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Post by cyansky on May 28, 2009 20:18:01 GMT -5
All was quiet when Syl approached the building. It was strange... to Syl it seemed to have been once full of lights and merriment, now it was only a shadow of its former self. Well, with nearly all of the inhabitants mindless, who would want to go to be entertained anyway? Mindless people had little concept of entertainment. They just did that they were ordered to do by this twisted city. Still, it was fascinated by humans, even if the bulk of them here made for poor specimens.
It tried to open the door... and found that it succeeded rather easily. The door was unlocked.... apparently someone, or perhaps more than one person, had already been here, and they were not one of the mindless.
Syl stepped inside, looking around with its usual impassive expression. It was fairly dusty, but otherwise intact. As for as Syl was concerned, it was abandoned and most likely minimally maintained. Syl could tell because there was a janitor sweeping the floors in the shadows. Much like almost everyone else, he had the same vacant stare and moved like an automaton.
Now was its chance to find out what human entertainment was all about. For Syl, books and magical databanks, as well as observing human behavior in general, were the way to go entertainment-wise. Kiel had told it of the strange ways humans entertained themselves, and that human entertainment buildings often had bright lights and colourful schemes. It was where humans ate poisonous but good-tasting food all day, laughed, scared their kids to death, poke their friends, act obnoxious and gawk at scantily-clad females and people that screamed at the top of their lungs for a living (how wierd, thought Syl, screaming for a living...).
But... then again there was the question if Kiel understood humanity any more than it did.
Syl peeked around the corners of the lobby, hoping to find some way to find out clues about human entertainment.
"Hello?"
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 28, 2009 20:48:17 GMT -5
Chains had ensconced himself in the first floor balcony and there he sat, draped out languidly over no less than three seats, very full, half-asleep, and watching the spectacle onstage through half-lidded eyes. There was a long black feather in his hands which he twirled with idle inattention, and a glass of something at his left elbow that smoked. All in all, he looked to have been here a long while. The entertainment was very much to his taste. A superb show. A wonderful carnival. A stellar performance. Awards all around. He smiled thinly and sipped at his noxious drink. Although his gaze was lidded, there was nothing vague in it. He stared at the stage as a glutton would stare at that last slice of meat: full to bursting but contemplating a little more. Just that one last bite. He twirled the feather around and around. The stage was littered with people. Rather, it was littered with the select remains of people, looking like nothing so much as a bunch of wasted saplings, torn up by the roots and left to dry under the sun. Chains hadn't been selective about his 'actors': any of the mindless souls that inhabited this place would do. And so, before him now, struggled a surgeon, a little girl and her littler brother, and a street corner homeless. All...indisposed. This entire time, he had been looking at his problem from the wrong way around, he reflected, as he took another slow swallow of his burning concoction. He had been trying to inflict the physical part of pain on creatures with less working nerves than a brick wall. Damage one, injure one, and by itself the wound didn't seem to bother them. One police man had walked around with his head half caved in on one side, face sheeting gore for a good ten minutes, content in going about his same business...until the eventual blood loss dropped him in his tracks like the metaphorical and overused ton of bricks cliche. Obviously, that method wasn't working. No matter what he did to them, the residents of Animus couldn't seem to feel it. They existed to fulfill their daily roles, Chains had realized, and little else. And the only thing that seemed to distress them, was inhibiting that ever so vital reflex of theirs. It was a little like those clockwork toys for children, he mused, over a third sip. They would stomp along happily for as long as their gears clicked, content to move from point a to b. And that was all. But, place an obstruction in their way, or break off a crucial bit of them, and then it was flailing. And falling. Then a rather hilarious frenzy of awkward writhing would occur, as the machination strove to right itself again and again and again. He twirled the feather around and around. Onstage, the surgeon made another desperate attempt to heave himself in the direction of the hospital: he pulled his body up off the wood, and crawled stage left: dragging behind him his own entrails, now hopelessly caught up in his broken legs. The more effort he exerted, the wider he ripped himself along the hideous gash in his midsection. The homeless man's goal was his metal begging cup, placed almost directly in front of him. Disposed of both his eyes, graced with two broken kneecaps and liberated of all ten of his fingers, he tried and failed repeatedly to grasp the cup. He couldn't kneel. He couldn't stand. And his mangled, fingerless hands were useless for grabbing anything. Not to mention, the cup itself was now treacherously heavy. Chains had filled it himself in intermission. The just award for the richly entertaining.
