reconciliation of antitheses {speakers day two}
Mar 11, 2017 0:19:50 GMT -5
Post by lance on Mar 11, 2017 0:19:50 GMT -5
l u c a s o ' h a r a
The sun had just begun to dip beneath the horizon when his weapon melted.
They'd stopped at what looked like the stump of an ancient, gigantic tree for a breather. He'd camped out against the stump itself, back on wood and eyes closed in contemplation.
Today, I saw my first real life kill.
It wasn't his first death, mind you, for the passing of Lorenzo Ruined was still fresh on his mind.
But it was the first time he'd seen anyone take away the life of another in the flesh in all of his eighteen years on the planet.
He and Wylla had been long gone by the time the first Bloodbath cannon had sounded, and their first skirmish with Fallon and Tamron had ended before any of them could lose their lives. Ten people had lost their lives by the time the sun had come up this morning, and he had not borne witness to a single one.
But then Eva Hope had struck with an almost frightening amount of strength and precision and had skewered their opponent on the tip of her blood-red spear.
And just like that, he was a stranger to the act of murder no longer.
And it was....
What, exactly?
Shock. Surprise. A war of euphoria and revulsion battling in his head.
He ultimately came to the conclusion that things would be different once it was him behind the final death blow and not another.
And when - and if - that came to pass, he would reevaluate.
The soft, steady beep, beep, beep of a sponsor parachute prompted him to open his eyes. Tilting his head towards the sound, he watched the silver gift gradually descend towards him.
Then, as the parachute and his gaze alike dropped lower, he shifted his gaze to where his warhammer lay, propped up against the stump.
Or, at least, where it had been propped against the stump.
He blinked, staring at what had been his weapon for a solid minute. Then, he spoke.
"Well, that's rather unfortunate."
The indifferent tone in his voice betrayed the lack of emotion that was uncommon for such words as the warhammer slowly dissolved into a pile of purple goo.
He let out a light laugh in response. "Figured it was too good to be true." he added, speaking to no one in particular.
The silver parachute plopped down at his feet, prompting a yawn and a stretch from him. Alright, let's see what I got this time, he thought, transitioning from the stretch into a grab in one smooth motion.
Inside, rather predictably, were crayons. Six of them, to be exact.
Nice.
His gaze drifted from the box to the pool of purple that had been his weapon moments earlier, then to the very solid yellow canteen that lay against his bag, before refocusing on the crayons.
The gears in his head clicked, and he grinned.
Then, he got to work.
Grabbing one of the crayons at random, he started sketching on the plain white ground beneath him. Slowly, surely, the edged form of a longsword took shape. The hilt was shaped like a cross, the lines of the blade were straight and true, gradually narrowing down to a sharp point, and everything was shaded in a dark golden metallic color.
He stood up and stepped back, admiring his work as the sword, like the warhammer yesterday, slowly morphed and solidified into a real, solid weapon. The grin returned to the corners of his mouth as he took in his latest work of art.
But like always, his attention refused to tie itself to one thing for long, and after a minute of gazing he bent down to pick up the box containing the remaining five crayons.
Hmmmm. What to do with these.
A lightbulb went off deep within his skull, and his grin grew wider.
Ah, but of course. A knight needs his armor, after all.
And grabbing the second crayon, he resumed his work.
The feet were first, as he sat back down in a cross-legged formation and began coloring until his skin looked as red as the crayon, from the toes to just above the ankles, were his socks usually ended. Next came the legs, shaded in from ankle to knee with the third crayon. The fourth crayon he dragged along the ground instead of himself, for the helmet would have had to have been drawn blindly, and he was not one for anything less than complete perfection. The green crayon gradually traced the headpiece along the ground, shading in what was to be solid and leaving a sizable gap for his face and eyesight to remain free. The fifth crayon followed suit, as the purple dragged along the ground, the breastplate shaded in entirely save for a trio of holes that would house his arms and neck, respectively.
He waited till each set of armor had solidified and the latter two were equipped before he grabbed the final crayon, shading in first his right, then his left hand in turn, from each finger tip to just past the wrist.
Eventually, the gloves solidified as well, and he finally stood up, surprised with how light the custom armor pieces were. He wondered if that was a side effect of the crayons themselves, or simply with how he had designed them.
He decided he didn't really care what the schematics of the armor were as long as it served its purpose, and given how Eva had survived Ten's clumsy strike without so much as a scratch, he had no reason to believe otherwise. Picking up the golden sword he had just drawn, he began to take a stroll around the stump.
As he rounded from six o clock to three, his curiosity got the better of him. With one quick slash, the golden sword whistled through the air, traveling from foot to head in the blink of an eye.
His grin grew wider.
Another twitch, and the sword dropped, curving from vertical to horizontal around his midsection, razor-sharp blade pausing directly in front of the tree growing within the stump, and the grin turned into a smirk as he-
Wait. Tree?
He paused, lowering his weapon.
Yes. A tree. In the middle of the stump.
He peered closer, taking note of three crayons nestled amongst the branches. Hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed the nearest one - one that sported the color of freshly fallen snow - and with one quick jerk, plucked it from the branch.
He took one long, hard look at the white writing implement.
First we have flying sea creatures. Then we have a mansion that bend the laws of reality and crayons that can create anything and everything simply by drawing it. And now, we find that said crayons can grow on trees.
The thought sunk into his brain, and he laughed.
"Hey Wylla! Eva! Come check this out!" he called. "You'll never believe what I found!"
The fun part was, in this case, belief wasn't necessary.
