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I was waiting for others to post.
Hawlin said
You're alive! :O You must tell me of your travels.
Indeed I am!
Nothing that unusual, apart from the tribe of semi-naked woman whom had never seen a man before...
Edgar watched with an amalgamation of wonderment and patience as before him Keepa quite visibly struggled with herself internally, trying to choose between what was right, and what was practical, the two seemingly tearing apart her resolve, but she finally concluded upon a course of action. He had to fight the underlying urge to quiz Keepa, and kept his face sternly serious, though he was smiling inside, impressed with the Elvira; it was rare to see a selfless person in the tunnels, much less the Elvira, as all those he had seen before had been filthy and duplicitous.
To try to help whom they could seemed a noble cause, and yet Edgar found himself questioning whether it was the right thing to do. He was by no means a noble man, but he thought he was a good man, relatively speaking, and he found himself wanting to abandon those he had come to now. He wondered, then, why it was he found his feet following the Elvira as they stalked off with clear purpose towards the sound of gunfire and death. It was not as though he could offer much; he had but a knife, which he was not that apt with, to do combat, and would most ultimately meet his demise if he tried to assist them in their venture. After his father died, Edgar spoke rarely to those in his community, for that is what they were, and felt no guilt for it; their lives were simpler without another name to put to a face. Despite this, he viewed them as a family, the guards and long-stayers were always there for each other, even Edgar to an extent with the maintenance he performed. But when they were in grave peril, and Edgar found himself caring more for his own life than those he may yet save, he felt deeply ashamed; the Elvira were ready to risk their lives, and they knew nothing of his homesteaders. He supposed this inspired him to a degree, but also shamed him into moving; he was clearly not as good of a man as he liked to think.
The Elvira conversed in their most alien tongue, and they came to a halt near to where the pandemonium was transpiring. He saw guards, with names he knew, faces he knew, laying, contorted in pain, yet utterly tranquil in death, and hollow in the eyes when their soul had long since left them. A cold shiver ran down Edgar’s spine, and his heart raced against a heavy, constricting weight around his chest. Death scared him, there was no denying it, but seeing those he knew dispatched with such onanistic brutality filled him with a leaden dread. So much he had taken for granted, his safety, his life, and it was frightfully apparent that his mortal coil could so easily be sprung when faced with the lifeless façade of people who were once known. He wondered how long it would be before their deeds, and indeed their names, faded from the memories of those they died trying to protect. Not long, he wagered.
From the appearance of their situation, this was direr than the normal skirmishes, the death toll could testify to that. The dank smell of dirt and people was now permeated with the putrescence of blood and gore. Edgar fought the urge to gag, holding his knife in shaky hands, his face visibly pale. Perhaps if he held one of his contraptions he would feel a greater confidence, but for now, the only thing keeping him from fleeing was adrenaline and an indescribable sense of duty.
He stood as ready as he would ever be.
To try to help whom they could seemed a noble cause, and yet Edgar found himself questioning whether it was the right thing to do. He was by no means a noble man, but he thought he was a good man, relatively speaking, and he found himself wanting to abandon those he had come to now. He wondered, then, why it was he found his feet following the Elvira as they stalked off with clear purpose towards the sound of gunfire and death. It was not as though he could offer much; he had but a knife, which he was not that apt with, to do combat, and would most ultimately meet his demise if he tried to assist them in their venture. After his father died, Edgar spoke rarely to those in his community, for that is what they were, and felt no guilt for it; their lives were simpler without another name to put to a face. Despite this, he viewed them as a family, the guards and long-stayers were always there for each other, even Edgar to an extent with the maintenance he performed. But when they were in grave peril, and Edgar found himself caring more for his own life than those he may yet save, he felt deeply ashamed; the Elvira were ready to risk their lives, and they knew nothing of his homesteaders. He supposed this inspired him to a degree, but also shamed him into moving; he was clearly not as good of a man as he liked to think.
The Elvira conversed in their most alien tongue, and they came to a halt near to where the pandemonium was transpiring. He saw guards, with names he knew, faces he knew, laying, contorted in pain, yet utterly tranquil in death, and hollow in the eyes when their soul had long since left them. A cold shiver ran down Edgar’s spine, and his heart raced against a heavy, constricting weight around his chest. Death scared him, there was no denying it, but seeing those he knew dispatched with such onanistic brutality filled him with a leaden dread. So much he had taken for granted, his safety, his life, and it was frightfully apparent that his mortal coil could so easily be sprung when faced with the lifeless façade of people who were once known. He wondered how long it would be before their deeds, and indeed their names, faded from the memories of those they died trying to protect. Not long, he wagered.
