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 Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:31 pm
[The Bridges We Build: Pre-Game]
So...I met another guy like me. He was tall, had horns, and completely ruined any chance of the boss being calm tomorrow.
Oddly enough, I'm not too annoyed about that. It was nice talking to him. Usually I hate talking to strangers and things get awkward, but our conversation was simply...strange. Really, really surreal.
I led him out so he wouldn't ruin any more materials, and after that he was gone. Just like that. I must have stood there for ten minutes watching the road he'd left on.
I wonder if I just dreamed the whole thing up.
Ciro, huh...that's a funny name.
Points: 10.33
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:33 pm
Solo One
[The Hazards of Riding a Bike: A Day In the Life of Valeriu]
Paperboy.
He didn't have a good feeling about this. At all. And his expression said so.
"Relax, kid. It's as easy as ridin' a bike."
"That's because ee't ee's riding a bike." He gave the two-wheeled contraption a dubious look. It was innocent-looking enough; metal frame with blue paint flaking off, carrying a battered wire basket at the front with dozens of rolled-up newspapers crammed into it.
He thought being a paper-boy would be easy; he already woke up early, and he traveled along this route every day to his other jobs.
He just wished he could do it without the bicycle. He didn't know how to ride a bike; he'd never graduated beyond a tricycle before he deemed such an unwieldy method of transportation unnecessary.
"I promise ya, it's a piece o' cake."
***
His front caked with mud, his hands and arms scraped, his lip busted, his pants ripped, and missing one shoe, he gained a surprised look from his boss.
"How was it?"
Valeriu slammed the keys to the bike lock on the counter in front of the man.
"A piece of cake."
Points: 1.86
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:33 pm
[The Abyss Stares Back: Introduction to the Game]
Sometimes I wonder if I'm going crazy and hallucinating these days. Has the stress of work finally snapped me? First meeting Ciro, now talking face to face with a goddess...maybe I am dreaming all this up. But the mirror necklace I'm wearing tells me this isn't a dream. I wish I'd gotten the name of that floral shop owner, that goddess - she was kind enough to explain what's going on to me. At least I have a clue, now. And I know what to look out for. Other Godlings and their gods.
But somehow, I feel it's my own god that I should look out for the most.
Tezcatlipoca.
I don't like his methods.
Points: 28.97
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:34 pm
Solo Two
[Atlas Shrugged: Solo Two, Post-Introduction Thoughts]
It wasn't until he lay in bed that night, somewhat sore from the day's work, that he let himself think about what he'd learned. He played with the small mirror hanging around his neck, contemplating the day's events.
Gods and goddesses. Children. Pawns. All playing a game whose stakes included the world. It was hard to imagine, let alone be part of. He rolled to his side, holding the mirror up, its chill a constant reminder against his skin. It could hardly be called a mirror: in its dark surface there was no reflection to look into. Nothing but the black obsidian glinting in the moonlight.
And though worry for the future knotted his stomach, he fell asleep too easily that night, drifting into nightmares.
The rain was tapping a steady beat upon the thatch roof. The room was cold except when near the gently dying fireplace, whose weakening flickers cast long, dancing shadows upon the roughly hewn, stone walls. It was a dark night, and the moving shadows impressed upon him the feel of being circled on three sides. Moving closer to the fireplace, or firepit more like, he wished he had more wood to give it strength - but there were far worse things out in the jungle than shadows.
He could hear some of them, even now; the cawing of the colored birds, the rustling of the trees, the hum of the insects and the crackling of some large animal moving across the forest floor. Being inside this room was surely safer.
The loud, cough-like roar of a jaguar echoed in the distance, momentarily silencing the sounds of the creatures until it had faded.
The fire was barely anything more than embers lying deep in a pool of ash, now. Some still glowed white-hot, while others had already blackened cold, the red spark of life lost. The shadows had gotten thicker, less confined, and had crept up to a mere few feet from the fireplace. Their dancing had become less innocent, looming up behind his back, concealing the rest of the room - and the door to escape - from his eyes. All he had was this little circle of light that kept them at bay, hopefully until morning.
Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to peer through the darkness. Was it another shadow? No, it had come from within the mass of darkness, and-there it was again!
He looked closer. Less a flicker, it appeared more like an unnatural glint of light. Not reflecting the fireplace, but more like it reflected the moonlight itself. Coldly white with a red tinge, even though the harvest moon was still weeks away.
Curiosity gnawed at him, reckless courage pushing him to his feet and stepping away from the safety of his fire, stepping into the darkness towards that fading glint, until he was standing at the farthest wall, looking into a pit blacker than the shadows around him, of the deepest, darkest black he had ever even seen, an oval of more-than-pitch-black surrounded by ornate obsidian, a mirror reflecting the bloody light of the harvest moon, and his eyes widened as he saw-
He woke up with a shout, jolting into a sitting position in bed. Covered in a cold sweat and shaking head to toe, his heart pounding, it took him a few minutes to collect himself, wits jumping at every imagined beast seen in the shadows of his room. Fumbling, he turned the light switch on, and willed his arms to stop shaking, willed his breathing to steady.
Agitation filled him, and he knew he wouldn't get more sleep that night. Deeply uneasy, he pushed himself out of bed, bare feet padding across the cold floor to the bedroom next door. Sydni's room. The night-light inside gave him some reassurance as it reflected off her crib and sleeping face, and he soon found himself leaning against the wall, watching her sleep. It calmed him in ways he hadn't known he was upset.
There she was; safe and sound, peaceful, serene. All tiny hands and rounded face, with his mother's hair and his father's smile. And even as her sweet sleep calmed him, his thoughts turned to her future. What would happen if she was left on her own? What would happen if, somehow, he wasn't there for her, and she was hurt?
It pained him to think of not being there for her, of her not being safe. He wanted to protect her from anybody, anything that could hurt her. In a world of guns and gangs and knives and killing, he needed an upper hand. The mirror's weight on his chest reminded him - that was why he'd taken the god's offer. So he could do something if he was faced with a stranger who wanted to kill him or hurt his baby sister.
But he knew the god's deal went both ways. He had to try and win this, this game of theirs. He didn't know if he could or not, but he didn't intend to let himself lose.
His sister's sleeping face couldn't have made things clearer for him. If he won, he'd make a world where she wouldn't ever have to live in fear of anything.
Not even himself.
Points: 8.83
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:35 pm
Solo Three
[The Darkest Before The Dawn: Tezcatlipoca's Metaplot Solo]
Tap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptaptap. Tap.
Fingertips drummed irregularly on the hollow cranium of a bleached-white skull, inset into the arm of a throne made entirely out of the same jagged, broken, warped remains of human skeletons. Sun-kissed skin made a startlingly grotesque contrast to the material it rested against, as did the unexpectedly handsome face of the man sitting on his demented throne. Hooded eyes stared off into the morphing shadows that made up the landscape of what he called home, tongue idly tracing along the edges of his sharp teeth. A narrowing of his eyes and the slight furrowing of his brows were all that gave him away: he was not pleased.
This was unexpected.
He, who had to utilize the utmost extent of his cunning to even insinuate himself into the Game, found Shamash’s little “mistake” slightly grating. To have not one, but two Players?
Tezcatlipoca wished he thought of it himself.
He didn’t expect a god who so strictly adhered to rules to cheat so obviously. That, now that amused him. Their goals were the same, after all – they just played with different rules. And to see Shamash kicked off his righteous horse, just once…well, it was a pleasure. Even the thought brought a smirk to his face.
But there was still the matter of Shamash having two Godlings. Admittedly, one didn’t hold his dangerous, fiery prowess anymore, but the man was still loyal to Shamash and working towards his goals. The other was a wild card, but Tezcatlipoca didn’t believe the god would seriously let his own Godling stray too far from his demands. The Aztec god sure didn’t, after all. Suddenly clawed hands played with the mirror in his grasp – he could feel his Godling through the link, every breath taken, every thought, every single heartbeat. He could sense his Godling sleeping somewhat peacefully now, untroubled by nightmares this time around.
