Playing God (AU, unconventional)
Posted: Fri Aug 08, 2008 2:55 am
I stare at the screen. It's the deepest darkest night, and family members have all gone to bed. A Guinness World Records: Speed poster sits upon the opposite wall, slightly skewed, and I make a mental note to fix it, sometime. A vinyl armchair sits next to my bed, cluttered with rubbish and really not that much of an armchair; more of an object holder.
The Jolt forums flash up on the dim screen after a while, and I immerse myself in RP. No new posts... ah yes, a couple in the Unfriendly Contact out-of-character thread... Setulan's waiting for me to post, Xiscapia's waiting for Kewen to post, and Kewen's waiting for me. The usual. NSG is pretty dead, too - even Andaras' constant presence isn't there to shout Stalinist oaths, but that's probably because he was b& a few days ago.
Let's see, I think I need a drink. As I swing my legs off my bed, I trip awkwardly and fall onto the keyboard. The curse forming in my throat fades as the keyboard seems to drop below my arm, and the keyboard socket expands to accommodate me.
---
Some time later, I find myself standing on a nondescript, sloping concrete footpath, in the wide-ish fashion of Australian central business districts. It seems relatively deserted, but -- wait a minute. I could have sworn a capsule just shot past on the road below, which, now that I come to think of it, does not exactly look like bitumen to me. A flight of stone steps is set into the wall some way back from the road. I hurry up them, looking left and right, and turn to the pseudo-Victorian building ahead. Several more of these road-going flattened capsules are parked near it, and an instantly recognisable logo is set into one: the split black-and-gold shield on swords of the Commonwealth of Kostemetsia. I know damn well what it looks like, because I set the parameters. A man in a black suit walks by, frowns at the lone thirteen-year-old observing from outside the carpark, and walks on.
Realisation dawns. Judging from the technology ahead, this is the capital world of the Commonwealth, Kostemetsia Prime. By the look of it, it's not yet suffered the great ravages I had planned before this entire incident came out of nowhere... Wait a second. I invented this place and materialised all the cars within it. Logically, this means that I am, after a fashion, God. Now if I can just keep a coherent roleplay script running in my head, I should be able to acquire some transport. Raising a hand for effect, I imagine the rather snazzy government capsule flashing towards me. The man in the black suit jumps back with a profanity as the capsule hums down a line terminating somewhere in my area. A cream-brick and steel fence blocks its way, so I raise a hand and the capsule goes a few inches over the fence.
Given that this technology stems from the innermost depths of my own mind, I believe I should probably know how to operate it. Now, from experience, Kostemetsians seem to invariably attempt to merge art with technology - the capsule reflects it, a long seed-pod-like craft with one handle visible from where I stand. Gripping the handle, I pull upwards, revealing a comfortably appointed cabin behind the gull-wing door that the handle is obviously attached to. Sliding down with some difficulty, I have obviously keyed some hidden sensor, and the door subsides.
Taking stock of my surroundings. A blank pane of glass lies on the red cushion beside me, and a pen lies beside it. Given my knowledge of Kostemetsian technology, that should be a flashpad - futuristic PDA, long story - and a flashstylus, respectively. Controls incorporating at least a boat-style throttle and aircraft yoke sit ahead. I grin - now this is my idea of an aircar. With another control keyed, the blank divider in front of me fades to a computer display with three-dimensional HUD. The man with the suit is tagged as Joseph Keeper, Commonwealth Minister of Justice, and I probably should have realised this earlier.
Pushing a button that shows some sort of futuristic fighter jet, I grin as a jolt rocks the vehicle. The screen in front expands to incorporate a security cam view from the building behind me, tracking my vehicle as three fins spring from its rear and some sort of panel slides back to show two of... well, what I assume are engine nozzles. Wings follow. Another button lifts it into the air with a rumble and a roar, and pushing the throttle to the forward extreme of its range sends the aircar rocketing off in an extremely wide curve.