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Post by cyansky on May 28, 2009 21:04:00 GMT -5
It took some time for Syl to decide which way to go. Should it opt to go to the upper floors and explore there? Or should it go to the chairs on the same floor as the stage itself?
It was a difficult choice for Syl, but in the end, it chose to go to the upper floors. Syl liked to fly, but restrained itself from doing so, prefering to keep the ability in reserve, as a surprise. It kind of liked heights, seeing things from above, in full, looking at things from a different perspective than those that lived and died on the ground. Hence it was only natural that Syl would prefer the balcony; it certainly helped that it had good eyesight.
And so... after a few minutes of troublesome navigating, climbing up a ton of stairs, cursing the architect that built this place several times for making it like a maze, asking the janitors in vain for directions and doing its best to ignore one that was horrifically killed and mutilated, Syl finally, finally found the balcony.
It sighed and closed its eyes as it shut the door behind it and proceeded forward.
"Huh, who knew that human architecture could be so troublesome?"
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 28, 2009 21:17:23 GMT -5
At the sound of footfalls, Chains twisted around in his seats. It was a languid movement, not a startled one. And if it was another of those janitors, come up to try and sweep around him, that unfortunate soul was going to find itself likewise languidly butchered. But no. It wasn't a janitor come to have his anatomy radically altered by one of his own brooms. It was someone unexpected. Or something unexpected, Chains amended after one glance as the androgynous newcomer. His eyes were dangerously bright and he had a ghost of his old smile hovering about his lips as he considered the sudden arrival from over the rim of his glass. It looked rather lost. Rather lost and rather off put by the long, stair-filled ascent. Chains himself hadn't bothered with the steps. He had come in the roof way. Like a bird, he thought, like a crow. Black feather. Ash in his drink. His smile grew just a morbid fraction. "Welcome, welcome," he said grandly into the not-quite-silence, punctured by groans and shuffles, and wet noises from the performers down below. "To the Soul Midden." He took another sip and this time, when he looked at the figure before him, his smile had a distinct edge of teeth to it. "Have you come to watch, my friend? Or have you come to participate? A life of showmanship. The roar of the crowd. The thunder of applause." Down below, the beggar tipped over his cup, and it rolled away from him, scattering coins. "The ah, clink of gold in your purse."
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Post by cyansky on May 28, 2009 21:34:50 GMT -5
Syl's attention turned to the young man sprawled over at least three seats, a cup of wine and a black feather in hand. Hmm... thought Syl, what could be the symbolism behind that? Wine reminded Syl of indulging in sin, or perhaps looking down upon those below it while lounging in luxury. The black feather reminded it of the dark angel, Myzrael. Interesting how everything tied together here.
The man didn't appear threatening... in fact, he initially appeared... quasi-innocent, for a lack of a better term.
However, the moment the man smiled, all traces of innocence vanished. Syl knew better than the judge by appearance, and it suspected that something was 'off' about him from the very beginning.
"Have you come to watch, my friend? Or have you come to participate? A life of showmanship. The roar of the crowd. The thunder of applause."
Syl looked in the man's eyes as he said those words. It glanced at the stage. Remains of mutilated humans were strewn everywhere on and around the stage. Some of them, unfortunately were still alive. Such as the heavily injured beggar that the man was watching. Syl returned its gaze to the young man. Given his personality as demonstrated so far, Syl doubted that the innocent act would benefit it. It had to keep its cool.
"Given the choice between joining them down there," it said impassively, "or watching, I'd prefer to watch, thank you very much. Two's a crowd, it seems."
