This Clay Earth: Prospectors' Savior - Page 2

Funka Genocide · 03-03-2005, 10:52 PM

The bald man checked his wrist watch instinctually. "Twelve o' clock" he said, a growing undertone of apprehension in his voice.

"Thank ya kindly" said the cowboy, his eyes drifting off towards something undefined in the distance. A smile tugged at the corners of his knife-slit mouth, it wasn't very attractive. "Did ya ever hear stories about the old days? I mean the really old days, back when everyone had a pistol on their hip. Twelve o' clock was always a special time in the movies, high noon they used ta call it. Two young punks would git to quarrelin, and 'fore ya know it one of dem's got his hands reaching for a pistol, then they both agree ta settle it out in the streets... at high noon the next day. Did ya evah wander what that'd be like? Sleeping through the whole night knowing ya might be dead tomorrah." he chuckled quietly to himself, then continued, "When ya think about it though, couldn't ya say the same thing everyday regardless?" He laughed a bit more at this comment, seemingly amused at his own voice.

Abruptly, he stopped laughing. His eyes focused on the here and now, and he peered down an alley way some distance from the newstand. An oddly clothed man was leaned against a stone wall, he seemed to be watching the cowboy intently, seemed to be watching everything intently, as if he were expecting something.

Greg got a familiar feeling, the kind of sensation you get in a bar when you know someone's about to get punched, but you can't tell wether its going to be you or not.

The cowboys smile widened "So, ya showed up did ya?" his voice had a gravel to it now that it didn't possess earlier, an edge that was unmistakeably menacing.

.................................................. ..........

Just another day, another few thousand dollars earned and spent, a few more minutes of luxury. He wondered if the comfort were worth the price, the fact that he really couldn't complain. He couldn't gripe, couldn't lament, couldn't feel...

A pain somewhere near the base of his skull, brief but stinging. He stopped the Ferrari in the middle of the parking lot exit lane. The sensation wasn't new, but it was always a shock when it hit.

When was the last time anyway?

Black Jack against a Seraph, he remembered ruefully. Man had that holy bastard played a mean game.

.................................................. ..................................

The syrup-pancake mixture was fast depleting, the bottom of the plate was in view. He thought of a few poignant metaphors concerning pancakes and the duality of man, shook his head and wondered what the hell college was teaching him.

Then the room went gray, the kind of grey you'd see in an old western movie, shades of black over white. He looked up, and found his gaze moving towards the waiting staff. They were all grey, they seemed to fit the milieu quite nicely actually, His gaze went to the street, where a few dozen colorless tourists ambled by, oblivious to their lack of vibrancy. Finally he looked across the room to the one other customer, and saw a young man in full technicolor loudness. He looked at his own hands and found them to be flesh colored.

The other man looked up with a start, and stared directly at his colorful companion, seeing the same vision in his own mind.

"Well this can't be good." they said in unison, while outside a tumbleweed rolled past.

.................................................. ...............................

He stood eating his food in the midday sun, it wasn't half bad for a street vendor.

He looked across the street once more, at the bald man in a coat, he could see a look of trepidation in his eyes. The man in the cowboy hat had apparently just told a bad joke, as he was laughing to himself.

Then he stopped, and like one of those stupid where's Waldo books, he could see another man whop must have been standing there all along, an oddly dressed man leaning against a stone wall. He looked like some kind of video game character...

.................................................. ................

She kept walking until she fel she should stop. there was something right about stopping at this particular moment, something necessary. She glanced once more at the keys in her hand, saw the monogrammed "Chevrolet" emblom, felt the weight of them, not only in ounces, but in years. These were old, she decided.

An old Chevrolet, blue with an irredescent turquoise bird emblazoned on the hood flew by.

Was that Elvis driving it?

Darth SS · 03-03-2005, 11:05 PM

Greg looked to the left. Then to the right.

Instinct told him to get the hell out of the way. Carefully, he stepped out of the line of fire. Greg had always known when the shit was hitting the fan. That sense was pinging loud enough to give him a headache.

