Post by eez on Oct 26, 2009 15:07:13 GMT -5
((YAY! I managed to finish this in one day, while droning out professors in several classes. Enjoy!))
5. Seeking Solace
"Another Rhizomian maliberry, Mr. Darkmatter?" A wet voice croaked with a cracked mandible.
There came a grunt and soon a relaxed, lazed reply.
"Nah, just package it for later. You know, for when that saucy tanning specialist of mine arrives; and don't get your grubby hands all over them either. I'm not letting you scare her off like you did my last guest, got that."
The grub closed the elegant silver dish and hopped off the stool without another word as it scampered off, its little boots patting the polished marble flooring softly.
The sound was soon drowned out by the trickling fountain not far off and it was safe to speak.
"Ugh, rotten bugs…" A blue man, perhaps no older than forty-five, muttered some more questionable things before he straightened his body and rested his head even deeper into his crossed arms behind him.
He hated them, those bugs. Grubs, they were called. Sure, they were filthy and bungled most of his orders every chance they got, but that's not what "bugged" him; not really. They were spies. All of them. They weren't loyal to him. In fact, they were more or less on loan. Their true loyalties laid elsewhere, one rung higher on the cosmic pecking order of the universe.
"Hmph, cosmic pecking order…Only chumps follow that pedian slug guano." Warp Darkmatter, the number one agent to the number one baddie in the galaxy, grumbled. He slowly reached down to his chilled drink and took a leisurely sip, his lips smacking contently as he took the straw away.
This was the life, he thought to himself on his lounge chair. Here he was, relaxed and in his tropical trunks, with barely a thread of clothing draped upon his muscled torso, enjoying the good life. His feet were bare and his toes simply wiggled as he playfully swayed them to and fro. He wore his black shades, to prevent his eyes getting damage from the artificial lighting overhead, and could only count himself blessed. Behind him, his large, expansive mansion lay pristine and perfect. He could hear grubs scampering about, but he didn't pay them much mind. Before him was his fountain, where a statue in his likeness was carved out of fine Bathyosian pink marble; women, of all species, around him swooning at his ripped state. Of course, the muscles on it weren't nearly as detailed as they were in person, but that was for the ladies to decide.
Yep, this was the good life.
"With all this stuff, who needs a pecking order?" He said once again, smiling contently as he flexed his bulging arms and chest briefly to get his blood pumping. A man like himself, with all his vast worth, didn't need to follow a hierarchy created by someone important, by some big hot shot pulling all the strings.
He was his OWN hot shot, pulling his OWN strings.
He was his own boss.
"That's right, baby. I'm the boss." Warp reclined further, stretching a few bones in his back and didn't bother to correct his trunks. Why bother. He was his own boss. He would fix them when he wanted to.
In fact, he was too good to fix them. Why not get a grub to fix them? Wait, better not. They didn't wash their hands before, well, anything.
"I'll get that tanning specialist to fix them." He grinned, loving every moment of his self-reflection and spontaneous ingenuity. "But before I do that, let's take another look at Warp Darkmatter's wonderful, too –luxurious-for-you, possessions." And he could do that because he was his own boss.
He had his mansion, his fountain, his entire bug staff of freaks, and his glorious body. What else was missing from this picture?
"Ah-hah!" Warp sat upright as the idea hit him. "I'm missing my daily dose of intergalactic cable!"
He took off his shades and set them neatly onto the hovering table beside him as he brought up his artificial arm. Now let's see…where did ol' Flat-Face store the remote feature…Bingo.
Warp pressed a button-there were many on that arm of his-and at once a flat-screen, hovering vid panel popped out of the ground with a neat little futuristic pizzazz. Awesome. Space TV was just what he needed on a perfect day like this. He clicked it again and a channel came on shortly.
"This just in, folks! There has been a massive, and we mean MASSIVE, Raenok uprising at the Fringe border worlds!"
Oh no! Not that voice!
"Aaaaargh! When AREN'T they uprising, ya moron!" Warp growled loudly, throwing one of his hands dismissively at the reporter's image. That cheese-ball was everywhere! EVERYWHERE! It was time to change the channel. "Get off my vid."
Warp clicked the button again and continued channel surfing in hopes of finding something light-hearted and fuzzy for his mood.
