Blasted Into Oblivion (another Gambit’s fight)
Terryer as Oblivion and Ylanne as Tahira Ali, on 4 October 2009 and 5 October 2009, as below. Minor edits, for spelling and clear grammatical mistakes have been made, as well as re-conjugating verbs to reflect a consistent past tense. Otherwise, the posts are as is.
Oblivion drew a door into existence. "Yes. . . yes. . . mayhem. Need mayhem."
After several moments of watching, Tahira Ali pressed her hand against the door, the cacophony of sound suddenly around her, voices and conversations floating in the air, all but unintelligible to her ears, the sea of faces unfamiliar. Her vacant gaze drifted over these others, not knowing any of them, wholly unsure of their intent, or even their identities.
Tahira Ali glanced at the other patrons, regarding them warily, as one might a suspicious stranger, all the while slipping quietly towards an empty table near the back of the bar. She knew not the others, and thought it unwise to so boldly approach a stranger. Those who knew her, mostly, they sought only the bounty, and she was starved only for polite conversation, a rare treat these days. Tahira Ali sat in silence, watching the others with expression absent her features.
Oblivion had looked around, his rather insane look piercing the crowd, his eye catching sight of Tahira. He knew that she was one he would consider 'vulnerable'. He whipped out his magic pencil and began drawing an axe, his favorite weapon. When he finished, it would appear, and he could use it to his enjoyment.
Tahira Ali thought nothing of the man who had entered, and she played with her fingers, studying the designs on the table. She drew wildly in the dust, not particularly present, in her mind at least. She sat in silence, embracing it. Painful words left unspoken. Better, she thought. It was better.
Oblivion finished the axe drawing, it appeared in his hands, he charged at Tahira with an odd battle scream, "ALALALALALALALALA!!!!" His forward thrust was great, although his posture was not the greatest of postures, this caused a slight leaning sensation.
Tahira Ali looked up, startled, blinking slowly as she realized that the man was charging towards her with an axe. She drew her scimitar, throwing herself to the side, over the table, just barely dodging the man's attack, and she crashed on the other side of the table she had previously occupied.
Oblivion isn't surprised, "Pfft... women. Crafty crafty..." He gets up off the ground. His axe in his left hand was shot down to chop the table in half and then slice Tahira. Leading with his left foot he swung, the table split, he swung again.
She gripped her scimitar's handle tightly, rolling as the table moved, just avoiding his attack, a large shard of it slamming into her side. She grunted, but the pain was minimal, and clambered to her feet, assuming a defensive stance. Tahira Ali's eyes narrowed, regarding him warily, but she did not strike.
"You. . . you are faster than you look, I like that!" He took out his magic pencil in his right hand and began drawing a pair of rocket boots; he kept paying attention to Tahira while doing it, eyes flashing back and forth. His axe seemed to vanish however. Oblivion was rendered defenseless, for now.
Tahira Ali lowered her scimitar til the point was almost touching the floor, her eyes wandering to his magic pencil, not understanding its qualities. "Who be thou, and why do you wish war?" Her eyes flashed, noticing that his axe disappeared, and she realized what he was doing. The 'pencil' was bewitched somehow, with some black magic or another, and he was creating ex nihilo. . . creating weapons. With a feral scream, she launched herself at him, swinging forcefully towards his writing arm - she had to stop him.
Oblivion managed to barely finish the boots, he was still hit. "Yeooow! War is not what I wage. I fight for mayhem and chaos and DESTRUCTION!" He put the boots on and began to fly above Tahira and began drawing more weapons, knives this time.
Tahira Ali looked up, scrambling backwards as the man was now in the air, levitating somehow, likely with the boots that had just been. . . engendered. . . from nothing. She kept her scimitar in front of her, assuming a defensive stance once more. "Life is chaos. . . after life, the chaos defeated. But why, sayyid? Why me?"
"You seemed vulnerable, your life scrambled, your thought mismatched."
"Vulnerable, yes. My life worse than scrambled. . . ruined. Wasted. But my thought - not mismatched. Indomitable." She inclined her head in respect, her features expressionless, her eyes hinting at the only emotion ever said to have been seen there - sorrow.
Oblivion wasn't listening to what he considered blab. He finished his throwing knives and began tossing them. His aim was very sloppy but it could get the job done. He had to maintain balance or he would fall right on top of her.
Finally, she noticed his knives, but it was too late, moving to dodge them, her scimitar flashing left and right, she could not stop them all, and one sliced deeply into her off-arm, another glancing off the side of her right thigh, leaving blood and sparking pain. She cried out, but kept moving until she was farther than he.
"Aha! PAIN! MAYHEM! CHAOS! THIS FUELS ME!" His boots disappeared; it seemed his energy was growing weaker but maintainable. "Whoa! Yaargh!"
As he fell to the ground lacking the magical boots, she slashed through the air at his falling figure, hoping to catch a glancing blow to the same writing arm, stumbling slightly as she moved. "Chaos. . . is of Iblis," she managed.
