Fyhlen !Hlpbh/IWLo 2012/01/31 (Tue) 06:32 No. 39519 ▼ File 13279915696.jpg - (189.60KB, 1600x1200 , Pleasant Evening.jpg)
Part 2 - reposted due to formatting errors.
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On a balcony extending from the northern side of the mansion, two figures can be seen enjoying the serenity of the night. One, seated at a table, wears a full length pink dress and mop hat of matching hue. The other stands attentively at her side, uniformed in blue and white as a European maid from the turn of the 19th century. The former lifts a white teacup from the table to her lips, savoring the drink, when her eyes catch at a twinkle in the sky. It is moving just barely, though no human could see it so. The cup is lowered, and she rises from her chair.
The door to the balcony opens behind her, purple robed magician striding out under the moonlight. “Remilia, there’s a new celestial body in the sky; its movement doesn’t follow any pattern I’ve seen before.” Her tone rushed, she pauses briefly to catch her breath, the trip having apparently taken a deal of exertion.
Remilia turns to face the interruption, an eyebrow elevated in curiosity. “So there is. But tell me, what interest might I have in this body you’ve found? If I recall, you’re the one devoted to the study of all things fantastic and weird, ironic as that may be, and would thus find it far more fascinating.”
Patchouli stifles a groan, the antics of her counterpart at once familiar and wearing. A smile that works its way onto her face, however, counters any suspicion of enmity between the two. “You asked to be told of strange occurrences, and this certainly qualifies as strange.” Gesturing towards the doors, she continues, “Now please, come with me; I’ll show you what I mean.”
She sighs in exasperation. “Patchouli, if you don’t learn to loosen up from time to time, you’ll run yourself into an early grave.” She nevertheless follows the magician back into the mansion, maid closing the doors behind them. “Why not tell me a little more about what you’ve found on the way?”
Patchouli nods in agreement. “Well, it’s too close to be a star, but it doesn’t resemble any sort of meteor I’ve ever seen. Its composition is also strange: it’s not made of ice or earth, and I detected a large amount of many metals, enough that I can’t accept its existence to be a natural occurrence. Furthermore…”
The magician continues to talk, waxing excitement evident as she delves into her discoveries. She is only mildly aware of Remilia’s diminishing interest as the topic’s intricacies exceed her understanding, and her eyes start wandering over the furnishings they pass instead of focusing on Patchouli and her monologue. After some time of walking down the halls, she carefully contains a sigh of relief as the observatory doors come into view.
Koakuma stands by the entrance, and bows as the mage returns with the mistress of the mansion, opening the door for the group to enter. Inside, the lens glows as it did before, and Patchouli motions for Remilia to follow her to her notes and the pedestal, crystal ball still shining with points of blue light.
Seeing all is still in its place, Patchouli grins. “There, you see? The star highlighted in blue is the one I told you about. I speak figuratively, of course; it only appears as a star in the globe, and is in fact something completely different.”
Remilia leans toward the viewing crystal, narrowing her eyes briefly before straightening and turning to look at the mage. “I see; it must be the object I saw before your sudden interruption. So, which one is it?”
Patchouli freezes. “…what? What do you mean?”
Pointing at the orb, Remilia asks again, “There are several blue lights in here, so which one were you going on about? Was it this larger one?”
“But it- that’s impossible; there was only one body! There couldn’t possibly be more; I checked!” Patchouli rushes to the crystal, and sure enough, the original star is now joined by four, much smaller points, each similarly wreathed in blue and leaving lines in the ether to track their motion. “This is…” Patchouli taps three runes in quick succession, and the flecks rapidly reverse direction, returning along their paths until all converge at the large star, and vanish.
“Very interesting indeed. You don’t suppose that thing is firing danmaku at us?” Remilia teases Patchouli from over her shoulder.
The maid speaks up from near the doorway. “That doesn’t seem likely, milady.”
