mayfield_rpg | First Saga

[To say that Excel was adaptive would be an understatement. Not only is she quite accustomed to being thrown in prison by the Immigration Bureau, she has spent the past few weeks living out in the streets. Hell, she even managed to build her own makeshift house and eat off of plants growing on the ground, pigeons, and the contaminated fish swimming in the dirty city rivers. Roughing it is not at all a big deal for a girl like her.

To find herself suddenly awake in a house, however, is. She wakes up with or without the help of the alarms and looks around with eyes covered by still heavy eyelids. Everything around her seems much... nicer. Far more, well... bourgeois than what she is already accustomed to. She looks down at her left and sees a... man? Woman? Possibly a man.

... Why the hell is there even a man next to her?

Sparing no time at all, Excel raises her foot and kicks the man out of the bed before attempting to pin him down.]

Thought you could get away with it, didja!? You find some girl out in the streets, drug her, take her back to your house, and think everything is still peaches and cream!? No! No! Bad boy! But I bet you wouldn't have thought that this girl you kidnapped is a master of fifty different killing techniques!

My entire body is a hardened weapon to be used as willed by Lord Il Palazzo in his grand quest, not by some lonely, bourgeois... ... shemale?

[Action: 1767 Beaver]

[Forget that shemale. Kidnapper or not, she's going to take advantage of this as much as possible. It's not like she's footing the bill on anything anyway. Downstairs, Excel is pulling out just about everything from inside the fridge from the meat to the vegetables to the... glass of milk. With some bread, she can make this into quite the sandwich. After frying up the meat, she grabs the two slices of bread, puts them together, she starts scarfing it down as she stands.]

... Ohh.

I haven't had a decent square meal in weeks. But with this sandwich, this alone, I believe I may fight for yet another hundred years! ... eh, still hungry.

[Phone]

SPIDERS! HORRIBLE ARANEIDE INVADERS DOWN MY THROAT! WHAT THE BULL IS IN THIS MILK!? HAS SCIENCE BRED A HORRIBLE COMBINATION OF A COW AND ARACHNID!? A COWRACHNID!?

THROAT, ITCHING, BURNING! SPIDER MILK!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The calcium in milk doesn't help your bones grow! It explodes into spiders in your throat!

Ooooookay.

You think you could tell me the brand your drinking? Think I'd like to avoid that.

It's the milk, the milk. Take it from me: they put something inside it before bottling it all up. The Milkman is a sadist and a conspirator at the highest level.

[Sad thing is that she's right...]

Riiiiight, sure it's the milk. Of course. Why should I expect anything to be normal here.

[He doesn't necessarily believe Excel, but at the same time? He's seen and heard of weirder. And he sure as hell isn't going to experiment.]

Hey, it's not like I wanted to find myself outside of my quaint box and inside a strange bed and house with a loud man-woman who shrieks androgyny from the very pits of his/her throat. The poisoned milk is just the frosting to this cake of disasters.

Okay do you really have to talk like that? It's kinda obnoxious.

Define "like that" first.

I mean the unnecessary prose. It sounds like you have a thesaurus open whenever you talk. It's obnoxious.

Look, bub, this is just how I always talk, capiche? There ain't much I can do about it even if you just tell me to stop.

Fine. If you want to sound like a college student trying to write a research paper and just impress the hell out of his professor, whatever.

Haw! College. I've never even stepped foot in one. Wisdom and education comes straight from experience and I've been getting my share toughing it out on the streets, one part-time job after another.

College, haw. Better to learn about life from sweat, bleed, and thrift instead of listening to some old fogey lecturing you.

[But a tall, young man who's trying to conquer the world from an subterranean lair inside the sewers? Even better.]

Yeah? Wait until you end up getting stuck in a part-time job. Not going to be learning much more then.

Y'know what? I wouldn't mind that. Try going through different part-time jobs three times every week from accidents beyond my control.

Stability is ever the illusion.

Tch. Got that right. I'd just like one day - one - to go without some freak accident. I bothered saying yes because I thought I could count on things. Apparently, no, I couldn't.

You're really roughing it, ain'tcha? Freak accidents are daily occurrences. Sucks whenever it happens and boy, does it. Y'know, one time, that hamburger joint I worked at spontaneously combusted... while my co-workers and I were still in it! And that's hardly the craziest thing that happened.

Yeah?

You ever get teleported to the moon by a keyboard because your employees were dumb enough to teleport one of your worthwhile employees there so you had to save him?

Teleport... N-naw, nothing like that at all. Never even been on the... moon.

But y'know, there was that time when I was stranded on that desert island after escaping some sharks with the mentally questionable, suspiciously immortal priest with super strength. ... I mean, he chased he me through the seas, Europe, and China, but I think he's still out there.

Eh, I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about. Most of the things that end up bothering us kind of, uh...leave permanently.

Haw! Not for me. My troubles are like the boomerang effect: you've been through it once? It comes right back at you.

... Don't ask why, but I've been pulled in by the Immigration Bureau three times, all of which happened while I was drifting around the sea. Fourth time and I hear they let you choose your own cell...

I've never had to deal with the police thankfully. Which is a miracle and almost makes me believe there is a God, just due to the fact my idiot employees should've gotten me several times with what they've done.

...Jesus, what kind of work do you do?

Like I said, it always changes. I mean, I like my work, don't get me wrong. Don't think anybody can say they've worked at a luxury cruiser and diner... which, by the way, was also a battleship.

But it'd be even better if I could stick around for at least two paydays.

Must have a hell of a resume, at least. More than I can say.

Yeah, see, that's something I wouldn't want to write up. I have my own reasons, but there's a reason why I only find part-time jobs that pay bills up front. Not that I'd share it, of course.

So, about that resume? Don't have one.

Yeah, alright.

All I'm saying is? Someday, you're going to want to find an actually stable job.

And hopefully one you enjoy.

Well, I sorta have one, but it's not the kind that pays anything, y'know? It's more like an investment I gotta take care of each day, but the pay-offs will be big.

And you know what? You too. You sound like a hard-working guy. It's always the bourgeois who steps on the hard-working guys, keeping them from going anywhere.

[Well, Benson, congratulations. In the ACROSS' new world order, you will receive a special, administrative position and possibly nobility. Hard-workers are always A-okay to Excel and certainly don't belong anywhere near her purge book.]

[Phone]

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