Attack of the Vikings!!!!
Dec 2, 2004 18:39:07 GMT
Post by Dai Kaiōshin on Dec 2, 2004 18:39:07 GMT
After leaving Gage to dwell on his ambitions, Garin headed out of the restaurant and towards the central marketplace. He sensed a major battle going on nearby, but decided that he didn't want to get involved. This was his one opportunity to buy some souvenirs for his family, which they begged him to get before he left.
He strolled up and down the main square, almost slithering through the crowds of people, who were packed like sardines. Every step was a baby step, and Garin wondered what they would do if a riot suddenly erupted. After all, he could fly andthey couldn't. If it wasn't for his observer ability, which gave him advanced awareness of his surroundings, window shopping would have been a pain. Even then his senses could have been a detriment, because the kaliedoscope floods of multicolored people were surging by him on all sides, and the flashing lights and bright trendy clothes in the store displays were nearly overwhelming. It was a sensory overload.
An art gallery across the plaza caught his attention, but an army of oblivious shoppers stood in his way. He tried to weave through them at first, but the mass was immovable. Garin considered blowing them up for a moment-- they were only heathens after all, far inferior to the Juin race-- but he was worried about being disqualified. He laughed at the irony of the situation. He was at the mercy of lowly humans, and they weren't even warriors, they were old women with handbags! Garin thought about teleportation, but that wasn't an option either. The crowds were so thick that there was no patch of free ground to rematerialize in, and reappearing in the air would have drawn too much attention.
"This is nonsense!" he said to himself, "I'm a royal soldier of the Juin army! One of the elite infiltrators! Of whom only three remain! I live for battles like these!"
His warrior's blood burned within him. He charged straight into the first opening he found. The crowd pushed him along like a raging river away from the gallery, but he fought the current and managed to make a meter of progress. He weaved, he pushed, he swam, and he fought with all of his might, until his arms were worn out, and sweat was beading on his brow.
"Yes! I made it!"
It was a hard fought battle, but Garin emerged victorious. He covered 100m in just over twenty minutes against an unrelenting opponent. Now there was only one problem. He was sandwiched between the crowd and the door. A small sign near the knob politely reminded Garin to "Pull," but there wasn't any room to follow those instructions. His face was caked against the smooth glass. A skinny man with a shaved head, earing, and clothes more suitable to a woman knocked on the glass from the inside. His lips read, "Get your face off the glass! You'll leave streaks!"
If Garin could move his lips, which firmly kissed the glass, he would have said, "I can't."
Garin teleported inside, to the skinny man's suprise, and dusted himself off. "Sorry about the door."
The salesman, who by his demeanor, Garin quickly identified as a homosexual, seemed annoyed. He spoke in a light squeaky voice filled with attitude, "Well, sir, welcome. Now are you going to buy anything?"
He looked Garin up and down, twirling his head while he spoke. His lips moved like he was chewing a piece of gum, but he wasn't. The salesman's contempt was obviously for Garin's appearance. After fighting with the mob, Garin looked absolutely ragged.
Garin looked him up and down in return. But he stepped up close to him, using his height and stature as an intimidation factor, speaking in a deep, gruff voice that commanded authority, "Buy anything? I just got in here, son! You better show some respect to your customers. Otherwise I might just walk on out of here."
The man wasn't intimidated at all. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy having such a powerful figure in such close proximity. He laughed. "Good luck leaving," he said, as he pointed back to the door, where there were now five people stuck against the door, filling the vacuum Garin left. There was no way it was going to push outward. "Anyways, I'm Fiorello. If you'd like to anything about the pieces in this gallery, I'd be happy to show you."
He walked away with a distinct strut, leaving Garin to examine the gallery on his own and to wonder what was on Fiorello's mind. He decided against reading his mind outright because he didn't want to know what he might find.
The paintings in the gallery were beautiful. The colors gave them a magical aura, and the way the artist captured the light helped Garin get lost into a fantasy world. He stood staring at each one for minutes at a time, just absorbing the scenery. There were times that he felt he was staring into a window or a doorway. He felt that a single step forward would take him out of this gallery and onto rocky beaches, silent forests, and hidden retreats. There were pictures of smiling couples standing close under umbrellas and of children throwing sand into the tide. He swore he could hear the rush of the waves beating against the image of a lighthouse.
Garin was suddenly struck by the notion that he was lucky to be here. It was a chance to see the world outside of war, something 90% of Juins never got to do in their lifetime. Because of their isolation, they knew very little about outside cultures, other than that they were "intensely vain and greedy." These paintings seemed to add to that theory, but images of family reminded Garin of home. These "inferior" and "evil" people weren't so much different than he was.
After a few more hours of searching, and a few attempts to leave-- all thwarted by the ever present mob-- Garin settled on a large work that he thought was romantic. A large glowing moon filled the top right half and melded against a rolling hillside. The silouhette of a young couple, with the woman leaning her head on the man's shoulder, was illuminated against moon. Below was the nightlit cityscape of bolivique, which glowed against the darkness, but didn't interfere with the field of stars above them. It wasn't clear what the couple was staring at, whether it was the moon, the stars, the city, or each other. But it was this ambiguity that lured Garin into the scene.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, which startled him. It wasn't like a trained Observer to get lost in anything. He turned to see Fiorello facing him with a happy smile, "Would you like to know anything about this piece, sir? I noticed you've been examining it for a good ten minutes..."