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 28, 2009 21:46:14 GMT -5
"Well then, sit, sit!" If there was a command in those words, it was hidden well. Chains' tone was that of polite insistence: as if it was expected of him to offer the courtesy, or as if he indulged an old friend. He swung his legs off the seats so that Syl wouldn't have to go clambering over him, but promptly placed one booted ankle on top of the other on the back of the chair ahead of him. So that, by the same token, Syl really had nowhere else to go but directly next to him. Or one seat away, at the most. "I wouldn't dream of enjoying myself so, while denying the same luxuries to another. Admittedly, you might not think them much. Not many do. But for better or worse, you are here now. And for better or for worse, we are going to talk." Chains' gaze had strayed to the stage and the tortured twitchings of his victims as he had spoke. The two children had long stopped moving. The doctor gave one last shuddering sigh and collapsed where he crawled, one hand crooked like a claw, into the wood of the stage. He lay there, bleeding quietly in a great swathe of his own blood. Only the beggar man was still half-alive, but he too was slowing down, his weak fumbles becoming increasingly more pathetic. Chains flicked his eyes back to Syl. "Indulge me," he said, and gestured once again to the two empty seats.
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Post by cyansky on May 28, 2009 21:55:52 GMT -5
Syl nodded.
"Very well."
Something was odd about this man. Syl dared not upset him; he was obviously not the type of person one would want to cross lightly. Judging by his apparent glee at seeing those humans suffer and because it seemed that he was the only other non-mindless person in the building, Syl suspected him of being the culprit behind their injuries. And while it was at it, it might as well add that mutilated janitor to the list of his victims.
What compounded the mystery of his suspected brutality and lack of empathy was that his species was not human; Syl could sense as much, but otherwise unidentifiable. Demon? Angel? Some other god-created species? Syl didn't know, and it wasn't sure if it wanted to know. Whatever he was, he was definitely dangerous. He could grin like that upon seeing those suffering humans on stage. Obviously he had no opposition against killing, and didn't have much of a conscience either.
Nonethess, Syl did as the man said. It walked towards him and sat down two seats away from him, so there was one seat between them.
"Well, if you wish to talk, then it's alright with me," said Syl, "I came here for entertainment, after all... or at least to learn more about it, the sort where people act out on stage. Good conversation's nice too."
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 28, 2009 22:08:15 GMT -5
Chains noted the gap that Syl had chosen to place between them. If it was rattled by the spectacle before them, it was doing a fine job of concealing it. And yet the distance it had opted for, meant that it wasn't as at ease as it was pretending to be. Interesting. he would have been surprised if it had been otherwise, true. But it was still interesting nonetheless. "Entertainment." Chains rolled the word around in his mouth as if tasting it, savoring it. "Now there's an interesting thing to be curious about. In a city so clogged full of secrets and shadows and mindless madmen, in a place so cluttered with desperate idiots and their oh-so-powerful-hidden-powers which they flaunt at every chance they get...you want to know more about entertainment." He closed his eyes briefly as if fighting back something. A laugh? It certainly seemed that way. He suppressed whatever shade of mirth had been threatening to escape and re-opened his eyes when he could safely speak again. "Entertainment is art. Art is subjective. That before you, is the only art I will ever consider true. And what I just said, is all you need to know about entertainment." He eyed his seated companion curiously. "But more seriously, and more to the point: who are you, not to have a basic understanding of entertainment: 'the sort where people act out on stage." His imitation of its voice was almost flawless, down to inflection and tone. Then it quickly became his own again, as he said, "I'll have a name first, I think. You are?"
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Post by cyansky on May 28, 2009 22:41:57 GMT -5
Syl gave the man a small smile. It would have to pick its words carefully, but then again, it had to do that all the time. It was how it survived in Animus, picking its words and being careful not to make too many enemies. Besides, this man seemed to be an interesting person to converse with.
"Well, you're right about the first thing," said Syl, watching the dying beggar impassively, "this place is full of secrets to be uncovered, and many strange people, some sane, others not... There are also some others that as you say, like to show off their powers at any given moment. I know because I met one of those."