Cloud Strife · 03-04-2005, 02:32 PM

Nick was rubbing the back of his neck, partially irritated by the pain, and partially irritated by the memory of that damn angel. He'd lost a lot of money that night. Stupid thing...

Nick was about to head off again, when he noticed a very overdressed man staring down another guy, dressed up like a cowboy. Something told Nick to stay and watch, so he shifted to reverse and pulled into the nearest parking spot. He got out and set the alarm, a grin on his face. Whatever was going down, this'd be fun to watch, he was sure.

Dante · 03-05-2005, 11:49 AM

OOC: Sorry for the late and unimaginative post - I didn't notice FG was addressing me until it was past 12 midnight my time.

"So, ya showed up did ya?"

Vergil's face was as stony as the wall he leaned on, but his mind recoiled. Very few could have noticed him if he didn't want to be found. He took pride in that, the fact that he left no trail even when his clients had left their earthly domiciles for him to take care of.

The feeling was comparable to having the curtain to the changing room you're currently using ripped away, exposing you to the hungry eyes of thousands of cameras.

To his credit, Vergil showed little discomfiture as he pushed off the wall, leather-booted feet gliding across the battered pavement, to face the two men.

"I did. And what have I shown up for?"

He rocked back on his heels, looking the man up and down. His eyes narrowed.

He didn't like this.

Bob The Mercenary · 03-05-2005, 06:31 PM

OOC: Assuming this is all going down outside the Denny's.

IC: Assuming the grayness of the scene in front of him was the result of some weird coincidence involving the sun going behind a cloud and his eyes adjusting, he returned to his food.

Zack couldn't quite finish the meal. The excessive sugar content made his stomach sour. The waitress had already left the check under the hot chocolate mug and he could just make out the chocolate-stained $6.25 scrawled on the backside. After digging out his wallet again, paying the fee, and leaving a modest tip, he got up and went for the door. He opened it to face three men, all wearing serious faces.

He was always bad at introductions, especially to people he didn't know or wanted to know. Wanting to pretend like he saw nothing, his eyes went to the ground and stayed there. Not knowing where to go or what to do to get out of his predicament, he put his back to the Denny's wall and watched.

The world was still grey.

Funka Genocide · 03-06-2005, 12:42 AM

another one of those damned tumbleweeds rolled by, the scene was getting cliched already.

Suddenly, the cowboy began speaking in another voice entirely, the southern accent gone, replaced by an oddly european, probably english accent. "Please allow me a few moments to get int character before we answer anything pertinent." he said cordially. As he spoke he removed his hat. The removal of the hat seemed to promote a transformation, his clothing, his face, everything about him seemed to change in an instant.

He dusted his hat off brusquely, it changed color from dingy brown to stark black in an eye blink. He replaced the newly shaded hat atop his head and snapped his fingers. The sound was like a gunshot.

The kid leaned against the wall jumped involuntarily.

"You'll have to excuse my dramtic predelections, I can be a bit over the top every now and then" he said light heartedly to Zack. He looked like one of those old villains in a spaggetti western, the whole damn world looked like a bad western. Only the main players in color.

"Now, as to why you're here my dour friend, well, that depends entirely on the next few seconds" and with that he drew his revolver and fired a shot towards Vergil with such speed, the gunshot was heard before anyone knew what was happening.

Cloud Strife · 03-06-2005, 03:50 AM

Nick's smile quickly disappeared as he headed for cover behind a car parked on the side of the road. That's when he noticed the rest of the world was grey. "What the hell? What's goin' on here?" He cautiously looked around the corner of the car, at the two 'fighters', standing out clear as day, colored against a grey background. He didn't really notice the other few that were colored as well. All he really knew was one thing: this wasn't fun anymore.

Dante · 03-06-2005, 06:33 AM

Life fell into a series of stop-motion stills, like a slide show of sorts - gun going up, a hammer falling, the fireball blossoming, the bullet emerging, Vergil's hand rising, the air warping, his hand descending, sound of steel drawing, feel of space rippling, a point at the gunman's throat.