Gaining altitude and some knowledge of the controls, I shoot into the air. Two police aircars flash past in a blur, and I imagine they must be swiveling to follow me. Then they realise that this is - I check the designated registration plate - a State Intelligence Service car. I nabbed myself a good ride, by the look of it.
(moar to come, mixing of OOC and IC experiment)
The Jolt forums flash up on the dim screen after a while, and I immerse myself in RP. No new posts... ah yes, a couple in the Unfriendly Contact out-of-character thread... Setulan's waiting for me to post, Xiscapia's waiting for Kewen to post, and Kewen's waiting for me. The usual. NSG is pretty dead, too - even Andaras' constant presence isn't there to shout Stalinist oaths, but that's probably because he was b& a few days ago.
Let's see, I think I need a drink. As I swing my legs off my bed, I trip awkwardly and fall onto the keyboard. The curse forming in my throat fades as the keyboard seems to drop below my arm, and the keyboard socket expands to accommodate me.
---
Some time later, I find myself standing on a nondescript, sloping concrete footpath, in the wide-ish fashion of Australian central business districts. It seems relatively deserted, but -- wait a minute. I could have sworn a capsule just shot past on the road below, which, now that I come to think of it, does not exactly look like bitumen to me. A flight of stone steps is set into the wall some way back from the road. I hurry up them, looking left and right, and turn to the pseudo-Victorian building ahead. Several more of these road-going flattened capsules are parked near it, and an instantly recognisable logo is set into one: the split black-and-gold shield on swords of the Commonwealth of Kostemetsia. I know damn well what it looks like, because I set the parameters. A man in a black suit walks by, frowns at the lone thirteen-year-old observing from outside the carpark, and walks on.
Realisation dawns. Judging from the technology ahead, this is the capital world of the Commonwealth, Kostemetsia Prime. By the look of it, it's not yet suffered the great ravages I had planned before this entire incident came out of nowhere... Wait a second. I invented this place and materialised all the cars within it. Logically, this means that I am, after a fashion, God. Now if I can just keep a coherent roleplay script running in my head, I should be able to acquire some transport. Raising a hand for effect, I imagine the rather snazzy government capsule flashing towards me. The man in the black suit jumps back with a profanity as the capsule hums down a line terminating somewhere in my area. A cream-brick and steel fence blocks its way, so I raise a hand and the capsule goes a few inches over the fence.
Given that this technology stems from the innermost depths of my own mind, I believe I should probably know how to operate it. Now, from experience, Kostemetsians seem to invariably attempt to merge art with technology - the capsule reflects it, a long seed-pod-like craft with one handle visible from where I stand. Gripping the handle, I pull upwards, revealing a comfortably appointed cabin behind the gull-wing door that the handle is obviously attached to. Sliding down with some difficulty, I have obviously keyed some hidden sensor, and the door subsides.
Taking stock of my surroundings. A blank pane of glass lies on the red cushion beside me, and a pen lies beside it. Given my knowledge of Kostemetsian technology, that should be a flashpad - futuristic PDA, long story - and a flashstylus, respectively. Controls incorporating at least a boat-style throttle and aircraft yoke sit ahead. I grin - now this is my idea of an aircar. With another control keyed, the blank divider in front of me fades to a computer display with three-dimensional HUD. The man with the suit is tagged as Joseph Keeper, Commonwealth Minister of Justice, and I probably should have realised this earlier.
Pushing a button that shows some sort of futuristic fighter jet, I grin as a jolt rocks the vehicle. The screen in front expands to incorporate a security cam view from the building behind me, tracking my vehicle as three fins spring from its rear and some sort of panel slides back to show two of... well, what I assume are engine nozzles. Wings follow. Another button lifts it into the air with a rumble and a roar, and pushing the throttle to the forward extreme of its range sends the aircar rocketing off in an extremely wide curve.
Gaining altitude and some knowledge of the controls, I shoot into the air. Two police aircars flash past in a blur, and I imagine they must be swiveling to follow me. Then they realise that this is - I check the designated registration plate - a State Intelligence Service car. I nabbed myself a good ride, by the look of it.
(moar to come, mixing of OOC and IC experiment)