Trip Down Memory Lane - Time For The Show
Characters: Tybalt, Thing, Eyepatch, and Click.
Date/Time: May 22nd.
Location: The fourth floor.
Rating: Let's stick with PG to keep it simple.
Summary: The elevator finally opens...
The elevator finally opened onto the previously inaccessible fourth floor.
Tybalt in spite of himself slipped right out only to find himself wandering blindly through a black space, pacing along what he had an inkling, from the way he'd left the elevator, to be close to the wall and eyeing what he also figured to be the center of the room he'd found himself in.
And suddenly the blackness lit, flaring into brightness at once - a room.
Not completely tangible, a projection of some kind from the looks of it, and yet clear and strong enough for Tybalt to feel himself in the moment so strongly the fact that this whole set was something he recognized had no time to hit on its own.
And in fact, he was in it.
It was a dark, cool lounge, that coolness emphasized by the pale blue lighting shining off the floor and every polished surface, gleaming off the bottle-lines shelves and their contents - and it had to be quite a private lounge, as the only ones inside it were Tybalt and the three who turned to face him once he walked inside, all four as separate and different as the directions and pulls on a compass and shaded from all angles by more of the place's lighting tricks.
It was a familiar scene - the lights, the shadows, the hints of contempt on their faces... and the fact that he didn't give a digit. That he was here at all should've made anyone happy. It wasn't as if he wanted to be. You'd think all of them should've been busy.
One of them, also as somehow expected, a stern-faced bespectacled blonde woman in black, rose from where she was seated and walked over.
"Tick, tock, [x]. You're 9 minutes and 42 seconds late," she said - what was that? She'd moved her mouth for a moment there, he could've sworn, yet had she actually said anything?
The typical grin he'd walked in with didn't fade. "Tick, tock yourself, [x]" (There it was again, a blank space.) "Why are we even here? I can think of a decillion better ways to spend our time than by having meetings." The woman was as unfazed by his response as he'd been to her greeting, and yet he carried on, calling over to the sunglass-sporting man in one of the couches, "Right, Megs?"
The woman scowled a bit as the man and the last occupant of the lounge stood. "You will address him as [x]." And again. What was it - was she being cut off, or was something being omitted... names or titles, perhaps?
"It's fine," Megs said, smirking, "Are we all here?"
A chuckle as Tybalt looked over the man standing behind him - huge, dreadlocked with glowing yellow eyes. "Hey, Megs - who's the bulldozer?" he remarked.
"Meet [x] - this session's Game Master. He'll be handling affairs in my stead."
"You do me a great honor, sir," a deep, rumbling voice said, that of the "Game Master." "Watch! I will turn this week's fracas into a fricassee!" he continued... with a completely straight face.
Tybalt chuckled again. "You planning to erase them, or eat them?"
Megs stepped up next to the woman. "Yes, crack your jokes. But his skill is proven." His whole demeanor was almost patronizingly patient - this was being talked down to, yet just as everyone else in the room was, Tybalt kept his poker face on. It didn't matter. Or at least it wouldn't matter - he had better things to do than be at this meeting, be with these people, be. This was nothing but a game. Not even a warmup. Not even basic arithmetic. Just procedure.
"That's right," the woman continued, "[x] excels - in tactics, intel, willpower, decisiveness, performance, his Player erasure rate... He surpasses our expectations on every count. A man of sound judgement like [x]" - a small gesture towards Megs - "would not choose him otherwise." Tybalt swore the daggers in her look at him multiplied in a flash. "And he knows how to cooperate, unlike some -"
"Cooperation is garbage," he retorted without breaking the ice in any of the exchanges that had occurred thus far.
Enough = enough. This was as long as they could make him stay. And the last word was his - a plus.
He turned for the door. "Anyway, I'm out. This is subtracting from my arts and crafts time."
He headed straight without looking back, though he did hear the woman take one step forward, her voice finally starting to take an irate tone. "Wait just a - [x] hasn't spoken yet!"
Really? That was zetta funny - Tybalt could've sworn he'd seen him talking.
And he did again. "Let him do what he wants," he said.
"...Yes, sir."
Damn right.
He was out of the lounge and in a cavern, a monochromatic trail leading off into the dark.
His time was a beautiful thing he wouldn't let them subtract.
He had plans of his own.
