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 Posted: Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:50 pm
The sun was hanging high in the sky- it was a Saturday, and most kids would be out playing like the small ruffians that they were. Backyards in Middling would be filled with the sounds of children’s laughter and shouts.
But that was not where he belonged. No, Ciro found himself once more in his hideout. Sun shone in small beams through the crumbling rooftop, and the room had a dank smell of mold. A small area, shielded from the majority of the ruins by broken concrete and torn drywall sheets, had been formed.
Inside this little room, there was a rusting hospital bed. On this bed was a torn and mutilated mattress-- burn marks and stains adorned the mattress as if a decoration. There was a large mountain of old bottles in a corner, with a smell of old liquor and fungus filling the room. Otherwise, the room was bare, save for the occasional pile of rubble.
The owner of this small abode was sitting on the hospital bed, horns resting against a concrete wall. A half-burnt cigarette was sagging in the man’s lips, though no alcohol seemed to accompany it. He was sober, for once-- He knew Shamash would demand him to be in top form from now on-- cigarettes only made the cut because both of them knew the horrible withdrawal and distraction of quitting.
He had not been expecting anyone. There was no reason for anyone to come. Unless Fish had figured out the magical secret of growth--Ciro really hoped he hadn’t-- it would be humiliating to learn that yet another Godling had grown while he was left behind.
Shamash, however, knew better.
He had made arrangements.
It was better not to let Ciro know-- that way he had no time to run away and avoid the situation. That was always what Ciro seemed to do: run away from anything regarding the game.
At least this way he was trapped.
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Posted: Sun Feb 22, 2009 4:30 pm
Vale thanked his hard-working ancestors that he wasn't unfortunate enough to live in Downers.
This was his first time trekking through the poorest area of the City; he'd never had the want nor the reason to venture into such a place, and had been warned away from it enough times by his parents to know better.
'It is no place for children,' his mother would always say, his father nodding at her side. Andrei had come from Downers - the scar on his brow was not the only remnant of his father's life here.
It was a good thing he wasn't a child any longer, although he still felt the sting of guilt at the thought of his parents finding out where he'd gone and what he'd done while they were missing.
Or dead, the more aggravating voice of his godly conscience piped up. Like most of the cowardly rats down here should be.
Vale didn't believe such a thing had happened, and he didn't care much for listening to Tezcatlipoca condemn people who weren't 'brave' enough to run through a street filled with ghosts. His parents were definitely alive, somewhere. Where, he just didn't know.
Stepping gingerly around the unconscious heap of jackets and flesh that comprised a passed out person upon the sidewalk, he found himself in an even more decrepit part of town. The buildings here showed all the signs of abuse and a lifespan that was quickly coming to an end: cracking foundations and crumbling walls; insects swarming behind flaking plaster; graffiti lining every available surface.
And to think that Ciro lived here.
As usual, he wasn't quite sure what the gods were planning. Tezcatlipoca only kept urging and directing him towards what he termed a "playdate" with the older godling.
That probably didn't bode well for either of them.
But Valeriu didn't mind so much. He was more interested in meeting the man again, seeing whether he had gained the strength he had been aiming for. If Tezcatlipoca had approved of and proposed an alliance with Ciro, all the better. It meant he could respect the older godling without the god planning his death after every sentence.
Finally arriving in front of his destination, Vale couldn't help but pause.
This was once a house, correct? Still, where Tezcatlipoca's shadows pointed, he followed, faithfully navigating his way through the rubble and ruin and concrete until he found himself outside Ciro's 'room'. Both eyebrows raising dubiously, he rapped a knuckle against the crumbling wall in a mimicry of a knock, leaning against the concrete of the entryway casually.
"Hey."
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Posted: Sun Feb 22, 2009 8:43 pm
There were footsteps.
The godling was instantly off the bed, muscles poised and ears listening intently.
Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you something.
And then the footsteps ceased, and there came a rap-tapping on his chamber… entryway.
Hey.
I invited over a little friend for you to play with.
“Can I… Help you?”
Maybe he’ll be a good influence on you: see, he actually obeys his god.
Ciro was… Baffled to say the least. Here Shamash was going to far out of his way to actually invite people over to straiten him out? Just how sadistic was this God? And what was he- a doting father? Was this kid supposed to be some kind of positive role model ?
He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit under his breath-- this was all too ridiculous. As if running around with some other godling was supposed to make Ciro better at obeying Shamash!
But his growth was hanging on the line. Even if Shamash ordered him to bark like a dog, he’d be forced to do it.
So play nice and hope that some of his obedience rubs off on you.
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Posted: Sun Feb 22, 2009 9:29 pm
"V'ell, that depends. Do you have the money to pay the contractor back for all those metal beams you melted?" Vale's tone was utterly serious.
"The Foreman yelled at us for days, you know. Told you he v'ould."
He took in the sight before him with a critical eye. Ciro wasn't living in the best of conditions, although the godling had always seemed more migratory than most people. It wasn't all that surprising. Still, there was something different about the other Player that wasn't there before. He'd changed, in the same way Vale had chosen to change. For himself, for somebody else.
Even if he was brought here to help Ciro out, Vale still respected the horned man.
