(NOTE:
The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 and
2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince and Draco for writing Parsee.)
Kouta Tokiwa, looking at the stranger, had a bad feeling. He’d been having them a lot recently, but this one was the most severe. There was something subconsciously wrong about the newcomer, an underlying sense that he felt out of place and didn’t belong. There was a faint aura around him, barely perceptible - a kind of haze that made him look as though he was a badly-applied sticker in a children’s picture book.
The body of the middle-aged man lying in front of him didn’t help matters.
“What do you mean?” he asked, at last. “Change the future how?”
The stranger’s mouth turned up in a smirk. His voice was oddly soft and quiet. But he never took his eyes of Kouta as he spoke.
“His daughter was dying. The Bugster Virus is due to claim her life in a week. So I gave him the power to save her. The power of Ex-Aid, the rider who cured disease. By defeating him, you’ve stopped the future from changing and doomed her.”
“That’s horseshit,” said Vince from behind Kouta. “I’m pretty sure we have, like, five doctors who could cure that shit without thinking.”
The smirk widened. “That’s not what the history books say, Ex-Aid.”
“Fuck the history books, they’re written by assholes.”
Kouta decided to chip in before things got ugly. Not that they weren’t going to anyway, but still.
“...and who are you?”
“My name is Heure,” the stranger explained. “I’m one of the Time Jackers.”
“Gross,” said Vince.
Heure ignored him. “We’re from the year 2068. As you already know, that world is ruled by Emperor Zi-O, who commands all of time and space. The entire planet is a dictatorship and all those who oppose his rule are destroyed.”
“Let me guess.” Kouta rolled his eyes. “you want to stop Zi-O from becoming Emperor. Look, I already dealt with a guy who-”
“Of course not!”
Showing posts with label The Deleter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Deleter. Show all posts
Monday, 8 April 2019
Tuesday, 5 February 2019
King of Time Part 3
(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 or 2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince, Cornwind Evil for writing Dawn and TheRubyChao for writing Kaede.)
“Harold Kelman?”
The aged British man, former head of the Ministry of Joy, looked up from where he sat.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
The young man grinned. “Nope. But I know you. They say a lot about you in the history books.”
Kelman snorted. “Nothing good, I’ll be bound.”
“Yeah, they don’t talk much about the Smiler stuff. That was kinda whack. Still amazed a whole nation bought into Martian psychic therapy.”
“Amazing what you can sell if you package it right.” The old man laughed, but there was no humour in it.
The stranger took the seat next to him. He sat back easily, as if unconcerned with what was going on in the older man’s mind. There was a long pause as the duo stared at the opposite wall of the waiting room.
“...are you here to see someone?” Kelman asked.
“Nope, just passing through. You?”
Kelman stared. “That’s rather private, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I’m a chatty guy. I like to get to know people.”
A longer pause. And then Kelman heaved a huge sigh, looking more old and tired than ever.
“My daughter. She… developed some kind of viral infection. The doctors can’t seem to identify it, but she’s… very weak. I pay her a visit every day I can. But with my busy schedule, I fear that someday she might… slip away. When I’m not there to comfort her. Ironic, that my brother created Marmalization to ease pain, and yet now I can’t do anything for my own child.”
His voice became cracked, emotion leaking through. The stranger sucked in air through his teeth.
“Damn,” he remarked. “Heavy. No dad should have to see their kid go before them.”
“And you would know?” Harold’s tone was almost droll.
“No. But I’ve seen it happen again and again, where I come from. Children getting their lives cut short, right in front of the people who love them the most. It’s messed up. Imagine having to cradle the body of your own family when their only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Harold sighed, but offered no comment. There was an even longer silence.
“You care a lot for your daughter,” the stranger said.
“Obviously.” Another humourless laugh.
Then Kelman looked over at the stranger. And he sensed something seemed off when he saw the tiny smirk at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. But he was old, and couldn’t be sure. Ever since the Smiler incident, he’d gone a little paranoid, always looking over his shoulder…
“Would you save her yourself, if you could?” asked the stranger.
The sense of wrongness grew.
“...more than anything.”
Then the stranger turned to him and looked him dead in the eye.
“Harold Kelman. History says that your daughter dies in a week, from the Bugster Virus. But I’ve come to change that. I can give you the power to save your daughter and make things right. In return, I need you to do something for me. Think of it as equivalent exchange - I scratch your back, you scratch mine. There’s a lot at stake, Harold Kelman, and I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think you weren’t the man who could do this.”
