InysaJoin Date: 2012-09-18
Post Count: 4477 |
TGI III
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RELEVANT:
Okay, as I said, I am skipping over some dull stuff. The ship ride mainly consists of 'me' (I'm not putting myself in quotes anymore) readapting to being able to see, and functioning with the neural augmentation. A Legionnaire named Patrick Jericho (No requests around this rank yet) becomes hostile towards me because of the fact my sight restoration took so long, and he couldn't get his leg tuned back because of this (Rocket blew it off I'm the past, and it doesn't respond correctly right now). We landed in New Alexandia, Peritia sent us to mindlessly patrol for a while in a half-track (No newer vehicle I'm told).
And that's all.
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The ride was silent as the truck drove. Filled with newly joined Arcadian recruits, all from farther off worlds, I guessed everyone was too busy picturing what the city would look like. The Centurion said it wasn't like most cities in the Imperium, having actually been built out of stone than any sort of typical modern material. "Currently, the area military personnel are allowed to be in is somewhat small," he has said after we landed inside hangar. "Recently there have been... Supported anarchist groups, driven by outside forces, causing unrest. Due to much of our forces being elsewhere, we need to make priorities. The area close by the Senate and military headquarters is where you are limited, and where you will protect."
I didn't care momentarily however. I kept getting these headaches and mood swings because of the drug side effects, according to the doctor. I took him for his word, having no idea about how augmentations worked. Currently I faced odd sudden spasm as well, with my mind feeling like liquid almost, nothing staying stable for long. I fiddled with one of the crossed straps of my uniform to occupy myself. Idly I was wondering about addicts. They actually enjoy this crap.
My lament was broken however, by the sudden exit of the truck into the light. I looked up, laying eyes on what was one of the most impressive things I had seen in my life. But I didn't have a lot of impressive memories. So hard to compare. The structures were worked out of stone, as the Centurion said, but that didn't encompass the idea. It was a blend of what one would expect of a typical city, build in the most tradional looking way I had seen a modern city. Small trees dotted the road, I could see analogue clock towers, and there were display screens alongside things as we passed. After crossing a bridge, the truck pulled over. The Senate buildings statues were just beyond a small park, and the building itself only a short walk away. The other buildings I didn't care much for, that was really fascinated me.
"Alright you lot," the driver, a man wearing some odd coloured randomlly spiked helmet said to us all, "Pile out. Word will spread on when to come back." He grinned. "Welcome to Arcadia."
Each of us lifted our rifles up and vaulted over the edge of the vehicle, as it's carrying area was open. I was absolutely fascinated by the city. I barely knew what my hometown looked like (You forget after five years of blindness, and only ever seeing it from being dragged around as a child), but this beat it by miles. Someone clasped me on the shoulder, and I turned to them. "Quite a sight, i'nnit?" the woman said smiling. Her short length hair was covered by a simple red beret. Compared to my pale skin, she was ridiculously dark, nearly bronzed over.
I was going to make some reflexive joke about my being blind only days ago, but fought it off. It wouldn't get the result Rais had. I nodded, flashing her a grin of my own. "Nicer to see than the cramped corridors of that ship, aye," I replied.
She turned her head, clearly enraptured by the city. I sighed, moving down the road at an easy pace, not wanting to be hurried by anyone. The waterfront was completely controlled, there being no natural incline into it, only the cut Arcadian stone we stood on. A dock here and there went lower to the surface, for small luxury boats to be left. More than the city, the ocean itself amazed me. This was the first time I had ever seen a real body of water. The waves rolled from what I assumed was the east based off the sun, which was stupid considering all planets rotate different. They crashed in a constant percussion roll, giving purpose to all else I heard. The water and the city had a constant sonata going on, neither quite overpowering to each other or anyone listening. I closed my eyes, taking a bit of comfort from the sort of thoughts I always had.
I walked over to a lowered dock, just to look at the water better. It really wasn't fair, that here there could be so much when back in Tylph we had only mountain run-off, most of it underground. But that didn't matter. Tylph was in the past now, as was Paragon as a whole. I could do something with myself now, I really could.
