"Well, that was interesting. Shall we continue on?" Noah asked, flicking a few switches that would manually open up the vacuum and collect the data. "Zenny and a Cannon; not too bad," he said, mostly to himself.
Meanwhile, Composer was already drifting past the dance floor. "We're going to keep going until I get injured enough to cry Uncle. Until then, let's mosey right along."
And so he did, turning and looping as he so desired.
<(Battle 4)>
A Composer's Whimsy
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Composer drifted through the network once again, not encountering anything of note for a while. Suddenly, a green blur whizzed past him and stopped just in front of him. Another came past his other side and stopped beside the first. Two flying green viruses that could speed around like it was nothing. It looked like this would be fun. However, it seemed that wasn't all; Composer spied a worn old stove virus below the Fishys that was warming up in the center of some damaged terrain and took note of it while watching the flying viruses.
FishyA: 90HP
FishyB: 90HP
OldStove: 50HP
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP
Battle 4 Start!
FishyA: 90HP
FishyB: 90HP
OldStove: 50HP
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP
Battle 4 Start!
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<(BAH. Three weeks, three failed posts later and here I am.)>
"Whoa now, hold up!" Comp exclaimed, coming to a stop as the two Fishy viruses shot past him. "High-speed viruses? This is new," he murmured to himself.
"Don't forget the OldStove just because it's stationary. It could be just as troublesome if you don't keep on your toes," Noah chipped in, eying the chips laid out in front of him. When Comp nodded in acknowledgment, Noah asked, "Any idea what you want?"
"Just the Shotgun for now; it'll let me get rid of the OldStove early so I can have some fun with the Fishies," Comp replied. A few seconds later, he felt the data show up in his systems. Glancing at the window that he could see Noah through, he saw his Operator give him a thumbs-up. Replying in kind with his own, Comp raised his baton and gave it a couple flicks.
Right on cue, a quirky rag-time tune burst to life around the viruses. In addition, Noah suddenly started to chuckle in the real world. "You just had to choose the Rag, didn't you?" he jibed, slapping his forehead as old memories came pouring forth.
Comp just grinned in response, tracing a loopy path through the air with his baton. The now-familiar staff began to form behind it, tracing the bouncing rhythm of the Rag. Quickly becoming bored with the same old routine, however, Comp decided to change the pattern up. Instead of letting it fly off the tip of his baton, Comp suddenly cracked his baton like a whip. The staff flew forward, but stopped and tautened as it stretched to the limit. Flicking the baton and letting the now-stiff music staff float aimlessly, Comp deftly grabbed it in his left hand, holding it like one would a javelin.
"And we're all a-playing, the Maple Leaf Rag!" Comp inexplicably sang along with the tune, before he threw his arm back, and then set the Shotgun-javelin-music staff flying through the air at the OldStove. The loud bass drum noise was absent this time, instead replaced with a giant load of static. Comp winced upon hearing the ugly sound. After throwing his hands up in the universal sign for 'Stop', the music ceased. With a downright strange look on his face, Comp called up to Noah, "The bugs are starting to act up. Can I trust your judgment on what to give me for the rest of the fight?"
Noah sighed, rubbed his temples, and nodded. At this, Comp started the music back up again, but it seemed... off, somehow. It took the Sharoan a second to notice that the whole song was being played a bit flat, as though the player was playing on a badly tuned piano. Comp traced another staff, sighing when he saw that it was, indeed, brighter than usual. "So long, conscious train of thought," the Navi murmured, before letting the bugs in his system extend to the notes.
Immediately, things started to go very, very wrong. As the music notes started glowing erratically, the music immediately degenerated down to distortion, and ended up going even farther into a mix of static and what sounded like feedback. At the same time, Comp's eyes blazed blinding white, and unlike the previous time it had happened, went even beyond that. The light started extending from out his eyes, forming a trail about a foot long before dissipating into nothingness. The same followed from his nose, and after another second his mouth as well.