“Indeed,” Patchouli grumbles. “Those aren’t bullets; they’re more like smaller versions of whatever that thing is. With this, it’s almost certain that all of those objects are being controlled, but I still can’t figure out how. They’re devoid of mana, so they couldn’t be controlled magically, or if they are, they’re shielded against detection, but in that case, why leave them visible?” Her eyes close as she continues to theorize about the quandary presented by the objects.
After a moment, Remilia concludes Patchouli has thought of no further pertinent information, and with one last glance at the mage, busies herself with tapping on the control panel in an effort to change the view within the crystal. The maid stands to the side, maintaining her composure even as the points of light blur, then shift violently outside of the crystal’s view as the lady of the mansion hastily attempts to re-correct the image. The rings on the viewing lens fluctuate wildly as well, and it’s no small favor to Remilia that Patchouli’s eyes are closed in concentration.
Her actions grow increasingly more desperate, and she starts as Patchouli draws a deep breath before exhaling slowly, opening her eyes. Remilia glances elsewhere and adopts a posture that suggests she bore no interest to the image within the viewing crystal, but the mage notices not and instead utters her newest line of though.
“For celestial objects to be deliberately controlled without magic… suggests that they are constructs of the Lunarians, or of humans from the Outside. Since their point of origin was nowhere near the moon, I have to say the latter idea holds more merit.”
“Really, now? Heh. Maybe they got lost while trying to reach the moon. What do you think, Sakuya?” Remilia turns to the maid.
“I couldn’t say for certain, milady. Though, if they are human, then-”
A muted pulsation suddenly reverberates through the bodies of all in the room, and moments after a piercing screech impacts their ears, dissipating quickly into a quiet but persistent ringing that seizes at the mind. Sakuya recovers quickly, tone completely faded from her ears, while Remilia visibly strains to remain standing. Patchouli has collapsed to one knee, and her assistant moves as quickly as she can to help the magician, though it is obvious she too suffers from the oppressive keening.
Sakuya takes a hesitant step towards her mistress, asking, “Milady, are you injured? Do you require help standing?” Her hand reaches for Remilia’s shoulder, but is batted away.
“Of course I can stand by myself. Let me be!” She inhales deeply, breath catching only once. “Er, no, that’s not it. Thank you for your concern. Tcch, this sound is annoying – Sakuya, make it stop at once.” Remilia’s gaze rapidly passes over the room; face haggard as her eyes dart from one object to another.
Sakuya bows and smiles. “I’m sorry, Milady, but I cannot hear that sound any more, and I’m afraid I don’t know what caused it in the first place.” Looking up, she continues. “Perhaps it will fade in time, or shall I prepare to… head… outside?” Her question slows when she sees Remilia’s fidgeting has ceased, and her gaze is fixated on the sky above. Following her line of sight, the maid’s breath hangs in the air for a moment as she takes in the spectacle above.
An aurora borealis has blossomed over the sky, waves of green reaching out and fading into the horizons. Shades of purple are splintered into its edges, and a brilliant blue pattern of jagged lightning hangs in what seems to be the heart of the phenomenon. A small pinprick of black can just be made out at the very center, all that remains of the night sky the swirling green now covers. The maid stands captivated by the strange and bright display.
“…My word,” Patchouli gasps, “That’s – it almost looks like the aura of an active summoning circle, but it couldn’t possibly be…” She staggers towards her viewing crystal and begins activating sigils slowly, relying heavily on Koakuma’s support to remain standing.
“Sakuya.” Remilia’s voice, now even and lower in pitch, snaps the maid out of her trance. “Head to the basement, and bring Flandre up here, if you would.” Her eyes glow red, pupils narrowed into predatory slits. “Quickly, now. The longer you wait, the less time she’ll have to see this.”
For a brief moment, the tension in the air is almost palatable: everyone in the observatory stands stock still, niggling sound inside their ears forgotten, and true meaning behind the mistress’s words clear. Nevertheless. “Right away, Milady.” Sakuya bows, and opens the doors to let herself out. The doors shut, and Patchouli lets out a defeated sigh, allowing her assistant to guide her to a chair. “Such a shame; I really could have learned a great deal. But if it must be done, so be it.”
