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paradisalost2010-09-18 11:25 pm
wearethemeta.livejournal.com) wrote in paradisalost2010-09-18 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
𝜯 ten
Wilderness Filter
[Meta may look relaxed outwardly, sitting on the stump, journal open on his lap, unmoving as he records the more interesting dictated entries into his audio logs for future reference. Beneath the surface, however, under the helmet, the AIs are all but still. Speculation, anticipation, and strategy. Giddyness and a resounding, malicious patience.]
[At this point he was only paying peripheral attention to Amy, seemingly to have forgotten her at the moment. He purred, deeply, as something in the journal caught his attention. ]
[His guard was down. Or, it was misdirection. It could also be that he just didn't believe Rory to be any sort of challenge, and hardly worth the effort of posturing. Whatever the driving force behind it, that was the scene that Rory would find.]
[Meta may look relaxed outwardly, sitting on the stump, journal open on his lap, unmoving as he records the more interesting dictated entries into his audio logs for future reference. Beneath the surface, however, under the helmet, the AIs are all but still. Speculation, anticipation, and strategy. Giddyness and a resounding, malicious patience.]
[At this point he was only paying peripheral attention to Amy, seemingly to have forgotten her at the moment. He purred, deeply, as something in the journal caught his attention. ]
[His guard was down. Or, it was misdirection. It could also be that he just didn't believe Rory to be any sort of challenge, and hardly worth the effort of posturing. Whatever the driving force behind it, that was the scene that Rory would find.]
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The clang and rattle of the two weapons meeting nearly rattles the teeth right out of his plastic head and he strains to push back and fend him off. This can't, won't end well; Amy's right, he's not a fighter and never has been.
Not while he was alive, anyway.
Because something like muscle memory is taking over, more than instinct, and it's like watching someone else fight as, with a grunt, he suddenly pushes back against the Meta and swings his mace down, bringing both it and the axe down to the ground. Then he's pulling the mace back to wield in front of him and backing up several paces into a defensive stance, blinking in vague confusion. His eyes focus on Amy again]
Amy--run!
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[He goes with annoyed, swinging the axe up with a sharp snarl]
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I can't! I--
[and she winces, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue, as the Meta snarls and she sags to her left. Oh god, she hurts. Her stomach's burning and her arm is burning and her head is swimming and SHE CAN'T JUST SIT HERE BUT--]
--you run!
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[he shouts it incredulously, like she's gone mad, and raises the mace to block and parry the Meta's second attack]
I'm not leaving you!
[he yelps sharply when their weapons clash again and he's forced backward another few feet--that had been too close for comfort. He knows where his sudden skill (if it could be called that) is coming from: memories from his non-life as a Roman soldier. He'd never used a mace but he'd been relatively skilled with a sword ... thus it seems he's recalling basic swordsmanship.
So have a basic offensive swing back, Meta]
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[He swings the axe down again, grabbing the second mace with his free hand. He's done holding back.]
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He jumps back out of the way from the axe swing, not even bothering to block; he has the sinking feeling that this is about to go downhill fast. He can barely keep up with the ferocity of the Meta's attack and, even if he won't tire out, he won't get by on luck and half-remembered fighting skills forever. That makes his only concern now to draw the Meta as far away from Amy as possible.
Redoubling his grip on the mace handle and swallowing, he backs up several more paces, tensing for the inevitable charge]
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[Meta does charge, making all the noise of a rabid dog, launching the other mace towards your left and swinging the axe right, hoping to catch you one way or another]
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She scrambles for something weighty to pick up, anything--a stick, a rock, even a fucking pine cone will do--finds a stick, and throws it as hard as she can at the Meta. Which, currently, is not all that hard]
OI! Leave him alone! He told you he can't give it to you, it's his HAND! It's just a stupid gun anyway!
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Amy, no, don't--
[but there's a mace flying at his feet and an axe swinging at his head and he only has a split second to react and no way he'll dodge both of them--
He reflexively jumps to try and miss the mace but the handle catches his ankle and knocks his legs out from under him, flipping him face-first hard into the ground. His nerve receptors register 'pain' but thank god it's not real pain and thank god he doesn't have lungs, or else the breath would have just been knocked out of him.
As soon as he hits the ground he's rolling to his left just in time to miss the axe and--with a yell--swings the mace back up to block a second swing. The Meta is way too powerful, more than he can handle, and his arms are shaking with the effort of pushing back against him--and without even thinking he's rocking back, lifting up both legs and kicking his feet into the Meta's chest in the hopes of getting him off for even a second. He's dead if he stays on the ground]
1/3
[Meta's actually jolted by the kick, more from not expecting it than any lack of force on his part. This thing just wouldn't stop.]
[So, he had to find a way to make him stop. Dropping the axe, he's plunging forward and down and grabbing Rory by the the neck and the leg,]
2/3
3/3
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In desperation--he's weaponless now--he drops the hatch on his gun hand and waves it angrily, shouting]
Why do you want it so much? It's not even that great a gun!!
[the same gun he's now pointing straight at the Meta and firing at him with, four quick shots in a row]
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[But the third and fourth slow to a crawl, inching out as time bends and wraps to Meta's will with Gamma's temporal manipulation unit.]
[Meta steps out of the line of fire, and time returns just as he grabs at Rory's shoulder and elbow.]
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Then time jumps back to normal and the Meta is RIGHT THERE. Amy shrieks again]
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--suddenly the last two shots are fizzing into empty air and the Meta's popping back into existence right next to him, armored hands gripping his gun arm hard enough to crush--
--and Rory's snapping his head around to look at him, mouth dropping open in a second of awful clarity.
Oh, shit.
He doesn't even have enough time to say it]
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[Amy screams, because she just had that moment of awful clarity, too]
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[Letting go of Rory and walkng off, inspecting his prize]
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Then he's blinking at his shoulder--which ends abruptly and is leaking hydraulic fluid (how does he know that?) and trailing a few tiny tubes, shiny metal visible and poking out of flesh-colored plastic. There's a funny roaring in his ears and Amy might be screaming but he's not sure; his vision is fritzing and fading and he can feel himself shutting down--everything's gone into overload--and he tries to say something as he sways on the spot, but nothing comes out]
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[He stops. It just doesn't make any sense, this weapon. The AIs are snapping and shrieking in his head.]
[With a dissatisfied growl, he'll toss it over his shoulder, and go about collecting his discarded belongings, the axe, maces, and journal, before slumping off into the night.]
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