How precious.
He’d taken precautions to ensure that, ultimately, he had total control over the boy, and he doubted Shamash would do anything less. With his Godling still small and inexperienced, Tezcatlipoca had to tread carefully with the sun god, to ensure that the man’s hostile gaze didn’t turn towards him.
But he believed it was time to make his presence known. The boy had had enough time to get used to the idea of what he was entrenched in, and Tezcatlipoca had allowed him to live independently for long enough. Now, now he needed to start making some alliances with the right people: starting with Shamash’s boy.
A sharp-toothed smile split his face.
Tomorrow, his pawn would have work to do.
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 5:36 pm
[And It Calls: The Gathering of Players]
Got woken up to go help out two captured Players - I don't know who they are, but these Blacksuits sound like trouble. I'd like to know more about them, just in case. I'm in a group with two other Godlings - Jubs and Koa, don't know them, but they look tough.
We're going to go ask this Persy person for information.
How hard could this be?
Points: 5.98
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2009 11:11 pm
[First Mission: Find Persy!]
We found her, and her couch. Koa experienced first-hand the things a sick and angry goddess could do.
I have learned three things:
i.) Gods aren't exactly good at efficiency (three people to find one person, really)?
ii.) I might be the only child in existence who knows how to talk to adults like an adult.
iii.) The florist's name is Persy. It's nice, even if it is a boy's name.
Points: 21.93
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2009 11:30 am
Solo Four
[A Deal With the Devil: Training Begins]
The world was grey, and boring, and filled with swirling shadows that left him imagining things in the dark realm. But Valeriu wasn't too concerned with that at the moment.
He stood before a throne of bones. Ghastly and grim skulls grinned in death at him, the bony hands of some person long since past curled over the armrests like a king. Perhaps it had once been a king, for all he knew. Morbidly, he found himself wondering how many people had been entombed as this throne – five, six? Ten? Ten and a half? It could very well be hundreds, for all he knew – one bone taken from each person to construct this gruesome piece of furniture.
But even the throne didn't hold his attention for long. Tremulously, he found himself staring at the figure who sat so casually upon the horrible thing.
This was the first time he had seen his god – the first time physical shadows hadn't been all that guided him, the first time the darkness had deigned to reveal itself in human form. The closest he had ever come to being face to face with the being was in the florist's shop.
He wondered if he didn't prefer that terrible visage to what he faced now. The god said nothing as Valeriu inspected him.
The man was incredibly handsome, that was for sure. Perhaps even considered beautiful, like in those old stories of princely charm and such. He definitely had a regal air about him, but the smile on his face was too wicked. As if Valeriu were simply a toy, a thing of amusement, a marble that Tezcatlipoca rolled about in the palm of his hand.
His back straightened at that. He was no pawn. Not even when standing before a god who could probably kill him on a whim.
Tezcatlipoca was still silent, staring back at him just as he stared at the god. Although it seemed there was something approving in his cold, fickle, amused gaze. Valeriu couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.
“V'hy am I here?”
If anything, the god smiled wider.
“You're a brave one, aren't you?”
Vale scowled at that. Even the man's words were smooth and seductive, and ultimately patronizing.
“That ee's no answer.”
Rather than replying, the god tilted his head, motioning Valeriu closer than the fifteen-foot distance he kept between him and the throne. Vale stayed where he was, crossing his arms resolutely. No force on earth could render him idiotic enough to comply.
For some reason, Tezcatlipoca looked delighted at that.
“I want to make a deal with you, boy.”
“A deal?” He frowned more. This god didn't seem to be the type that made deals, fair or not.
“Yes, a deal. I will teach you what you need to know to survive in this Game. My knowledge will be yours; in time, my powers as well. I will make you into an avatar fit to represent me, beyond what you are now.”
Uneasily, Valeriu glanced down at the mirror on his neck. He had accepted becoming the man's godling in exchange for power, to protect Sydni. But so far he didn't feel very different, besides the added appendages.