* * * * *
The AI inside the dropship could of course feel no vibration and hear no sound, noting only the regular functioning of the vessel’s engines and the intimidating spectacle visible on the navigation cameras. The Hyperion had rotated itself in orbit until its bow was directed towards the planet, and its foremost segment had yawned open to reveal a cylindrical emitter sheltered beneath the armor plating. A pillar of light blue energy tinged with purple, dimmed by the cameras for the pilot’s safety, now streamed towards the planet’s surface, creating a distortion in the atmosphere far below.
Receiving a signal from the Hyperion, the AI activates the intercom in the infantry cabin, and the voice of Dr. Matthers filters through. “Operations are within safe parameters and the warp tunnel is stable; all dropships are prepared to move in on my mark. Remember: this won’t be any different from an ordinary descent, and we’ve made sure the pilots will keep clear of the beam.” Some grip their seats tighter, glancing at the screen displaying the image from the cameras, almost regretting the lack of a warning message forcing them to abort and turn back. As a countdown appears on the general display, Simmons speaks to those present before they descend.
“Alright men, two minute countdown has started, so strap in and hold on tight. Somehow, I think this isn’t going down without a hitch. Once we’re down there it won’t be any different than the usual hell, so get your helmets on before we get spaced.” Marcus and the corporal chuckle at his suspicion; several of their squad mates join in. Each moves to place his helmet over his head, and the corporal also positions the ventilator over his mouth and nose, making sure it’s set properly. He then presses the sealing lock near the bottom jaw and allows his suit do the rest.
The open panels on the bottom of the helmet snap shut and lock with a whine, and the ventilator immediately begins circulating dry but cool air, designers having noted the importance of avoiding suffocation until the helmet is secure. The display screen inside the visor lights up with meaningless diagnostic information, before sections of the HUD are allocated into displays of ammunition, equipment, and bearing. The suit’s artificial muscle secures itself to the helmet around his neck, making concussion and whiplash nonexistent dangers.
Now fully protected from the outside environment in his suit of assault armor, the corporal leans back into his combined seat and launching mechanism, in position for the clamps to lock into place. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment, and the radio chatter of the rest of the squad fades into background noise. Can’t believe I’m still doing this after we lost the Titan array on Atlas. We’re all soldiers, and are trained to meet death at all times, but… His hands clench with suppressed anger. Still isn’t easy when you’re watching your friends die around you. The clamps suddenly lower and hold him in position, and his eyes snap open in surprise.
“Ten second mark – everyone get ready!” The vibrations from the engines increase, and the voices inside the dropship go silent. All know that this is the critical moment; the point at which they will either continue on to complete the mission, or have their lives abruptly ended. The dropship moves forward, increasing in speed until its distance to the crackling beam drops below 200 meters. It veers downwards, following the beam’s path towards the vortex in the planet’s atmosphere, instead of approaching at an angle to avoid disintegrating during descent.
The dropship slips inside, and the AI devotes its considerable processing power to keeping the ship under control. Most within the cabin watch the navigational cameras, driven either by fear or curiosity of the unknown. The vessel begins to roll slightly, but steadies even as blue lightning splinters through the space around them. The dropship moves through a tunnel of green light; the beam piercing through its core and an impermeable black shroud cloaking both origin and destination from view.
Despite the intimidating display, the zone between the wall and beam remains relatively tranquil, and only minor corrections are needed to stay the dropship on its course. Several minutes of uneventful travel pass, and the corporal mutters, “Looks like Matthers was right about this being a smooth ride. Huh.” A glance at the clock, countdown to enter the tunnel now gone, shows only a few seconds remain before the exit is reached. “Well, time to see what we came here for.”
The shroud blotting out the forward camera has nearly halved in size, and as the timer reaches zero, it contracts into a point before ballooning outwards from its center, clouds visible below. As the dropship hurtles through the opening, gravity again makes its presence known, forcing the AI to carefully mete out thrust to avoid blacking out its cargo. Once leveled out, it slows to cruising speed before Andrews relays commands to his squad.
