Idea
The Pun Tyrant
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It was the kind of odd place they had been told about. From the looks of it, it'd be the same jobs as usual: dig here and there, install whatever needs to be installed, tear down what can't be re-used (and some of what could too, because it could prove an eyesore otherwise). The biggest problem was the lack of locals to ask if something wasn't going according to plan, but then again that was something they were already quite aware about when it came to renovating some old village that had been deserted for almost a century, with the kind of magical residue it had back then. Honestly, it was almost eerie how truly deserted this place was, not even ethereals seemed to be hanging around, despite the fact that the suspicion there might be a whole swarm here had been one of the reasons it took so long so send anyone over to this place.
"In the end of the day, it's no different from some preserved old village." Old man Tar's sigh was as rough as his voice. "Simple homes of stone and wood, tools we haven't seen since the wars, those gapped pebble roads... It's like one of those, what do you call it, those amber things? With like, the bugs trapped inside, preserving ancient magic? If those sphinx-following nutjobs at the museums knew about this, we'd never heard the end of it."
"It's a little like you: It looks so solid you'd not think it's actually just old and abandoned." Michael chuckled at his own teasing. That part of him was definitely so american. His blonde hair and blue eyes certainly betrayed that neither of his parents were Japanese in blood, as did his name. That said, there was no doubt they were, at least in those legal, burocratic terms bullying children wouldn't have understood even if told over and over, true citizens of their country.
"I swear, you bring up Mitsuha ONE MORE TIME, and I..."
"Calm down, calm down, look, we're here already. Last one of the first row for us. Ah, I really wanna go home! Why did it have to take us a whole day just to check on a handful of homes?"
"Can't be helped with all those runes and inscriptions everywhere. This place was appearantly some kind of magical hot spot, before that thing happened here." Tar followed Michael into the last home, lit up only by the sunset's last rays. According to the arcane reviewers the team hired, some of those symbols on the walls, behind the dusty and broken furniture and overgrown weeds and branches that had taken this place as property, there were in fact some magical inscriptions meant for producing light. However, with the layers upon layers of inscriptions in this place, there was no telling what trying to activate one might actually do, what it might be connected to in the network.
"Uwaaah! Hey, Tar, come look at this creepy thing!" Tar's neck was like an owl's in both thickness and in how it turned to see whatever Michael was talking about. The blond was crouched over a trio of dolls made from woven weed. Though in part they remained green, the color had long since faded for the most part into a mixture of grey and brown, and now pieces like the eyes and one of their arms and "hair", had fallen off and become some part of the floor with the passage of time. Nonetheless there the dolls sat, still sitting together next to the vestiges of a bed with a broken leg. That had probably once been the children's side of the home. The place didn't seem to have separate rooms after all. Despite how much he wanted to tell Michael to stop playing around and get back to work, Tar instead just ignored Michael attempting to pick up one of the dolls and got back to his own job, knocking on the walls and probing things with magical de-
"Ouch! What the heck was that for?" Michael shouted.
"Huh?" Tar tilted his head.
"Don't play dumb, you just slapped my butt!" A smirk broke into Michael's face. "Don't tell me you swing way. It would explain a couple of thing with a certain curly-haired woman."
Tar just groaned.
"I didn't do anything you idiot, but now I really wish I had. And I'm a on the verge of showing you what a real slap from me looks like, so can you get serious for just a damm minute?" Michael just stuck his tongue out in response and walked right over to help. As he did, however, one of his feet went behind me a little more than he expected, and crushed one of the dolls, causing the leaves and weeds to spread on the wall and drift to join the rest on the dusty ground. Tar gave him a glare, Michael rubbed the back of his head.
"Oopsie."
In end, no technical problems were found for the demolition. Since the primary source of magic for the runes and inscriptions was, according to the professionals, gone now, it was viable even for people with no aptitude for magic like them to conduct their operations here, and others in their team to smash down the places before reconstruction, kind of like what Michael had done to that doll. When Tar brought up the example, the two had a good laugh, just barely noticing the huge iron beam coming straight for their faces. Miraculously, the two managed to escape the hardest slap of their livest (and quite possibly the last), but their troubles were far from over. In the rush to dodge, the two ended up losing their balance and pushing each other: Tar ended up turning just in time to get hit with the beam's return, kocking him back like a frisbee on rebound and sliding through the dirty floor (but honestly the wounds from all the rocks he hit were probably a worse problem). As for Michael, the poor young adult stumbled all the way to a yellow pool sneakily left there by a coworked that had drunk one too many sprites, tripped, and couldn't stop the sliding before he landed on the breasts of a female coworker who shoved him away instinctively, right into the hole with the first testing parts of the soon-to-be canalization system, breaking the pipe and thus effectively opening a geiser shower on his bottom.
