HikariAngel
04-04-08, 12:43 PM
Freebird. Now where had she heard that name before? The pagoda warrior’s dark grey tail twitched as she paced up and down the Pagoda hallway that housed the door leading to her arena. The name on the monk’s scroll rang a bell somewhere in her mind, but she just couldn’t figure out why it did.
Freebird… Freebird… Freebird… Freebird!
And there’s the connection at last. Madison Freebird, the warrior whose spot the catgirl was filling right at this moment. Justin Freebird would have to be her brother; she’d never heard of multiple unrelated people taking the same last name, especially on a world such as Althanas where last names were as much a description of their owner as anything.
Her ears drooped slightly as she walked over to the unadorned door that led to her second home now. Turning the doorknob, she stepped through the swirling vortex of nothing, suffered through the familiar sensation of feeling as though everything she had eaten the last few days was on its way up, and finally walked casually into the most bizarre landscape she had ever seen. Of course, it wasn’t that strange to her now. It actually looked a touch bland here and there.
To say it was the conjuration of a deranged mind, you would need to make two assumptions: the first of which is the idea that Monica’s mind was deranged and the second being that she actually put a significant amount of thought in her choice of fighting arena. Neither would be accurate in her case. She just didn’t think the same way “normal” people thought she should… many times she didn’t think at all before doing something. Act before you think too hard might have come to mind now and then.
This was one of those times, and very clearly so.
The field was rather simple for a change if you discounted the catgirl’s unique eccentricities. Standing on the floor, grass spread from a swirling black vortex—the entrance to the arena—in colors that it had no business being. Green worked its way into the kaleidoscopic palette here and there, but for the most part, pinks, yellows, and other random flavors of neon blades cast an omnipresent light on an otherwise dim space.
Yes, the grass is glowing, but at least it’s not trying to kill you.
What filled that requirement was the multitude of floating landmasses. Half of them looked as though they were uprooted straight from the psychedelic groundcover with the potholes and pitfalls to prove it, the other half were identical yet strangely upside-down. Every one was moving straight up or down, drifting lazily as though they had nothing better to do. Despite the multicolored grass, the dirt was quite normal and brown. Perhaps she hadn’t thought that deep about the strangeness of the arena.
Looking up, another unique sight would quickly come into view and solve the riddle of where the overhead glow was coming from. Nearly identical to the ground below, the ceiling three-stories up was coated again with the same grass to provide a second source of light. The catgirl’s silver hair glowed with the radiance of the arena and her leather tank top was instantly painted a rainbow pastel from the gently swaying lights. Her eyes were on the ceiling, as though she was longing for something to happen yet dreading it at the same time.
Her eyes drifted slowly down, past a tree in the very center between the top and bottom halves that seemed to be growing in every direction at once, up and down as well as out to the sides. It was one of her favorite ideas at the time, but now she simply glanced over it as though it was nothing special.
“Mistress Monica? You seem a mote depressed.”
The familiar voice of her prospector snapped her out of whatever daze she was in. How he always managed to sneak up on her was all kinds of amazing, but for once she didn’t look startled at all.
“What is it now, Mortimus? I’m getting ready for a fight here.”
“I understand. I simply wished to ask what was wrong. You aren’t your usual peppy self and I got worried. Is something the matter?”
Monica sighed. He was right. Somehow, this ‘Justin Freebird’ was already gnawing at her. Just because she wanted to kill his sister and Madison wanted to kill her for what happened in their last match didn’t mean that he was going to be as terrible as her.
“It’s nothing. I just need a little time to think. Maybe you could just stop the chunks of floating land from moving this time? I don’t feel like trying to dodge eleven different sorts of death today.”
“It will take but a moment, my mistress.”
And then he was gone. He didn’t use the vortex she had to go through; he was simply there one minute and not there the next. Sitting down cross-legged on the Technicolor groundcover, the catgirl closed her eyes and lowered her head. There was no point going into this thing depressed. As she sat there, she could feel a bit of magic being worked from outside… it was her personal monk doing the alterations she asked for. The floating landmasses slowed then finally stopped like someone had dumped a pepper shaker over and frozen the crystals mid-fall.