From the appearance of their situation, this was direr than the normal skirmishes, the death toll could testify to that. The dank smell of dirt and people was now permeated with the putrescence of blood and gore. Edgar fought the urge to gag, holding his knife in shaky hands, his face visibly pale. Perhaps if he held one of his contraptions he would feel a greater confidence, but for now, the only thing keeping him from fleeing was adrenaline and an indescribable sense of duty.
He stood as ready as he would ever be.
I should get a post up soon.
Edgar looked round to where the sound had originated, and, upon seeing Keepa do something similar, pulled the gasmask that was hanging from his neck onto his face, adjusting it so that the rubber and leather straps fit closely to his head. Each breath through the filter was difficult, but at least he was drawing breath. Blue eyes peered through the lenses of his mask, examining face and colourful hair of Keepa, realising he had not yet appreciated the idea she might be gifted with ammonia based colorants; it was rather useless underground, so scavengers steered clear of it, but it had its uses. That would mean she would have to have so scientific understanding, and Edgar highly doubted that to be the case.
He saw the crowds surge in panic, and voices and alarms were raised. A pang of guilt struck a deep chord in the essence of Edgar’s being, and for the first time in a long time, empathy struck him like a freight train; the fear, the confusion, he understood it all, and he felt a remorse that he had not expected. The fact was, these people were likely to die if the horde got through, and he found himself caring; years of being integrated into their society and ingrained a symbiotic appreciation and partnership. These conditioned feelings took Edgar off-guard, and caused him to hesitate, not so entirely certain that leaving would be a good idea.
“What do we do?”
He saw the crowds surge in panic, and voices and alarms were raised. A pang of guilt struck a deep chord in the essence of Edgar’s being, and for the first time in a long time, empathy struck him like a freight train; the fear, the confusion, he understood it all, and he felt a remorse that he had not expected. The fact was, these people were likely to die if the horde got through, and he found himself caring; years of being integrated into their society and ingrained a symbiotic appreciation and partnership. These conditioned feelings took Edgar off-guard, and caused him to hesitate, not so entirely certain that leaving would be a good idea.
“What do we do?”
I'm going away this weekend, so won't be able to post.
Edgar heard the words of the persistent soothsayer, but was too preoccupied with the present to worry about the future, and so the thoughts sifted gently to the niche of his mind reserved for idly obscure facts, the kind that one could recollect if they thought for long enough. Like many naysayers who strived for the attention and fear of the weak, what he was saying was probably lies; Armageddon had already come, and Edgar was sure that the fear-mongers would have ran out of stuff to say after something they rambled on about for so long came true… apparently not.
Hearing the reply of the petite Cherie, the words coming in a much more familiar fashion, Edgar’s attention shifted to Keepa, understanding all of what she was saying, but he had to replay certain words in his mind until an associated meaning drifted to them.
“I understand enough to get by,” Edgar responded aptly, though he was certain he was not putting the right strains on certain syllables, despite his message being clear. Edgar looked at the hulking mass that was named Xurga, and had a sinking feeling in his chest that one obtains after doing something really rather stupid. In all the discussions he had had with Elvira, it had been mainly about their physiology and biological functions: what they ate, how they bred, how they were born, how they grew. Never did Edgar once ask about their social hierarchy, which he was regretting now, but at least there was an unforeseen benefit, in that he knew what to focus his question on.
“Then I shall have to apologise when we stop then, as I would rather like to survive this expedition,” Edgar laughed, tinges of nerves in it, hidden only by the sporadic change in breathing due to his quickened pace. Nevertheless he tried to strengthen his resolve, and steel his mind; he was doing this for science, and for the pride he upheld for being one of the few remaining academics he knew off; he would be damned if he was to let a little danger stop him from uncovering more about a race so mysterious to him.
Hearing the reply of the petite Cherie, the words coming in a much more familiar fashion, Edgar’s attention shifted to Keepa, understanding all of what she was saying, but he had to replay certain words in his mind until an associated meaning drifted to them.