Syl remembered the events at the church with clarity. Myzrael was clearly one of those people. In such a sort space of time, he had casually blown up a couple of pews, levitated, moved earth to block off a tunnel and conjured a pair of magical bracelets infusing with bits of his own aura that he used as tracking devices. Huh. Show-off. This was in contrast to Syl who demonstrated little power except for casting one spell and conjuring a small ball of light.
"Concerning entertainment, I do agree that it is an art. However the art concerning stage and acting; I know that it is very complex. That's why I would like to learn more about it. It happens all the time, you see. Politicians, for example, have their entire careers revolving around it. They portray themselves as the ideal person, backstab their competition whenever possible and pull on people's emotions as if they were marionettes attached to strings. And when they're at home? They're darling husbands and wives. A true act, indeed. It's most likely what's going on in Animus. Perhaps we're all just actors in some entity's plot - entertainment, if you will. We each have a role to play; we just need to figure out what exactly it is."
Syl turned its gaze away from the dying beggar to the man.
"This leads to the topic of who I am. Truth is, your guess is as good as mine. I don't remember much of my past, nor do I know my purpose here. I'm most likely as I said - an actor in a grand performance, one that may not have a pleasant ending... Well after all that talking, I might as well tell you my name at least. It's Sylredrae, or Syl for short."
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 29, 2009 12:07:23 GMT -5
"That was a rather honest and insightful response," Chains told it, deeply amused by the whole turn of events. "I'm surprised that the city hasn't yet ground you up and spat you out, if you've wandered around with such open curiosity the entire time." He looked down at the feather he still absently held in his fingers, running Syl's words through his mind again. An actor in a grand performance, it had said. Chains disagreed, but then again he would have. To consider himself an actor in this place, would imply that all he said and all he did was governed by an invisible script, that he merely danced around on the snap and point of some shadowy Being's whim. As a rule, Chains didn't dance. As a second rule, the first person who tried to yank his strings to force him into doing so, was going to make the fumbling beggar with his missing extremities look severely lucky. He extended his awareness, trying to sense if there was a presence with them: watching and waiting and giving careful tugs on its invisible tethers. But if there was, he couldn't sense it. "And so you came here like the rest of us," he mused. "You woke in some ridiculous room, in some foreign concoction of a city." He began to shred the feathers, tearing the barbs away from the shaft with motions that would have been violent had they not been so lethargic. "And you must have met the others by now." The feather ripped with brittle little organic noises. "Tell me, what are they up to these days. It has been quite a good while since I last laid eyes on them. Have they managed to get themselves utterly and deservedly killed? Now that would be a script I might care to read."
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Post by cyansky on May 29, 2009 16:30:30 GMT -5
Syl learned forward to watch the last dying moans of the beggar. His blood loss was getting the better of him. Humans were easily killed in that way. This man, judging by the mutilated and horrific nature of their injuries, seemed to thrive on this way of killing humans. He didn't snap their necks immediately; he tortured them. Very painfully.
It gave the man a small smile. It appreciated the compliment. Appreciation was hard to come by nowadays, except where Veronica was involved.
"Well, I'm suprised too," said Syl, "considering the people I've met. The city hasn't gotten the better of me yet, but the same can't be said when speaking about relationships with other people. I've met some fairly... difficult characters as of late."
It watched as the man made a small noise every time it tore at the feather. He was strange, that was crystal clear now.
"I would tell you my so-called adventures that I had with the others while you were away, but it's long and more complicated than it seems at first glance. Would a basic summary suffice? Or would you like in a bit more detail? Ah, and I forgot to ask you your name."
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 29, 2009 20:01:03 GMT -5
"The details don't matter, really. I couldn't care less about their desperate flailings and their dramatic quest for knowledge." Chains gave a small half-shrug in his seat, eyes back on the beggar below, fingers still busy with the feather. "It would merely content me to know who's still living. I assume most of them, if not all. Who have you met?" His knife's edge of a smile haunted the corners of his mouth. "Names, names, names. Asked for and given, traded like meaningless baubles. It's a said mistake to make." And then on the heel of such an abstract thought, "It's Chains." He flicked his pale eyes back to Syl, smiling as her half-challengingly now. As if to dare her to contradict him, to accuse him of lying. The mutilated beggar have one last hoarse rasp of a breath before he keeled over and lay still. Entertaining, that. But far too short. Next time he'd cut off alternating fingers. Or just the thumb maybe. He dragged his wandering attention back to Syl and waited patiently for her response.
