Some old ideas that were floating around and happened to take form faster than more crucial ideas. XD Curses, foiled again.
word count: 943
prompt: borderline obsession
It’s her job to monitor the ten different testing routes currently running. Although her co-workers consistently remind her that ten routes is too much for any one person to watch with any success, she finds it little more than busy-work; the testers running through the mazes and puzzles in each room are usually knights required to complete the chambers before they can earn some achievement, and they generally know what they’re doing enough to not get lost or die or need to be rescued.
At least, that’s what she’d thought, and then he’d gone and attempted a suicidal leap that had dropped him down a pit no human being could jump across unaided.
She’d sighed and pressed the bright-red CHAMBER RESET button and gone back to monitoring the other testers. It’s a full minute before she glances back through the window to his test room.
He’s attempting the jump again.
She blinks in mild surprise because there is another route to the door ten feet away but apparently he just hasn’t noticed it, so she resets the chamber for him again, this time personally monitoring the robotic claw that picks him up by the back of his shirt and drops him at the entrance of the room.
Before she can return to any of the other windows, he takes a few steps back, then makes a running leap for the same ledge.
Her surprise is a little more than mild, now, and she taps CHAMBER RESET several times as if it is the cause of the whole problem. Then, re-thinking that strategy, she pushes another button labeled MIC and takes a calming breath before speaking.
“Participant number nine, you have not yet advanced past the first testing chamber. Is there something wrong with the equipment you have been issued?”
Startled, he whips around, looking for the source of the voice; she can barely resist banging her head against the desk.
“I, uh, no! Nothing’s wrong! I just wanna see if I can make this jump,” he replies with a grin, then backs up to get his running start.
“That chasm was not designed to be crossed with a simple jump,” she says dryly, breaking in before he takes off. “With that in mind, please refrain from throwing yourself in. There is another way to the door–"
She groans and pushes CHAMBER RESET yet again.
It’s going to be a long day.
Eight more headlong tumbles down the chasm and she’s reduced to an empty coffee cup and a headache beginning to throb at her temples. "Nine, you are now significantly behind the rest of your peers in this test. Would you care to take the actual path now, or are you going to continue jumping into holes until I stop rescuing you?”
“Waitwaitwait, I was closer last time, I got this now,” he replies, and–
CHAMBER RESET and now she’s mad, stabbing at the MIC button with every ounce of vehemence she can muster. “Nine, if you continue, I will have you suspended. This is your last chance.”
That sobers him up a little, and she sighs in relief when he finally, finally notices the side route. Maybe they can get on with their respective lives now.
Except he’s backing up and eyeing the chasm and her hand hovers over the CANCEL TEST button as he takes one last running jump.
His fingers miraculously connect with the other edge of the chasm and he clings to it for dear life, kicking about for a toe-hold. She watches wide-eyed, hand frozen in place over the button as he scrabbles for anything to keep himself from falling back into the pit.
He gives up, hangs there for a moment, then swings one leg up, managing somehow to roll himself up onto the ledge.
She fumbles for the MIC button. “Congratulations, Nine. You managed to solve the problem in the most idiotic way possible. Get moving–you have plenty of ground to make up after that.”
He grins, picks himself up, waves at the ceiling and proceeds through the door into the next room.
She sighs and pours herself another cup of coffee, turning her attention back to the remaining testers.
prompt: a thin line between love and madness
The deep purple ink covers his hands, spirals up his arms, spans his chest, arcs across his shoulderblades and back. It surges with power, a raw and wild something that makes his blood pound and his heart race because he’s never felt this alive before and he hasn’t even started the incantation yet.
He brings his hands out to either side, focusing on the runes etched into his palms because they are the key to the sheer knowledge splashed across his body. Without them he is nothing but a lunatic—a man with nothing to show for years of work and sacrifice.
His hands glow.
Above him, the sky darkens, and he begins.
I who stand upon this earth command you, oh noble light of the heavens.
Thunder rumbles overhead but he ignores it. Losing control of the spell at this point would destroy him; he must see it through to the end.
I ask you to punish every cruelty and wrong in this world.
Around him swirls darkness, punctuated every few moments by a crackle of lightning. The sound of the thunder has receded to a dull, constant throbbing—so close that it seems to coincide with his heartbeat.
Bring your judgment upon the misdeeds of our lands.
Lightning strikes, connects with him and pulses through his sigil with a barely-restrained fury, thrums through his veins—a wild urge to strike and destroy.
The pre-pre season has wrapped up, the cast & crew split town and save for the locals, all is quiet at Camp Cohen. But this is no time for resting, now comes the heavy lifting of inking in plans and plots before the entire team meets up again very soon to start putting fresh polish on some Old Ideas.