“I understand enough to get by,” Edgar responded aptly, though he was certain he was not putting the right strains on certain syllables, despite his message being clear. Edgar looked at the hulking mass that was named Xurga, and had a sinking feeling in his chest that one obtains after doing something really rather stupid. In all the discussions he had had with Elvira, it had been mainly about their physiology and biological functions: what they ate, how they bred, how they were born, how they grew. Never did Edgar once ask about their social hierarchy, which he was regretting now, but at least there was an unforeseen benefit, in that he knew what to focus his question on.
“Then I shall have to apologise when we stop then, as I would rather like to survive this expedition,” Edgar laughed, tinges of nerves in it, hidden only by the sporadic change in breathing due to his quickened pace. Nevertheless he tried to strengthen his resolve, and steel his mind; he was doing this for science, and for the pride he upheld for being one of the few remaining academics he knew off; he would be damned if he was to let a little danger stop him from uncovering more about a race so mysterious to him.
Keepa. What an enjoyable name, how it fell from the mouth or played out in the mind, her unorthodox tainted French enunciation inflecting it with perfect synergy; the first syllable was tremulous with her melodic pitch, and the name seemed to end on a breath. Yes, it was most enjoyable, and Edgar stood entranced for a few second, replaying the sound in his mind, memorising and reflecting upon it.
His eyes focused again, however, when he noticed her notebook. This creature became more and more enthralling; he had never considered the Elvira to be a particularly well educated bunch, as they were painted as savages, similar to the monstrosity that stood over the group, and Edgar supposed he had not allowed that prejudice to vanish. Nevermore would it tarnish his mind; in his best efforts, he would remain an unbiased observer, already learning much from the atypical Elvira, and they had not even conversed properly, but doubted whom else, besides him, would care. It did not matter too greatly, as though the yearning for the company of another great mind was strong, Edgar’s self-satisfaction gained from learning what others had not was substantial enough to ebb this desire.
On the cover of this book were the words, “Livre de Sorts”, French, which Edgar spoke, and realised that Keepa would probably be more comfortable talking in that tongue than he would be uncomfortable. French was a language he had a basic understanding of, and so the final word was a mystery to him; “Book of…” was all that he could translate. Trying to figure out the final word was a train of thought quickly derailed, first by Keepa explaining that her company were not too fond of humans, and second by the newcomer who spoke decent English.
Edgar paid little heed to his warnings, knowing that he would likely leave with the party, and then return when he felt it necessary, and Metro Centre would be no different to when he left. He stroked his beard languidly as this new beast cast his gaze around all those situated nearby, already speculating about what it is this journey would entail.
After the blind girl and canine-headed anthropomorph spoke their words, the huge beast uttered something in a guttural snarl, and they began to make their way off, only the blind primrose staying to enquire about Keepa.
“<We are leaving?>” Edgar asked.
His eyes focused again, however, when he noticed her notebook. This creature became more and more enthralling; he had never considered the Elvira to be a particularly well educated bunch, as they were painted as savages, similar to the monstrosity that stood over the group, and Edgar supposed he had not allowed that prejudice to vanish. Nevermore would it tarnish his mind; in his best efforts, he would remain an unbiased observer, already learning much from the atypical Elvira, and they had not even conversed properly, but doubted whom else, besides him, would care. It did not matter too greatly, as though the yearning for the company of another great mind was strong, Edgar’s self-satisfaction gained from learning what others had not was substantial enough to ebb this desire.
On the cover of this book were the words, “Livre de Sorts”, French, which Edgar spoke, and realised that Keepa would probably be more comfortable talking in that tongue than he would be uncomfortable. French was a language he had a basic understanding of, and so the final word was a mystery to him; “Book of…” was all that he could translate. Trying to figure out the final word was a train of thought quickly derailed, first by Keepa explaining that her company were not too fond of humans, and second by the newcomer who spoke decent English.
Edgar paid little heed to his warnings, knowing that he would likely leave with the party, and then return when he felt it necessary, and Metro Centre would be no different to when he left. He stroked his beard languidly as this new beast cast his gaze around all those situated nearby, already speculating about what it is this journey would entail.
After the blind girl and canine-headed anthropomorph spoke their words, the huge beast uttered something in a guttural snarl, and they began to make their way off, only the blind primrose staying to enquire about Keepa.
“<We are leaving?>” Edgar asked.
Sorry, I'll fix that. Should have a post up before long.
