PLOT: WISE SNAKE'S EMERGENCE

[theearth]

Who: OPEN.
When: March 9th, Sunday, daylight hours.
Where: The business district of Locke City.
What: An enormous snake monster is pissed.
Warnings: Violence.

[The alien explodes silently - but it explodes.

First in a small cloud of hot (rose-scented) gas - those there to watch its final moments will want to step back.

A ripple in the air pulses - heavily - from where it once was, with absolutely no sound and color, but penetrating force. Anyone standing within two miles of the point of origin will feel a push, with those closest guaranteed to be knocked off their feet and temporarily dazed. Cars swerve and crash. Staff in the nearest office buildings launch into disarray. There’s no shielding from the blast - it can be felt through walls, through structures, in the air, and underground.

And it is felt underground.

The entire business district starts to shake, abruptly, jarred to a stir by some movement. It rises over the span of a long half-a-minute to the magnitude of December’s earthquake.

Tuning Towers experiences the worst of it - windows are smashing and objects are shaking loose and falling from the upper floors.

It finally ends - with screaming - as the head of an enormous pink snake breaks the lobby floor.

It flows its way quickly out of the hole it’s made, breaks itself another hole ever so politely through the main entrance doors, which were not meant to accommodate a twenty-foot-tall-and-wide exitor, and as it draws the last of its tail out after it, the quaking dies down.

It’s now roaring its way through the streets of Locke City’s business district - all several hundred meters of Wise Snake, emerged in the flesh (or stone?).

No regard for the walls of buildings, streetlamps, civilians, stopped and blindly pulled-over vehicles, anything else on its course - in a frantically-awakened, unrestricted rampage.]



[ OOC: This is part two of the Season 1's finale. The first - the assault on the farmhouse - is here; pertinent plot posts one and two. ]

Comments

[drama8om8]

Uh. Which one?

[grannyfucker]

The giant 50-foot rampaging one? He's the one who punched this building [he jerks his one good arm to point to the ruined remains of the building behind him] and trapped me under all this shit!

[drama8om8]

[ Please not Alan please not Alan please not Alan ]

Uh. There. Might have been more than one. Was it skinless? Or armoured-looking? Or a guy with like. Hella teeth and green eyes and abs and floppy hair?

[grannyfucker]

Well I couldn't exactly get a good look at his face from down here, but he definitely had a lot of teeth and dark hair.

[....wait.]

Oh, shit, you mean there's a bunch of them? Oh, Christ. [THE LITERAL LAST THING HE NEEDED.]

[drama8om8]

I don't know if the other ones can do the gianty thing yet, okay! God. I kind of missed everything going on what with me being dead and stuff! Check your didn't-die-yet-today privilege.

[grannyfucker]

Okay, being dead does sound pretty shitty. But not all of us can be immortal and pop back up after getting crushed by buildings, or whatever!

I could be stuck here forever.

[drama8om8]

Not forever, dude.

[ Ganking a crisp. Chip. No fuck it it's a crisp and I'm not subject to your bastardisation of my fair isle's language. God look how fucking insolent this narration is. Can it get more insolent? Yes. Lisa is made of poop. OH SNAP.

I mean Octavia eats the salted potato snack I guess. ]

You'd die before then! What with the not-immortal thing. Chin up!

[grannyfucker]

[Oh, is that what we're doing now? Is that how we're going to do things? Fine, then two can play at that game! BRING IT, LOUISE.

Jovan, with all the weighty, experienced significance of someone who has lived through a whole lifetime of being Irish and living in England and then reincarnated to come back to tell the tale as an American, picks up a good old-fashioned potato chip. He feels it vibrate between his fingers, a hum that tells him, yes, this potato chip is right. It has always been a potato chip. It will always be a potato chip. To call it by any other name would be to do a great American hero a disservice. To call it by any other name would be to bring great shame upon Jovan's extremely spangled birthplace and upbringing. WHAT NOW, LOUISE? WHAT NOW

Okay but no seriously let's get back to business here Jovan doesn't give a fuck about any of this. He just wants a goddamn snack. Which he of course promptly stops chewing when Octavia points out his mortality.]

Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to 'chin up' when I might die here? Oh, shit--don't they have people searching for victims and shit? Firefighters and sniffy dogs and crap? They'll find me, I bet!

[drama8om8]

[ This isn't even actionbracket shit. Octavia isn't doing anything worth noting. I am literally only typing this to say that all Lisas are always wrong about everything, especially CRISPS. Trying to claim otherwise? GODMODING. I HAVE GOT YOU NOW, YOU EAGLESNOGGING FUCK. SUCK IT. And by it I mean A FUCKING BAG OF CRISPS. Which are CRISPY. Not CHIPPED. I love logic almost as much as I love the fucking Queen. ]

Uh. You know there's a lot of damage here, right?

Like if you are crushed under there then you might bleed out before help comes. And that sucks! Like really super sucks.

