position carefully. On the one hand, he had the opportunity to pilot an awesome-looking space ship and go blow something up. On the other, he really had no reason to go blow it up, and there was a chance that something would come along and try to blow him up. Then again, he had resolved to just cut loose and have fun, so he supposed to he could play his part for now. He had no idea if this ‘Insurgent Coalition’ was the good guys or the bad guys, but it didn’t really matter what side anybody picked. Their roles were decided for them, so why worry whether you were right or wrong?
Ander scrutinized the remaining X-Wing crafts, which he rightfully suspected were fighter jets. Then his eyes feasted upon a ridiculously large, gray star cruiser, circular in nature with two prongs in the front, a pilot’s bridge on the right side, and a satellite dish mounted on top. The thief’s blue eyes widened and he pointed at it.
“I want that one,” he said to no one in particular. Somebody noticed and approached him anyway.
“The Century Hawk? No way, that almost got captured by the Conglomerate. We can’t risk losing it again! You have to pilot an X-Wing just like everybody else, hotshot. And don’t leave that stupid Wookie behind!”
‘Wookie?’ Ander mouthed uncertainly as the pilot sped off, but the one thing he did understand was that they weren’t going to let him pilot that shiny big ship. LAME.
He folded his arms over his chest, and went back to trying to figure out which of the sparse remaining X-Wings didn’t look like it would get blown up. He supposed he probably needed to seek out the other players in his event, because if the production of The Wizard of Oz turned out to be any indication, they’d be just as confused as he was. Besides, he needed to know if they were going to be any threat to him. That’s when he heard a voice nearby.
“I… don’t know, I just did. Could you… If you help me, maybe we can decipher what a Kill Cluster is and how we’re supposed to destroy it.”
And the heavens opened up and a chorus of angels sang in answer to his prayers. It was the sound of opportunity falling into his lap. ‘Help me?’ A female voice? Too easy! Ander put on his best smile and turned to face the direction of the voice. A slim, contour-clad female pilot implored a mechanic to assist in the removal of her obviously uncomfortable helmet. The mechanic wasn’t really taking the hint, and Ander quickly slid in to insert himself into the situation like the good little manipulator he was.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Ander said.
“Thanks,” she obliged.
He placed his hands on the helmet, and wiggled it loose until he gently tugged it off, and a cascade of pink hair tumbled out, frizzed and matted from the headgear’s treatment. She smoothed it out so it settled comfortably along her shoulders.
Pink hair. Somebody’s making fun of me… Ander thought.
“Y’all right?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m fine. I just don’t like helmets,” she replied.
He tucked the helmet under one hand and followed the proper protocol for social introductions, sticking his hand out. “I’m Ander, fellow Kill Town participant. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
Without hesitation, she took it firmly, surprising him with the strength of her grip as she shook. “Victoria. Guess we’re going to be stuck together in this one.”
“Looks like it,” Ander shrugged, withdrawing his hand. “You probably don’t know what’s going on either.”
“We have to blow the shit out of something called a “Kill Cluster” apparently,” Victoria answered.
“So I’ve heard. But I’m sure this fine upstanding citizen here can show us the ropes, huh?” the thief grinned, jerking his head towards the momentarily forgotten mechanic. He handed the mechanic the helmet. “Here you go, buddy.” Then he gestured with a grand sweep of his arm towards the X-Wings. “Ladies first.”
“Warning, incoming game. Warning, incoming game,” the pager announced.
Ander sighed, though still kept the smile on his face. “Saved by the bell.”
They both looked at their devices, checking the titles of their respective games.
“Space Battles,” Ander announced.
“Rusted Steel?” Ashe said. “Is that like, Twisted Metal? With the weapons and the insane clown in the ice cream truck? What was his name, like… Sweet Tooth? This should be interesting.”
The thief glanced up as the portals opened. Well, at least he wasn’t being randomly sucked in anymore. He flashed Ashe a confident look and a toothy grin. “Looks like we’re splitting up. Have fun with your, uh, rusty steel.” For good measure, he threw in a final parting comment and a wink. “Catch ya later, cutie.”
Before she could respond, he stepped into his portal in an attempt at a dramatic and suave exit. At least this time, it kind of worked, since if anything embarrassing happened to him on the other side, she couldn’t see it.
Damn, why am I failing so badly at this? I’m not hideous or anything, and I’m pretty sure I said all the right lines.
He emerged into some kind of strange, futuristic locker room that had certainly seen better days. Ander placed both hands on his hips, studying the room, still not quite fully immersed in his environment as his mind lingered on his recent letdown… strike two.
Although he had one more strike left, Ander contemplated the actual value of swinging at the next pitch versus simply stepping away from the plate. After all, he didn’t really even know her, and she represented no other foreseeable goal except as a potential source of information. He could also overlook the additional benefit of having some actual company, despite his slight underrating of the concept. The thief’s train of thought drifted helplessly into wonder, however, if his failure stemmed from bad timing, or a faulty approach. Tentatively, he allowed himself to perform a couple of discreet gestures as inconspicuously as possible to check the status of breath freshness and deodorant functionality. Both passed their respective yet fleeting tests, at least to him anyway. Ander mulled his options over in his head, deciding at almost random, as if his brain represented a shaken magic eight ball, and the answer that floated to the top was: “try again later.”
