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(double post, sorry)
Both youngling shrieked as blaster fire erupted in the cargo bay, harkening back to memories of their Clan being cut down in the hallway as the Mon Calamari and Thisspiasian instructors fell to the clones. The Temple Guardians were the first to wade into the fray, with the Jedi Knights close behind. The Nautolan and the Anzati both braced themselves as they peered around the the opening into the room, their eyes wide and mouths agape as the fighting quickly consumed the room. For what they could see, neither would have believed their eyes. A Jedi who absorbed blaster bolts without injury. Clones that came in waves, an army of the same face standing shoulder to shoulder with one another. One by one, the troopers went down under the valiant efforts of the Jedi only to be replaced by another just like the one before it, or the one before it, or the one before it...
It was madness.
A Jedi fell into the sea of clones, followed shortly after by a padawan boy who seemed all to eager to jump into the fighting. But then, what choice did any of them have? Sor-Jan and Zak would have to as well, because standing there was not an option afforded either of them. Propelled forward, pressed toward the LAATs, the two younglings felt themselves thrown into the midst of the cargo bay, their feet pounding against the floor as both boys raced toward the transports as though it were some goal post in a game of theirs. Blaster bolts sailed by their heads as they ran - pulling, pushing, dragging one another along.
They could see a Jedi fall from a catwalk above, striking the roof of a LAAT as a clone pilot was boarding it. The two younglings lost sight of both the enemy and the Jedi, but heard the echo of a blaster shot from inside of the troop transport. The Nautolan leapt up from the floor, his bare feet hitting the interior deck of the LAAT as its engine could be heard to come on-line. Turning, the green-skinned youngling reached a hand down to help pull the Anzati aboard. Turning their heads to get their bearings, Zak grabbed SJ by the arm and tugged as he pointed to the cockpit.
The young Anzat started toward the front of the craft, when he realized there was something strange about the body of the clone trooper lying on the deck. A cauterized stump smoldered with the sickening sweet odor of charred flesh noticeable in the air. The clone was headless.
"Ew!" Zak complained aloud, shrinking back.
Reaching down, the raven-haired SJ picked up the clone pilot's helmet, and was surprised by the weight. "What happened to his head?" the young Anzati inquired.
The answer to his question dropped from out of the bottom of the helmet, hitting him on the leg as the man's severed cranium hit the deck and rolled, face up, to stare at the younglings with vacant eyes.
Zak screamed, a high-pitched sound that echoed sharply as it was amplified by the acoustics of the LAATs open interior. Sor-Jan would have as well, but for the fact that he was instantly overcome by nausea. Vomiting onto deck of the LAAT, the young Anzat let go of the helmet as he doubled over as he choked on his own bile. The clone armor clanged loudly against the metal of the interior, as it went bouncing outside of the carrier.
A pair of hands grabbed him then, as the Nautolan youngling took hold of the Anzati's shoulders and pulled him toward the cockpit of the craft. To their relief, a Jedi was there at the controls.
The relief was short-lived, as the two boys saw the evidence of the wound on the Jedi's left side. The young Anzati was rooted in place for a moment, frozen in fear as large water drops formed at the corners of his eyes.
Seeing a Jedi injured like that was like finding out super heroes weren't really real.
The young Anzati tugged at the edges of his tunic for comfort, before something came to mind. Something he could do. Something he could do to help. Taking hold of the sleeve that had been partially severed from the shoulder seam by the earlier shot that had burned his shoulder, the youngling was able to tug and tear the sleeve completely free of the garment. Folding it up in his hands, the boy pressed against the Jedi Master, using the cloth as a bandage as he held it firm against the wound to try and stay the bleeding.
It was madness.