"No…No…Hey! Wahinis in Bikinis Special Edition! No…wait, they want you to pay three payments of 74.95UB!? That's crazy! I'll just pirate it back on Planet Z, when Zurg ain't lookin'."
And so it went, Warp clicking away through at least a thousand channels. By the time he had finished the first thousand, he immediately pouted and let his lower jaw jut out in deep disappointment. He found nothing more than riots, accidents, galactic crises, and everything else that fit under the word 'negative'.
"Aw c'mon! It's Saturday! You mean to tell me there ain't nothin' on that's at least decent to watch? What about Stellar and the Astro-Detectives from Rexon 5? I want a cartoon, people!" He whined, throwing his arms up in the air with outrage. Where were all the feel-good shows!? All the laughs!? The gags!? Why was everything so darn serious!?
"Fine, don't play anything worth my time. Stinkin' cable…" He clicked off the vid with an indignant grunt and decided to fall back upon his lounger and just lounge; there was nothing better to do anyway! Well, besides think, and that's exactly what he started doing.
For all its worth, the galaxy was still the same. There was strife, chaos, suffering, etc. None of that stuff interested him, save for blowing stuff up, but not all the time. Warp preferred to just stay on his summer moon out in this remote asteroid belt and leave everything be.
Cosmos know it was much quieter that way.
But it still got him thinking, and he didn't do that too often.
It got him thinking about the day Zurg had approached him with a proposition. A 'deal of a lifetime' the Evil Emperor had called it, holding out a holo-tract and laser pin. Of course, Warp had signed on it without much thought and thanks to Flat-Face, the man could have anything he ever dreamed of. This moon, his mansion, his ship, even those smelly, filthy grubs which he kept locked up in the cellars; you know, cause it was the stereotype.
It was Zurg who managed to give him salvation from the common life, the struggling life.
Warp figured there were two types of people in this galaxy: manipulators and trash-pickers. It was a fairly simple concept.
Manipulators pushed and ordered people around-like Zurg and the Madame President-and they got others beneath them to do the dirty work; which was what the trash-pickers are for. Trash-pickers are those who clean up after the manipulators, like those flunkies at Star Command or those pencil-pushers at CompuKlerm.
Warp wanted none of either. Instead, he wanted to be free, to be his own boss. He wanted the rights to be outside those silly norms and societal views. And thanks to Zurg, he could.
He didn't have to do anything out there, in that false world. In a world created by manipulators and cleaned by trash-pickers. So what he had to blow up a few things, cause mayhem and mischief. It got him out of all that crud.
Warp had already had enough of that life, to be at the bottom of nothing; to be worth less than nothing. It was just like his younger days, when he was at the orphanage. When he was nobody trying to be somebody.
"Well look how that's turned out for yourself, Warp." He said to himself, placing his shades back upon his eyes so he could rest. "You signed that deal and now you're somebody; well you work for someone greater than you, but you're still somebody. Fancy how that all worked out."
He was somebody who had the power to find and maintain his own solace.
His personal sanctuary.
His moon, his mansion, even his fountain with real baby Karnosian piranhas.
This was his inner solace from the world.
"Mr. Darkmatter."
Well, maybe he thought too soon.
"Yes, what is it…." Warp sighed, not bothering to remove his shades or even get up to face the speaker. It was probably a grub by the sounds of it.
"You have, ehehe, someone on the line who wants to speak with you. It's the Evil Emperor."
Aw craters. What did Flat-Face want now? Another shipment of shrimp? It's not like Warp could fetch those at a cheap price!
"Put him on the line." He said, finally taking off his shades and sitting upright as the vidscreen instantly popped out once again. The screen fizzled and a familiar pair of red, glowing eyes emerged from the static.
"Darkmatter." The dual-toned voice spoke.
"Yes, your Evilness." Warp replied without any enthusiasm. This could just ruin a man's Saturday.
"I have a mission for you. One you will find most promising."
"I'm listening." Better not be laundry.
"I need a special instrument for my latest evil plan: a glass sphere that contains a special set of coordinates. Get it from the ancient Shiiva monastery in the Pelegar System. Do whatever you have to do, but I want that sphere."
"Huh, Shiiva priests. Sounds like a party." Just imagine the women.
As the mission was discussed between employee and employer, Warp's grin grew wider and wider; that anti-hero streak easing itself more and more.