((OOC: This is the memory right here, with a few blanks filled.))
Date/Time: May 22nd.
Location: The fourth floor.
Rating: Let's stick with PG to keep it simple.
Summary: The elevator finally opens...
The elevator finally opened onto the previously inaccessible fourth floor.
Tybalt in spite of himself slipped right out only to find himself wandering blindly through a black space, pacing along what he had an inkling, from the way he'd left the elevator, to be close to the wall and eyeing what he also figured to be the center of the room he'd found himself in.
And suddenly the blackness lit, flaring into brightness at once - a room.
Not completely tangible, a projection of some kind from the looks of it, and yet clear and strong enough for Tybalt to feel himself in the moment so strongly the fact that this whole set was something he recognized had no time to hit on its own.
And in fact, he was in it.
It was a dark, cool lounge, that coolness emphasized by the pale blue lighting shining off the floor and every polished surface, gleaming off the bottle-lines shelves and their contents - and it had to be quite a private lounge, as the only ones inside it were Tybalt and the three who turned to face him once he walked inside, all four as separate and different as the directions and pulls on a compass and shaded from all angles by more of the place's lighting tricks.
It was a familiar scene - the lights, the shadows, the hints of contempt on their faces... and the fact that he didn't give a digit. That he was here at all should've made anyone happy. It wasn't as if he wanted to be. You'd think all of them should've been busy.
One of them, also as somehow expected, a stern-faced bespectacled blonde woman in black, rose from where she was seated and walked over.
"Tick, tock, [x]. You're 9 minutes and 42 seconds late," she said - what was that? She'd moved her mouth for a moment there, he could've sworn, yet had she actually said anything?
The typical grin he'd walked in with didn't fade. "Tick, tock yourself, [x]" (There it was again, a blank space.) "Why are we even here? I can think of a decillion better ways to spend our time than by having meetings." The woman was as unfazed by his response as he'd been to her greeting, and yet he carried on, calling over to the sunglass-sporting man in one of the couches, "Right, Megs?"
The woman scowled a bit as the man and the last occupant of the lounge stood. "You will address him as [x]." And again. What was it - was she being cut off, or was something being omitted... names or titles, perhaps?
"It's fine," Megs said, smirking, "Are we all here?"
A chuckle as Tybalt looked over the man standing behind him - huge, dreadlocked with glowing yellow eyes. "Hey, Megs - who's the bulldozer?" he remarked.
"Meet [x] - this session's Game Master. He'll be handling affairs in my stead."
"You do me a great honor, sir," a deep, rumbling voice said, that of the "Game Master." "Watch! I will turn this week's fracas into a fricassee!" he continued... with a completely straight face.
Tybalt chuckled again. "You planning to erase them, or eat them?"
Megs stepped up next to the woman. "Yes, crack your jokes. But his skill is proven." His whole demeanor was almost patronizingly patient - this was being talked down to, yet just as everyone else in the room was, Tybalt kept his poker face on. It didn't matter. Or at least it wouldn't matter - he had better things to do than be at this meeting, be with these people, be. This was nothing but a game. Not even a warmup. Not even basic arithmetic. Just procedure.
"That's right," the woman continued, "[x] excels - in tactics, intel, willpower, decisiveness, performance, his Player erasure rate... He surpasses our expectations on every count. A man of sound judgement like [x]" - a small gesture towards Megs - "would not choose him otherwise." Tybalt swore the daggers in her look at him multiplied in a flash. "And he knows how to cooperate, unlike some -"
"Cooperation is garbage," he retorted without breaking the ice in any of the exchanges that had occurred thus far.
Enough = enough. This was as long as they could make him stay. And the last word was his - a plus.
He turned for the door. "Anyway, I'm out. This is subtracting from my arts and crafts time."
He headed straight without looking back, though he did hear the woman take one step forward, her voice finally starting to take an irate tone. "Wait just a - [x] hasn't spoken yet!"
Really? That was zetta funny - Tybalt could've sworn he'd seen him talking.
And he did again. "Let him do what he wants," he said.
"...Yes, sir."
Damn right.
He was out of the lounge and in a cavern, a monochromatic trail leading off into the dark.
His time was a beautiful thing he wouldn't let them subtract.
He had plans of his own.
((OOC: This is the memory right here, with a few blanks filled.))