A Jedi fell into the sea of clones, followed shortly after by a padawan boy who seemed all to eager to jump into the fighting. But then, what choice did any of them have? Sor-Jan and Zak would have to as well, because standing there was not an option afforded either of them. Propelled forward, pressed toward the LAATs, the two younglings felt themselves thrown into the midst of the cargo bay, their feet pounding against the floor as both boys raced toward the transports as though it were some goal post in a game of theirs. Blaster bolts sailed by their heads as they ran - pulling, pushing, dragging one another along.
They could see a Jedi fall from a catwalk above, striking the roof of a LAAT as a clone pilot was boarding it. The two younglings lost sight of both the enemy and the Jedi, but heard the echo of a blaster shot from inside of the troop transport. The Nautolan leapt up from the floor, his bare feet hitting the interior deck of the LAAT as its engine could be heard to come on-line. Turning, the green-skinned youngling reached a hand down to help pull the Anzati aboard. Turning their heads to get their bearings, Zak grabbed SJ by the arm and tugged as he pointed to the cockpit.
The young Anzat started toward the front of the craft, when he realized there was something strange about the body of the clone trooper lying on the deck. A cauterized stump smoldered with the sickening sweet odor of charred flesh noticeable in the air. The clone was headless.
"Ew!" Zak complained aloud, shrinking back.
Reaching down, the raven-haired SJ picked up the clone pilot's helmet, and was surprised by the weight. "What happened to his head?" the young Anzati inquired.
The answer to his question dropped from out of the bottom of the helmet, hitting him on the leg as the man's severed cranium hit the deck and rolled, face up, to stare at the younglings with vacant eyes.
Zak screamed, a high-pitched sound that echoed sharply as it was amplified by the acoustics of the LAATs open interior. Sor-Jan would have as well, but for the fact that he was instantly overcome by nausea. Vomiting onto deck of the LAAT, the young Anzat let go of the helmet as he doubled over as he choked on his own bile. The clone armor clanged loudly against the metal of the interior, as it went bouncing outside of the carrier.
A pair of hands grabbed him then, as the Nautolan youngling took hold of the Anzati's shoulders and pulled him toward the cockpit of the craft. To their relief, a Jedi was there at the controls.
The relief was short-lived, as the two boys saw the evidence of the wound on the Jedi's left side. The young Anzati was rooted in place for a moment, frozen in fear as large water drops formed at the corners of his eyes.
Seeing a Jedi injured like that was like finding out super heroes weren't really real.
The young Anzati tugged at the edges of his tunic for comfort, before something came to mind. Something he could do. Something he could do to help. Taking hold of the sleeve that had been partially severed from the shoulder seam by the earlier shot that had burned his shoulder, the youngling was able to tug and tear the sleeve completely free of the garment. Folding it up in his hands, the boy pressed against the Jedi Master, using the cloth as a bandage as he held it firm against the wound to try and stay the bleeding.
Gowi said
I think how Slade was written in the Teen Titans cartoon was the best writing the character got in years, honestly. I personally don't find it lazy when Batman defers to preparation time to "ready himself" against a villain he has entire dossiers and equipment against. But take me for example, you will not see Batman being "batgod" when say Solomon Grundy shows up when I write him.
Sadly, how all of the characters in the Teen Titans cartoon were depicted was the best writing any of them got in years.
Its made worse when you consider New 52 Gar and New 52 Slutfire.
Yes, I double posted. Sue me. :P
I always figured Fate for a Brony.
I'll get a post up in a few. I wanted to get a better feel for the cargo bay scene before I injected the younglings into it, but I think Hex's post combined with everyone else's gives me plenty to work with.
Gowi said
First Blossom post is up, yo.
Infinity, Inc, that's what's up, yo!
S A M A R
The Visaya Islands, Philippines
The rain had intensified for a few moments, then was suddenly quiet, leaving only a still night air cooled by the mist rising from off the muddy rivers that had become of the streets. Maria had dozed off to sleep, the nearness of her tugging at Christopher's consciousness as he could sense her mind drift to somewhere, where dreams were made. At long last, the young Hellspawn surrendered to the hope that he might find this sanctuary of the mind for himsself, and closed his eyes. And in that moment, Christopher dreamed of tomorrow...