The fired round hit the wall, embedding itself with a spray of atomized masonry. A careful observer would have noted that Vergil seemed to have traversed the space between the other man without passing through it.

A really careful observer would have drawn a straight line between the point of impact and the gun's barrel, and realized that it deviated from the path that it would have followed had all other things been normal.

Of course, between a teleporting man dressed all in blue drawing a blade on another who could apparently change his voice and form at will... very little was normal.

Which was par for the course.

The tip of Vergil's katana kissed the man's throat. His arm was bent, applying pressure in a way that suggested that straightening could occur at any moment. Vergil narrowed his eyes.

"While killing those who do not meet your criteria is effective... leaving traces behind is never professional."

It had been a simple matter to sense the deformity the bullet made on the fabric of space, and only slightly harder to deform spacetime, and thus alter its course midflight so it missed him by a hair's breadth. He could have twisted space into taffy, or dislocated the bullet to to the base of his opponent's spine while still allowing it to maintain its velocity... but not trying to kill him with his own attack was simply a little courtesy.

And sometimes, a little went a long way.

VA_Ninja · 03-06-2005, 10:19 AM

What the hell is going on!?

Daniel sat with his back against the cart, quickly trying to make sense of the situation. Not much of it did. He noticed for the first time that world had become an ugly gray, save for maybe a half-dozen people or so. That strange man had become someone entirely different in a matter of seconds, and his rapid shot should have killed that other man in blue. The transformations, the teleportation, clothing, coincidences, revolvers and swords.

This whole thing seemed like a video game developers acid trip. Yet he couldn't help but feel that the more things changed, the more familiar it became...

Darth SS · 03-06-2005, 12:30 PM

Greg didn't jump or anything. He just looked at the new stand-off.

"I would not have predicted that."

03-04-2005, 02:32 PM	#13
Cloud Strife Stranger in a strange land. Join Date: Aug 2004 Location: Walla Walla, WA. Posts: 2,846	Nick was rubbing the back of his neck, partially irritated by the pain, and partially irritated by the memory of that damn angel. He'd lost a lot of money that night. Stupid thing... Nick was about to head off again, when he noticed a very overdressed man staring down another guy, dressed up like a cowboy. Something told Nick to stay and watch, so he shifted to reverse and pulled into the nearest parking spot. He got out and set the alarm, a grin on his face. Whatever was going down, this'd be fun to watch, he was sure. __________________ You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.

03-05-2005, 06:31 PM	#15
Bob The Mercenary Bob Dole Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Bob Dole Posts: 5,606	OOC: Assuming this is all going down outside the Denny's. IC: Assuming the grayness of the scene in front of him was the result of some weird coincidence involving the sun going behind a cloud and his eyes adjusting, he returned to his food. Zack couldn't quite finish the meal. The excessive sugar content made his stomach sour. The waitress had already left the check under the hot chocolate mug and he could just make out the chocolate-stained $6.25 scrawled on the backside. After digging out his wallet again, paying the fee, and leaving a modest tip, he got up and went for the door. He opened it to face three men, all wearing serious faces. He was always bad at introductions, especially to people he didn't know or wanted to know. Wanting to pretend like he saw nothing, his eyes went to the ground and stayed there. Not knowing where to go or what to do to get out of his predicament, he put his back to the Denny's wall and watched. The world was still grey. __________________ Bob Dole Last edited by Bob The Mercenary; 03-05-2005 at 06:34 PM.

03-06-2005, 03:50 AM	#17
Cloud Strife Stranger in a strange land. Join Date: Aug 2004 Location: Walla Walla, WA. Posts: 2,846	Nick's smile quickly disappeared as he headed for cover behind a car parked on the side of the road. That's when he noticed the rest of the world was grey. "What the hell? What's goin' on here?" He cautiously looked around the corner of the car, at the two 'fighters', standing out clear as day, colored against a grey background. He didn't really notice the other few that were colored as well. All he really knew was one thing: this wasn't fun anymore. __________________ You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.