The former head of the Ministry felt very much like a cornered canary before the cat strikes.
“Do what?” he asked.
The stranger pulled something from his pocket.
“Save the future.”
“Harold Kelman?”
The aged British man, former head of the Ministry of Joy, looked up from where he sat.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
The young man grinned. “Nope. But I know you. They say a lot about you in the history books.”
Kelman snorted. “Nothing good, I’ll be bound.”
“Yeah, they don’t talk much about the Smiler stuff. That was kinda whack. Still amazed a whole nation bought into Martian psychic therapy.”
“Amazing what you can sell if you package it right.” The old man laughed, but there was no humour in it.
The stranger took the seat next to him. He sat back easily, as if unconcerned with what was going on in the older man’s mind. There was a long pause as the duo stared at the opposite wall of the waiting room.
“...are you here to see someone?” Kelman asked.
“Nope, just passing through. You?”
Kelman stared. “That’s rather private, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I’m a chatty guy. I like to get to know people.”
A longer pause. And then Kelman heaved a huge sigh, looking more old and tired than ever.
“My daughter. She… developed some kind of viral infection. The doctors can’t seem to identify it, but she’s… very weak. I pay her a visit every day I can. But with my busy schedule, I fear that someday she might… slip away. When I’m not there to comfort her. Ironic, that my brother created Marmalization to ease pain, and yet now I can’t do anything for my own child.”
His voice became cracked, emotion leaking through. The stranger sucked in air through his teeth.
“Damn,” he remarked. “Heavy. No dad should have to see their kid go before them.”
“And you would know?” Harold’s tone was almost droll.
“No. But I’ve seen it happen again and again, where I come from. Children getting their lives cut short, right in front of the people who love them the most. It’s messed up. Imagine having to cradle the body of your own family when their only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Harold sighed, but offered no comment. There was an even longer silence.
“You care a lot for your daughter,” the stranger said.
“Obviously.” Another humourless laugh.
Then Kelman looked over at the stranger. And he sensed something seemed off when he saw the tiny smirk at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. But he was old, and couldn’t be sure. Ever since the Smiler incident, he’d gone a little paranoid, always looking over his shoulder…
“Would you save her yourself, if you could?” asked the stranger.
The sense of wrongness grew.
“...more than anything.”
Then the stranger turned to him and looked him dead in the eye.
“Harold Kelman. History says that your daughter dies in a week, from the Bugster Virus. But I’ve come to change that. I can give you the power to save your daughter and make things right. In return, I need you to do something for me. Think of it as equivalent exchange - I scratch your back, you scratch mine. There’s a lot at stake, Harold Kelman, and I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think you weren’t the man who could do this.”
The former head of the Ministry felt very much like a cornered canary before the cat strikes.
“Do what?” he asked.
The stranger pulled something from his pocket.
Sunday, 25 November 2018
King of Time Part 2
(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 and 2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince and Cornwind Evil for writing Dawn.)
~THE TEAPOT~
It had taken one or two more explanations from Vince and Kouta before Dawn understood what was needed of her. And then her eyes lit up with curiosity.
“Well, well. An original Rider. We're moving up in the world.” Her eyes flickered as she scanned the Space-Time Driver, which was lying on top of the work table. “Right at the start of his calling, too. For better or for worse.”
Kouta did not look any less out of place or in the loop than he had at the start. It was kind of crazy, how quickly he’d gone from kicking a future cop in the face to being very confused. He’d only barely grasped that Dawn was an android - not that Vince’s explanation had helped much.
“...I'm sorry,” he said, “am I supposed to understand any of this? Because I feel like I should, but I'm not.”
Dawn fixed him with a look.
“What do you know about Kamen Riders, Mr Tokiwa? Appropriate name, by the way.”
“Some parents can be so cruel.” Vince, standing off to the side, watched the proceedings with mild disinterest.
Kouta shrugged.” Didn't the news come up with that term? I think it's kinda silly. Why not just call them "Masked" Riders instead of shoving some random Japanese in there?”
“Ever heard of a contronym, Mr. Tokiwa? It's a word that means both what it means and its opposite. Take the word bolt. It can be used in sentences to denote securing AND fleeing.” Dawn picked up the driver and turned it over. “My point is, language is weird and you never know what quirks are gonna stick despite themselves. So, that's all you know? News reports?”
“Pretty much. Um…” Kouta scratched his head. “They wear weird belts and they fight monsters?”
