He considers the "threat" of Brynjard for a moment before dismissing it.
"Your approval is unnecessary. Either I am a robot or I am not. Either I am a prophet or I am not. Either I am the harbinger of a new age of enlightenment or I am not. This group's," the cowled man waves his hand to encompass the contestants, "is irrelevant. All are criminals. Misunderstood by society. Misunderstood by themselves. In the coming time of the Great Old Ones return, even this misunderstanding will be meaningless. Only those who seek to embrace the horror of the coming dark or who are already enlightened will survive."
"It seems that you have been here all along Murder Monk. Well, that changes the reasoning for my loser vote making it so that I must rethink it. I remove my vote of Murder Monk being loser."[b]
Finwa had gotten into the music and listening to others as well as being a bit more flushed by bryn's wink but now that she had revoked her loser vote shher eyelids started to droop.
after a few moments into the monk's comments she yawned,[b]'What are you talking about? Cthulu?"
Suddenly the little female yawned again, her ears flopping to the side of her head and dropped over, her little head landing on Bjorn's foot and immediately fell asleep, purring like a cat, one of her hands moving to on top of the man's foot to craddle her her head and the other to thetop of her loose ear.
"What the hell is a theremin? It sure doesn't look like an instrument!" Alexander says, regarding the device in Leoian's hands with suspicion. "Yeah, no. I'm not popping my pecs next to anyone holding that thing."
He then looks to the hooded monk, speaking some kind of psycho babble.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but with a badass name like Murder Monk, I don't think anybody is more fit to be leader. You can just kill the robots with your kung fu or something, can't you?"
Clearly Alexander has his priorities straight.
"Hey Ma! I'm on TV"
The response of the monk elicits a smile from the Nordic man; "Good a back-bone despite the accusations. The dark is not scary it is humanities fate. To cast light upon it!"
Bryn looks down at the smaller lady; slowly a soft look draws across his face. "Into the kind arms of Morpheus, inspirer of the Fates. Alright, I'll trust your ideas - that the Monk isn't a robot loser....just a normal one."
"Let us see where your music takes us."
Leoian looks towards Alexander Maxerson and frowns towards the hulking man, who stood at twice his height "Come now Mr. Maxerson, you didn't seem the type to be afraid of a musical instrument because it's a little different than the usual. It's not going to hurt you." He shakes his head "Or is it that you're just easily influenced by Ms. Kevorkia's groundless accusation. I assure you, my using an nontraditional instrument in no way makes me a robot."
He smiles towards Cardon as they draw the song to a close "You play very well Mr. Cardon, I don't think I've ever enjoy a jam that much. Are you up for another? He looks towards Byrn "Would you care to lead us in another song Mr. Silenoz?"
"I should put my vote in before we start. For Team leader I vote for my new friend Finwa, I liked her song the best. Team loser I'm afraid I'll have to say Murder Monk, as he seems to have no intention to participate in the music competition."
"Whahaha, vhy yes I vould be very pleased to continue to how you say, jam? You are ze most interesting person here, and I've seen you are a natural leader. Unlike zat Monkey."
"Cardon, you're music is very interesting; I would be glad to play with you and thank you for the request Leoian. Everyone should be able to add to the atmosphere of this haunting melody"
"I guess I should vote for someone as team Loser, well as the Murder Monk has convinced me of....something?" Bryn furrows his brows at the recollection 'Something to do with the Old Ones return? The coming of the messenger!'. "I should vote for someone who makes the most use of corporate drivel and memes. WowbaggertIP. These buzz words and corporate shilling just serve to make us identify with an unrealistic imagery." he softly starts another of his diatribes looking directly into the camera, trying to engage the audience....desperately trying to make at least a single viewer think for themselves and not be brain-washed by the perceived reality that we have been presented with.
"From reality television to models with eating disorders, the corporations try to engage the public by making themselves feel good about themselves. Whilst simultaneously, shilling and perverting their minds. We prisoners are no different to you....throw off your shackles"
He transistions into another song...
Rekstahl shakes his head. "You condemn me because you cannot hear the music I bring? I must 'perform' openly for it to count in your trivial game? I assure you, if you open yourself, the song of the space between will reach you."
The cloaked man raises his arms and a giant jumbotron comes to life over head. A display of the stars shows in crisp detail. The camera angles seem odd as if they are trying to avoid the the balls of light, but instead highlight the darkness. It was strangely unsettling, somehow the eye didn't want to follow the direction the camera seemed to be taking.