Maybe this day wouldn't be a waste after all.
5. Seeking Solace
"Another Rhizomian maliberry, Mr. Darkmatter?" A wet voice croaked with a cracked mandible.
There came a grunt and soon a relaxed, lazed reply.
"Nah, just package it for later. You know, for when that saucy tanning specialist of mine arrives; and don't get your grubby hands all over them either. I'm not letting you scare her off like you did my last guest, got that."
The grub closed the elegant silver dish and hopped off the stool without another word as it scampered off, its little boots patting the polished marble flooring softly.
The sound was soon drowned out by the trickling fountain not far off and it was safe to speak.
"Ugh, rotten bugs…" A blue man, perhaps no older than forty-five, muttered some more questionable things before he straightened his body and rested his head even deeper into his crossed arms behind him.
He hated them, those bugs. Grubs, they were called. Sure, they were filthy and bungled most of his orders every chance they got, but that's not what "bugged" him; not really. They were spies. All of them. They weren't loyal to him. In fact, they were more or less on loan. Their true loyalties laid elsewhere, one rung higher on the cosmic pecking order of the universe.
"Hmph, cosmic pecking order…Only chumps follow that pedian slug guano." Warp Darkmatter, the number one agent to the number one baddie in the galaxy, grumbled. He slowly reached down to his chilled drink and took a leisurely sip, his lips smacking contently as he took the straw away.
This was the life, he thought to himself on his lounge chair. Here he was, relaxed and in his tropical trunks, with barely a thread of clothing draped upon his muscled torso, enjoying the good life. His feet were bare and his toes simply wiggled as he playfully swayed them to and fro. He wore his black shades, to prevent his eyes getting damage from the artificial lighting overhead, and could only count himself blessed. Behind him, his large, expansive mansion lay pristine and perfect. He could hear grubs scampering about, but he didn't pay them much mind. Before him was his fountain, where a statue in his likeness was carved out of fine Bathyosian pink marble; women, of all species, around him swooning at his ripped state. Of course, the muscles on it weren't nearly as detailed as they were in person, but that was for the ladies to decide.
Yep, this was the good life.
"With all this stuff, who needs a pecking order?" He said once again, smiling contently as he flexed his bulging arms and chest briefly to get his blood pumping. A man like himself, with all his vast worth, didn't need to follow a hierarchy created by someone important, by some big hot shot pulling all the strings.
He was his OWN hot shot, pulling his OWN strings.
He was his own boss.
"That's right, baby. I'm the boss." Warp reclined further, stretching a few bones in his back and didn't bother to correct his trunks. Why bother. He was his own boss. He would fix them when he wanted to.
In fact, he was too good to fix them. Why not get a grub to fix them? Wait, better not. They didn't wash their hands before, well, anything.
"I'll get that tanning specialist to fix them." He grinned, loving every moment of his self-reflection and spontaneous ingenuity. "But before I do that, let's take another look at Warp Darkmatter's wonderful, too –luxurious-for-you, possessions." And he could do that because he was his own boss.
He had his mansion, his fountain, his entire bug staff of freaks, and his glorious body. What else was missing from this picture?
"Ah-hah!" Warp sat upright as the idea hit him. "I'm missing my daily dose of intergalactic cable!"
He took off his shades and set them neatly onto the hovering table beside him as he brought up his artificial arm. Now let's see…where did ol' Flat-Face store the remote feature…Bingo.
Warp pressed a button-there were many on that arm of his-and at once a flat-screen, hovering vid panel popped out of the ground with a neat little futuristic pizzazz. Awesome. Space TV was just what he needed on a perfect day like this. He clicked it again and a channel came on shortly.
"This just in, folks! There has been a massive, and we mean MASSIVE, Raenok uprising at the Fringe border worlds!"
Oh no! Not that voice!
"Aaaaargh! When AREN'T they uprising, ya moron!" Warp growled loudly, throwing one of his hands dismissively at the reporter's image. That cheese-ball was everywhere! EVERYWHERE! It was time to change the channel. "Get off my vid."
Warp clicked the button again and continued channel surfing in hopes of finding something light-hearted and fuzzy for his mood.
"No…No…Hey! Wahinis in Bikinis Special Edition! No…wait, they want you to pay three payments of 74.95UB!? That's crazy! I'll just pirate it back on Planet Z, when Zurg ain't lookin'."