He strolled up and down the main square, almost slithering through the crowds of people, who were packed like sardines. Every step was a baby step, and Garin wondered what they would do if a riot suddenly erupted. After all, he could fly andthey couldn't. If it wasn't for his observer ability, which gave him advanced awareness of his surroundings, window shopping would have been a pain. Even then his senses could have been a detriment, because the kaliedoscope floods of multicolored people were surging by him on all sides, and the flashing lights and bright trendy clothes in the store displays were nearly overwhelming. It was a sensory overload.
An art gallery across the plaza caught his attention, but an army of oblivious shoppers stood in his way. He tried to weave through them at first, but the mass was immovable. Garin considered blowing them up for a moment-- they were only heathens after all, far inferior to the Juin race-- but he was worried about being disqualified. He laughed at the irony of the situation. He was at the mercy of lowly humans, and they weren't even warriors, they were old women with handbags! Garin thought about teleportation, but that wasn't an option either. The crowds were so thick that there was no patch of free ground to rematerialize in, and reappearing in the air would have drawn too much attention.
"This is nonsense!" he said to himself, "I'm a royal soldier of the Juin army! One of the elite infiltrators! Of whom only three remain! I live for battles like these!"
His warrior's blood burned within him. He charged straight into the first opening he found. The crowd pushed him along like a raging river away from the gallery, but he fought the current and managed to make a meter of progress. He weaved, he pushed, he swam, and he fought with all of his might, until his arms were worn out, and sweat was beading on his brow.
"Yes! I made it!"
It was a hard fought battle, but Garin emerged victorious. He covered 100m in just over twenty minutes against an unrelenting opponent. Now there was only one problem. He was sandwiched between the crowd and the door. A small sign near the knob politely reminded Garin to "Pull," but there wasn't any room to follow those instructions. His face was caked against the smooth glass. A skinny man with a shaved head, earing, and clothes more suitable to a woman knocked on the glass from the inside. His lips read, "Get your face off the glass! You'll leave streaks!"
If Garin could move his lips, which firmly kissed the glass, he would have said, "I can't."
Garin teleported inside, to the skinny man's suprise, and dusted himself off. "Sorry about the door."
The salesman, who by his demeanor, Garin quickly identified as a homosexual, seemed annoyed. He spoke in a light squeaky voice filled with attitude, "Well, sir, welcome. Now are you going to buy anything?"
He looked Garin up and down, twirling his head while he spoke. His lips moved like he was chewing a piece of gum, but he wasn't. The salesman's contempt was obviously for Garin's appearance. After fighting with the mob, Garin looked absolutely ragged.
Garin looked him up and down in return. But he stepped up close to him, using his height and stature as an intimidation factor, speaking in a deep, gruff voice that commanded authority, "Buy anything? I just got in here, son! You better show some respect to your customers. Otherwise I might just walk on out of here."
The man wasn't intimidated at all. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy having such a powerful figure in such close proximity. He laughed. "Good luck leaving," he said, as he pointed back to the door, where there were now five people stuck against the door, filling the vacuum Garin left. There was no way it was going to push outward. "Anyways, I'm Fiorello. If you'd like to anything about the pieces in this gallery, I'd be happy to show you."
He walked away with a distinct strut, leaving Garin to examine the gallery on his own and to wonder what was on Fiorello's mind. He decided against reading his mind outright because he didn't want to know what he might find.
The paintings in the gallery were beautiful. The colors gave them a magical aura, and the way the artist captured the light helped Garin get lost into a fantasy world. He stood staring at each one for minutes at a time, just absorbing the scenery. There were times that he felt he was staring into a window or a doorway. He felt that a single step forward would take him out of this gallery and onto rocky beaches, silent forests, and hidden retreats. There were pictures of smiling couples standing close under umbrellas and of children throwing sand into the tide. He swore he could hear the rush of the waves beating against the image of a lighthouse.
Garin was suddenly struck by the notion that he was lucky to be here. It was a chance to see the world outside of war, something 90% of Juins never got to do in their lifetime. Because of their isolation, they knew very little about outside cultures, other than that they were "intensely vain and greedy." These paintings seemed to add to that theory, but images of family reminded Garin of home. These "inferior" and "evil" people weren't so much different than he was.
After a few more hours of searching, and a few attempts to leave-- all thwarted by the ever present mob-- Garin settled on a large work that he thought was romantic. A large glowing moon filled the top right half and melded against a rolling hillside. The silouhette of a young couple, with the woman leaning her head on the man's shoulder, was illuminated against moon. Below was the nightlit cityscape of bolivique, which glowed against the darkness, but didn't interfere with the field of stars above them. It wasn't clear what the couple was staring at, whether it was the moon, the stars, the city, or each other. But it was this ambiguity that lured Garin into the scene.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, which startled him. It wasn't like a trained Observer to get lost in anything. He turned to see Fiorello facing him with a happy smile, "Would you like to know anything about this piece, sir? I noticed you've been examining it for a good ten minutes..."