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Oct. 27th, 2005 09:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebyeJust after this...
As his fingers closed around the lightsabre handle, Ray reflected that this was possibly not the most strategic course of action he could have taken. Yes, the 'sabre was back in his grasp and not floating in interdimensional space or in the Other's clutches; on the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure where he was about to land-
WHAM.
Apparently, the answer to that particular question was 'somewhere hard', with a side helping of 'much too fast for your own good'.
The lights were swimming before his eyes (okay, improvement over the possible alternatives, lights were always better than blackness) and his head felt like someone had tried to use it to batter through the door of a taxicab. He started to fumble for the 'sabre's off switch, figuring he'd need both hands to get to his feet-
Or not, he thought as the tentacle suddenly wrapped itself around his waist and jerked him upright.
His vision cleared. He wished it hadn't. The last time he'd seen anything with that many tentacles outside of an aquarium or an Italian restaurant, he'd been in the animated continuum. Only the Spawn of Cthulhu hadn't been quite that angry. The olive-green tentacles lashed furiously, snatching at the air, the walls, the-
Lockers? Yes, lockers, and not the ones in the Firehouse either-
"PUT HIM DOWN!" somebody roared at the tentacled horror. The thing snorted. Two of its appendages whipped out one of the largest, shiniest guns Ray had ever seen and swung it around to face the source of the sound. It was that moment at which Ray realized he still had a free hand. He would've smiled if he could; it was the one with the 'sabre in it…
Whrrmmm.
And the thing screamed, a sound that started somewhere around James Earl Jones and shot up into the farthest reaches of Mariah Carey. Ray staggered backwards, the severed tentacle dropping to the floor and twitching madly.
"Aw, hell," said the same voice as before, as the room suddenly filled with a fine greenish-purple spray. "Goddamned Arbashanti fear response- didn't your momma teach you to use the little prince's room for that, your Highness?"
The thing made a gorbling, half-howled reply, but by then Ray wasn't paying attention. The mist smelled horribly acrid and was starting to settle on his skin, and where it settled, it burned. He stared at the stuff in a kind of detached horror as he saw the tiny circles of chemical scorch appear on the backs of his hands, growing rapidly as the stuff settled out of the air.
This can't be happening, he decided, and apparently his autonomic nervous system agreed with him, because it cut the power and turned out the lights.
As his fingers closed around the lightsabre handle, Ray reflected that this was possibly not the most strategic course of action he could have taken. Yes, the 'sabre was back in his grasp and not floating in interdimensional space or in the Other's clutches; on the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure where he was about to land-
WHAM.
Apparently, the answer to that particular question was 'somewhere hard', with a side helping of 'much too fast for your own good'.
The lights were swimming before his eyes (okay, improvement over the possible alternatives, lights were always better than blackness) and his head felt like someone had tried to use it to batter through the door of a taxicab. He started to fumble for the 'sabre's off switch, figuring he'd need both hands to get to his feet-
Or not, he thought as the tentacle suddenly wrapped itself around his waist and jerked him upright.
His vision cleared. He wished it hadn't. The last time he'd seen anything with that many tentacles outside of an aquarium or an Italian restaurant, he'd been in the animated continuum. Only the Spawn of Cthulhu hadn't been quite that angry. The olive-green tentacles lashed furiously, snatching at the air, the walls, the-
Lockers? Yes, lockers, and not the ones in the Firehouse either-
"PUT HIM DOWN!" somebody roared at the tentacled horror. The thing snorted. Two of its appendages whipped out one of the largest, shiniest guns Ray had ever seen and swung it around to face the source of the sound. It was that moment at which Ray realized he still had a free hand. He would've smiled if he could; it was the one with the 'sabre in it…
Whrrmmm.
And the thing screamed, a sound that started somewhere around James Earl Jones and shot up into the farthest reaches of Mariah Carey. Ray staggered backwards, the severed tentacle dropping to the floor and twitching madly.
"Aw, hell," said the same voice as before, as the room suddenly filled with a fine greenish-purple spray. "Goddamned Arbashanti fear response- didn't your momma teach you to use the little prince's room for that, your Highness?"
The thing made a gorbling, half-howled reply, but by then Ray wasn't paying attention. The mist smelled horribly acrid and was starting to settle on his skin, and where it settled, it burned. He stared at the stuff in a kind of detached horror as he saw the tiny circles of chemical scorch appear on the backs of his hands, growing rapidly as the stuff settled out of the air.
This can't be happening, he decided, and apparently his autonomic nervous system agreed with him, because it cut the power and turned out the lights.