03-06-2005, 06:33 AM	#18
Dante Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Crushing the weak beneath the iron jackboots of tyranny Posts: 7,703	Life fell into a series of stop-motion stills, like a slide show of sorts - gun going up, a hammer falling, the fireball blossoming, the bullet emerging, Vergil's hand rising, the air warping, his hand descending, sound of steel drawing, feel of space rippling, a point at the gunman's throat. The fired round hit the wall, embedding itself with a spray of atomized masonry. A careful observer would have noted that Vergil seemed to have traversed the space between the other man without passing through it. A really careful observer would have drawn a straight line between the point of impact and the gun's barrel, and realized that it deviated from the path that it would have followed had all other things been normal. Of course, between a teleporting man dressed all in blue drawing a blade on another who could apparently change his voice and form at will... very little was normal. Which was par for the course. The tip of Vergil's katana kissed the man's throat. His arm was bent, applying pressure in a way that suggested that straightening could occur at any moment. Vergil narrowed his eyes. "While killing those who do not meet your criteria is effective... leaving traces behind is never professional." It had been a simple matter to sense the deformity the bullet made on the fabric of space, and only slightly harder to deform spacetime, and thus alter its course midflight so it missed him by a hair's breadth. He could have twisted space into taffy, or dislocated the bullet to to the base of his opponent's spine while still allowing it to maintain its velocity... but not trying to kill him with his own attack was simply a little courtesy. And sometimes, a little went a long way. Last edited by Dante; 03-06-2005 at 07:08 AM.

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03-03-2005, 10:52 PM	#11
Funka Genocide Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Apr 2004 Location: Las Vegas Posts: 4,566	The bald man checked his wrist watch instinctually. "Twelve o' clock" he said, a growing undertone of apprehension in his voice. "Thank ya kindly" said the cowboy, his eyes drifting off towards something undefined in the distance. A smile tugged at the corners of his knife-slit mouth, it wasn't very attractive. "Did ya ever hear stories about the old days? I mean the really old days, back when everyone had a pistol on their hip. Twelve o' clock was always a special time in the movies, high noon they used ta call it. Two young punks would git to quarrelin, and 'fore ya know it one of dem's got his hands reaching for a pistol, then they both agree ta settle it out in the streets... at high noon the next day. Did ya evah wander what that'd be like? Sleeping through the whole night knowing ya might be dead tomorrah." he chuckled quietly to himself, then continued, "When ya think about it though, couldn't ya say the same thing everyday regardless?" He laughed a bit more at this comment, seemingly amused at his own voice. Abruptly, he stopped laughing. His eyes focused on the here and now, and he peered down an alley way some distance from the newstand. An oddly clothed man was leaned against a stone wall, he seemed to be watching the cowboy intently, seemed to be watching everything intently, as if he were expecting something. Greg got a familiar feeling, the kind of sensation you get in a bar when you know someone's about to get punched, but you can't tell wether its going to be you or not. The cowboys smile widened "So, ya showed up did ya?" his voice had a gravel to it now that it didn't possess earlier, an edge that was unmistakeably menacing. .................................................. .......... Just another day, another few thousand dollars earned and spent, a few more minutes of luxury. He wondered if the comfort were worth the price, the fact that he really couldn't complain. He couldn't gripe, couldn't lament, couldn't feel... A pain somewhere near the base of his skull, brief but stinging. He stopped the Ferrari in the middle of the parking lot exit lane. The sensation wasn't new, but it was always a shock when it hit. When was the last time anyway? Black Jack against a Seraph, he remembered ruefully. Man had that holy bastard played a mean game. .................................................. .................................. The syrup-pancake mixture was fast depleting, the bottom of the plate was in view. He thought of a few poignant metaphors concerning pancakes and the duality of man, shook his head and wondered what the hell college was teaching him. Then the room went gray, the kind of grey you'd see in an old western movie, shades of black over white. He looked up, and found his gaze moving towards the waiting staff. They were all grey, they seemed to fit the milieu quite nicely actually, His gaze went to the street, where a few dozen colorless tourists ambled by, oblivious to their lack of vibrancy. Finally he looked across the room to the one other customer, and saw a young man in full technicolor loudness. He looked at his own hands and found them to be flesh colored. The other man looked up with a start, and stared directly at his colorful companion, seeing the same vision in his own mind. "Well this can't be good." they said in unison, while outside a tumbleweed rolled past. .................................................. ............................... He stood eating his food in the midday sun, it wasn't half bad for a street vendor. He looked across the street once more, at the bald man in a coat, he could see a look of trepidation in his eyes. The man in the cowboy hat had apparently just told a bad joke, as he was laughing to himself. Then he stopped, and like one of those stupid where's Waldo books, he could see another man whop must have been standing there all along, an oddly dressed man leaning against a stone wall. He looked like some kind of video game character... .................................................. ................ She kept walking until she fel she should stop. there was something right about stopping at this particular moment, something necessary. She glanced once more at the keys in her hand, saw the monogrammed "Chevrolet" emblom, felt the weight of them, not only in ounces, but in years. These were old, she decided. An old Chevrolet, blue with an irredescent turquoise bird emblazoned on the hood flew by. Was that Elvis driving it?