But powers? Powers like Ciro had, or like Jubs? To control fire, to move so fast? That was what he wanted. Something more useful than any physical weapon.
“In exchange for v'hat?”
“Your first-born child.”
“V'hat!”
Something in Valeriu's outraged expression sent Tezcatlipoca chuckling in dark amusement.
“You are entertaining. No, not your first-born. Another god had already proposed that deal.”
If anything, Valeriu was more disgruntled. The god was playing him, like a cat with a toy mouse.
“Instead, I want your loyalty. Your soul. Your freedom. I will be your highest power. You will answer to me, and me alone.”
He balked at that. His soul? The god was asking him to go against everything he had ever been taught. To break rules if ordered to; to follow every command thoughtlessly. His hesitance must have showed on his face, for the god leaned forward more insidiously.
“Whether you take this deal or not, you are still in this Game. But you will have to learn on your own, if at all.” He leaned back then, smiling enigmatically. “It will become far more dangerous than you ever thought. And then what would you do when your sister becomes involved? When they target her to get at you? What could you do as you are, boy?”
Valeriu's hands clenched at his sides. Because of him, Sydni would be in a danger until all this was over. Not just from the people of the city, but from this game of pawns. Even the government was a threat.
What could he do?
Ciro's fire. Jub's speed. Countless unknown other children with powers who could do something. He could be one of them.
All he'd have to give up was his soul.
“Deal.” He agreed slowly, even as his pride burned for it.
“Deal,” the god echoed approvingly.
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2009 11:52 am
Solo Five
[The Philosopher and the Cave: Valeriu Returns]
At midnight, on a night like any other, the shadows moved.
Here and there, shadows stole away from their casters, breaking off like bits and pieces of charcoal to scurry silently across the paved ground. They skittered like mice through the streets – first one, then five, then twenty, then a hundred. Unnoticed, the shadows slipped around passer-by, destined for one empty, lonely alleyway in Middling. The alley, nestled between the apartments that housed an eccentric inventor and the workshop of the baker (whose early hours condemned him to hate the loud noises that came at all times of the night from the inventor's abode), soon was filled with the plague of shades that twisted and entwined together, a horde of rats joined at their tails.
At five minutes past midnight, the shadows became a boy.
The boy was peculiar, looking as if he'd stepped out of a time long since past. Over his shoulder was thrown the carved and cut pelt of a large cat that didn't quite exist anymore, at least not in the wild – the black rosette pattern contrasting darkly against the golden fur. A quiver of red-feathered arrows was slung across his back, and at his hip a wickedly sharp dagger carved out of some black rock rested. He couldn't have been older than sixteen, seventeen at the most, yet his appearance and movements spoke of a warrior – graceful, calculated, and powerful. If it weren't for the pair of jeans he wore, the bare-footed teen could easily have been a native of some wild jungle, before jungles were no more. A tanned and hardened native from a warring tribe, in times where it was man versus nature first and foremost. He even had a tattoo, the mark of a warrior, branded upon his face - yellow and black stripes crossing over the bridge of his nose.
But the boy was even stranger than his clothing belied. Muscles coiled under his tan skin like a panther's, rounded, gold-pierced cat-like ears flicking to and fro in puzzlement. A long, sleek, black, rosette-patterned tail swished in agitation by his feet. Even his eyes, surveying the empty alleyway in something akin to disorientation and wonderment, resembled that of a predatory animal– sclerae as black as the night around him, the irides as red as freshly spilled blood. Strangest of all was the obsidian mirror embedded in the boy's chest, clay-stained bandages wrapped loosely over his torso as if to hide the accursed object.
The City could swear that it had never seen this boy before. Not this savage, feral being, tense and on edge, as if every noise were a precursor to an ambush. Not this boy, whose black hair had grown jagged and untamed, as if he had never seen the scissors of a barber before.
No, the City most certainly had never seen this child before – until the boy frowned, dark eyebrows furrowing in consternation. Anyone could recognize that frown. That disgruntled, uneasy scowl could come from one boy and one boy alone.