“Basically yes. At the core, each Rider is a sort of greater 'immune response' to a large problem. The Gaim Riders, for example, were a way to keep an invasive alternate dimension from consuming our planet. Vince here, however, is NOT the Ex-Aid that was called to deal with the danger Ex-Aid was tasked to stop. That was a man named Emu Hojo. He succeeded, and the mantle moved on to Vince. He is, for lack of a better term, a copy.”
Vince rolled his eyes. "Ow, my self-esteem."
Dawn ignored him. “My son is not the original Build. I borrowed an original Rider's powers briefly myself for a time. It's gotten easier over the years, probably as the ease of Riders copying each other's powers grew. Your attacker copied the abilities of Shinnosuke Tomari, Kamen Rider Drive, who was a good guy, not a would be assassin.
“But you, Mr Tokiwa?” She fixed Tokiwa with another look. “You are the chosen original of the Rider Mantle called Zi-O. Your great task, whatever it may be, lies ahead. That also means you haven't begun to fully understand and increase your power, but that's fine, we'll compensate.”
There was a pause.
“...okay, then?” Kouta looked even more lost than before.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out,” remarked Vince from the corner. “I did."
“Trust me,” put in Dawn as she set the Driver down. “If Vince can fumble his way into being a worthy heir… but I digress.”
"You're killing me here. Don't get no respect."
Again, Dawn ignored the peanut gallery. “So. You are being targeted by some time cop who wants to kill you because you turn into someone bad. You maniacs. You blew it up…” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Kouta nodded. “That pretty much sums him up. He was wearing a weird belt like mine, too. Although Vince's store copied his belt to make mine, so maybe it should be the other way around?” He looked at the Driver. It continued to sit there and provide no answers.
“Or it summoned the belt you were meant to have, having seen an example of belts that would be based on yours in the future.”
Dawn was met with a blank stare of incomprehension.
~THE TEAPOT~
It had taken one or two more explanations from Vince and Kouta before Dawn understood what was needed of her. And then her eyes lit up with curiosity.
“Well, well. An original Rider. We're moving up in the world.” Her eyes flickered as she scanned the Space-Time Driver, which was lying on top of the work table. “Right at the start of his calling, too. For better or for worse.”
Kouta did not look any less out of place or in the loop than he had at the start. It was kind of crazy, how quickly he’d gone from kicking a future cop in the face to being very confused. He’d only barely grasped that Dawn was an android - not that Vince’s explanation had helped much.
“...I'm sorry,” he said, “am I supposed to understand any of this? Because I feel like I should, but I'm not.”
Dawn fixed him with a look.
“What do you know about Kamen Riders, Mr Tokiwa? Appropriate name, by the way.”
“Some parents can be so cruel.” Vince, standing off to the side, watched the proceedings with mild disinterest.
Kouta shrugged.” Didn't the news come up with that term? I think it's kinda silly. Why not just call them "Masked" Riders instead of shoving some random Japanese in there?”
“Ever heard of a contronym, Mr. Tokiwa? It's a word that means both what it means and its opposite. Take the word bolt. It can be used in sentences to denote securing AND fleeing.” Dawn picked up the driver and turned it over. “My point is, language is weird and you never know what quirks are gonna stick despite themselves. So, that's all you know? News reports?”
“Pretty much. Um…” Kouta scratched his head. “They wear weird belts and they fight monsters?”
“Basically yes. At the core, each Rider is a sort of greater 'immune response' to a large problem. The Gaim Riders, for example, were a way to keep an invasive alternate dimension from consuming our planet. Vince here, however, is NOT the Ex-Aid that was called to deal with the danger Ex-Aid was tasked to stop. That was a man named Emu Hojo. He succeeded, and the mantle moved on to Vince. He is, for lack of a better term, a copy.”
Vince rolled his eyes. "Ow, my self-esteem."
Dawn ignored him. “My son is not the original Build. I borrowed an original Rider's powers briefly myself for a time. It's gotten easier over the years, probably as the ease of Riders copying each other's powers grew. Your attacker copied the abilities of Shinnosuke Tomari, Kamen Rider Drive, who was a good guy, not a would be assassin.
“But you, Mr Tokiwa?” She fixed Tokiwa with another look. “You are the chosen original of the Rider Mantle called Zi-O. Your great task, whatever it may be, lies ahead. That also means you haven't begun to fully understand and increase your power, but that's fine, we'll compensate.”