03-05-2005, 11:49 AM	#14
Dante Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Crushing the weak beneath the iron jackboots of tyranny Posts: 7,703	OOC: Sorry for the late and unimaginative post - I didn't notice FG was addressing me until it was past 12 midnight my time. "So, ya showed up did ya?" Vergil's face was as stony as the wall he leaned on, but his mind recoiled. Very few could have noticed him if he didn't want to be found. He took pride in that, the fact that he left no trail even when his clients had left their earthly domiciles for him to take care of. The feeling was comparable to having the curtain to the changing room you're currently using ripped away, exposing you to the hungry eyes of thousands of cameras. To his credit, Vergil showed little discomfiture as he pushed off the wall, leather-booted feet gliding across the battered pavement, to face the two men. "I did. And what have I shown up for?" He rocked back on his heels, looking the man up and down. His eyes narrowed. He didn't like this.

03-06-2005, 12:42 AM	#16
Funka Genocide Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Apr 2004 Location: Las Vegas Posts: 4,566	another one of those damned tumbleweeds rolled by, the scene was getting cliched already. Suddenly, the cowboy began speaking in another voice entirely, the southern accent gone, replaced by an oddly european, probably english accent. "Please allow me a few moments to get int character before we answer anything pertinent." he said cordially. As he spoke he removed his hat. The removal of the hat seemed to promote a transformation, his clothing, his face, everything about him seemed to change in an instant. He dusted his hat off brusquely, it changed color from dingy brown to stark black in an eye blink. He replaced the newly shaded hat atop his head and snapped his fingers. The sound was like a gunshot. The kid leaned against the wall jumped involuntarily. "You'll have to excuse my dramtic predelections, I can be a bit over the top every now and then" he said light heartedly to Zack. He looked like one of those old villains in a spaggetti western, the whole damn world looked like a bad western. Only the main players in color. "Now, as to why you're here my dour friend, well, that depends entirely on the next few seconds" and with that he drew his revolver and fired a shot towards Vergil with such speed, the gunshot was heard before anyone knew what was happening.

03-06-2005, 10:19 AM	#19
VA_Ninja :3 Join Date: Oct 2004 Posts: 395	What the hell is going on!? Daniel sat with his back against the cart, quickly trying to make sense of the situation. Not much of it did. He noticed for the first time that world had become an ugly gray, save for maybe a half-dozen people or so. That strange man had become someone entirely different in a matter of seconds, and his rapid shot should have killed that other man in blue. The transformations, the teleportation, clothing, coincidences, revolvers and swords. This whole thing seemed like a video game developers acid trip. Yet he couldn't help but feel that the more things changed, the more familiar it became...