The baton snapped in Composer's hands as they convulsively clenched, dropping to the floor and disappearing in a flash of light. Composer started to convulse himself, writhing in midair and muttering unintelligibly. After a few seconds, he froze in his twisted position, and let fly a harsh scream that was only made more disturbing by the harsh streams of light emitting from his face. The voice was obviously Comp's, but with harsh, growling undertones. As he screamed, the glowing staff circling him utterly shattered, becoming a myriad of tiny shards of pure electricity, laced quite heavily with his own personal random brand of bugged data. Still screaming incoherently, still twisted up like a floating pretzel, Comp threw one hand forward, pointing at the one Fishy he could see from his sideways view. At his command, the dangerous stream of shards flew through the air, right into the path of the flying virus.
Out of viable options of attack, the now-insane Navi abruptly swung upwards, rising high into the air. Only now did his indecipherable screaming and wailing become coherent. Taking a deep breath, he screamed to the heavens, "I AM ERROR!"
1. Shotgun to OldStove (50, Splash)
2. Irrational Meter to FishyB (60, Elec, Bug)
3. Dodge upwards
"Whoa now, hold up!" Comp exclaimed, coming to a stop as the two Fishy viruses shot past him. "High-speed viruses? This is new," he murmured to himself.
"Don't forget the OldStove just because it's stationary. It could be just as troublesome if you don't keep on your toes," Noah chipped in, eying the chips laid out in front of him. When Comp nodded in acknowledgment, Noah asked, "Any idea what you want?"
"Just the Shotgun for now; it'll let me get rid of the OldStove early so I can have some fun with the Fishies," Comp replied. A few seconds later, he felt the data show up in his systems. Glancing at the window that he could see Noah through, he saw his Operator give him a thumbs-up. Replying in kind with his own, Comp raised his baton and gave it a couple flicks.
Right on cue, a quirky rag-time tune burst to life around the viruses. In addition, Noah suddenly started to chuckle in the real world. "You just had to choose the Rag, didn't you?" he jibed, slapping his forehead as old memories came pouring forth.
Comp just grinned in response, tracing a loopy path through the air with his baton. The now-familiar staff began to form behind it, tracing the bouncing rhythm of the Rag. Quickly becoming bored with the same old routine, however, Comp decided to change the pattern up. Instead of letting it fly off the tip of his baton, Comp suddenly cracked his baton like a whip. The staff flew forward, but stopped and tautened as it stretched to the limit. Flicking the baton and letting the now-stiff music staff float aimlessly, Comp deftly grabbed it in his left hand, holding it like one would a javelin.
"And we're all a-playing, the Maple Leaf Rag!" Comp inexplicably sang along with the tune, before he threw his arm back, and then set the Shotgun-javelin-music staff flying through the air at the OldStove. The loud bass drum noise was absent this time, instead replaced with a giant load of static. Comp winced upon hearing the ugly sound. After throwing his hands up in the universal sign for 'Stop', the music ceased. With a downright strange look on his face, Comp called up to Noah, "The bugs are starting to act up. Can I trust your judgment on what to give me for the rest of the fight?"
Noah sighed, rubbed his temples, and nodded. At this, Comp started the music back up again, but it seemed... off, somehow. It took the Sharoan a second to notice that the whole song was being played a bit flat, as though the player was playing on a badly tuned piano. Comp traced another staff, sighing when he saw that it was, indeed, brighter than usual. "So long, conscious train of thought," the Navi murmured, before letting the bugs in his system extend to the notes.
Immediately, things started to go very, very wrong. As the music notes started glowing erratically, the music immediately degenerated down to distortion, and ended up going even farther into a mix of static and what sounded like feedback. At the same time, Comp's eyes blazed blinding white, and unlike the previous time it had happened, went even beyond that. The light started extending from out his eyes, forming a trail about a foot long before dissipating into nothingness. The same followed from his nose, and after another second his mouth as well.
The baton snapped in Composer's hands as they convulsively clenched, dropping to the floor and disappearing in a flash of light. Composer started to convulse himself, writhing in midair and muttering unintelligibly. After a few seconds, he froze in his twisted position, and let fly a harsh scream that was only made more disturbing by the harsh streams of light emitting from his face. The voice was obviously Comp's, but with harsh, growling undertones. As he screamed, the glowing staff circling him utterly shattered, becoming a myriad of tiny shards of pure electricity, laced quite heavily with his own personal random brand of bugged data. Still screaming incoherently, still twisted up like a floating pretzel, Comp threw one hand forward, pointing at the one Fishy he could see from his sideways view. At his command, the dangerous stream of shards flew through the air, right into the path of the flying virus.