This moment was nothing less than disconcerting for Valeriu.
There were the paved streets, hard and rough under his feet; not leaves or soft dirt and twigs. There, the buildings stood instead of twisting, towering trees that blocked out all light. He knew, just up this black road, his home rested, standing as proud as it had yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Not a hastily constructed pile of branches to fend against the onslaught of the rain. Here, in this city, there were no predators besides the humans that stalked the streets. No flashing teeth and lightning swift claws seeking out his life. No beautiful and terrible birds to capture, whose talons could rend through skin like it was air. The city's noises were different, too – compared to the crooning of the macaws, the humming of the insects, the growling of the jaguar, even the whistle of the flute played by a capricious and harsh god.
For his home, nothing had changed since he left – the baker still fought with the inventor, the gaggle of old ladies down the street still gossiped amongst themselves, and the newly-wed couple still remained madly in love with one another (until the husband figured out that the wife was cheating on him). Very little time had passed since he had been kidnapped into the shadowy, misty land of his god – yet for Valeriu, it had been far longer.
It was almost frightening to re-enter this world. But men didn't get scared, and Valeriu was no little boy anymore. Tezcatlipoca had changed that.
Brushing off the last bits of shadows clinging to the teen's arms, Valeriu took his first step back into the city.
He had returned.
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2009 12:17 pm
Solo Six
[The Goblin King and Sydni: Training Interlude]
Out of all the things he disagreed on with his god, there was one argument he could not win: the acquisition of his baby sister.
He had to find a way to take care of her, he knew. He couldn't have her with him while being trained by Tezcatlipoca – the illusionary Aztec grounds and jungle were all-too-not-so-illusionary-dangerous to him, let alone to a child he'd be carrying on his back. But he didn't trust anyone enough to leave her in their care back at home for the time he'd be away.
Too many dangers there, as well.
And then Tezcatlipoca proposed to care for her himself while Vale was busy, and all his emphatic “no's!” had amounted to nothing. He couldn't imagine the dark, shadowy, oily tentacle-things taking care of his baby sister! It was disturbing! Think of Sydni – how traumatizing would that be?
But one look from his righteous and ultimately controlling god, and Valeriu's dissents unwillingly quieted. There was no changing the man's mind when he had made a decision.
Valeriu lamented to himself.
Gods were not babysitters.
Especially bordering-on-evil, creepy, mischievous, flippant, sadistic gods that came from a long line of sacrificial worship.
Watching as his godling (slave, more like) went back to work with more than a few mutterings under his breath, Tezcatlipoca turned to the child seated next to him, held aloft by one of his shadows while they rested on the stone steps of an illusionary Aztec temple.
Sydni looked back at the god, blue eyes ignorant of the dangers he posed, and promptly stuck her fingers in her mouth with a smile.
He smirked in return, fangs flashing like a shark. “You remind me of a babe...”
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 5:55 pm
[First Alliance: Aim to Kill]
Shamash and Tezcatlipoca have been talking, and arranged a 'playdate.' It was more like a trade-off - the two gods evidently agreed they're a lot a like, and that their godlings should be in an alliance. I help Ciro, Ciro helps me.
Things are picking up pace. I see why Tezcatlipoca approves of this alliance - Ciro isn't reluctant to kill, at all. And he wants me to be the same.
I can do this. I don't want to, but I can.
Points: 11.80
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 6:19 pm
[Meeting Quinn: Butterflies and Hurricanes]
How is it possible to become so attached to a person in a single day? I really do think it was destined to happen.
All of it. Repeating history, that's all this friendship was.
And don't even get me started on the...other thing. I do not want to think about that right now.
Points: 82.59
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2009 1:41 pm
Solo Seven [A Little Piece of Me Dies: Post-Quinn Changes in Thought]
He was not moping.
You are.
He wasn't.
Granted, his work had been spectacularly lackluster that day. Straddling one of the higher beams, he had, more often than not, been staring into space rather than concentrating on the welding job before him.
