Oldbie Bracket: Roht Mirage Vs Taste of Treason

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle almost couldn't comprehend it as the girl rolled away from her. There was a sudden vacuum of force, a space she had pushed so hard against now filling with the soft, enfeebled patter of rain. From what seemed a great distance, a bullet clicked into the chamber. She realized that it was her own hand that had done it.

With long, heavy breaths, she rolled onto her back and arched to point the gun at the dark haired girl. Little Bee was ready; face resolute, a tear falling from her eye. She acted as if her death was a foregone conclusion, as if she would suffer not just the selflessness of a bee, but the unenviable fate of one. Somehow, through a train of logic not concerned with fairness or karma, that hurt. Astarelle held all the power under one twitching, swelling finger. But, it was her chest that felt the hot stab of that question – a question the girl had already accepted an answer to.

I'm not a monster, she thought weakly into the storm. Certain frenzied muscles felt all too ready to prove her wrong. She shifted to her feet, gun still trained as her nerves pinged and popped like steel fresh from the forge's flame.

The rain softened further as if it knew there would soon be nothing to see here. Astarelle exhaled sharply. The girl looked up at her, confusion arcing through her sincerity. “I wouldn't tell anyone,” she offered, toying with one last strand of hope.

“For how long?” Astarelle asked, forming the words but lacking the requisite venom, “Secrets always come out. They can't know I have this, not until...”

... until I'm done using them.

Lightning flashed once; the storm's farewell. “Bury me,” she breathed. The tension seized her. She stepped forward, almost falling. In the final beat of thunder -a note her heart thrummed with new apprehension- she rolled the gun and pressed it into the girl's hand. The barrel was pointed squarely at her own heart, her eyes at the girl's as they welled with moisture. “Could you do it?” she breathed, daring to trust where, by all rights, she should expect none.

“It would not be the first time I've been shot today.”

I sent a PM to the Treason account. Hopefully, we can finish this in time.

[Taste of Treason]

The gun feels heavy in my hand. The slippery metal is out of place though surprisingly warm. It is so seldom I feel the warmth of another person and it always catches me off guard. I keep my fingers awkwardly wrapped around the handle and whatever the other part that doesn't fire is called.

This must be a trick. I stare hard into her eyes, which are filled with tears. What could make a champion cry?

I once asked Steppenwolf what the well to do worried about. It seems they always rush about, their faces drawn tight and their noses in the air. He laughed at me, and told me it was just human nature to always want more. I suppose it makes sense. I've never known a stable home, so of course that's what I dream of at night. The old woman from the shop just wanted her pots to stay in one piece. Po just wants to hide his wife's murder and keep me as a pet. But what of the girl who seemingly has everything? What is it she wants?

I consider asking, but instead I hold the gun outward in my hand with the handle extended. "I believe this belongs to you now."

I watch as she considers my words but doesn't move. Her eyes are filled with tears and questions that seem to make the gray shine that much brighter. For the first time I notice how dark it has become. The lighting is dying down, the storm far past its crescendo. I continue, "Po, he'll be angry. Hopefully he's had his fill of killing for the day." I offer it in a lighthearted tone though in my heart I know I won't even be there when her returns. I'll have to make my escape and do it quickly.

I see the girl smile and reach for the gun, finally convinced.




-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shop is filled with small muddy footprints, between myself and the girl we truly made a mess of things. A single bee flies by my face and I tense, but it seems to have more important things to do. My bag is light, filled only with an extra set of trousers and a shirt that needs some stitching. There may or may not be a half of a chocolate bar hidden in its side pocket for the next rainy day. I glance at the gun case that started it all. I place my fingers upon the plaque, tracing the letters.

The door opens with a slam and a shout. "What in the bloody 'ell 'append here?" His words are slurred and the smell of whiskey fills the room. Fear ties me to the spot and it is all I can do to choke out the words, "I...someone broke in! They stole the gun and there were bees and then they went upstairs! I don't know what they took!"

His eyes very nearly bulged from his meaty head, 'Get outta my way!" He shoved me from the path, his focus only on the secrets hidden upstairs. His footsteps are hard on each stair, a booming echo that makes its way back to me. As he reaches the landing I think about the strange new girl and the words she spoke as she took the gun from me just a short time ago.