Out of viable options of attack, the now-insane Navi abruptly swung upwards, rising high into the air. Only now did his indecipherable screaming and wailing become coherent. Taking a deep breath, he screamed to the heavens, "I AM ERROR!"
1. Shotgun to OldStove (50, Splash)
2. Irrational Meter to FishyB (60, Elec, Bug)
3. Dodge upwards
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Picking off the OldStove early on with a ragtag tune, Composer picked up on one of the Fishy with a few shards of bugged bolts. He screamed incoherently, as a deranged man in a music shop cut loose would. The Fishy he was facing both charged him head-on, one of them running into the bugged electricity Composer brought out. Immediately, it was sent into a corkscrew, but without much other consequence. They sped over him as he leapt upwards to dodge their high-speed dash.
FishyA: 90HP
FishyB: 30HP [Perpetual Corkscrew]
OldStove: DELETED
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP
FishyA: 90HP
FishyB: 30HP [Perpetual Corkscrew]
OldStove: DELETED
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP
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<(The following RP post is from my perspective.)>
You know, me. Composer.EXE, the crazy musician. Or at least, not usually crazy. Normally I'm rather mild-mannered and whimsical, but thanks to a few convoluted bugs I can sometimes get a little... mad. Like now, I don't even know what I'm mad at. I'm twisted up like a pretzel... ooh, pretzels, yummy. It strikes me as odd that most of us Navis are programmed with senses like taste, when we don't require sustenance of any sort to survive. Ahh, the glorious madness of humans.
Oh, where was I? Oh right, madness. What am I mad at? I'm shrieking at the top of my lungs, convulsing randomly. Every orifice on my face is currently belching out a constant stream of light; I'm starting to get a few patches on my body as well. Looking like this, I should be mad, right? RIGHT? Ooh, viruses! The helpful names off to the top right of my vision say they're called 'Fishy' viruses, but I think they look more like they should be called 'Birdy' viruses or something. Hey, what's that one doing? It's in a corkscrew, awesome! Did I do that? I hope so!
Something touches down with a thud somewhere in my systems. Noah's sent me chips. What kind of chips? I take a look... it's a couple of Cannons. MEH. Oh well, it'll do. Now I need something to shoot the Cannons at. Come to think of it, I still need something to be mad at. What to look for, though?
A Fishy, Birdy, whatever passes by me. GOOD ENOUGH.
Now, assuming I were unaffected by this buggy cocktail that makes up the majority of my systems, I'd probably be calling out a witty one-liner or something. I try anyway, but seeing as I'm pretty sure my voice program just caught the bug, I'm pretty sure it ended up sounding less like, "I hope you're ready for this," and more like, "KOPCMKJSNARFBVYRETALMCGRGVNZYKJNTZEKMVCKJNG!!!!!" I MAY NEVER KNOW... WHOOPS, I THINK THE LAST VESTIGES OF MY THOUGHT PROCESSORS JUST GLITCHED. YOU KNOW, THE ONES THAT LET MAKING THIS RP POST POSSIBLE? IN FACT, I DON'T EVEN REALLy ex... oh, there we go, it glitched back to normal.
Oh, bugger it all, I've lost track of what I was supposed to be doing again. The Birdy-Fishy-Corkscrewy thing flies by. I've got that Cannon, might as well put it to use. Only, it's moving kinda fast. Then again, I'm fast too. I unfurl my body out of it's midair contortion exhibit and start chasing it across the ground. I wonder what I look like right now? A stabilizer or two just shorted out, so I'm having to fly lopsided and kick off the ground every now and then to keep myself from crashing. Probably... demented.
I throw my arm forward; the once-finely tailored tailcoat I'm wearing splits another few seams, furthering along it's general path to destruction... or raggedization or whatever you want to call the constant mangling of my clothes. Arm's forward, nothing's happening... silly me, forgot the Cannon! That's important, isn't it? A glowing green... something appears in my hand. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I've just blown another hole in myself. The light sprouting from out of me is a rather fetching shade of green rather than white, but still! One should be more careful with the state of his own corporal shell, right?