Although the smell in here was driving him insane. The minute he was sure Ciro wasn't going to roast him alive, he was going to beat that mold into submission with a mop and see from how far away he could throw those alcohol bottles into the trash bin.
"Did you get stronger, like you v'anted to?"
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 12:12 pm
There it was, the cat was out of the bad. The accent, the sternness, the subject-- all of these made it apparent that it was that Communist boy that he had met forever ago. But wait? That kid was a player all along!?
Now if only he could remember the details of that night, he thought, that fact might not be so shocking. Then things would be a lot easier to comprehend. Maybe, just maybe, in the back of his mind, way in the back, Ciro agreed with Shamash that drinking so much might just be bad.
But then, every thought flew from the man’s mind. The boy had seemed to have just the question to drive a stake into him.
Had he gotten stronger?
Shamash had done a good job picking someone who would be able to get him into gear, he could give his god that much. Damnit, how was he supposed to answer that?
“No.” Ciro finally admitted, falling back onto his bed with a loud thud, “I really haven’t.”
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 12:58 pm
Hoboy. Valeriu had his work cut out for him. Valeriu himself was no stranger to hard work, but he had spent the last few months of his life living half-feral in a deadly jungle to get stronger. Ciro's god hadn't done anything like that, and the godling was half burnt-out already.
But they could make this alliance work. Their gods believed so anyway (although it was strange to think of his wicked deity ever willingly allying with anyone else).
First step: making sure Ciro didn't die of mold. Stepping further into what could've passed as a room, once, he picked his way around the rubble.
"I can see v'hy." His condemnation of the state of the room was obvious as he gave the particularly moldy areas a hard look, lightly kicking a stray bottle back to the pile and stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.
"Strength ee's not all about force, or power," he added conversationally. "A lot of ee't has to do v'ith self-discipline."
Not discipline from gods. The kind of discipline Shamash or Tezcatlipoca would enforce was not the discipline he was talking about.
"I know I am supposedly here to teach you to become more obedient," he shook his head at that, "but I do not think that ee's something that can be truly taught. Plus, v'e are chosen for a reason that has nothing to do v'ith obedience. Or else your god v'ould have picked a sheep ee'nstead of a strong and ee'ndependent person."
And it was true. Even when Valeriu did balk against Tezcatlipoca from time to time, the god couldn't complain much, because that was the reason he was picked out from all the other children.
"V'hat I can help you v'ith ee's self-discipline. From there, strength naturally comes," he said, and added with a touch more humor, "And I have noticed gods tend to complain less v'hen you don't let yourself down."
"But ee't ee's up to you. Ee'f you are v'illing."
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 4:25 pm
The kid prattled off like an entire wall’s worth of motivational posters. Ciro found himself wishing he were drunk-- at least then this could be a little funny, rather than something he had to take seriously.
Everything in the world seemed to turn towards his betterment all at once. It was as if God was throwing some magical intervention at him.
Oh, wait. God was throwing a magical intervention at him.
The idea of self-discipline sounded so drab and boring. Doing the right thing was never Ciro’s thing. He’d do the wrong thing just to show you that he was against the norm. He liked his drinks, he liked his smokes, and he liked his women. Those were the few things that took his mind off the situation that the Gods had thrown him in.
And here he was being asked to take all of these issues, all of the controversies, and everything, and accept them.
They were asking him to be responsible.
“Hey, Commie.”
His head didn’t move-- he remained laying on his bed as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
“We’re allies, right?”
“So that mean’s we’re going to have the same enemies.”
Still, his face did not turn to Vale-- Ciro remained speaking to the ceiling.
“I’ll get this damn self-discipline-- But we gotta pick up the pace. I’ll agree to your ‘training’ or whatever… But we gotta go out and take out some of the brats running around pretending to be Gods. There’s too many of the ******** underfoot.”
“So I’ll take you up on that… But you gotta help me deal with those vermin.”
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2009 4:50 pm
Commie?
Commie?
Next chance he got, he was going to lead Ciro straight into a wall.
"My name ee's Valeriu. Not Commie. Or else I get to call you Gimpy. But yes, v'e are allies."
At Ciro's suggestion, Valeriu paused. He hadn't yet killed anyone (technically - although he had defeated a jaguar, but did that count?). Could he do such a thing? He had accepted his god, knowing full well what the being's end goals were, but Valeriu was not a naturally murderous person. Personally, the idea was all kinds of horrifying. He wasn't an evil person. He wasn't a murderer. He didn't enjoy inflicting pain on others, didn't enjoy the thought of the grief of those left behind.
Ciro is not the only one being helped by this alliance.
Tezcatlipoca wanted to change that, he realized. Valeriu would teach Ciro how to strengthen himself, and Ciro...
Ciro would teach Vale how to kill. A low chuckle from his god confirmed Vale's suspicion. He knew what he'd gotten into, that sooner or later he'd have blood on his hands (even as his mind struggled to conceptualize such a thing). He knew what he'd have to do to protect Sydni, to win this game, and to keep himself alive.
He nodded without another second's hesitation.
"Deal, then."
Turning halfway back to the entrance decisively, he threw a glance back over his shoulder at the prone man on the mattress.
"Let's get to v'ork."
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