[b]Lordgenome[/b]

Eventually the ringing in Lordgenome's ears subsided, as did the shiver that ran through his bones. It took far longer for him to feel like getting up than he expected, and he still wasn't feeling completely up to par, but the sound of more explosions and indistinct shouting nearby broke him from these thoughts. Tapping one of the Lazengann's controls, he allowed the canopy to become transparent on his side, allowing him to see out of it, though no one around him could see in. He was staring up at a clear, blue sky, only slightly marred by the smoke still rising from his crater. Deciding to right himself, he took hold of the controls and willed the Lazengann to stand back up on its stubby legs. He tottered a bit, still dizzy, but soon had his balance.

The small, squat robot clumsily climbed up and out of the crater it had made in the ground, and wandered a short distance. Lordgenome tried to get his bearings; he was in a campus of some kind, as far as he could tell. But that wasn't the strange part. He felt like he was late to some sort of costume party, judging by the company that he was in. The gorilla and the flying, purple horse stood out most to him, but the raving lunatic and talking construction equipment were also notable personages. Lordgenome blinked slowly, and then shook his head vigorously, sending his shaggy hair whipping every which way. Maybe he was just concussed and hallucinating. Looking back, he figured that either he was very severely psychotic at the present moment, or something very strange was happening. He wasn't about to rule out either one.

Without trying to disturb the present company too much, he kept his canopy opaque and slowly walked through the present gathering, trying to keep to the edge of the crowd and avoid attracting too much attention. He didn't know who these people were, or how they would react to seeing the Lazengann, and so he kept a tight grip on the control handles, prepared for the possibility of conflict suddenly breaking out.


[hr]

[b]Marchesa[/b]

Information-gathering had been largely unsuccessful, Marchesa admitted to herself. No one that was around her seemed to know any more than she did, which was disappointing. Even so, she stuck close to the tavern where many persons seemed to be gathering. She stuck herself near an open window, listening in on whatever discussion went on. A gruff, female voice spoke out, bringing up such matters of a person known as the Viewer. Interesting, now Marchesa was finally learning something, even if it didn't make much sense to her.

In any case, that woman seemed to command some degree of authority. Marchesa made a mental note to become more acquainted with her sometime in the near future. The difficult matter was that she currently possessed no influence. It was not power, but influence that dictated who was in control, and as it was she had absolutely nothing to work with. No money, no contacts, no political clout. This would have to be the first issue that she remedied, even before getting a tour of who was who in this "bird cage."

As she was pondering these things, a large man in a suit of armor stepped out, and conjured a flame in his hand. He seemed to be looking in Marchesa's direction, and she did not take well to having attracted the attention of such a strange figure. She attempted to skulk back into the shadows, rounding the corner of the tavern to disappear from sight. She dashed at the pace that her heeled shoes and long skirts would allow her, ducking into an alley once she found one. With a quick illusion, she threw up the image of a brick wall at the mouth of the alley, disguising the path she took, and then ran back around behind the buildings that she now found herself behind.

However, in her haste, Marchesa had not realized that she had no idea where she was going. She stopped suddenly, skidding to a halt in front of two large men. Both were burly, lowborn types that Marchesa was unfortunately familiar with; quick to fight but slow of wit. Each man reeked of alcohol, and beyond their towering frames both carried a short blade on his belt, as well as a strange, metal item that Marchesa assumed to be a weapon. Taking notice of Marchesa, the two uttered various vulgarities in a tongue unknown to the Black Rose, and closed in on her with foul intent in their eyes. Marchesa scowled; these situations were far below her, and it aggravated her to no end to be in one.

Either way, she had the upper hand in this matter, as though she was on in her years, Marchesa was still quick on her feet, and was not inebriated as these men were. She ducked forward, and gave the closer man a sharp kick in his groin. As he howled in pain and collapsed to his knees, Marchesa snatched the knife from his belt, and thrust the blade into his throat. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering Marchesa, as the man gurgled his last words. She removed the knife and kicked the dying man aside, and turned her attention to the other. Unfortunately for her, the man was perilously close, and had the advantage in reach. There was little room for maneuvering, and so Marchesa was reduced to slashing wildly at the man as he attempted to grab her. She wasn't a warrior; she really had no skill with this sort of thing, and it was quickly tiring her. She needed to either get away, or otherwise even the odds in her favor. Reaching the point of desperation in this struggle, the Black Rose tried out a tactic well-known to women in similar situations: she screamed, as loud and long as her voice would allow her.