There was a small humming sound then a quick flash of light. Justin had arrived.
Freebird… Freebird… Freebird… Freebird!
And there’s the connection at last. Madison Freebird, the warrior whose spot the catgirl was filling right at this moment. Justin Freebird would have to be her brother; she’d never heard of multiple unrelated people taking the same last name, especially on a world such as Althanas where last names were as much a description of their owner as anything.
Her ears drooped slightly as she walked over to the unadorned door that led to her second home now. Turning the doorknob, she stepped through the swirling vortex of nothing, suffered through the familiar sensation of feeling as though everything she had eaten the last few days was on its way up, and finally walked casually into the most bizarre landscape she had ever seen. Of course, it wasn’t that strange to her now. It actually looked a touch bland here and there.
To say it was the conjuration of a deranged mind, you would need to make two assumptions: the first of which is the idea that Monica’s mind was deranged and the second being that she actually put a significant amount of thought in her choice of fighting arena. Neither would be accurate in her case. She just didn’t think the same way “normal” people thought she should… many times she didn’t think at all before doing something. Act before you think too hard might have come to mind now and then.
This was one of those times, and very clearly so.
The field was rather simple for a change if you discounted the catgirl’s unique eccentricities. Standing on the floor, grass spread from a swirling black vortex—the entrance to the arena—in colors that it had no business being. Green worked its way into the kaleidoscopic palette here and there, but for the most part, pinks, yellows, and other random flavors of neon blades cast an omnipresent light on an otherwise dim space.
Yes, the grass is glowing, but at least it’s not trying to kill you.
What filled that requirement was the multitude of floating landmasses. Half of them looked as though they were uprooted straight from the psychedelic groundcover with the potholes and pitfalls to prove it, the other half were identical yet strangely upside-down. Every one was moving straight up or down, drifting lazily as though they had nothing better to do. Despite the multicolored grass, the dirt was quite normal and brown. Perhaps she hadn’t thought that deep about the strangeness of the arena.
Looking up, another unique sight would quickly come into view and solve the riddle of where the overhead glow was coming from. Nearly identical to the ground below, the ceiling three-stories up was coated again with the same grass to provide a second source of light. The catgirl’s silver hair glowed with the radiance of the arena and her leather tank top was instantly painted a rainbow pastel from the gently swaying lights. Her eyes were on the ceiling, as though she was longing for something to happen yet dreading it at the same time.
Her eyes drifted slowly down, past a tree in the very center between the top and bottom halves that seemed to be growing in every direction at once, up and down as well as out to the sides. It was one of her favorite ideas at the time, but now she simply glanced over it as though it was nothing special.
“Mistress Monica? You seem a mote depressed.”
The familiar voice of her prospector snapped her out of whatever daze she was in. How he always managed to sneak up on her was all kinds of amazing, but for once she didn’t look startled at all.
“What is it now, Mortimus? I’m getting ready for a fight here.”
“I understand. I simply wished to ask what was wrong. You aren’t your usual peppy self and I got worried. Is something the matter?”
Monica sighed. He was right. Somehow, this ‘Justin Freebird’ was already gnawing at her. Just because she wanted to kill his sister and Madison wanted to kill her for what happened in their last match didn’t mean that he was going to be as terrible as her.
“It’s nothing. I just need a little time to think. Maybe you could just stop the chunks of floating land from moving this time? I don’t feel like trying to dodge eleven different sorts of death today.”
“It will take but a moment, my mistress.”
And then he was gone. He didn’t use the vortex she had to go through; he was simply there one minute and not there the next. Sitting down cross-legged on the Technicolor groundcover, the catgirl closed her eyes and lowered her head. There was no point going into this thing depressed. As she sat there, she could feel a bit of magic being worked from outside… it was her personal monk doing the alterations she asked for. The floating landmasses slowed then finally stopped like someone had dumped a pepper shaker over and frozen the crystals mid-fall.
There was a small humming sound then a quick flash of light. Justin had arrived.