"I have a plan."

[Roht Mirage]

The door bounced open on Po's seething shoulder. His room was dark, lit only by the light of a far-off storm, and marred with an even darker stain across the bed. He stopped and stared for a moment, wondering who might have seen. If they told anyone...

A slender arm draped around his neck. Strands of red hair fluttered by, nearly out of sight. His back went rigid as a warm breath caressed his ear.

“I hear you're a fan,” cooed the Crimson Courtesan.

Po tried gracelessly to turn on her, but one hand heaved upon his shoulder. He landed on his back in the crisp remnants of his own sin, looking up at the dark silhouette of a too-real ghost. “Don't. Please!” he begged. Her namesake revolver glimmered in the faint light as she craned one foot onto the bed, and directly between his legs. It pressed down. He arched back, sucking air to fuel a scream that would never come.

Battlefield Whispers shook once more with thunder.

Astarelle lowered the gun in a smooth, elegant motion. The tension in her arm, that impossible power, was gone. For now. She reached up one hand to push the gruesome masquerade of blood-stained hair back behind her ear. Some might find it unsettling. She thought it poetic.

There was a reluctant sob from the door. She turned to see the girl silhouetted against the hall light. “I know many inns in the nicer parts of town. I'll cover the cost as long as you need,” she said gently, motherly, as if the corpse of her victim wasn't still warm. “I won't... you don't have to see me again.”

“You're keeping it?” the girl asked, eyeing the revolver that had once more reaped its favored prey.

Astarelle looked away sharply. “Don't say it like I'm some monster,” she snapped. Her eyes fell on Po's still form, augered open from jaw to cranium. An image flashed before her of Ixians in the same state; Jensen, Sei, even Kyla. Could she, if it came to that? You do what you have to, the old mantra of desert survival droned in her head.

A hand gripped her gun-bearing wrist. She jumped and turned to look Little Bee in the eye. Through fading light, she couldn't read the message exactly. But, she felt its sincerity.... so small, straight to the heart. “Okay,” she said almost too softly to hear, then pressed the gun into Po's stiffening hand. A picture and a story were complete.

That, she thought, because she dared not speak it, Is for not trusting you earlier.

”Bury me.” Lightning flashed. Astarelle stepped suddenly toward the girl, gun wavering. It rolled in her hand in time with the thunder, not accidentally. Under that overpowering blast, a small sound was hidden: the tick of the cylinder to an empty chamber. She pressed a harmless weapon into the girl's hand and asked that pivotal question, knowing full well that the answer would mean far more for Little Bee than for her. It would bond them... in sympathy and in silence.

It's been a pleasure. =)

I'm cool with any editing you want to do before zero hour. Just be careful to not lose posts to the bug.

[Max Dirks]

This is probably the best developed story of the tournament so far. It was obvious that you worked together because the battle flowed very well. It was very close. In general, I felt that Roht commanded the writing elements, whereas Taste of Treason controlled the story elements.

As for specific concerns: Roht, you overused the pronoun "she." In several instances, I had to re-read several times to find out if you were referring to Astrelle or Cellar. Also, I had a difficult time following your actions, particularly in post 5. ToT, you still overuse run-ons. They are distinct from sentence fragments, which can be used to develop urgency and are very distracting in 1st person writing. Please be weary of these. As for positives, Roht, I liked your ongoing bee metaphor. Cellar, I liked your brevity.

Scoring is as follows:

Roht Mirage

Story- 8
Setting- 6
Pacing- 6
Action- 5
Communication- 6
Persona- 6
Mechanics- 7
Techinque- 6
Clarity- 5
Wildcard- 6
Total- 60

Taste of Treason

Story- 8
Setting- 6
Pacing- 6
Action- 6
Communication- 6
Persona- 7
Mechanics- 6
Techinque- 5
Clarity- 6
Wildcard- 6
Total- 61

Taste of Treason advances.
Roht Mirage will write against Zack Blaze next round for a chance at a rematch.

Lye will add rewards. PMs are welcome for specific tips. I took detailed notes and even requested a second opinion.

[Lye]

Taste of Treason Gets:

1,650 EXP
100 GP

Roht Mirage Gets:

450 EXP
50 GP

EXP & GP Added!