The Gamemakers had already proven that belief was a very small box in which to keep the laws of reality in many times over.
And he had no doubt that this was only the beginning.
They'd stopped at what looked like the stump of an ancient, gigantic tree for a breather. He'd camped out against the stump itself, back on wood and eyes closed in contemplation.
Today, I saw my first real life kill.
It wasn't his first death, mind you, for the passing of Lorenzo Ruined was still fresh on his mind.
But it was the first time he'd seen anyone take away the life of another in the flesh in all of his eighteen years on the planet.
He and Wylla had been long gone by the time the first Bloodbath cannon had sounded, and their first skirmish with Fallon and Tamron had ended before any of them could lose their lives. Ten people had lost their lives by the time the sun had come up this morning, and he had not borne witness to a single one.
But then Eva Hope had struck with an almost frightening amount of strength and precision and had skewered their opponent on the tip of her blood-red spear.
And just like that, he was a stranger to the act of murder no longer.
And it was....
What, exactly?
Shock. Surprise. A war of euphoria and revulsion battling in his head.
He ultimately came to the conclusion that things would be different once it was him behind the final death blow and not another.
And when - and if - that came to pass, he would reevaluate.
The soft, steady beep, beep, beep of a sponsor parachute prompted him to open his eyes. Tilting his head towards the sound, he watched the silver gift gradually descend towards him.
Then, as the parachute and his gaze alike dropped lower, he shifted his gaze to where his warhammer lay, propped up against the stump.
Or, at least, where it had been propped against the stump.
He blinked, staring at what had been his weapon for a solid minute. Then, he spoke.
"Well, that's rather unfortunate."
The indifferent tone in his voice betrayed the lack of emotion that was uncommon for such words as the warhammer slowly dissolved into a pile of purple goo.
He let out a light laugh in response. "Figured it was too good to be true." he added, speaking to no one in particular.
The silver parachute plopped down at his feet, prompting a yawn and a stretch from him. Alright, let's see what I got this time, he thought, transitioning from the stretch into a grab in one smooth motion.
Inside, rather predictably, were crayons. Six of them, to be exact.
Nice.
His gaze drifted from the box to the pool of purple that had been his weapon moments earlier, then to the very solid yellow canteen that lay against his bag, before refocusing on the crayons.
The gears in his head clicked, and he grinned.
Then, he got to work.
Grabbing one of the crayons at random, he started sketching on the plain white ground beneath him. Slowly, surely, the edged form of a longsword took shape. The hilt was shaped like a cross, the lines of the blade were straight and true, gradually narrowing down to a sharp point, and everything was shaded in a dark golden metallic color.
He stood up and stepped back, admiring his work as the sword, like the warhammer yesterday, slowly morphed and solidified into a real, solid weapon. The grin returned to the corners of his mouth as he took in his latest work of art.
But like always, his attention refused to tie itself to one thing for long, and after a minute of gazing he bent down to pick up the box containing the remaining five crayons.
Hmmmm. What to do with these.
A lightbulb went off deep within his skull, and his grin grew wider.
Ah, but of course. A knight needs his armor, after all.
And grabbing the second crayon, he resumed his work.
The feet were first, as he sat back down in a cross-legged formation and began coloring until his skin looked as red as the crayon, from the toes to just above the ankles, were his socks usually ended. Next came the legs, shaded in from ankle to knee with the third crayon. The fourth crayon he dragged along the ground instead of himself, for the helmet would have had to have been drawn blindly, and he was not one for anything less than complete perfection. The green crayon gradually traced the headpiece along the ground, shading in what was to be solid and leaving a sizable gap for his face and eyesight to remain free. The fifth crayon followed suit, as the purple dragged along the ground, the breastplate shaded in entirely save for a trio of holes that would house his arms and neck, respectively.
He waited till each set of armor had solidified and the latter two were equipped before he grabbed the final crayon, shading in first his right, then his left hand in turn, from each finger tip to just past the wrist.
Eventually, the gloves solidified as well, and he finally stood up, surprised with how light the custom armor pieces were. He wondered if that was a side effect of the crayons themselves, or simply with how he had designed them.
He decided he didn't really care what the schematics of the armor were as long as it served its purpose, and given how Eva had survived Ten's clumsy strike without so much as a scratch, he had no reason to believe otherwise. Picking up the golden sword he had just drawn, he began to take a stroll around the stump.
As he rounded from six o clock to three, his curiosity got the better of him. With one quick slash, the golden sword whistled through the air, traveling from foot to head in the blink of an eye.
His grin grew wider.
Another twitch, and the sword dropped, curving from vertical to horizontal around his midsection, razor-sharp blade pausing directly in front of the tree growing within the stump, and the grin turned into a smirk as he-
Wait. Tree?
He paused, lowering his weapon.
Yes. A tree. In the middle of the stump.
He peered closer, taking note of three crayons nestled amongst the branches. Hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed the nearest one - one that sported the color of freshly fallen snow - and with one quick jerk, plucked it from the branch.
He took one long, hard look at the white writing implement.
First we have flying sea creatures. Then we have a mansion that bend the laws of reality and crayons that can create anything and everything simply by drawing it. And now, we find that said crayons can grow on trees.
The thought sunk into his brain, and he laughed.
"Hey Wylla! Eva! Come check this out!" he called. "You'll never believe what I found!"
The fun part was, in this case, belief wasn't necessary.
The Gamemakers had already proven that belief was a very small box in which to keep the laws of reality in many times over.
And he had no doubt that this was only the beginning.
lucas draws some shit and receives a white crayon from an RE.