...and tomorrow never came.
The child's eyes snapped open in the moment between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder, not for the sudden flash but rather a feeling that had just begun. Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me.
The rain hit the house with the full force of a sudden gale, ripping up loose boards in the porch as a terrible howl pierced the air. The chain and tarp hammock came apart in an instant, hovering in the defiance of all Newton's laws before winking out of existence. Within the house, Christopher materialized from out of the air in a plume of Hellfire, the red cape billowing about his small form, which was now fully armored in the black and white colors of Al Simmons. Depositing Maria safely into the arms of her family, the boy again faded into the air.
Phasing through the roof of the house, Christopher shot upward into the air for an aerial view of what was happening, which is when he realized... the earlier quiet had been nothing more than the eye of the storm. A typhoon had come to Samar, tearing through houses pushing water up into the homes of those which would not yield to it. And he could sense the pending death. A dozen at least. A hundred?
The young Hellspawn was overcome by a sense of the utter futility of one hero's actions in the face of nature's wrath, and yet... he could not save them all, but he could save someone.
Plunging back into the town, the young Hellspawn ghosted across the muddy river that now rushed like a flood through the main street, chasing behind the sense of impeding death until he saw a house ripped apart to its very timbers, shuddering under the weight of its own roof. A Filipino man was trying to fight against the wind and rain to free his family from out of the home. A loud crack heralded the release of the roof's support beam, as the half-ton beam came down to crush the man and his family. Instead, the beam struck the young Hellspawn's cape, driven into the ground behind him like a stake and extended forward to create a brace. What remained of the home's foundation cracked underneath the weight of Christopher and the collapsing structure, the young Hellspawn struggling for his footing as he tried to maintain the stability of the structure, as his cape expanded to shelter the man and his family huddled at the boy's side.
They were calling to someone. As Chris looked up, he realized an elderly matriarch was kneeling before an icon of the VIrgin Mother and praying. Grimacing, feeling the timbers about to give, the boy fought to maintain his control over the symbiote even as he stretched himself further still -- sending tendril-like chains to ensnare the old woman, forcibly dragging her away from her candlelight vigil and into the sanctuary of his damned suit.
As soon as the old woman had landed at his feet, the child snapped the cape shut around them all, teleporting across town to appear from out of the ceiling of Maria's house, depositing those within into the already crowded interior. The roof had sprung several leaks, and water was coming in from underneath the doors. "We can't stay here," the young Hellspawn realized aloud, looking at the faces of the assembled people he had gathered inside the home. "Is there somewhere else we can go?" the boy inquired.
Except Christopher didn't speak Tagalog.
The roof collapsed under the weight of water and the pressure pushing against it. Christopher tried to look up as a deluge rushed over him, as the house literally came down around him and on top of him.
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Edited Kai-ro's CS to match.
I'm working off of the structure in Gowi's post, so I'll let him chime in as to whether that's a mistake or just... what they are in our continuity. Then I'll edit as appropriate.
Dblade26 said
Also quick question Bounce but why did you pick the Philippines.
I was thinking of what it would be like for a character such as Dick Grayson or even Wolverine to have been in the Visaya Islands when Typhoon Haiyan struck. Taking that perspective, and applying it to Christopher, who can sense death, I thought it would make a compelling narrative for how our character re-discovers himself in the process of being a hero. And not a I'm a hero, because I beat up Lex Luthor hero, but one who tried to fight against an opponent where good and evil aren't at play. It's a typhoon. Chris can't win, he can only lose, because he won't be able to save everyone. But that becomes the point of the story.
Afterwards, he'll help a soul to cross over, briefly encounter someone in the afterlife (either Professor Utonium or Danny Fenton, I'll re-address those points with Gowi once the story progresses to that stage) and either result would be to connect his story back to his Infinity, Inc teammates.
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