And so it went, Warp clicking away through at least a thousand channels. By the time he had finished the first thousand, he immediately pouted and let his lower jaw jut out in deep disappointment. He found nothing more than riots, accidents, galactic crises, and everything else that fit under the word 'negative'.
"Aw c'mon! It's Saturday! You mean to tell me there ain't nothin' on that's at least decent to watch? What about Stellar and the Astro-Detectives from Rexon 5? I want a cartoon, people!" He whined, throwing his arms up in the air with outrage. Where were all the feel-good shows!? All the laughs!? The gags!? Why was everything so darn serious!?
"Fine, don't play anything worth my time. Stinkin' cable…" He clicked off the vid with an indignant grunt and decided to fall back upon his lounger and just lounge; there was nothing better to do anyway! Well, besides think, and that's exactly what he started doing.
For all its worth, the galaxy was still the same. There was strife, chaos, suffering, etc. None of that stuff interested him, save for blowing stuff up, but not all the time. Warp preferred to just stay on his summer moon out in this remote asteroid belt and leave everything be.
Cosmos know it was much quieter that way.
But it still got him thinking, and he didn't do that too often.
It got him thinking about the day Zurg had approached him with a proposition. A 'deal of a lifetime' the Evil Emperor had called it, holding out a holo-tract and laser pin. Of course, Warp had signed on it without much thought and thanks to Flat-Face, the man could have anything he ever dreamed of. This moon, his mansion, his ship, even those smelly, filthy grubs which he kept locked up in the cellars; you know, cause it was the stereotype.
It was Zurg who managed to give him salvation from the common life, the struggling life.
Warp figured there were two types of people in this galaxy: manipulators and trash-pickers. It was a fairly simple concept.
Manipulators pushed and ordered people around-like Zurg and the Madame President-and they got others beneath them to do the dirty work; which was what the trash-pickers are for. Trash-pickers are those who clean up after the manipulators, like those flunkies at Star Command or those pencil-pushers at CompuKlerm.
Warp wanted none of either. Instead, he wanted to be free, to be his own boss. He wanted the rights to be outside those silly norms and societal views. And thanks to Zurg, he could.
He didn't have to do anything out there, in that false world. In a world created by manipulators and cleaned by trash-pickers. So what he had to blow up a few things, cause mayhem and mischief. It got him out of all that crud.
Warp had already had enough of that life, to be at the bottom of nothing; to be worth less than nothing. It was just like his younger days, when he was at the orphanage. When he was nobody trying to be somebody.
"Well look how that's turned out for yourself, Warp." He said to himself, placing his shades back upon his eyes so he could rest. "You signed that deal and now you're somebody; well you work for someone greater than you, but you're still somebody. Fancy how that all worked out."
He was somebody who had the power to find and maintain his own solace.
His personal sanctuary.
His moon, his mansion, even his fountain with real baby Karnosian piranhas.
This was his inner solace from the world.
"Mr. Darkmatter."
Well, maybe he thought too soon.
"Yes, what is it…." Warp sighed, not bothering to remove his shades or even get up to face the speaker. It was probably a grub by the sounds of it.
"You have, ehehe, someone on the line who wants to speak with you. It's the Evil Emperor."
Aw craters. What did Flat-Face want now? Another shipment of shrimp? It's not like Warp could fetch those at a cheap price!
"Put him on the line." He said, finally taking off his shades and sitting upright as the vidscreen instantly popped out once again. The screen fizzled and a familiar pair of red, glowing eyes emerged from the static.
"Darkmatter." The dual-toned voice spoke.
"Yes, your Evilness." Warp replied without any enthusiasm. This could just ruin a man's Saturday.
"I have a mission for you. One you will find most promising."
"I'm listening." Better not be laundry.
"I need a special instrument for my latest evil plan: a glass sphere that contains a special set of coordinates. Get it from the ancient Shiiva monastery in the Pelegar System. Do whatever you have to do, but I want that sphere."
"Huh, Shiiva priests. Sounds like a party." Just imagine the women.
As the mission was discussed between employee and employer, Warp's grin grew wider and wider; that anti-hero streak easing itself more and more.
Maybe this day wouldn't be a waste after all.
BG FTW!!
XDDDDDD No comment, folks