"Behold! Listen to the Song of the Spheres!"
As one continues to watch the display, no sound seems to emanate. Instead, the watcher can hear whispers in their mind. The same whisper that one hears right after one is cut off in traffic, after the Retrovian steak is brought cooked incorrectly at the restaurant for the second time in a row, or after someone insults one's offspring's ability to perform a communal sport. Yes, the whisper that demands immediate satisfaction. The one that describes the worst possible thing, and suggests one do it, right then, right now, the urge that comes and other senses suppress...why do they suppress this? Is this not the first thing one feels? The basic desire? The song is heard clearly then. And it says, HuRtTHeM!
With sleepy protest little Finwa rouses from her strangely deep slumber, purrs broken off automatically as Murder Monk plays his "song." Her shoulders lift to the sides of her head as her ears press flat against her head. Then she sits up and growl-hisses at nothing, turning her head to try to find what had caused her such distress.
"What is going on?" She sneers with an agressive grump, now looking that much more like a wild thing with hair standing on end, "I dreamed of whispers of madness and unrelenting hate and now feel the same whispers awake."
"It's alright Miss Finwa, Murder Monk is singing the song of the spheres. Calling them down upon us, to fill us with revulsion and hate." he says calmly; "Just do what I do and place it in a box inside you. Visit it regularly, make it your friend and control it!" his voice is mild with an assured tone.
Turning to the Duke; "Oh you mean Charlene? Well I suppose a manager and lead singer are different; the manager organises, collates and works around problems. Whilst the lead-singer brings it!"
The music... it called to him. The whispers seeped into every orifice of his mind, drawn to his psyche. The words reverberated within his skull, going deeper, deeper, until at the end, they found Alexander's very core. Hearing the summons, the slumbering beast within opened its eyes and burst into flames, unleashing a roar that echoed throughout his skull. A horde of angry bearded men bellowed in turn, telling him to get on with it.
Alexander seems to grow at least a foot taller as every muscle in his body bulges, metamorphosing his already statuesque form. Tossed into a bestial rage, the berserker looks to the other contestants, snarling through grit teeth. All he sees are animals! Animal! So weak! But one of them catches his eye - a menacing beast, with flesh of brass and wood and wind. Looking to his side, he reaches for his trusty war axe before leaping into battle.
Over and over again he swings his weapon at the creature, which spits and roars as its form is torn asunder by his steel, before finally falling silent. Covered in the beast's ichor, Alexander laughs maniacally, reveling in his triumph. He was invincible!
Flexing his muscles, Alexander seems to be in a drunken stupor as he stares at everyone, before looking past them at something that puts a wide smile on his face. Grabbing a guitar, he runs to the stack of surplus musical instruments and promptly slams the guitar into it repeatedly, shouting as he does so. Moments later, the pile collapses into shrapnel and splinters, much of which now sticks out of Alexander's body. Now bleeding profusely, he proceeds to laugh like a madman.
Bryn's words calm the woman making her hackles flatten and ears perk up slightly as she thought of the whispers. They had made her ready to fight even knowing she was not all that much of a fighter. Her small frame was made more for the dash, hit and run. It occured to her that Murder Monk was more dangerous thanhe was first considered and put that to the back of her mind.
"What a dangerous power. Duly noted. I will make it mine to control as I wish. Have the votes all be..."
Finwa's hackles went up again, her ears struck to her head as Alexander screamed then attacked the instruments. She watched in horror as the innocent instruments were destroyed. For a moment her claws had extended but they were now retracted and the little woman stood beside Bryn with a confused look on her face.
After a few moments she obtained her coffe that the musician had given her and took a long drink, "It seems your madness worked wonders on at least one of us, Murder Monk." She commented calmly.
"Well, that was certainly, er, impressive." Charlene tugs her long jacket over her short skirt. "I can see many of you may have talents that could be useful to the DeathWatch organization in some capacity or another. It's the ones who remain quiet that cannot be judged, and that is hardly fair. I think it may be best that we let one of them go now, so we can better assess everyone else's fine qualities. James and Mattie, do you have anything to show us musically? If not, I'm afraid I will have to ask one of you to leave."