Edgar recovered from his bow and watched the brief discourse between the inimitable accessories that even after his extensive studies and conversations with Elvira, he could not understand, his gaze level and steady as the colossus regarded him with a firm frown, not showing that his nerves frayed before the bellicose intimidation that came with enormous size and strength. He rubbed the nape of his neck, embarrassment lending his subconscious motor functions to this particular habit, hoping that his chances to travel with such a plethoric spectrum of characters, whose habitual and traditional practises he wished so much to document, despite the possibility that he had not bought enough paper to do so, had not been devastated.
Then the anomalous figure spoke, its face still receded inside its clothing, and the words coming in fractured English, the accent incongruously French, with even some vernacular to match, but had thick and irregular undertones of a much more distinct tongue that Edgar could only assume was that off the Native Elviran. The articulations fell from her rose-petal lips with a breeze of melodic harmony, scented with affability and cordiality; greeted with unguarded honesty of the party’s intentions, he was extended what Edgar rationalised as an unanticipated offering to accompany them.
What a charming idiolect she has, Edgar thought; those quaint little mistakes only exaggerate her delectable façade and petite frame. Accompanying her, for I assume she is indeed a female from her frame and voice, given the connotations of meekness and high pitch; determining gender from face alone is difficult when so much was hidden and abnormal, would without the faintest shadow of a doubt, be an absolute pleasure. Perhaps even after I have gained her trust further, the other members of her party would not be so sceptical towards questioning? Indeed, it is something I thrive towards, a deep understanding could be gained from the expedition that is incontrovertible, as I very much doubt that there will ever be another Elvira as forthcoming as this one before me.
“I can provide for myself, my dear creature friend, I might I say that I am captivated to make the acquaintance of such a-” Edgar stopped, remembering the shambolic English she spoke, adjusting his words accordingly, after as sigh, and a shake of the head as he tut towards himself, “I am happy to meet you.” Edgar said in a voice that was halfway between friendliness and detached inquisitiveness, extending his hand.
It was then that he heard profanities spewed behind him, and upon directing his eyes towards the sounds, found out that it was directed towards the seemingly blind stick-wielding flower of a girl. The two unoccupied Elvira were quick to protect their own, the smaller reacting faster, quickly assaulting the foul-mouthed putrescence for his double-entendre, the mammoth reinforcing this retaliation by his mere presence, causing the man to scarper. It seems that he would be safe in this group.
Turning back to the sleight Elvira, he spoke the words, “It would be my undeniable pleasure to accompany such a party as yours to the surface.”
Then the anomalous figure spoke, its face still receded inside its clothing, and the words coming in fractured English, the accent incongruously French, with even some vernacular to match, but had thick and irregular undertones of a much more distinct tongue that Edgar could only assume was that off the Native Elviran. The articulations fell from her rose-petal lips with a breeze of melodic harmony, scented with affability and cordiality; greeted with unguarded honesty of the party’s intentions, he was extended what Edgar rationalised as an unanticipated offering to accompany them.
What a charming idiolect she has, Edgar thought; those quaint little mistakes only exaggerate her delectable façade and petite frame. Accompanying her, for I assume she is indeed a female from her frame and voice, given the connotations of meekness and high pitch; determining gender from face alone is difficult when so much was hidden and abnormal, would without the faintest shadow of a doubt, be an absolute pleasure. Perhaps even after I have gained her trust further, the other members of her party would not be so sceptical towards questioning? Indeed, it is something I thrive towards, a deep understanding could be gained from the expedition that is incontrovertible, as I very much doubt that there will ever be another Elvira as forthcoming as this one before me.
“I can provide for myself, my dear creature friend, I might I say that I am captivated to make the acquaintance of such a-” Edgar stopped, remembering the shambolic English she spoke, adjusting his words accordingly, after as sigh, and a shake of the head as he tut towards himself, “I am happy to meet you.” Edgar said in a voice that was halfway between friendliness and detached inquisitiveness, extending his hand.
It was then that he heard profanities spewed behind him, and upon directing his eyes towards the sounds, found out that it was directed towards the seemingly blind stick-wielding flower of a girl. The two unoccupied Elvira were quick to protect their own, the smaller reacting faster, quickly assaulting the foul-mouthed putrescence for his double-entendre, the mammoth reinforcing this retaliation by his mere presence, causing the man to scarper. It seems that he would be safe in this group.
Turning back to the sleight Elvira, he spoke the words, “It would be my undeniable pleasure to accompany such a party as yours to the surface.”
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