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Demise

 
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PostPosted: Thu May 20, 2004 12:47 pm    Post subject: Demise Reply with quote

Date: 12/31/2003 12:19 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Spiteful Vinegar


   They tumbled through the double doors, blood staining the formerly white snow.  Their weapons too were lost in the fall, and now both Dominic and Harris stared each other down.  They stared for what seemed to both like ages, but was a mere second or two, before diving off for their lost weapons. 

   The blond was quick to get to his weapon, and by the time Harris had gotten to the Falcata Dom was already up and advancing on him.  The first blow was intended to kill.  There would be no dragging this battle out.  Steel clashed, however, as Harris parried the blow high and rolled to his feet. 

   The attacks were relentless, and one can only wonder how Harris was able to fend off so many consecutive blows.  Such dilligent defense did take its toll, though.  His deflections were just barely stopping the arming sword. 

   "It's over," snarled Dom, blue eyes teary with the frigid winter air.  He took a moment to let the comment sink in before commiting to his final combo.  A low swing first, which was blocked as expected, and then a high swing which met a similar fate.  Those swings were nothing but a diversion, which worked very well.  Harris left his lower body exposed just long enough for Dominic to take advantage of it.  He aimed a swift kick for that earlier injured knee and brought the blade down across Harris' midsection in an action similar to a baseball swing.  Crimson leaked all over the place and the falcata dropped from Harris hand. 

   Dom kicked Harris back into the snow and lowered the arming sword's point to his neck.  So many times had he killed without thinking, yet this time he had hesitated to stab Harris and be done with him.  In that moment, he was reminded of the many times they had fought.  At first, a signature, Harris-like prank had put them at odds.  A little bit of water had led to their first almost deadly encounter.  Later, still bitter about the first fight, Dom had shot at Harris.  There was then an incident on the fern, in which he battled it out against Tical and Harris both.  He had even been lit on fire.

   Nope, he wouldn't miss Harris at all.  Taking the time to reminisce would turn out to be a fatal mistake.  A grunt of surprise, rather than pain was emitted as he fell past Harris and to the ground, falcata lodged in him from behind. 
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PostPosted: Thu May 20, 2004 12:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Date: 12/31/2003 12:53 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: HarrisTheHeckler



Things had escalated to the point of no return.  A minor prank that hadn't been forgotten spurned the gunfire.  He was staring Death in the face and decided he didn't like the looks of it.  Since then they had exchanged attempts on each other's life, none of them meeting any success.  Dominic kept pushing, and everybody pushed back.  His brawl the previous night with Tical had been over a string of insults directed at Kaja, and when all was said and done Harris was in the perfect position to finish him off.  He could feel Dominic's life ebbing away under his boot, seeking to crush his larynx.  Too many complaints about blood being spilt in the Outback though.  And several attempts to keep him from spilling it anywhere.  So there went his best chance.  If it hadn't been for the early warning system on Pslyder's modified cycle Dominic would've gotten the last laugh.  To top it all off he had the gall to show up that next night in the Outback as if nothing had happened. 

This newest scrap eventually led to weapons being drawn and the fight taken outside.  This time nobody would be around to interfere.  Though fighting while already injured wasn't exactly the smartest course of action, Dominic apparently wise enough to take advantage of his injuries, and soon he found himself on his back in the snow, sporting a vicious gash across his stomach.  And there it was again, Death staring him plainly in the face.  He was anticipating the final strike with narrowed gaze, though Dominic didn't make haste with it.  He garnered enough energy to put MoonBeryl to work, the rock pulsating in the depths of his pocket, lost falcata springing to life, seemingly of its own accord, barreling down upon Dominic to rend flesh and vital organs.  And that trademark grin of his was the last thing Dominic would ever see, at least in this world.
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PostPosted: Thu May 20, 2004 12:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Date: 12/31/2003 1:32 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: TreeFellr



He hated Rhydin, he really did.  Every time he ventured into town, even if only to spend an hour or two at the Wild Jasmine, the freaks never failed to surprise him with one antic or another.  Even now, all these years after he'd been around, not much had changed: the women were still prissy whores, the men were too big for their britches, and the whole society was like an ill genetic experiment gone horribly out of control.  Pointy eared freaks, three-legged freaks, winged freaks, hell, even the ones that looked normal were freaks in action and attitude if not in appearance.

At least at the Jasmine, the women were about as normal as one could hope to find, and even if he had to settle for one of the pointy-eared ones every now and again, it wasn't like he had to really look at their faces - the bodies were normal-looking and feeling enough for his base needs.

Today, unlike recent days, had gone fairly well.  He'd more than surpassed his expected yield of trees (that was the other thing about this damned place.  It never ran out of trees.  The forest went on and on and one.  Not that he was complaining.  It provided his livelihood.  Still, it just didn't seem right.) and the newer loggers were finally adjusting to his management style.  It had only taken three bloodied lips and one broken nose.  All on their end, of course.  For his size and, perhaps, in spite of it, Layne maintained his shape fairly well and, as all his men learned sooner or later, rather enjoyed a brawl or two on the clock.