Is it:
Leader
Hollow :4
Eldon :2
Charene :1
Bryn :1
Murder Monk :1
Leonian :1
Finwa :1
Loser
Aliana :1
Finwa :1
Leonian :2
Murder Monk :3
WowbaggertIP :1
"Not enough however. The random selection being made here will only increase the odds your killer robots will prevent the truth from spreading."
Rekstahl looks at those voting for him with a raised eyebrow. "Truly, you have failed to grasp the purpose I have here."
The one called Murder Monk returns to his corner to pray further for the the mind-rending future he is certain will come.
"True, monk." Bryn says to him; "By killing someone at random we have reduced the probability of stopping the robots. And now you imply you have a purpose here? Something to do with the mind, I take it? You talk to the spheres and can penetrate the fibre of our being?"
The self-proclaimed prophet's prayers interrupt with a derisive snort.
"I make no claim to be anything except what I am, a harbinger. A stormcrow to the war for sanity. And correct, you are only succeeding in reducing the chances of stopping the robots. Not increasing. The whispers in my mind say that doing your enemy's job for them is certainly not sane. Perhaps you are all believers in the Great Old Ones after all..." Rekstahl leaves the implication hanging in the air almost tangible, a twisted smile on his face.
"As I said, want more of a chance to evaluate the talent here. Now that Mr. Leoain and Mr. Monk are 'safe', I will begin leading the charge for one of the silent participants." Charlene takes a sip of ice water and flips a coin. " Heads, James. Tail, Mattie." "Ah, it looks like Mattie will receive my vote. I still retain my team lead vote for Mr. Gorski, who has been exemplary this round. I urge others to change to vote to Mattie. All of us showed what we could do. To eliminate anybody but a silent participant at this point is patently unfair." Charlene pushes up her glasses.
Finwa drank her coffee, silently assessing what everyone was saying and doing. What Murder Monk was talking about seemed vaguely familiar yet difficult to reach and he never did say whether the old ones were in the same category as the Cthulian type. It was hard to determine a hypothesis, let alone a minimal idea, of what beings he was talking about.
"If we are only cutting our chances of finding the robots then what is it we are to do? Ms. Oftenseen, are you expecting any of us to actually survive this? Was it not made to get rid of us as is?"
The little lady was confused, having been given the impression when she was taken to this facility that all but one of them were to survive and the rest would be put to death. If anything, she did not expect much considering that she was cute and cute never survived long in a prison like this.
"It was made for entertainment, of course. Let me assure you, Ms. Finwa, that providing excellent entertainment is very rewarding. We might even live. I certainly plan to. I have meetings scheduled for tomorrow."
"We can all live, little one. Live in the glory of Those Who Live in the Space Between the Stars. We merely have to defeat the robots amongst us. We are not in Mittens other gameshow Kindergarten Highlander."
"So Mr WowbaggertIP, you jumped on Murder Monk when he was to be the Loser. Now you swap to Leonian? I see you are determined that we kill someone as well as the robots having their chance." Bryn says accusingly.
Bryn turns to the Lady Finwa; "Certainly, all we have to do is stop the Robots they have hidden amongst our numbers. Again the establishment seeks to destroy someone whom is different."
"I can't vote for someone that knows their HP."
"I'm surprised and dismayed Mr. WowbaggertIP at how quickly you jump to change the vote, you seem eager to kill anyone when an opportunity arises. I agree with Mr Silenoz we should not give the robots their chance, and ask of him and any others that have not cast a vote to think carefully and do so. I didn't want to give this away as it makes me a prime target for the robots, but as they already seem to have swayed the team loser vote my way anyway I don't have much to lose. I have a method of determining if someone is a robot or not, if you kill me now I will not have the opportunity to use it to help you. Though if you truly believe that I should die because I am different then I shall die.
Old one lovers are typically trouble.
Plus can't kill a special.
"Excuse me?" Mattie blinks, "Just 'cause I hadn't said anything yet, doesn't mean I'm not /going/ to," the girl frowns at Charlene, shaking her head and laying her hand back on an electric guitar. Where did that even COME from? What's more, she jacks it into a clearly oversized amplifier, with various knobs and dials that /all/ go to eleven, and begins to turn them up, one by one. "I was just making sure to save the best for last, that's all," she pauses.
"And, it just, you know, /takes/ a little while to set all this up, right?" the amplifier hums loudly, with a solid /click/ when she plugs the cable in, holding a pick between her two fingers. "Here's what /I/ can do!" she brings the pick down, riffing off a huge power cord, before bursting into a blistering guitar solo; she makes the instrument scream in her hands, as if the instrument itself were climbing mount Everest.