Oblivion's arm was struck for the second time, the non-existent blood began pouring out. "AHHH!!! This human body is not of use! Good thing he is ambidextrous. Else wise I would be finished." He began drawing bandages with his left hand, jumping away to keep from getting hit again.
Tahira Ali stumbled backward, holding out her scimitar in case he went for her again, and she felt he would, but was unwilling to attack him again, lest he attack her. She thought, strangely, it would not be right. She did not choose this fight.
Oblivion finished the bandages and applied them to his right arm. Next he began with a pirate artillery cannon. The slender cannon had to be loaded with something; after he finished the cannon he began with the cannonball.
Blood dripped slowly from the wound in her shoulder, staining the floor with dark spots, drip, drip, drip, her left hand not gripping the scimitar as tightly as pain ebbed and flowed. She moved away, finding refuge in the shadows, the darker side of the bar, where no light shone, and where she felt invisible. . . unseen. . . safe.
Oblivion knew that he had one chance, blast the girl, or die. He made his choice very quickly. Blast her. He loaded the cannonball into the artillery cannon and lit the fuse.
She heard him light the fuse, and squinted in the darkness, just making out the shape of the cannon. She was going to die. Tahira Ali opened her mouth, but no sound came out as she threw herself desperately away from where she was standing, anywhere but where she had been, to get away from the inevitable blast. . . when BOOM! The wall came down, a large shard of debris slamming down onto her shoulders, pain erupting, the wound from before exacerbated, her scimitar flying from her hands as she went down to the ground.
Oblivion sat there... was Tahira dead? Was he victorious? He sat and waited for movement.
For a moment, her mind flickered between consciousness and the darkness, and she wanted to give in to the darkness, but awoke to consciousness, slowly climbing to her knees, using only her right arm; she could not place any pressure on the left.
Oblivion noticed the movement, she was alive. . . he didn't like that. At least she was heavily wounded. He began drawing another cannonball to load.
"Ya Allah, ahtaaju almusa'ada," she whispered. O God, I need help. Tahira Ali searched for her scimitar, not finding it among the mountain of debris, when she saw that she was now in the bar's dim light again. She needed to get out. She became distinctly aware of two things at that moment - the man loading another cannonball, and the gaping hole to the outside just behind her. In that moment, she made her choice. Tahira Ali threw herself through the window, garnering minor abrasions on the broken glass and shredded concrete and brick, falling some four feet to the ground below.
Oblivion lit the cannon once more, aiming this time at where the blood was trailing off to, with the final piece of the puzzle, he could finally eliminate this wretch from the face of the Earth.
She lay on the grass, unable, or perhaps merely unwilling, to move, acutely aware of the damp roots beneath her bloodstained robes, the stars above her and all around her, twinkling sorrowfully, the moon's aura hidden, the sun looking away. In that moment, she wondered of others and whether they thought of her often - or not at all. The cannonball blasted through the window-hole. It landed softly beside and beyond her in the dewy grass. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sunrise. Waiting for the embrace in death's bosom or another chance at life.
Oblivion waited. No sign of life, had he finally won? Tahira was nowhere to be seen, Oblivion stood triumphant and began a small victory dance, tap dancing his way through the bar.
He was reaching for her, arm outstretched, radiant smile spreading across his features, as if the sun itself had been reborn in his face. . . It was the dream, it was the reality she wanted but knew she would never again have. And so she remained on the grass, pain rushing with every breath, wondering if today she would die.
Oblivion looked out the window-hole, she was still alive. "I'll tell you what, mortal; I'll let you live, just never EVER attempt to fight back. If I wish to harm you, that will only cause more actions like these."
She heard his words as if from some great distance, and slowly, her eyelids slid open, seeing the man - whatever he was - standing there, speaking to her. "I never asked for this fight. . . I have no reason to fight you," she said, the words sighed as much as spoken.
"You do have the wish to live don't you? I will allow it..."
With great effort she sat up, bloodstained robes fluttering limply in the breeze as the dawn closest to the horizon grew lighter, dispelling the darkness of night, and shrugged, a rippling motion that brought more pain from her shoulder wound. "I want to live," she said. "Others would be happy to find me dead. And what Providence wills is beyond my knowledge. No man knows God so well."
Oblivion wasn't amused, although the carnage of seeing the girl near death gave him enough fuel to last him a while. His body phased through the wall and he stepped up next to her, clutching her throat as he said only one thing: "Remember, fight back, and death shall be your consequence." He then drew a door and left.
She watched him leave, disappearing as if he had never been, and remained sitting in the dewy grass, rays of sunlight now piercing the sky as if in search of some long lost lover. . . She knew the feeling all too well. By the time the sun was approaching its zenith, Tahira Ali had struggled to her feet, and stumbled down the path away from the bar, leaving some blood as she went, and some vague memory of the land of her presence.