That was when he noticed that his clothes were no longer his clothes. He twisted and turned his neck to study the strange outfit that had made its way onto his body. He spotted a mirror out of the corner of his eye, and stepped in front of it. A long-sleeved, deep V-cut white shirt with a popped collar hung loosely about his torso, covered in a roguish black vest. He wore dark blue (almost black) jeans and black, already broken in boots. What caught his attention the most, however, was a leather belt that looked a bit like a pilot’s safety buckle hitched along his waist, and more specifically, the pistol holster on his right hip. The thief pulled the weapon free, and spun it experimentally along his index finger, feeling and judging its weight.
“Hello, how are you today?” Ander chuckled at it, before slinging the firearm back into its rightful holster after the fashion of a dueling cowboy. He quirked a brow at the other object hooked up to his belt, which looked like some kind of thin, sci-fi canister. He pressed the button, and in a sharp hum of electric energy, a blue beam shot out, the shaft standing steadily atop the handle. “Whoa!” the nomad cried out in surprise. He swung it around testily, surprised when it cleaved right through one of the lockers. “Ahh, a laser sword, huh? Very cool.” Ander tucked it safely away, stopping to take one last look at himself in the mirror. He cut a pretty impressive figure, if he didn’t say so himself.
Man, I look so cool! he gushed giddily, like a twelve-year-old assuming the role of his favorite hero, although he had no idea to whom the clothes actually belonged. Oh well. Finders, keepers, as they say.
Without further ado, the thief jaunted out of the locker room, and wandered into a very large hangar filled with X-shaped aircrafts. Dozens of men and women in orange jumpsuits with silver and red trimmed helmets hopped into the aerial vehicles. He grabbed a passing pilot by the arm.
“Hey buddy, what’s going on here?” Ander asked in a friendly tone.
“We’re going to blow up the Kill Cluster and free the galaxy from the clutches of the Republic Conglomerate!”
“Oh,” Ander replied, as if it were obvious. “And why are we doing that?”
“Because we’re the Insurgent Coalition, man! Now get into your X-Wing and let’s go!” With that, he darted off.
The thief rooted to the spot, contemplating his position carefully. On the one hand, he had the opportunity to pilot an awesome-looking space ship and go blow something up. On the other, he really had no reason to go blow it up, and there was a chance that something would come along and try to blow him up. Then again, he had resolved to just cut loose and have fun, so he supposed to he could play his part for now. He had no idea if this ‘Insurgent Coalition’ was the good guys or the bad guys, but it didn’t really matter what side anybody picked. Their roles were decided for them, so why worry whether you were right or wrong?
Ander scrutinized the remaining X-Wing crafts, which he rightfully suspected were fighter jets. Then his eyes feasted upon a ridiculously large, gray star cruiser, circular in nature with two prongs in the front, a pilot’s bridge on the right side, and a satellite dish mounted on top. The thief’s blue eyes widened and he pointed at it.
“I want that one,” he said to no one in particular. Somebody noticed and approached him anyway.
“The Century Hawk? No way, that almost got captured by the Conglomerate. We can’t risk losing it again! You have to pilot an X-Wing just like everybody else, hotshot. And don’t leave that stupid Wookie behind!”
‘Wookie?’ Ander mouthed uncertainly as the pilot sped off, but the one thing he did understand was that they weren’t going to let him pilot that shiny big ship. LAME.
He folded his arms over his chest, and went back to trying to figure out which of the sparse remaining X-Wings didn’t look like it would get blown up. He supposed he probably needed to seek out the other players in his event, because if the production of The Wizard of Oz turned out to be any indication, they’d be just as confused as he was. Besides, he needed to know if they were going to be any threat to him. That’s when he heard a voice nearby.
“I… don’t know, I just did. Could you… If you help me, maybe we can decipher what a Kill Cluster is and how we’re supposed to destroy it.”
And the heavens opened up and a chorus of angels sang in answer to his prayers. It was the sound of opportunity falling into his lap. ‘Help me?’ A female voice? Too easy! Ander put on his best smile and turned to face the direction of the voice. A slim, contour-clad female pilot implored a mechanic to assist in the removal of her obviously uncomfortable helmet. The mechanic wasn’t really taking the hint, and Ander quickly slid in to insert himself into the situation like the good little manipulator he was.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Ander said.
“Thanks,” she obliged.
He placed his hands on the helmet, and wiggled it loose until he gently tugged it off, and a cascade of pink hair tumbled out, frizzed and matted from the headgear’s treatment. She smoothed it out so it settled comfortably along her shoulders.
Pink hair. Somebody’s making fun of me… Ander thought.
“Y’all right?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m fine. I just don’t like helmets,” she replied.
He tucked the helmet under one hand and followed the proper protocol for social introductions, sticking his hand out. “I’m Ander, fellow Kill Town participant. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
Without hesitation, she took it firmly, surprising him with the strength of her grip as she shook. “Victoria. Guess we’re going to be stuck together in this one.”
“Looks like it,” Ander shrugged, withdrawing his hand. “You probably don’t know what’s going on either.”
“We have to blow the shit out of something called a “Kill Cluster” apparently,” Victoria answered.
“So I’ve heard. But I’m sure this fine upstanding citizen here can show us the ropes, huh?” the thief grinned, jerking his head towards the momentarily forgotten mechanic. He handed the mechanic the helmet. “Here you go, buddy.” Then he gestured with a grand sweep of his arm towards the X-Wings. “Ladies first.”
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
_=So wake me when it's through
I don't want to feel the things that you do
Don't worry, I'll be fine
I just don't want this dream, wake me up inside=_
I don't want to feel the things that you do
Don't worry, I'll be fine
I just don't want this dream, wake me up inside=_