Finally, her amplifier equipment gives out, blowing up in a shower of sparks, though she doesn't seem to notice for a few seconds what with her ears ringing and all; in frustration she shouts, "PIECE OF CRAP!" and slams the guitar into the huge speaker cone, whirling on a heel.
"Furthermore, I'm voting you team loser," she narrows her eyes at Charlene again. "And... I don't /care/ who the winner is, so long as it's not you," she huffs, muttering under her breath, 'Jerk.' "And this is still so utterly /stupid.../" she trails off, sighing.
"Well lets keep this even. See if we can learn something before destroying."
"I suppose something is better than nothing. Possibly. And we are again in a situation where the silent go unpunished. I happen to believe they are bad for ratings. Murder Monk and Leonian, though, are good. The better our ratings, the less horrible our lives are likely to be. We need them both."
"Alrighty, back to the my original thought. You said you cannot vote for someone who knows the H.P.! I take it you were referring to the great man Howard Philips Lovecraft? Then you voted for him anyway?!" Bryn is confused.
"Since we're unbalanced again, I shall go back to my philosophy of making an example of those who won't help improve ratings."
Mattie folds her arms across her chest, giving a little 'hmph.' Her little speech didn't have quite the effect that she wanted it to - however, no matter.
"Ratings schmatings," she shakes her head, eyeing the wreck of guitar and amplifier. That probably cost /someone/ some money! "Anyway, now what? I've never been on a reality TV show before. Do we get a commercial break sometime?"
"Ha, yeah, that's a perfect lead in! Now for a word from our sponsor, Innards to Outards Robotics Solutions!"
"That was a great performance, generally I take pride in keeping my instruments pristine. But that was some creative violence....but I take it you don't think an Amp can keep up with your skill!" Bryn raises an eye-brow at the moody precocious youth.
Tossing aside the few inches of guitar left in his hand, Alexander grunts.
"Great, now where's the can?"
"Now Ms. McMahon, this is just business, nothing personal. I thought your performance was very good. I simply need to point out that ratings are, in fact, important to attracting sponsors. Many sponsors bid the ad spaces up so the network makes more money. The more money the network makes, the more they want to keep the favorites alive, though I'm certain the public wants blood eventually. But your act? Well done."
Charlene makes a few notes on an iPad, then replaces it in its snakeskin sleeve. "I believe I need a drink, or possibly some ice cream. Mr. Gorski, what sort of frozen concoction do you recommend? And Mr. Maxerson, the gentleman's facilities seem to be there, beyond the cotton candy kiosk. I'd avoid the station garishly labeled 'The Can', though, due to the quantity of explosives that seem to make up its foundation. No doubt somebody's idea of a joke."
Loser
Alina Malain: 1 (Aaron Lockley)
Leoian: 3 (Alexander Maxerson, Ms. Kevorkia, Murder Monk)
Wowbagger: 1 (Brynjard)
Murder Monk: 3 (Cardon Mars the Four, Leoian, Wowbagger)
James: 1 (Charlene F. Oftenseen)
Finwa: 1 (Hamish Cunningham)
Charlene F. Oftenseen: 1 (Mattie)
Leader
Murder Monk: 1 (Alexander Maxerson)
The Hollow: 4 (Brynjard, Finwa, Murder Monk, Wowbagger)
Leoian: 1 (Cardon Mars the Four)
Eldon Gorski: 2 (Charlene F. Oftenseen, Ms. Kevorkia)
Charlene F. Oftenseen: 1 (Eldon Gorski)
Finwa: 1 (Leoian)
Brynjard: 1 (Prof. Tinkerton)
"And now, back to our regular scheduled programming! Wow, what a dramatic music competition! Who knew these death row criminals had all this potential? Honestly, I would like to ask our audience to give our competitors a hand! If I could clap, I would!" shouts Mittens through her Mic, "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, the Team Leader for this event is the inimitable The Hollow, a sexless shade who served us some spectacular synaesthetic sound from the stars! Congratulations, The Hollow! Wowee wow wow!"
