(no subject)
Prompt: Deus ex machina
Verse: realityshifted
Word Count: 664
Deus ex machina - loosely translated to being "the god from the machine." A literary device with origins in Greek tragedies; used to save the hero in his or her time of need, defying all expectations and shattering suspension of disbelief. It can be an item, a person, a situation, but always, always it comes when it is most needed. After all, it is a convenient coincidence.
* * *
He sits like a dread king on a throne made of bone and fur. His yellow eyes are half-lidded with boredom as he watches events unfold in front of him. Bali rests her head on his lap and he can feel her purring vibrate on his thighs. Its ample enough distraction to keep him from sleeping. He scratches behind one of her ears as if in reward.
Jaska, the lead hunter, is in the process of killing what he calls a cub. By most standards, that 'cub' is a boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen years of age. It is honest fight, more or less, but the Master has ignored most of the details as to the cause. All that interests him is the fact that there is blood being shed and there are yowls of pain. It is almost symphonic to his ears.
The Master is tempted just to kill them both and be done with it.
* * *
Deus ex machina. In every writer's life, they use this simple concept. It may be in a work that becomes world famous or perhaps in a childhood story of angels, demons, and talking animals. Sometimes - sometimes we are simply written into a corner, and it is either call upon this device or lives shall be paid. In stories, it can sometimes be believed.
In life, when one is backed into a corner, no chair shall descend from the sky. There is only the grim and bitter finality that you have failed.
* * *
Jaska tosses the bloodied corpse at his feet. The Master cocks his head for just a minute before lightly kicking at it. The cub is dead and the Master can find nothing but a grim amusement sitting in his chest. The blood has almost a sickly sweet scent to it, enough that he can taste it on his tongue. Bali purrs and he silently gestures that she may indulge. She crouches to the sandy ground and begins to lap at the slowly bleeding wounds.
The Master stands and gestures for Jaska to step ahead of him. The cheetah nods and waits out in the savanna sun.
He's unsure if he's even speaking in English or Gallifreyan anymore; perhaps all the words he says are defined in chirps, growls, and purring. "Still defending your position, I see."
Jaska nods heavily. "I do as I must."
"Understandable. He stood no chance against you. Perhaps in a few years time."
"I am not so easily bested."
The Master begins walking. "You'll die one day as well, Jaska. Be it through your years or through tooth and claw. Such is your life."
"I would prefer by tooth and claw," the cheetah at his side growls, "than by years. If I cannot hunt, I am of no use."
"Mmm."
* * *
Deus ex machina.
Sometimes the only way out is through divine intervention.
* * *
He sleeps only because he forces himself to. He isn't sleeping now; he is only faking rest. Beside him, Bali sleeps. He has never bedded her nor ever will, though he is certain she aspires to it. She is little more than a pretty pet, something he keeps to amuse himself with. Fur and musk assaults his senses, and if it were not for the paw wrapped protectively around him, he would leave. He misses time alone.
Such is his life. The only escape he has is to the Astral Plane - to the shop, but even then he must return. For him, there is no convenient escape from reality. He has been backed into a corner and there is no convenient solution to save him.
Perhaps it is because he was never the hero in the first place.
Verse: realityshifted
Word Count: 664
Deus ex machina - loosely translated to being "the god from the machine." A literary device with origins in Greek tragedies; used to save the hero in his or her time of need, defying all expectations and shattering suspension of disbelief. It can be an item, a person, a situation, but always, always it comes when it is most needed. After all, it is a convenient coincidence.
* * *
He sits like a dread king on a throne made of bone and fur. His yellow eyes are half-lidded with boredom as he watches events unfold in front of him. Bali rests her head on his lap and he can feel her purring vibrate on his thighs. Its ample enough distraction to keep him from sleeping. He scratches behind one of her ears as if in reward.
Jaska, the lead hunter, is in the process of killing what he calls a cub. By most standards, that 'cub' is a boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen years of age. It is honest fight, more or less, but the Master has ignored most of the details as to the cause. All that interests him is the fact that there is blood being shed and there are yowls of pain. It is almost symphonic to his ears.
The Master is tempted just to kill them both and be done with it.
* * *
Deus ex machina. In every writer's life, they use this simple concept. It may be in a work that becomes world famous or perhaps in a childhood story of angels, demons, and talking animals. Sometimes - sometimes we are simply written into a corner, and it is either call upon this device or lives shall be paid. In stories, it can sometimes be believed.
In life, when one is backed into a corner, no chair shall descend from the sky. There is only the grim and bitter finality that you have failed.
* * *
Jaska tosses the bloodied corpse at his feet. The Master cocks his head for just a minute before lightly kicking at it. The cub is dead and the Master can find nothing but a grim amusement sitting in his chest. The blood has almost a sickly sweet scent to it, enough that he can taste it on his tongue. Bali purrs and he silently gestures that she may indulge. She crouches to the sandy ground and begins to lap at the slowly bleeding wounds.
The Master stands and gestures for Jaska to step ahead of him. The cheetah nods and waits out in the savanna sun.
He's unsure if he's even speaking in English or Gallifreyan anymore; perhaps all the words he says are defined in chirps, growls, and purring. "Still defending your position, I see."
Jaska nods heavily. "I do as I must."
"Understandable. He stood no chance against you. Perhaps in a few years time."
"I am not so easily bested."
The Master begins walking. "You'll die one day as well, Jaska. Be it through your years or through tooth and claw. Such is your life."
"I would prefer by tooth and claw," the cheetah at his side growls, "than by years. If I cannot hunt, I am of no use."
"Mmm."
* * *
Deus ex machina.
Sometimes the only way out is through divine intervention.
* * *
He sleeps only because he forces himself to. He isn't sleeping now; he is only faking rest. Beside him, Bali sleeps. He has never bedded her nor ever will, though he is certain she aspires to it. She is little more than a pretty pet, something he keeps to amuse himself with. Fur and musk assaults his senses, and if it were not for the paw wrapped protectively around him, he would leave. He misses time alone.
Such is his life. The only escape he has is to the Astral Plane - to the shop, but even then he must return. For him, there is no convenient escape from reality. He has been backed into a corner and there is no convenient solution to save him.
Perhaps it is because he was never the hero in the first place.