[grannyfucker]

[YOU ARE GODMODDING ME BY SAYING THAT CLAIMING OTHERWISE IS GODMODDING, YOU CASTLE-CLIMBING WANKWHACKER. YOUR ATTEMPTS AT WINNING THIS ARGUMENT ARE ABOUT AS BLAND AS THE FOOD YOUR PEOPLE HAVE BEEN EATING FOR CENTURIES.

But at any rate, Jovan just stares at the wreckage around him and considers. And considers some more. And frowns.

Jovan's soda (SODA, NOT FIZZY DRINK, IF YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE SYLLABLE-LOVING FREAKS ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE TOO) continues to sit there untouched, going stale and losing carbonation while he remains upset about things.]

Why would you even say that? I don't want to die here!

[drama8om8]

[ Listen up, you apple pie-loving kentucky fried fuck. I am going to fashion a garotting wire by braiding together pot noodles until they form a disgusting, but appallingly strong cord. Then I will throttle you with it, and the BBC's coverage of my arrest and the following murder trial will be the finest in the world.

Also Octavia pats Jovan's head or something. ]

You might not die! Cool your jets. And if you do, my Jesus powers might kick in and save you.

In fact, I might be able to fix your arm. Want me to try?

[grannyfucker]

[Look, you filthy Nando's-stuffed Cadbury pansy. Don't fucking talk to me about kentucky fried anything when you've got Texa Fried Bullshit lurking in the depths of your own borders. I'll unleash holy democratic retribution on your sorry fanny, and when I say fanny I mean your BUTT. I'll dump all our American iced tea in the English Channel and then fill thousands of plastic liter bottles with it and sell them all at Tesco, where everyone knows there is no quality control whatsoever.

Just you watch, buddy. We conquered your tea once, we can do it again. CA-CAW, MOTHERFUCKER.

In the meantime, Jovan just sighs.]

Alright, fine. It's not like it can get much worse.

[drama8om8]

[ A million bulldogs appear out of thin air and Britain Lisa into a pulp. Britain is now a verb. Louise cackles and sips ACTUAL PROPER TEA with her pinky raised and delicately ignores that whole thing about supermarkets because LOL WALMART. And do you know what TESCO stands for, Lisa?

It stands for high-quality merchandise at low, low prices.

Octavia suddenly has a craving for crumpets and Sainsbury's choux buns. She ignores it in favour of considering her Jesus powers. Maybe that's what her weird eye lasers do? Heal people? ]

Okay. Okay! Here I go.

[ And a beam of white light shoots out of her left eye, hitting Jovan's arm. Nothing actually seems to happen.

Probably because Octavia's eye laser thing doesn't heal people. Or hurt people. It just drains their supply of luck and adds it to her own - and considering Jovan's current state it probably won't even have any effect at all. ]

[grannyfucker]

[You wanna say that to my face outside of these test brackets? You wanna go? Put that British passiveness away and pull out your angry American fisticuffs, before I brand your cheek with the fifty stars engraved into these patriotic brass knuckles o' mine and punch the u's straight outta yer filthy words (or would you prefer to call them WOURDS???).

I'll fuck you up ten ways to Tuesday, by the time I'm through with you you'll be even more confused about who you are and what you're supposed to be doing than WH Smith, the so-called bookstore.

Jovan doesn't know what he was expecting but this is not it. He stares at the eyebeam with a mix of confusion and terror. He kind of wants to flail, but it's not like this is hurting. Besides, even if he wanted to, he couldn't move under all this rock.

When it subsides, he tries lifting his arm as a test. Instead, he screams in pain.]

AAAAGH--nope! Doesn't look like it worked.

[drama8om8]

[ I'm sorry, but now that you've insulted renowned bookSHOP/newsagent/stationery shop WH Smith we can no longer be friends. I am deploying the country's navy to attack your holdings forthwith. Harry Potter will also be on board one of the ships, and he will fistbump The Doctor and idk Benedict Cumberbatch as he avada kedavras your FACE. Then makes sure every word on your gravestone has extra Us in it.

Octavia shrugs mildly at her lack of miraculous healing powers, pats Jovan's arm (sorry for the ouchies) and looks around thoughtfully. ]

Maybe I should. Just go find you some painkillers or something.

[grannyfucker]

[I'm going to get Air Force One to airdrop some motherfucking Captain America and Duke Nukem on your pathetic excuse for an island nation (that DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TROPICAL WEATHER, WHAT'S THE POINT OF EVEN BEING AN ISLAND THEN). They will shoot bullets and throw shields at every bag of prawn cocktail crisps and every car that drives on the left until you have all been shown the error of your ways and rehabilitated into acceptable human beings.

Another victory for America, my friends. A+ (and not one of your filthy A*'s).

Jovan whimpers when she touches the arm that he is pretty sure she knew was broken (what the hell is wrong with her), not able to articulate much beyond that.]

Yeah, okay. Painkillers sound nice.