“Alright, we’ll form up at cruising speed around the portal. I’ll hail the Hyperion; let ‘em know we made it. Simmons’s dropship will take condition readings; the rest will start topographic and visual scans so we can find a drop zone.” After sounds of acknowledgement echo through his headset, a link to the cruiser above is opened for him by the AI. “Hyperion, this is Sergeant Andrews; Lambda squad has made planet fall and are holding formation near the warp portal. Scan data is being processed and we’ll have a landing zone soon; please advise.”
Only white noise returns through his helmet. Scowling under his visor, Andrews again tries to contact his superiors. “Hyperion, this is Sergeant Andrews, do you copy?” Only the hiss of static answers his query. “Damnit. This is Sergeant Andrews of Lambda squad, do-”
He is cut off as a voice at last responds to his increasingly strained attempts at communication. “Greetings, landing team. This is Dr. Matthers, and if you’re hearing this recording, then interference has currently made it impossible for you to contact me.” Andrews swears aloud, agitation at this turn of events coming to a head. “Don’t worry; this contingency was prepared for: find a landing zone and deploy infantry while holding back support until the need arises. If a terrain map is obtained within ten minutes of arrival, send a dropship back through the portal. Otherwise, hold position until the portal reopens, since you wouldn’t get through it in time.”
“Well, that’s just perfect.” Sighing, Andrews reopens communications with the rest of his squad while bringing up the AI’s progress on the map. “Simmons, how’re those readings coming? We’re on a timetable here.”
In the other dropship, a frown flickers across Simmons’s face; the anxiety obvious in the sergeant’s voice. “Atmospheric readings indicate pressures are… comparable to those on Earth, along with temperature. Background radiation is also negligible.” Confusion is readily apparent in his voice; for indeed, how could one world perfectly mirror another in every way? “The AI’s are having a hard time with the visual scans, though; we came out right over a cloud bank, and the portal’s corona is also causing interference.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Andrews sighs. “Why did the site have to be on the dark side of the planet when we got here? Nothing’s ever easy.” A tone sounds in his visor, and a display containing many curved lines and shapes appears. “At least the topographic scans are in. Alright, support ships stay at cruising speed near the portal; Simmons, bring your dropship around and follow mine. We’ll head down and see about getting some visual scans while approaching… this drop point.” A red dot appears on the map, near a relatively flat area.
“Acknowledged, sir,” Simmons responds. “Forming up on your six.”
As their dropship begins to angle downwards, the corporal begins to check his equipment again; a nervous habit that serves a useful purpose. His assault rifle accepts its magazine with no trouble, and he lays it across his lap before pulling a weathered, heavy caliber pistol from his side. He ejects the cartridge, then reloads the firearm and pulls the slide back as though chambering a round, though he stops short of doing so. As his thumb runs across the barrel, Marcus breaks radio silence to talk. “Why’s he leavin’ the support behind? They’re supposed to fly right in with us; less distance between them and us in case we need somethin’.”
The corporal shakes his head, returning the pistol to its storage mount at his hip. “No idea. Maybe he’s just being cautious; doesn’t make sense to send everything down at once if there’s a risk.”
“Then why send the soldiers in first? Why not send in those hunks of metal instead?” The corporal starts to understand the implications being made. “I’m tellin’ ya, something about this just doesn’t feel right.”
“Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not, but whichever it is, I trust Andrews. He knows more about what he’s doing than any of us here. Besides,” he turns to look at the monitor, night sky now obscured by the cloud bank. “Nothing we can do about it now.” His fingers tap nervously on his assault rifle.
* * * * *
Sakuya hurries along hallways and down the occasional stair, footsteps echoing in the dim light before joining in the suspended murmur of background noise. Candles rest in fixtures on the walls and cast a yellowed light around the maid, though their light does not flicker as she passes. She moves at a rapid, disheveled pace for some time, turning into corridors seemingly at random until at last she comes before a wooden door in a seldom traveled area of the mansion.
