+ The Time Has Come, the Time Is Now +

[vitaelamorte]

Who: Everyone in Wonderland!
Where: The chessboard hills
When: Monday, June 11, all day starting at 10:00 AM
Rating: R for (sometimes excessive) violence
Summary: The Queen of Hearts has declared war and the time for battle has come.
The Story:
♥ ICly, the Real Things who will act as pieces volunteered and are led by the Red Queen. The Mirrors were chosen by the Queen of Hearts without being given a choice. The Queen of Hearts announced her choices to her Mirrors very directly, with an order to show up at 10:00 AM on the chessboard, ready to fight. The Red Queen announced her choices more politely, but just as firmly, with a text message sent out over the network listing her pieces and requesting their assistance to protect their fellow Real Things. Characters were not ICly able to respond to this message.

♥ Those pieces who choose to obey the summons will have time to gather any items or weapons they might want to have with them, within reason. Those who don't heed the summons will find themselves suddenly and instantly transported to their square on the chessboard when 10:00 AM rolls around. They will arrive with anything that was on their person at the time, as well as one weapon (whatever it would be normal for them to use). Likewise, any spectators who are not in or around the stands by 10:00 AM will find themselves transported there.

♥ Each player sports an armband, white for the Real Things and Black for the Mirrors, with the shape of their assigned chess piece embroidered in the opposite color. Royalty pieces wear crowns indicative of their status. Should a pawn be promoted to queen, a crown will appear on their head.

♥ Pieces will find that they can't leave their assigned spots until they're told what square to move to by either the Queen of Hearts or the Red Queen. And if they refuse to move, after a couple of moments, an unseen force will scoot them along to their new space.

♥ When threading moves on the board, please find the appropriate top-level under which to comment! It might be helpful to label your thread with which move/encounter you're playing out.

♥ Players on the board can not communicate with those in the stands and vice versa (other than by jumping around and flailing, I guess). However, players on the board can communicate directly with those in squares adjacent to them or with any challenger whose square they share. Since some pieces have a lot of down time, feel free to have them chat with others on the board while they're waiting around.

♥ Directions from the Queens can be assumed. Go ahead and play out moves without waiting for a comment to officially announce them.

♥ The plotting and info post for this log is here.

♥ For your convenience, here are links to the thread headers:

The Donation Box
Pre-Game
The Game - Moves 1-20
The Game - Moves 21-40
The Game - Moves 41-60
The Game - Moves 61-80
The Game - Moves 81-100
The Game - Moves 101-117
The Holding Area
The Stands

Have fun!

Comments

[procyonmotor]

[Rocket looks at him with the sort of disdain that only comes from people with a fighter's background being faced with someone who is just a little too spineless for their tastes.]

Can't even muster up the strength to make this interesting for me, can you?

[postictal]

That’s up to you.

[He holds up both hands, palms out, letting his weapon - little more than a stout short sword he claimed during set up, because he didn’t trust himself with anything else - drop onto the grass.]

[There’s a knife up his sleeve. Small, but it’s something.]

[He starts walking forward, slowly. Praying the bluff pays off.]

If I yield, you can make it quick. Right?

[procyonmotor]

[He's not really expecting anything from this guy so there's almost no suspicion.]

There ain't nothing to do but make it quick, anyway. We can't have you bleedin' out all the over the chessboard in the middle of a game.

[postictal]

Exactly.

[This is a stupid idea, but it’s the only idea he’s got. He makes as if to kneel and let the Mirror have a clear shot at him - ]

[And rips the knife from his sleeve, aiming low. If he can hamstring him, maybe, that can hamper his progress across the board. It’s nit much. It’s barely anything. Chances are he’ll be too fast for the attempt to even work.]

[But it’s something.]

[procyonmotor]

[Rocket's speed does give him an advantage, and he avoids the hamstring, but it still catches him sharply across the hind leg and knocking him off balance. Blood spatters the white square and for a moment both Tim and the Mirror are brought nose to nose as Rocket favors his leg, catching himself in an awkward crouch. He growls low, hefting the gun between them and pressing it to Tim's chest.]

You're a lot braver than I gave you credit for. [A threatening whir emanates from the gun.] Not quite brave enough, though.

[And he fires.]

cw: DEATH

[postictal]

[Feel it: the catch of the blade across fur and skin, the tearing open of muscle and the spray of red. The vivid mental image cards across his mind in the span of a blink: shapes in white coats piecing Rocket together from parts of other things, the high mechanical whine of medical instruments bolting him in place.]

[He gets a handful of seconds to gather himself as the weapon charges with a low, pitched hum of warming circuits. The press of the muzzle up against his chest.]

[Remember that you've been shot before, Timothy Wright - three times, that you can remember. Remember how it felt to wake up with a bullet lodged in the meat of your thigh. Remember what it was to feel two rounds enter the cavity of your abdomen and keel you over, bleeding red into the smoke. Remember that this is what Jay must have felt in his final moments, heart roaring, adrenaline fueling his flight through old school hallways. Remember that this is more or less what you deserve, Timothy Wright, and this ending is almost karmic. Grit your teeth. Resolve not to scream.]

[Fail that resolution immediately, when the ozone-thick blast purees your lungs in your chest cavity and blows your heart through your spine.]

[Know that this image will stick in your mind with all the rest: hands slick and wet and pressing up against the white of the square, your chest molten and pooling out onto the tile, the speed with which your vision fuzzes out like a dead TV signal.]

[Static.]

[Cut to black.]

[Pray that it was worth it.]