some paths are not meant to be crossed
WHO: Godzilla. Also possibly the Huntress, Waspinator, Starscream (?), Hiruma (?) and anyone else who feels like jumping in, within reasonable limits.
WHERE: Random Abandoned Building #3
WHEN: Just around midnight, January 27.
WARNINGS: Destruction, violence, reptilian thought processes, nerdery.
SUMMARY: Godzilla's pissed and in pain. He takes it out on the City. People notice.
FORMAT: Generally, we intend to use the English language.
One good thing about humans was that they happened to be a generally diurnal people. They hustled and bustled outdoors from sunrise to sunset, living their petty lives, doing their stupid, pointless jobs, and interacting with other tiny, weak humans. When the moon rose, though, they scurried inside to worship the tell-vision and hide from the dangerous things that went bump in the night.
And this was very smart of them, for Godzilla happened to be one of these very dangerous things, and he was at that moment in no mood to be otherwise. Something felt wrong with his human body--something that had never been wrong before, and the rage and hatred he felt for Iron Man had grown exponentially in the space of a few days. It was entirely that stupid metal man's fault. There was something defective with this fleshy, pink, soft, tiny form. It was an injustice, just like the Turtle Titan had said. It was absolutely unforgivable, putting the King of Monsters in this weak body. A violation of his being, a destruction of what made him him.
So Iron Man wanted to take away what made him a monster.
Godzilla would show Iron Man that--whatever shape he happened to be wearing at the time--he was still the King of Monsters. Nobody made a mockery of him. Nobody could tell him what to do, or how to do it, or when. He was powerful, and strong, and this was his city, now.
He stared up at the old, condemned building; in a cruel twist of fate, it now towered over him, three stories tall, a testament to the entropy inherently part of the wash of time. Humans' work, stone and glass and metal, a vanity, a gloriously rotted-out monument to their faulty belief that they were the top of the food chain...
To Godzilla, it was nothing more than another set of walls meant to safeguard cowards from that which would some day come to lay waste to every last fat, lazy, overconfident one of them.
Something like...
...Him.
Cold, slit-pupilled yellow eyes glowered at it, sizing it up like a predator does its prey, stained, double-rowed fangs bared in righteous fury at the very symbol of natural oppression.
There was a single moment in that bitterly cold night in which everything was still and silent.
And then he gave vent to the blinding anger inside, the fire that was tearing through his skin; turning his head to one side and drawing a sharp, deep breath, he roared--a sound which carried far into the darkness--and snapped it back towards the building, firing off an immense red-and-white ray blast that tore through one section of crumbling wall like a knife through butter and blew out again through the roof.
WHERE: Random Abandoned Building #3
WHEN: Just around midnight, January 27.
WARNINGS: Destruction, violence, reptilian thought processes, nerdery.
SUMMARY: Godzilla's pissed and in pain. He takes it out on the City. People notice.
FORMAT: Generally, we intend to use the English language.
One good thing about humans was that they happened to be a generally diurnal people. They hustled and bustled outdoors from sunrise to sunset, living their petty lives, doing their stupid, pointless jobs, and interacting with other tiny, weak humans. When the moon rose, though, they scurried inside to worship the tell-vision and hide from the dangerous things that went bump in the night.
And this was very smart of them, for Godzilla happened to be one of these very dangerous things, and he was at that moment in no mood to be otherwise. Something felt wrong with his human body--something that had never been wrong before, and the rage and hatred he felt for Iron Man had grown exponentially in the space of a few days. It was entirely that stupid metal man's fault. There was something defective with this fleshy, pink, soft, tiny form. It was an injustice, just like the Turtle Titan had said. It was absolutely unforgivable, putting the King of Monsters in this weak body. A violation of his being, a destruction of what made him him.
So Iron Man wanted to take away what made him a monster.
Godzilla would show Iron Man that--whatever shape he happened to be wearing at the time--he was still the King of Monsters. Nobody made a mockery of him. Nobody could tell him what to do, or how to do it, or when. He was powerful, and strong, and this was his city, now.
He stared up at the old, condemned building; in a cruel twist of fate, it now towered over him, three stories tall, a testament to the entropy inherently part of the wash of time. Humans' work, stone and glass and metal, a vanity, a gloriously rotted-out monument to their faulty belief that they were the top of the food chain...
To Godzilla, it was nothing more than another set of walls meant to safeguard cowards from that which would some day come to lay waste to every last fat, lazy, overconfident one of them.
Something like...
...Him.
Cold, slit-pupilled yellow eyes glowered at it, sizing it up like a predator does its prey, stained, double-rowed fangs bared in righteous fury at the very symbol of natural oppression.
There was a single moment in that bitterly cold night in which everything was still and silent.
And then he gave vent to the blinding anger inside, the fire that was tearing through his skin; turning his head to one side and drawing a sharp, deep breath, he roared--a sound which carried far into the darkness--and snapped it back towards the building, firing off an immense red-and-white ray blast that tore through one section of crumbling wall like a knife through butter and blew out again through the roof.