Out of absolutely nowhere, a spontaneous impact smashed into the back of my head. I recoiled, and had Patrick and one of the Guardsmen with him. He grinned, lowering his rifle to the ground as I raised mine.
He had begun to irritate me, honestly now. Why the Guardsman was with him I didn't know. His face was covered by a cloth mask and sunglasses, buzz cut hair contrasting the look. "What do you want, you ass?" I demanded, still holding the weapon.
"Is that how you address a superior? Gee, you'll get far," he said, rolling his eyes.
Every part of me will forever be ashamed of what I did next. Even though I knew I shouldn't listen to a petty, arrogant little twit like him, he was right at the time. I lowered the rifle, frowning.
"That's better," he said. Patrick passed his rifle to the Guardsman, who (after a moment of confusion) accepted it in his left hand. "Now, I'm going to hurt you," he said, still smiling.
"Are you bloody mental?" I asked.
He shrugged. "You got in the way. That's a no-no. Only right, now."
And then our little dance started. People always describe the moments in a fight as going in slow motion, a blur where you have time to analyse and predict the movements of whoever your against. Let me say, that is complete crap. When it starts, you lock your focus onto whatever is on you, and they you. Then someone will fall. If the slow motion thing was true, that meant everyone had that happen, and there would be some really crappy fights. No, all it is, is... Like some improvised dance. You match your movements to counteract the others. That's all it was. Myself, I focused on my heartbeat as just a way to keep pace.
The human mind naturally accepts and craves rhythm. Not always musical, but for everything. People fall into this all the time. Punching each other wasn't any different, your body creating, stopping, and converting motion. But that didn't mean the rhythm lasted long.
Patrick just opened up with a childlike slug, a downward diagonal motion that only had me tilt to the side. The delay he made catching himself from that, I kneed him in the stomach in a short, controlled movement. He stumbled back, but was ready again. I nearly broke out laughing there. The man was drunk. Trained soldier or not, that would ruin him. He again went in with a forceful punch forward, not even aimed right in my direction. I grabbed his forearm with my right hand and, with no hesitation, twisted myself to use his arm as a lever on me. His elbow made a satisfying snap noise, but he didn't seem to care. I let go of his arm, and thrust my elbow into his face in the movement. It landed by his eye, again putting him off balance. A quick though and I recalled what he was doing this about, and I put all my weight behind a straight kick to Patrick's mechanical leg. The already broken limb did more than I expected and actually came OFF his body. Before he even recovered from my elbow he toppled over, banging his head on the floor.
But why stop there? The idiot pissed me off.
Naturally, I took the moment to do the most ancient and proven move in all of what one can do when fighting a man: I kicked him in the nads. He shrieked in pain, hands leaving his face to cover what he considered his most valuable body part. With my other foot, I stomped down on his liver, taking advantage of the fact he had been drinking. It didn't get the same result as the first kick, but AI knew it hurt. I did a mental shrug after that. I mean, really. He attacked me, what happened was his own fault.
Again using my (inadequate for most things of this nature) weight behind something, I dropped down, all the force going from my elbow and straight down on his throat. Patrick's eyes popped, and he gaped a rough sound. His windpipe was crushed, incapable of getting air anymore. I looked down at his panicking expressions, squirming on the ground as he failed to meet even basic life processes. But I didn't care.
In what at the time I found to be a mercy, I rolled him off the side of the dock with my foot. He started splashing without purpose, head below the surface... But stopped moments after, as his arms followed.
The Guardsman backed up a bit, clearly shocked at what he witnessed. I didn't care. Again. He attacked me. But he ran off anyway, leaving me again to listen to my own private orchestra.
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Yes, there will start being a darker tone and the plot will start taking shape now.
If anyone hadn't noticed, I'm using music as a recurring element. Why? I like music, me me and character me. Character me, as I was blind, only really had that to go to. Thus, everything I do, a first reaction is always to find the musicality in it. Yes, I have ideas for that aspect alone as well (I mean, my last name here is 'cadence'. And the title has the word dirge in it. Not a surprise. Unless you don't know the words.)
And I like action scenes. They're easy for me to do. |