It might've had something to do with the sparks. Every time they would fly up, bright and short of life and crashing heedlessly against his helmet and protectivewear, and every time he felt painfully reminded of someone very similar to those sparks. The foreman noticed quickly enough, and had sent him packing on home for the rest of the day before he "screwed up and fell off the goddamn building, you airhead!"
The twins had, for once, been considerate enough to give him his space the moment they had seen the look upon his face when he had first entered work.
He'd seen the graffiti. He knew what it meant.
And it confirmed everything.
Now, with an enforced day off (and a small part of him bitterly remembered Quinn's assertion that he could get the foreman to give him a day off, and he did in a way), he didn't know what to do with himself.
He'd already cleaned the house. Twice. He'd cooked lunch, and dinner and breakfast to be heated up later. He had more than eagerly run errands for the little old ladies next door - anything to stop thinking for just a little while. He had taken a shower, done the laundry, organized the bookshelf, catered to Sydni's every whim; and once she was napping, he had started fixing everything he had put off. The slight wobble in the kitchen chair, the crack in the bedframe, the missing screw in the bathroom medicine cabinet, the showerhead that needed some tightening. He'd vacuumed, mopped, dusted, and scrubbed until the house was probably newer than when it had first been built.
And now he was left with nothing but a sick feeling in his heart and that burning fury in the pit of his stomach, sprawled on his front across the recently made bed (if only to remake it the minute he got back up). Staring thoughtfully the wall, he couldn't remember a time he had ever felt this bad.
He'd nearly killed his friend - not his friend.
He'd wanted to kill him. Somewhere along the line in that isolated and lonely jungle, he had lost the distinction between killing animals and killing people. It blurred in front of him, even now - the new part of him saying that it was natural to kill both, that it was done for the same reasons. Prey was prey was prey.
He didn't want to think too deeply on what that meant. He ate the animals. Not the people. His parents had raised him to be good and honest, not to hurt others and to help when he was needed.
But he could remember the feel of his hands wrapped around that throat; it made him both sick and thrilled until he couldn't figure out whether he was human or animal anymore. And the rage still burned.
How dare Quinn betray him? How dare he pull such a dirty trick, and then flaunt his true intentions so obviously upon the wall at his site?
It infuriated him. Bitterly, he dug his fingers into the pillow, watching the dangerous flex of his tendons and nails biting into the material. His hands were weapons all on their own, just like his legs and feet and arms and all the rest of his new, older body. With a heavy sigh and a heavier scowl, he ceased his attack on the pillow, pushing himself up and smoothing out his mussed shirt. Tezcatlipoca had made good on his promise to make Valeriu stronger.
And that new part of him wanted to see how strong he was. He was looking forward to his next meeting with Ciro - looking forward to doing more beyond what little hell they had raised the first time.
Even as the quickly dwindling mindset of the ten-year-old he had once been cringed away from the thought, horrified at what he was so easily becoming, he wanted to do more. To use these powers. To somehow whittle away at the rage that had settled inside of him. To finish the transformation that had been wrought on him: to leave behind all childish preconceptions and finally have his mind match up to his body the way it was meant to.
He was looking forward to the killing.
Now you're speaking my language.
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Posted: Sun Mar 01, 2009 5:59 pm
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Posted: Wed Mar 04, 2009 4:21 pm
[What Could Have Been: Running into Quinn Again]
I've come to a few conclusions. One: I now have a rainbow tattoo and can never walk around without a shirt ever again. Two: Even if we really do want to be friends, it's not going to happen. Three: I think he wants to be more than friends. Maybe. Still not sure what I think on that. I don't, I mean...I don't look at men or women, it never occurred to me.
But something about just him makes me uncomfortable. When he's that close, all my senses get heightened. I'm hyperaware of everything. And more than a bit scared, I'm not afraid to admit that. I don't understand this.
Did any of the other godlings have issues with...with this, these new thoughts, when they grew? I'd ask Ciro, but he doesn't seem the type to have had any troubles with growing up.
This was the only sweatshirt I had to wear, too. I miss having my clothes fit.
Points: 35.41
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