The Outback was bustling when he entered.  He'd wanted a fight, and there were brawls happening all over, even outside of the rings!  That made Layne smile and he thought that maybe the place had finally turned respectable.  He'd checked over the bar which looked well maintained, though not perfectly, and then, looked for a fight himself.

Even though that strange uptight talks-like-a-woman-sword-wielding freak had beat him in the Outback's rings (he was still amazed that the guy was too afraid to fight outside the ring, but Layne had wanted a fight any way he could get one), and that older female-referee wouldn't stop with the "What's your name what's your name" ("Shut up already, you old bag!  You should already know it!" he kept thinking to himself) Layne had left the Outback in a fairly good mood.

Who knew that only about a minute would pass before that mood soured, and he'd run smack into a reminder of just how damned awful this place really was.
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PostPosted: Thu May 20, 2004 12:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Date: 12/31/2003 1:34 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: TreeFellr



The fight that he'd seen earlier in the Outback had spilled over outside the doors, with only one of the two combatants (the womanish Harris) returning, albeit wounded.  The other, someone he didn't know, lay there in the snow at Layne's feet.

He wasn't so much concerned with the dead person (what's one less freak matter, anyhow?) as the willingness of the other combatant and passerby alike to apparently let the body rot out here.  Who knew what would happen?  The ones inside would probably come out here, cook the flesh, and feast on it.  He put nothing past the people (he always used that term loosely) in this town.  That, or they'd probably hang him from the building as some sort of trophy or sign.  He didn't know what the fight was about (and later, he'd wonder at just how in the hell Harris managed to win) but it didn't matter.  Ironically, though he'd probably never realize it, he cared more about whomever this was more so now that he was dead than he ever would have when the man was alive. 

Why don't they just transfer me out of this damn place?  Anywhere's better than here.  Even Montana.

Hefting the body over his shoulder, he returned to the Outback, chastising those inside.  He was going to simply leave the body there, but thought better of it with visions of large fires and roast-person in his head. 

Damned freaks.

He'd picked up, by now, on the man's name from the (as he'd later recall and embellish) the joyful cheers of those still inside the Outback when he returned.  Obviously, none of them liked this Dominic Fetzer…all the more reason to get the guy's carcass out of their reach.

His departure delayed only long enough to spat with one of the atypical women, PJ she was called, who had yet to learn to simply sit and look pretty and insisted on speaking (trying to insult him no less!  A laughable "bite me" was the best she could muster), he left carting Dominic's body.  At least he could give the guy a halfway decent burial up near the camp, even if nobody bothered to come claim the body.
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PostPosted: Thu May 20, 2004 12:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Date: 12/31/2003 1:35 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: TreeFellr



Layne did the job himself, about a mile away from the base-camp.  Cursing the worthless town and its worthless population all the while, he wasn't about to let any of his own people get wind of this, either.  That's all he'd need - rumors about him and a dead body.  He wasn't a fool, he knew that most of his men didn't like him and would jump at the chance to oust him.  But they worked for him, and worked hard.  That's what mattered.

He supposed that he should say something after he'd filled in the dirt, and "good riddance" didn't seem quite appropriate.  So, saying nothing, he returned to the camp, barging into his trailer and sitting at the computer desk (he hated computers.  To him, a computer was a device he knew how to work just well enough to realize that it hated him, and would never do what he wanted, and on purpose, too.  And unlike people, he had to get a new one, more stubborn that the last, every time he bashed on one). 

If the man, who looked more like a kid (and perhaps that's what softened Layne's heart ever so slightly) had family around, they deserved to know his fate.  Kicking the computer with his foot, Layne snatched the phone from its cradle and, sifting through papers on the desk until he found what he wanted, spun the dial around the numbers.
When the voice on the other end began to answer, "Rhyd…," Layne interrupted the woman.

"I know who I called," Layne's impatient voice cut through.  "Listen, I found some kid, dead, in town, where your fine upstanding citizens left his body.  I probably know who killed him, but I'll let you people sort that out.  I don't know what policies you have down there, but I at least buried the guy.  He's about a mile west southwest of town an…"

"Who is th…," she tried to edge in.

"Woman, for the love of all that's holy, just shut up and listen.  Try it for once in your sorry life." 

Clearing his throat, he continued.  "Look, his name's Dominic Fetzer.  Right now, he's buried about a mile west southwest of your borders.  If he's got any family, and you're capable of doing anything proper in that circus you have down there, you'll contact them.  I read your damn paper every day, and I expect to see something soon about this guy's family claiming his body at whatever serves as a morgue down there.  Get it?  Good!"

The phone rammed into the cradle before the woman on the other end had a chance to utter her fifth syllable of the conversation.  Crumpling up the pages of the Rhydin Report (they couldn't even name their damned newspapers anything clever!), Layne stood, intent on smoking a cigar before heading for bed.  He'd done his good deed for the month.  Though he didn't expect anyone in that wretched town to actually do anything with the information he'd just provided, he hoped they would. 

It'd be the first decent thing he'd seen from them in years.
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