On second thought, NAH. I let the Cannon shot, and potentially a couple other programs from somewhere in me that may or may not be irreplaceable, fly out the gaping hole in my hand and towards the fishbird I'm still absent-mindedly chasing. I'm not entirely sure if it collided, seeing as I'd decided to turn to look for the other virus. There was a very pretty flash of green in my peripheral, though, so I didn't mind not seeing the impact. I had better things to do then.
FISHY. BIRDY. WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS. There is is, cruising along like it owns the place. I'd like to take those high-speed thrusters and shove them down it's... whoa, there goes a sizable quantity of my head. I'm fairly sure that if I were a human with a brain, I'd be able to take it right outta my head now; hey, that's a fun idea, I should try that sometime! In fact, I'll try that right now... only I don't have a brain. I do have this very convenient Cannon chip, though. Does that mean my brain is a Cannon? Might explain a few things, but that's irrelevant. Or is it? To what extent is any matter actually deemed irrelevant?
This train of thought is irrelevant. A better train of thought would be the train of Cannon, leaving the station that my head's just become for it. That's a funny sight, a man looking like he's dying some sort of extraordinarily painful supernatural death shooting a green train out of his head! And if you (yeah, I mean YOU. The guy, or maybe girl, reading this.) didn't take the hint, that's exactly what I decided to do. A nice long choo-choo train, all flashy and green. I even took the liberty of packing the cargo cars full of bugs, just for Birdy! Aren't I nice?
Huh, I'm out of stuff to throw at it, unless you count throwing me at it, but I don't think I want to do that. So I start running around randomly, forgoing flying completely. I'm pretty sure I've lost the ability completely, or at least until I head back to the PET to get properly fixed. I still need to do something that'll allow me permission to move, though. Staying still could potentially get me EJO'd, upon which I'd end up losing some zenny, maybe a chip. Have to go and make another post in the Real World section, to get my Operator to jack me in again. Wasn't able to get my previous train of thought out, speaking of which. This existence I'm leading is a lie. Doesn't matter how insane or crazy I get, because in the end, I don't really exist. I'm just a figment of somebody's imagination.
...Oh, whoops, almost forgot about the summary!
1. Killinate out of the flying fish thing; the one doing a corkscrew. (Cannon to FishyB [40])
2. Choo-choo! Special delivery to the other birdfish; a big trainload of CANNONS AND ME! (Randomized Cannon to FishyA [Anywhere from 1 to 80])
3. Dodge the fish, save the universe!
You know, me. Composer.EXE, the crazy musician. Or at least, not usually crazy. Normally I'm rather mild-mannered and whimsical, but thanks to a few convoluted bugs I can sometimes get a little... mad. Like now, I don't even know what I'm mad at. I'm twisted up like a pretzel... ooh, pretzels, yummy. It strikes me as odd that most of us Navis are programmed with senses like taste, when we don't require sustenance of any sort to survive. Ahh, the glorious madness of humans.
Oh, where was I? Oh right, madness. What am I mad at? I'm shrieking at the top of my lungs, convulsing randomly. Every orifice on my face is currently belching out a constant stream of light; I'm starting to get a few patches on my body as well. Looking like this, I should be mad, right? RIGHT? Ooh, viruses! The helpful names off to the top right of my vision say they're called 'Fishy' viruses, but I think they look more like they should be called 'Birdy' viruses or something. Hey, what's that one doing? It's in a corkscrew, awesome! Did I do that? I hope so!
Something touches down with a thud somewhere in my systems. Noah's sent me chips. What kind of chips? I take a look... it's a couple of Cannons. MEH. Oh well, it'll do. Now I need something to shoot the Cannons at. Come to think of it, I still need something to be mad at. What to look for, though?
A Fishy, Birdy, whatever passes by me. GOOD ENOUGH.
Now, assuming I were unaffected by this buggy cocktail that makes up the majority of my systems, I'd probably be calling out a witty one-liner or something. I try anyway, but seeing as I'm pretty sure my voice program just caught the bug, I'm pretty sure it ended up sounding less like, "I hope you're ready for this," and more like, "KOPCMKJSNARFBVYRETALMCGRGVNZYKJNTZEKMVCKJNG!!!!!" I MAY NEVER KNOW... WHOOPS, I THINK THE LAST VESTIGES OF MY THOUGHT PROCESSORS JUST GLITCHED. YOU KNOW, THE ONES THAT LET MAKING THIS RP POST POSSIBLE? IN FACT, I DON'T EVEN REALLy ex... oh, there we go, it glitched back to normal.
