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Re: Thread for discussing outpost invasions.
Posted on: April 14 2010 @ 11:39 PM
By: CavemanJoe
Content:
The Watcher stirs her tea, and sets the spoon down on her desk. The display in front of her, generated by LED's mounted on a spinning rod, begins to blur a little. She frowns. It's a sensitive device, but the seas are usually pretty calm around here.
Suddenly her stomach falls, and an odd feeling comes over her - like she's going up in a lift. A rather fast lift. She grips her armrests and closes her eyes, thinking that maybe the KittyMorph herbal tea was a tad strong. She opens her eyes again when her tin cup slides off the desk and bounces on the floor.
“What the bloody hell?” she mutters, standing up and making her way unsteadily towards the upper decks.
When she reaches the top deck, it's obvious that something is very, very wrong. Her captive Contestants are spread out, leaning out over the railings and shouting. She pushes past one of them towards the rear of the ship and takes a look over the side for herself.
Some few hundred feet down, she sees a vast expanse of slimy green hide. The propellers turn uselessly but optimistically in the air, reminding her of a woodlouse that's fallen onto its back. The water is a good two hundred feet below where the hide starts.
She frowns.
“I say again, what the bloody hell.”
She makes her way to the ship's fore, and looks over the side.
The FailBoat, it seems, is sat on a head. A rather large, bald, reptilian head. A rather large, bald, reptilian head that is rather larger than the FailBoat itself. Its immense, stupid eyes - each as big as a Transit van - are locked upon the Island. It's swimming, or maybe even simply walking, to shore.
“Right. Right.” She snarls. “This is just bloodytypical.”
Some of the more sensible Contestants step back, giving her room to do… whatever she's going to do.
The Watcher takes a firm grip on a handrail and yanks off a section about the length of her arm. “No bloody overblown Loch Ness Monster bloody turtle thing is going to wear my sodding Retraining Vessel as a HAT!” She brings her arm back and then - with a SNAP as she breaks the sound barrier - hurls the length of steel railing down towards the Titan's head.
There's a flicker of orange as the railing briefly heats up in the immense air friction. There's an ear-splitting sound that can only be described as a DONG. The railing richochettes up into the air, becomes a speck, disappears. A few moments pass while the Titan's nervous system bimbles about the slow business of relaying the news that it's been spanged. Forward momentum gradually dissipates as the Titan goes crosseyed. There's a low, bass-heavy groan, and the Titan begins to keel over.
Feet leave the deck as Titan, FailBoat and Contestants fall. It's a long, long way down, and the FailBoat lands with thousands of gallons of cold seawater cascading into the air - and hammering down on the deck.
The Watcher, laughing, takes off her glasses. “It's like a log flume, only bigger! How ace is that!” She hikes up a corner of her now sopping wet red turtleneck, considers wiping her glasses on it, and decides it's a lost cause. She puts them back on. “Right, you lot, go back about your business. Oh, and you -” she collars the closest whimpering contestant - “you might want to let the mainlanders know to keep an eye out for these things. There's probably more than one. Oh, I'll deny it in the official memos, of course, but you know I have to keep up appearances and-” The railing bounces off her head with a slightly quieter DONG. She stands motionless and crosseyed for a moment.
She blinks twice and shakes her head, seawater from her ponytail flicking over nearby contestants. “So that's the sort of day this is going to be, is it?”
She might be right.
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