Pulling a darkened key with two rows of teeth from a pocket in her dress, she unlocks the door and pushes on the handles. The candles again begin to flicker and murmurs fade from hearing as the portal opens, wood creaking under its own weight. Carefully hewn steps of grey stone lead downwards, and Sakuya proceeds forward until the stairs level out into another hall. No doors line its side; only a carefully crafted oak door rests at its end. A faint rhyme can be heard from what lies beyond as the maid approaches the portal.
“-said the Beetle. ‘With my thread and needle, I’ll make the shroud.’ ‘Who’ll dig his grave?’ ‘I,’ said the Owl. ‘With my pick and shovel I’ll dig his grave.’ ‘Who’ll be-’”
Knocking twice against the wood, Sakuya asks, “Miss Flandre, pardon my interruption, but may I come in?”
A soft shuffling is heard behind the door. “Oh, it’s Sakuya.” A pause. “Mm, come in.”
Letting out a quiet breath of relief, the maid turns the doorknob and steps into the room beyond. Stuffed animals lie here and there against the walls, along with books carelessly left where they’d fallen instead of returned to their shelves. A dresser and lamp sit beside a large bed set against the far wall, and the source of the rhyming voice rests atop it.
Of the same stature as the lady of the mansion, she wears a white blouse beneath red vest and matching skirt, and a white mop hat lies beside her. Lying halfway off the bed, she rolls over as Sakuya enters and pulls herself upright, sitting wariza-style on top of the sheets. Her red eyes widen suddenly in remembrance, and she smiles as she says, “Ah! Good morning, Sakuya. Or, is it nighttime?”
Returning her smile, the maid replies, “It is night right now; you almost guessed it this time.”
Flandre scowls. “Awww. So why are you here? Did you sneak away from Remi, or did she tell you to come talk to me?” Though she smiles, her tone holds a hint of resignation.
“She wanted you to come join her in the observatory. There is… It’s a beautiful night out, and she thought you might enjoy seeing the night sky.”
“Oh.” For once. The thought remains unvoiced as she swings her legs forward, feet dangling off the bed. “This has something to do with that ringing sound, right?” Her eyes lock with those of the maid, and each stares unyielding at the other for nearly a minute.
The maid remains silent. “Well! I haven’t been upstairs in a while, so I think I’ll head up. Lemme just put my shoes on.” Jumping forward, Flandre walks towards the door and slides her feet into a pair of red Mary Janes, tugging on the straps until they tighten. Satisfied, she stands and folds her hands behind her back, looking over her shoulder at Sakuya. “Gonna come?”
“Of course, Miss Flandre.” The maid re-enters the hall and waits for Flandre to pass, closing the door to her room before walking ahead to lead the way. She waits again for the girl at the top of the stairs, though the heavy wooden doors are merely closed instead of locked. The pair continues to move through the mansion, silence rather than muffled echoes now hanging in the maid’s ears and wearing at her mind.
At the base of the final flight of stairs, her concentration is broken by the sudden exclamation of her charge. “Hey! This painting is new, right? It wasn’t here before, right?” Flandre points at a framed canvas mounted on the wall, an oil painting of an expansive garden surrounded by red brick walls lying far away in the background.
Sakuya nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You are correct. The mistress painted that just over a year ago, in the spring.”
“Thought so. See Sakuya? I notice when things change.” Humming happily to herself, Flandre skips to catch up with the maid, passing her and climbing several steps before turning back. “C’mon, it would be bad to keep Remi waiting.” Mood lightened, the pair continues on its way until the observatory doors lie open in front of them.
Flandre stares at the glowing viewing crystal as she enters, then runs ahead of Sakuya as she catches sight of Remilia. “Sister!”
The latter turns, and a mixture of happiness, relief, and something else fills her eyes as the girl in red and white runs toward her. “It’s good to see you, Flandre. How have you been?”
“Mmm, alright I guess. It’s boring without stuff to do, though. Already read all my books a bunch of times, so it’d be nice if you visited more.” Remilia twitches almost imperceptibly at her sister’s implied accusation, though Flandre continues speaking as though nothing were wrong. “Anyways, this room is for looking at the sky, right? Sounds great~. I haven’t seen it since…” She trails off, at last noticing the green light wavering over the floor and walls. Turning sharply to the focusing lens, and seeing it isn’t the source, she slowly raises her eyes to the sky.