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Post by cyansky on May 29, 2009 20:20:44 GMT -5
Syl turned its attention back to the corpse of the recently deceased and not-likely-to-be-mourned beggar. If it had any semblance of a mind and will of its own, perhaps it would have pitied it. But, as far as Syl was concerned, automatons were automatons - it didn't matter if they died. There would always be more. Humans reproduced, although Syl wasn't sure how or whether the the mindless human even had a concept of somehitng as basic as reproduction. It would have to think about that.
"Well, I'm glad that I won't have to go into a ludicrously long speech to tell what exactly happened. Suffice to say, miss Veronica's boyfriend, Mr. Johnny, split us into two groups - one to investigate room #4, the 'ridiculous room' as you would to call it, and the other to investigate the church. I was assigned to the group investigating the church. In brief, we searched around, found some clues, ran into a bunch of prophetic images and whatnot and eventually the adventure concluded."
Syl took a breath before continuing any further.
"Suffice to say, I've met a few of the non-mindless people in this city. Miss Veronica was the first. Then came Myzrael, Trace, Arqus and a glimpse of Mr. Johnny. As of now, they're still alive." Syl nodded its head in the general direction of the man, the one who called himself 'Chains.'
"Well, 'Chains,' I'm not sure whether to agree with you or not concerning the part about 'names.' It depends on the person, I guess. Some people value their names as their identity, for others it eventually becomes meaningless, just a tool for easier communication.
"It doesn't matter to me whether it's your real name or not. I'm not even sure if 'Syl' is my real name. What matters is that calling you by the name 'Chains' is much easier than referring to you as... for example... 'fellow spectator' or 'man with a glass and a black feather.'"
It in turn waited for Chains's reply.
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Chains
Fleshling
Mistress Of Awesomeness
Posts: 133
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Post by Chains on May 29, 2009 20:38:04 GMT -5
Chains laughed. It wasn't even a marginally pleasant sound by any standards- having stolen up on him without warning and then forcing itself from him almost of its own volition. Unfortunately for Chains, he had been sipping at his smoking brew while Syl had been talking and his rather compulsory chuckle became a spluttering of drink. Some of the noxious liquid became airborne, and it fell in drops that spat and sizzled away into ash before they had reached the ground or the seats. Chains raised his head, delicately wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and tossing both cup and its contents behind a shoulder. There came the sound of breaking glass, the smoke and hiss of the evaporating liquid, and then all was quiet once again. "Hilariously forthright, aren't we?" he asked, but there was some geniality in his voice now. "I confess, it is refreshing. These days, the only honesty is to be found in pain. Death used to be quite honest itself, you know, but somehow it became far less...permanent than I could have expected. Hmm." He neglected to inform it that by all rights he was one to talk. Chains was fairly sure he had died at some point but as they said, the devil was in the details.
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Post by cyansky on May 29, 2009 20:50:01 GMT -5
Syl gave Chains a small brief smile, as it watched in amusement as Chains laughed, and in the process spilled most of the nasty smoking stuff he was drinking. Sure his laugh wasn't particularly pleasant, but hey, at least it was more pleasant than the 'MWHAHAHA' sort found in some generic villains. While not particularly pleasant on the ears, it was somewhat of a relief to Syl that someone, even a man with a love for torture, had a sense of humor in this twisted place.
"Hilariously forthright, aren't we? I confess, it is refreshing. These days, the only honesty is to be found in pain. Death used to be quite honest itself, you know, but somehow it became far less...permanent than I could have expected. Hmm."
Syl chuckled.
"I suppose, Chains. I suppose," said Syl, "concerning death, I'm not quite sure of that either. My own concept of my past is only very sketchy at best. For all I know, I might have died fifty times already and got sent here for being such a pain in the neck for Death to deal with."
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