"Now, for the thing we're really all waiting for, it's time for blood! Yeah! To find out who our Team Loser is! It seems... wait, you people can't even kill someone?! Aren't you death row criminals? Sheesh, Team Loser goes to nobody, thanks for taking a poop all over my ratings, I give you a second chance at life, and this is my repayment?" shouts Mittens down at the contestants. "And hey, where are the bodies, aren't the robots supposed to, you know, robot things into little pieces?"
"You're supposed to be hardened criminals, you know, kill a man just to see him die? I mean..." Mittens von Meowselsworth jumps down on a button, which is shown on a jumbotron, in slow motion as the feline does a triple flip down onto the weight activated pad. A hole opens up underneath James Herecea, swallowing him into a fiery abyss below, which shines up at just a perfect angle to send orange and yellow lights dancing on Mittens's face as she looks down menacingly with a grin, listening to a tortured scream that suddenly ends just as she speaks, a booming whisper. "I have."
"Aaaaaanyways, let's get this party kicked into high gear! It's time for the cooking competition! I've already shown you my entry, but I've been told that my cooking is a little too well done. Good thing I'm not a competitor! Your ingredients and supplies will be provided at the Laser Cannon Kiosk! GET READY FOR ROUND TWO!" Meowselsworth hits another button which launches fireworks up into the air.
"I believe I need a drink, or possibly some ice cream. Mr. Gorski, what sort of frozen concoction do you recommend?"
"Well then, after that. Maybe some fried ice cream?" Eldon's face clearly shows he's not attempting a joke.
"HP? I thought he meant hit points." She looks about and shrugs, "I'm a scientist and a geek. So sue me. But HP Lovecraft works just as well. And please ... no fishmen. I really would prefer not to be something I'd want to eat."
She turned and noticed Mattie's "performance" with a chuckle then sighed at the fact that her coffee was done. She took the cream packs and emptied them into the cup to drink it as well.
Finwa listens to Meowselsworth and backs up against Bryn's leg as James Herecea dies in the fire. She looks up at the commentator with a gleam, "Hardened criminals but sometimes you just don't feel like killing." In fact she preferred to let others do the killing when they were told to but she was getting used to these people.
She looks up at Bryn, "Oh goodie. Cooking contest. Here's your chance to sing and cook." Her ears perk up, "Fried ice cream? Where?"
((Sorry Meows.))
"Deathmatch Extravaganza and NO death by robots or lynching! My word, I should have pruned you instead of the producer of the Krapdashians." Ms. Kevorkia proclaims with disdain towards the flea bitten carnival barker.
"Well, a cooking competition should be good, though I have a sneaking suspicion that our Monkish friend here will surprise us with his culinary expertise."A slight nod to Murder Monk. "Fried Ice Cream does sound delicious, I can't image anyone not enjoying that treat, why, we outta beat to death anyone that doesn't partake of it. Don't you agree Eldon?"
"And I should have pruned you instead of Mr. Herecea, Ms. Kevorkia, but hey, " says Mittens, "Besides, it's within the rules that there can be no blood in certain rounds, and the tension and interest builds... well, that can certainly bring us ratings. I'm sure Ms. Oftenseen can explain better than I can. Really, it's up to my clever players. I've already shown that I can enact violence for entertainment, it's you that I worry about Ms. Prune!"
Mittens hops back up onto her announcer chair and starts doing an advertisement for a pop tart delivery company.
"Ah well, if you say so..." murmurs Mattie, "But, voting someone to death is a pretty personal thing! Ah well. Perhaps next round I'll choose someone else..."
That does seem to have soothed the girl, for now; she seems non-plussed by random guy-person-James getting the boot. After all... snitches fill ditches, right?
The Hollow mills around near the kiosk, achieving very little.
It's not actually clear whether it has any limbs.
Bryn looks to the dark cloaked figure wondering if he should regret voting for the silent leader; although sure that still waters run deep. "So, how do you feel The Hollow to be immune to the assassins blade for this task?"
"Yes Finwa; I suppose it could be an audition for Ms. Oftenseens televisual show....that is if we survive. Which at this rate we may.... the Hired Muscle must be doing their job. Either that or the robots have found each other?" he says with a shudder knowing that turns the programme against the normal psychopaths.
"What to make? Something complex, an intricate harmony of tastes whilst retaining a strong theme and with overtures of decadence to reflect societies failing will and increasing waist-lines." He puts a hand on Finwa's shoulder softly and looks around the arena for the ice-cream stall.
"OK Leoian, what did you find?"