A sound of joy rushes from Flandre’s lips as she takes in the display reaching across the night sky, its colors completely different from anything she’s seen before. “So cool! Hey, what is that; what’s happening?!” She points upwards excitedly, bouncing on her heels.
Smile dropping from her face, Remilia answers, “That is the source of the noise you’ve been hearing, and is probably what caused that pulse, too. Patchouli,” she gestures at the magician, “tracked what caused it with the observatory’s lens. It’s something, or rather several somethings, from the Outside, flying through into Gensokyo.”
Flandre remains silent, and Remilia’s brow creases in worry. “You felt the pain it caused, didn’t you? You know that if they come here, it might get worse. Sakuya said she can no longer hear the sound, but we both do, and so does Patchouli.” Remilia rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “They’re targeting youkai. You know what that means for us, and for this land we live in. I know you can help by-”
“You want me to destroy it, don’t you?” Flandre’s shoulder droops under Remilia’s hand. “Figures. Of course you wouldn’t let me out just to talk; you want me to do something for you.” She shrugs her sister’s hand off, then violently shakes her head once. “Fine. Even if it’s in the sky, I can find its Eye. I’ll find it, and make it break.”
She throws her head back, irises blood red and pupils narrowed as her sister’s were; the corner of her mouth is tugged back in a sneer. Slowly, she raises her right hand, palm upwards, until her forearm is level with the floor. Her fingers bend and straighten slowly, occasionally twitching, until her fingertips snap together, as though her thumb, index, and middle finger were pinching a thread. Her eyes close, and she squeezes her hand into a fist. “HhmmMM!”
* * * * *
Alarms blared inside the dropship, and the radios of the squad members echo with a cacophony of nonsensical shouting. Simmons was yelling into his headset, probably to the sergeant, but the corporal merely stared, dazed, at the horror residing in the seat across from his. Where a soldier should be, seated and at the ready, there was only a sphere of empty air that breached the hull, and a pair of legs, severed below the knees, with blood oozing out the top. One arm left behind had been pulled out through breach, while the other had rolled onto the floor, and was now bleeding from a curved, perfectly made cut.
Impossible…It – it can’t be. Must be the stims; yeah, that’s it, just gotta focus. This is a hallucination, no way this is real; Marcus can’t possibly be…! His right hand reaches forward slowly, fingers shaking; the need to dispel the illusion fighting against the knowledge that, somehow, this was real. We were just sitting here, then you just - twisted, and were gone…
A blow to his outstretched arm snaps the corporal back to reality. Simmons stand over him, urgently shouting, “Focus! Get back and secure your damn weapon! We’re launching in twenty; Andrews’s ship went down, and the AI can’t see a thing. Squad’s dropping in befo-” The hideous sound of stretching metal fills their ears, before warping into a different noise; it resembles nothing shearing metal can make, more similar to a bending of plastic or ceramic.
Kyyyuuuuu.
A sharp lurch to the right throws the corporal backwards in his restraints, and he struggles to return his assault rifle to its storage clamp. Weightlessness begins to take hold as the dropship angles downwards, and the flat tone of the AI sounds through his headset: “Cannot level out, emergency launch engaged. Launching in five,”
The rifle clicks into place.
“Four,”
He leans back, arms at his sides, and eyes closed.
“Three,”
His seat rotates backwards 180 degrees, and the clamps help him straighten into a torpedo of metal.
“Two,”
Here we go.
“One.”
A loud rush of air sounds as he blasts out of the launch tube. Diving headfirst and expecting to see the ground above him, he looks up, and dismays when he sees the horizon instead. “The launch was off,” he mutters, and spreads his arms and legs to burn off velocity. Movement slowed, he begins to tumble toward the ground, falling ingloriously into this strange and unwelcoming land.
And falling.
And falling.
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It is likely that updates will be slow.
