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 Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 8:06 pm
Maybe it would be the easiest to just call him a god, but Harland wasn't sure if that's what he was. All he knew was that the mad creature had turned everyone they knew into pieces in a chess game, and turned the entire island into basically a huge chess board.
Harland was the King of the white pieces, and as far as he could tell, there was only one black piece remaining.
It looked a lot like Alistaire.
Harland had no control over his movement across the grid: he would find his legs moving, marching him forward. His only responsibility was to cut down everything in his path. It was harder than it seemed, with a gauntlet whose range was negated by the way this game was played.
And all the while he swore he could hear the mad god laughing.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 8:21 pm
The White King looked an awful lot like Harland.
Alistaire supposed it was a strange twist of fate that had brought him here as well, but it still felt strange and unsettling to know that the person he was facing off against was someone he knew, someone he strangely trusted.
(Not that he'd ever admit it.)
He wished he was more aware of whomever was in control of his movements this time, more aware of why he was moving in the direction he was; but all he got was some laughter and an order to move three spaces to the right.
Alistaire did so very grudgingly.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 8:31 pm
"Alistaire?" Harland asked, confirming that his horror was true. Harland's movement mirrored Alistaire's. Three spaces to the left. Whoever was controlling them like puppets without strings was a terrible creature, of this Harland was sure.
He didn't want to fight Alistaire.
He hoped it wasn't Alistaire. "Please don't be,"he said, quietly. His weapon was summoned, and dripping with blood. He had literally punched the queen to death, and it had looked so much like someone that he suspected Ian loved. It hadn't made him feel any better; if anything, it had made him more miserable.
As if he was doing this on purpose, selecting his targets. Killing people he had a reason to kill.
Of course you do! You want them all dead, you just needed my help to see that, the voice said, nasal and high pitched to Harland.
He wasn't sure what Alistaire would hear, or see. Maybe not even the same guy, as if the god could take on whatever form and voice it wanted.
Because what Harland saw was a face and body split evenly in two, like Cruella only half Auberon and half this scrawny guy with black hair, a hoodie and jeans.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 8:48 pm
He winced, involuntarily.
"Mr. Belle."
Even after all this time, he had a difficult time saying just a singular name. Everyone was either Mr. or Miss; or, if they were...different, they were their entire names all at once - Harland Leander Belle, sometimes, when Alistaire was feeling particularly moody.
Alistaire's weapon wasn't quite as violently labelled as Harland's was, but it was a sword nonetheless; a shining silver thing with a black hilt that Alistaire gripped tightly in gloved hands.
The voice in his earpiece kept blabbering on about duty and honor and protecting your kingship, but Alistaire wasn't really listening anymore. His own voice was something like the figure he'd long tried to forget, and yet she was still there, whispering in his ear.
He pointed the sword at Harland's throat, but didn't strike.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 8:52 pm
Harland pried his gauntlet off, and dropped it to the tile with a metal clang. His skin was beaded with sweat from the effort it took not to pick it back up again; he supposed that the only reason he'd gotten to take it off in the first place was that whatever was controlling him wasn't as omniscient as he thought.
Or perhaps he was, and it was just part of the game.
"Would ye kindly strike," he said, softly. "I'm hopin' this is a dream, an' I'll wake to the life I left behind," he explained.
"An' when I wake, I don't want to remember tryin' t' kill you," he said. His eyes were bloodshot, and his duster was in tatters. Someone with a different bladed weapon had clearly slashed across his chest, as the vest and shirt opened to an angry red line.
His muscles twitched. His feet shifted. His hands flexed. He could feel his body straining to pick the gauntlet back up.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:05 pm
Alistaire's eyes followed the line of the gauntlet as it felt, flinching slightly at the loud noise it made. Harland looked flushed, his freckled cheeks ruddy, and Alistaire held the sword in place, his fingers curling around the hilt.
"No," he said, and he could feel the weight of the voice in his ear, a hiss for him to complete the command. Alistaire's fingers had begun to shake, the blade rattling.
"I..." said Alistaire, and gritted his teeth together, his chest feeling tight. The sword veered sharply left and then was dragged back up with considerable effort, Alistaire blinking rapidly as he tried to control it. "I can't kill you. You..."
He trailed off.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:12 pm
It was no use. Harland looked like Alistaire'd just died already, the crushed look on his face deepened as he stooped to pick the gauntlet up. His muscles could no longer hold out. He couldn't hold out. He whispered an Our Father in Irish as he did so, almost silently. Habit.
The blade rattled, and Harland was probably definitely crying. Or he had allergies to chess.
He'd pretend it was allergies. Yeah.
Harland wasn't sure what Alistaire was going to say, because he only had one shot at this. Sure, he could guess what Alistaire had cut himself off from saying-- you're annoying, you are helping me learn to live without gloves, you probably snore in your sleep, you're pathetic if you can't fight back. Harland couldn't really guess accurately, though. He had no idea. And he was a little scared, too scared of what he had to do and how fast he'd have to do it to really hear. "Hold that thought till we wake, Alistaire," he said, pulling the gauntlet back over his fist. Harland swung a punch at Alistaire, the gauntlet back on, but threw his weight so that he could lance himself on the sword. He hoped his plan was successful.
He wasn't really sure what death was like, to tell. Exhausted from the strain of swinging so that he'd miss and hopefully kill himself before he could swing a real punch at Alistaire, Harland's face pressed against Alistaire's neck. "Forgive me?" Harland mumbled.
"For touchin' your neck," he finished.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:39 pm
He hoped Harland would not do something "heroic;" that somehow they would both get out of this alive, but there was no stopping this, no way of rebelling against the voices in both of their heads. The people that controlled them would not take no for an answer.
Alistaire felt the sword move, his arm forced into position; and he saw the swing coming, saw Harland leap towards him, and he braced himself for the impact -
- but it never came. Instead, there was a sudden and heavy weight pressing on the sword and Alistaire made a strangled sort of sound in the back of his throat as Harland collapsed against him. The end of the sword went through his back, stained a bright, crimson blood.
Harland's voice was soft; Alistaire could feel it reverberating against the side of his neck, and it sent chills up and down his spine, a panic rising in his throat. The combined weight of them both sent him stumbling, Alistaire falling to his knees and bringing Harland with him.
He couldn't breathe properly.
"You b*****d," he said, and his voice was hoarse. "You utter b*****d. You have to finish the lesson."
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:45 pm
"I will, promise," Harland mumbled, smiling. "When we wake up. Text me," he said.
"Text me, and I'll be there," Harland finished, and decided: yeah, this was what death felt like.
He tried to hold onto Alistaire's hand, as if reminding himself to finish the lesson. Instead, he felt his body give out, and his mind dissolve while the sound of laughter rang through his ears.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:49 pm
Alistaire stayed there motionless for a long while, just staring at Harland's prone figure next to him. He hadn't moved from where he sat, his face pale, the sword still embedded in Harland's torso.
There was a shrill ringing sound, and the sound of laughter.
"Checkmate."
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