05-22-2008, 04:56 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-22-2008, 05:01 AM by Android 17.)
Seventeen let out a sigh as he tried to relax up against the worn cushions of the bar’s booth seating. It hadn't taken more than an hour for the novelty of pre-show to wear off and for him to find himself in the bar. All around him, potential competitors and the media paparazzi were dancing around like overly stimulated children. Over the last hour of so, the android noticed all walks of life walk by the window next to his table. In that span of time, he’d also managed to categorize the majority of competitors into two categories—paragons and maniacs.
If you sat around for a long enough and took enough shots (like the overly enthused android), then the differences got easier to spot. The paragons were the types that wore the smiles on their face as they perused the many corridors and chambers of the pre-show facility. They were the types who were here to compete like Dante’s Abyss was some type of sport or tournament. They were the caring ones who would wind up dead for a friend or turn their back to the wrong type of person and wind up with a knife in their spine.
The maniacs were the other cliché of competitors. They were the more awkward types that either slinked around or sat in one place and scowled at everyone. They were the bloodthirsty ones…the dregs of society who felt they had some sort of score to settle. On the island, they were the vicious, calculating types with the poisons and the backstabby mindset.
“Where do you fit in?” Seventeen asked, glancing in his reflection at the bottom of the glossy shot glass. The answer was muddled at best, after all, the android had already played the paragon role and got blown up because of it, and at the end of the day, Seventeen had a hard time picturing himself being overtly malicious. After all, it clashed with the whole hero image he’d spent the last two (or was it three by now?) years building.
But then again, this was a new year, and that meant that all the avenues were open again. The only real constant that remained throughout all the years was that Seventeen wanted to win. He’d struck out two years in a row, and even for someone with his go-getter attitude, the continuous failure was starting to make him a little crispy around the edges. From the corner of the android’s eyes, he noticed a woman with a microphone and a cameraman creeping up on him.
“Bollocks,” the cyborg groaned, resting the shot glass back down on the well-polished tabletop. Sure, he loved to dance in the limelight, but the tequila had more or less given Seventeen a temporary excuse to be uncharacteristically introverted. And of all the people in the world, a news reporter was the last person he felt like having to entertain.
“Mr. Seventeen!” She said, her overly red lips curling up to reveal her polished molars as she went to shove the microphone into the face of the android.
“I’ll pass,” the cyborg groaned, pointing a finger toward the camera and blasting it apart with a well-aimed shot from his fingertip. Horrified at the equipment exploded next to his face, the pudgy cameraman ran away, leaving the Latina newscaster to pelt the android with her admonished glares.
“Not in the mood,” Seventeen muttered, dismissing the woman with a flick of his wrist. “Go find that monkey, Rad…I’m sure he dance and hop for you,” he added, sighing as he rested his cheek in his palm. Turning his attention to the hallway on the other side of the bar’s window, he squinted for a brief moment, almost believing that he could see one of his alliance members milling around down at the other end of the sprawling hallway.
Nah… The machine-hybrid mused, turning up and gently shoving passed the news reporter, who apparently had been yapping on about something the whole time. Ignoring her trivial banter, Seventeen walked up to the countertop and asked for the bottle of liquor from the rack. As he snatched the outstretched bottle from the bartender, the android twirled the cap off and quickly did a two count before making his way out of the homely, rustic establishment.
“This is going to interesting,” he said, his eyes glancing up to the large ‘Dante’s Abyss’ logo that was suspended in the center of the crosswalk. Allowing his shoulders to sag, Seventeen wandered off into the crowd to ponder the game that lie on the horizon.
This one'll be different...I won't let it be anything else...
If you sat around for a long enough and took enough shots (like the overly enthused android), then the differences got easier to spot. The paragons were the types that wore the smiles on their face as they perused the many corridors and chambers of the pre-show facility. They were the types who were here to compete like Dante’s Abyss was some type of sport or tournament. They were the caring ones who would wind up dead for a friend or turn their back to the wrong type of person and wind up with a knife in their spine.
The maniacs were the other cliché of competitors. They were the more awkward types that either slinked around or sat in one place and scowled at everyone. They were the bloodthirsty ones…the dregs of society who felt they had some sort of score to settle. On the island, they were the vicious, calculating types with the poisons and the backstabby mindset.
“Where do you fit in?” Seventeen asked, glancing in his reflection at the bottom of the glossy shot glass. The answer was muddled at best, after all, the android had already played the paragon role and got blown up because of it, and at the end of the day, Seventeen had a hard time picturing himself being overtly malicious. After all, it clashed with the whole hero image he’d spent the last two (or was it three by now?) years building.
But then again, this was a new year, and that meant that all the avenues were open again. The only real constant that remained throughout all the years was that Seventeen wanted to win. He’d struck out two years in a row, and even for someone with his go-getter attitude, the continuous failure was starting to make him a little crispy around the edges. From the corner of the android’s eyes, he noticed a woman with a microphone and a cameraman creeping up on him.
“Bollocks,” the cyborg groaned, resting the shot glass back down on the well-polished tabletop. Sure, he loved to dance in the limelight, but the tequila had more or less given Seventeen a temporary excuse to be uncharacteristically introverted. And of all the people in the world, a news reporter was the last person he felt like having to entertain.
“Mr. Seventeen!” She said, her overly red lips curling up to reveal her polished molars as she went to shove the microphone into the face of the android.
“I’ll pass,” the cyborg groaned, pointing a finger toward the camera and blasting it apart with a well-aimed shot from his fingertip. Horrified at the equipment exploded next to his face, the pudgy cameraman ran away, leaving the Latina newscaster to pelt the android with her admonished glares.
“Not in the mood,” Seventeen muttered, dismissing the woman with a flick of his wrist. “Go find that monkey, Rad…I’m sure he dance and hop for you,” he added, sighing as he rested his cheek in his palm. Turning his attention to the hallway on the other side of the bar’s window, he squinted for a brief moment, almost believing that he could see one of his alliance members milling around down at the other end of the sprawling hallway.
Nah… The machine-hybrid mused, turning up and gently shoving passed the news reporter, who apparently had been yapping on about something the whole time. Ignoring her trivial banter, Seventeen walked up to the countertop and asked for the bottle of liquor from the rack. As he snatched the outstretched bottle from the bartender, the android twirled the cap off and quickly did a two count before making his way out of the homely, rustic establishment.
“This is going to interesting,” he said, his eyes glancing up to the large ‘Dante’s Abyss’ logo that was suspended in the center of the crosswalk. Allowing his shoulders to sag, Seventeen wandered off into the crowd to ponder the game that lie on the horizon.
This one'll be different...I won't let it be anything else...
![[Image: A17June08.jpg]](http://frozendust.com/sig/A17/A17June08.jpg)