Oh, bugger it all, I've lost track of what I was supposed to be doing again. The Birdy-Fishy-Corkscrewy thing flies by. I've got that Cannon, might as well put it to use. Only, it's moving kinda fast. Then again, I'm fast too. I unfurl my body out of it's midair contortion exhibit and start chasing it across the ground. I wonder what I look like right now? A stabilizer or two just shorted out, so I'm having to fly lopsided and kick off the ground every now and then to keep myself from crashing. Probably... demented.
I throw my arm forward; the once-finely tailored tailcoat I'm wearing splits another few seams, furthering along it's general path to destruction... or raggedization or whatever you want to call the constant mangling of my clothes. Arm's forward, nothing's happening... silly me, forgot the Cannon! That's important, isn't it? A glowing green... something appears in my hand. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I've just blown another hole in myself. The light sprouting from out of me is a rather fetching shade of green rather than white, but still! One should be more careful with the state of his own corporal shell, right?
On second thought, NAH. I let the Cannon shot, and potentially a couple other programs from somewhere in me that may or may not be irreplaceable, fly out the gaping hole in my hand and towards the fishbird I'm still absent-mindedly chasing. I'm not entirely sure if it collided, seeing as I'd decided to turn to look for the other virus. There was a very pretty flash of green in my peripheral, though, so I didn't mind not seeing the impact. I had better things to do then.
FISHY. BIRDY. WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS. There is is, cruising along like it owns the place. I'd like to take those high-speed thrusters and shove them down it's... whoa, there goes a sizable quantity of my head. I'm fairly sure that if I were a human with a brain, I'd be able to take it right outta my head now; hey, that's a fun idea, I should try that sometime! In fact, I'll try that right now... only I don't have a brain. I do have this very convenient Cannon chip, though. Does that mean my brain is a Cannon? Might explain a few things, but that's irrelevant. Or is it? To what extent is any matter actually deemed irrelevant?
This train of thought is irrelevant. A better train of thought would be the train of Cannon, leaving the station that my head's just become for it. That's a funny sight, a man looking like he's dying some sort of extraordinarily painful supernatural death shooting a green train out of his head! And if you (yeah, I mean YOU. The guy, or maybe girl, reading this.) didn't take the hint, that's exactly what I decided to do. A nice long choo-choo train, all flashy and green. I even took the liberty of packing the cargo cars full of bugs, just for Birdy! Aren't I nice?
Huh, I'm out of stuff to throw at it, unless you count throwing me at it, but I don't think I want to do that. So I start running around randomly, forgoing flying completely. I'm pretty sure I've lost the ability completely, or at least until I head back to the PET to get properly fixed. I still need to do something that'll allow me permission to move, though. Staying still could potentially get me EJO'd, upon which I'd end up losing some zenny, maybe a chip. Have to go and make another post in the Real World section, to get my Operator to jack me in again. Wasn't able to get my previous train of thought out, speaking of which. This existence I'm leading is a lie. Doesn't matter how insane or crazy I get, because in the end, I don't really exist. I'm just a figment of somebody's imagination.
...Oh, whoops, almost forgot about the summary!
1. Killinate out of the flying fish thing; the one doing a corkscrew. (Cannon to FishyB [40])
2. Choo-choo! Special delivery to the other birdfish; a big trainload of CANNONS AND ME! (Randomized Cannon to FishyA [Anywhere from 1 to 80])
3. Dodge the fish, save the universe!
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Going through Composer's head is a bit too much for little ol' moderator, so like, okay. One Fishy got deadered by something like a handcannon or something, I don't know. The other stopped in its tracks to turn back in Composer's direction, only to be greeted by yet another cannon, 'cept this one's a lot stronger than your average Cannon. Maybe because the slug it fired looked like some train out of a toy shop. Huh.
Oh, yeah, right. He also ran onto some cracked floor or something. Might want to get off.
FishyA: 29HP
FishyB: DELETED
OldStove: DELETED
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP (Cracked)
Oh, yeah, right. He also ran onto some cracked floor or something. Might want to get off.
FishyA: 29HP
FishyB: DELETED
OldStove: DELETED
Terrain: 70% Normal, 30% Cracked
Composer: 80HP (Cracked)