There was a pause.
“...okay, then?” Kouta looked even more lost than before.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out,” remarked Vince from the corner. “I did."
“Trust me,” put in Dawn as she set the Driver down. “If Vince can fumble his way into being a worthy heir… but I digress.”
"You're killing me here. Don't get no respect."
Again, Dawn ignored the peanut gallery. “So. You are being targeted by some time cop who wants to kill you because you turn into someone bad. You maniacs. You blew it up…” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Kouta nodded. “That pretty much sums him up. He was wearing a weird belt like mine, too. Although Vince's store copied his belt to make mine, so maybe it should be the other way around?” He looked at the Driver. It continued to sit there and provide no answers.
“Or it summoned the belt you were meant to have, having seen an example of belts that would be based on yours in the future.”
Dawn was met with a blank stare of incomprehension.
Monday, 12 November 2018
King of Time Part 1
(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 or 2019 RP. But i hope you enjoy reading it anyway :P.
(Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince)
If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow and which will not;
Speak then to me.
And say which grain will grow and which will not;
Speak then to me.
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1605), Act I, Scene 3, line 58
The first thing Vince knew about it was when the kid burst into his store.
He couldn’t have been any older than nineteen. He looked about as generic as a person could be - brown hair, scrawny frame, blue eyes. His face was red from exertion and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. And he didn’t do himself any favours by tripping over his own feet and crashing to the floor of the store. Not the best first impression.
Yet his first words upon seeing Vince were definitely not generic.
“Hide me,” he whined, in the voice a hunted animal might use.
Vince blinked. That wasn't a common request. Thankfully, Beach Episode was a little quicker on the uptake. A few cardboard stands shuffled over, covering up the windows and making a small fort for the newcomer to hide behind.
“Um, hi?” The black-haired man took a few steps closer, staring at the mop of brown hair peeking out from behind a Zeph-O Max standee. “Welcome to Beach Episode? Are the cops after you?”
“Is that what they call them here?” The stranger quickly scurried behind the cardboard fort, as if a little too trusting of the flimsy protection it provided. “Well, yes, if that’s how you wanna put it.”
“I don't think there's any other word for cops.” Vince frowned. “If you're a space criminal or whatever, I probably shouldn't be hiding you. What the fuck is happening?”
The kid turned back to look at him. His voice took on a hysterical edge.
“Nothing! I haven’t even done anything yet! And that’s the problem! They won’t listen to me! It’s some Minority Report shit where they think I’m gonna do something and-”
TIME MAZINE!
A flash of red lit up the window, followed by the thrumming of some kind of engine. The ground shook as something heavy thumped down outside.The kid ducked behind the standees, muttering “ohgodohgodohgod” in a kind of frenzied mantra.
Footsteps approached. Boots.
Vince sighed. It looked like he was back in the game.
“I'm too old for this shit. Uh, no I'm not. Stay here, kid. I'll talk this out. Store, don't get involved unless shit goes really bad, okay?”
He walked outside, unsure what he was going to see.
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Goats
(Special thanks to The Deleter for the concept and for writing Jonesy! And also to CW and FV for giving their blessing to this!)
Anyone visiting the Svilzerian household this particular afternoon would hear the strangest-goings on.
"Ha ha ha, that guy just flew, like, fifty feet!"
"My head is clipping through the wall, what is this?!"
The source would be a blonde and a redhead, hunched over a laptop and cackling like hyenas. Jonesy and Carol, to be precise, the marine having invited the technopath over for the day to stave off boredom whilst their respective friends were busy. And a few beers seemed like a good way to pass the time - several bottles were, in fact, littering the surface of the desk at that particular moment. But that had just been the setup, the actual source of the hilarity confined to what the two women happened to be playing on Carol's laptop.
That being co-op Goat Simulator.
Anyone visiting the Svilzerian household this particular afternoon would hear the strangest-goings on.
"Ha ha ha, that guy just flew, like, fifty feet!"
"My head is clipping through the wall, what is this?!"
The source would be a blonde and a redhead, hunched over a laptop and cackling like hyenas. Jonesy and Carol, to be precise, the marine having invited the technopath over for the day to stave off boredom whilst their respective friends were busy. And a few beers seemed like a good way to pass the time - several bottles were, in fact, littering the surface of the desk at that particular moment. But that had just been the setup, the actual source of the hilarity confined to what the two women happened to be playing on Carol's laptop.
That being co-op Goat Simulator.
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