Under normal circumstances, such a cartoonish sequence of events would have been laughed off as a coincidental, absolutely unpredictable accident, and simply have been the topic of jokes for weeks or months (or forever). However, while that fate couldn't be escaped, a shadow loomed over the heads of those that heard of it, and knew the context surrounding it as well: This was hardly an infrequent occurrence in that construction renovations site. It seemed like every week there were more cases of these highly improbably accidents, though often not as damaging as this one. But now that two more of his workers had been sent to intensive care in the healing facilities, it wasn't something that could just be ignored. However, the causes here weren't simple coicidences, or lack of care, or something about the typical conditions. There had to be some...force at work. Given the history of the ruins, some kind of magic, probably.
The director let go of his mustache and grabbed the phone. Magical problems required magical experts.
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Tag:
HikaruMamoru
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Prologue
"It's a little like you: It looks so solid you'd not think it's actually just old and abandoned." Michael chuckled at his own teasing. That part of him was definitely so american. His blonde hair and blue eyes certainly betrayed that neither of his parents were Japanese in blood, as did his name. That said, there was no doubt they were, at least in those legal, burocratic terms bullying children wouldn't have understood even if told over and over, true citizens of their country.
"Calm down, calm down, look, we're here already. Last one of the first row for us. Ah, I really wanna go home! Why did it have to take us a whole day just to check on a handful of homes?"
"Can't be helped with all those runes and inscriptions everywhere. This place was appearantly some kind of magical hot spot, before that thing happened here." Tar followed Michael into the last home, lit up only by the sunset's last rays. According to the arcane reviewers the team hired, some of those symbols on the walls, behind the dusty and broken furniture and overgrown weeds and branches that had taken this place as property, there were in fact some magical inscriptions meant for producing light. However, with the layers upon layers of inscriptions in this place, there was no telling what trying to activate one might actually do, what it might be connected to in the network.
"Uwaaah! Hey, Tar, come look at this creepy thing!" Tar's neck was like an owl's in both thickness and in how it turned to see whatever Michael was talking about. The blond was crouched over a trio of dolls made from woven weed. Though in part they remained green, the color had long since faded for the most part into a mixture of grey and brown, and now pieces like the eyes and one of their arms and "hair", had fallen off and become some part of the floor with the passage of time. Nonetheless there the dolls sat, still sitting together next to the vestiges of a bed with a broken leg. That had probably once been the children's side of the home. The place didn't seem to have separate rooms after all. Despite how much he wanted to tell Michael to stop playing around and get back to work, Tar instead just ignored Michael attempting to pick up one of the dolls and got back to his own job, knocking on the walls and probing things with magical de-
"Ouch! What the heck was that for?" Michael shouted.
"Huh?" Tar tilted his head.
"Don't play dumb, you just slapped my butt!" A smirk broke into Michael's face. "Don't tell me you swing way. It would explain a couple of thing with a certain curly-haired woman."
Tar just groaned.
"I didn't do anything you idiot, but now I really wish I had. And I'm a on the verge of showing you what a real slap from me looks like, so can you get serious for just a damm minute?" Michael just stuck his tongue out in response and walked right over to help. As he did, however, one of his feet went behind me a little more than he expected, and crushed one of the dolls, causing the leaves and weeds to spread on the wall and drift to join the rest on the dusty ground. Tar gave him a glare, Michael rubbed the back of his head.
"Oopsie."
In end, no technical problems were found for the demolition. Since the primary source of magic for the runes and inscriptions was, according to the professionals, gone now, it was viable even for people with no aptitude for magic like them to conduct their operations here, and others in their team to smash down the places before reconstruction, kind of like what Michael had done to that doll. When Tar brought up the example, the two had a good laugh, just barely noticing the huge iron beam coming straight for their faces. Miraculously, the two managed to escape the hardest slap of their livest (and quite possibly the last), but their troubles were far from over. In the rush to dodge, the two ended up losing their balance and pushing each other: Tar ended up turning just in time to get hit with the beam's return, kocking him back like a frisbee on rebound and sliding through the dirty floor (but honestly the wounds from all the rocks he hit were probably a worse problem). As for Michael, the poor young adult stumbled all the way to a yellow pool sneakily left there by a coworked that had drunk one too many sprites, tripped, and couldn't stop the sliding before he landed on the breasts of a female coworker who shoved him away instinctively, right into the hole with the first testing parts of the soon-to-be canalization system, breaking the pipe and thus effectively opening a geiser shower on his bottom.
Under normal circumstances, such a cartoonish sequence of events would have been laughed off as a coincidental, absolutely unpredictable accident, and simply have been the topic of jokes for weeks or months (or forever). However, while that fate couldn't be escaped, a shadow loomed over the heads of those that heard of it, and knew the context surrounding it as well: This was hardly an infrequent occurrence in that construction renovations site. It seemed like every week there were more cases of these highly improbably accidents, though often not as damaging as this one. But now that two more of his workers had been sent to intensive care in the healing facilities, it wasn't something that could just be ignored. However, the causes here weren't simple coicidences, or lack of care, or something about the typical conditions. There had to be some...force at work. Given the history of the ruins, some kind of magic, probably.
The director let go of his mustache and grabbed the phone. Magical problems required magical experts.
Tag:
HikaruMamoru
Last edited:
