MPC 73C The Trouble With Twins [Complete]
Apr 7, 2020 16:13:34 GMT
Post by Desdemona on Apr 7, 2020 16:13:34 GMT
MPC Name: The Trouble With Twins
MPC Number: 73C
Reward Requested: 15 Posts
Word Count:
MPC Number: 73C
Reward Requested: 15 Posts
Word Count:
Your world has been flipped upside down. What if suddenly your character had a twin. How would they adapt to the situation? Would it be a fun time or absolutely dreadful to the point of wishing you were alone again. If you are a twin, you have become alone with no memory of your sibling but feeling odd, even incomplete. How would you adapt to the change?
“Do you think that I was hatched yesterday?” asked Desdemona flatly. The bored expression on her face betrayed her lack of enthusiasm for this conversation despite it having just started. Standing in the shadow cast by one of the windmills towering above the Hardware Den’s surface the witchmon scowled at the stranger. Light reflecting from the fields of solar panels illuminated even her scarce hiding spot, but the narrowing of her eyes was more of an annoyed reaction over protecting her vision.
“No, but I was,” answered the sorcermon in a distinctly calm female voice. Standing outside of the windmill’s shadow she pulled the brim of her hat lower to help ward off the reflected rays shining from the glass-like panels surrounding them. In the enhanced lighting the white of her clothes almost glowed immaculately. “I don’t know why it took me so long to hatch, but I like to think that things happen for a reason.”
“I don’t have a twin,” repeated the witchmon sternly. “And if you were my twin, you would understand that I don’t need you.” There was a definite sharp edge to her tone, but even she knew she was denying the impossible truth. She could feel fragments of her own data within this stranger, Grace. As someone who had always been careful about keeping her data greedily to herself Des couldn’t account for this inexplicable affinity, and although she’d never admit it, that scared her.
“And if you were my twin, you would understand when I say that we weren’t always like this, were we?” Grace sighed and gestured to where they were with a sweeping movement of her staff, her eyes wearily studying the landscape. “Look at this place... There is nothing for us here. Cold calculations and inflexible algorithms lie buried beneath this ground. I feel no sense of belonging here, and neither should you. You have lost yourself. You have lost us.”
“My business is none of your concern!” Des snapped back. She could feel her grip squeezing her broomstick to the point of the wood flexing. Some of what Grace had said had hit too close to home for her. “What are you here for, if not to ask for my help in erasing your pathetic charade of an existence?!”
“Everything for a reason,” assured the sorcermon as their eyes met once more. “We are one. Two parts to the whole. Don’t you think it’s strange that our personalities have separated? I wonder which one of us She would have sheltered beneath her wing? Somehow, her name has escaped my memory, and I will never forgive myself for allowing that to happen even in death.” Grace sighed once more as she put a gloved hand over her heart. “Desdemona. You know who I’m talking about. Don’t you? You're wearing her color, after all.”
The witchmon didn’t answer this time, opting to merely glare daggers into the other mon’s eyes. She was still trying to stubbornly convince herself that this wasn’t happening. Of course she knew who Grace was talking about. She couldn’t remember Her name either, but she did remember the soft touch of crimson fabric from a memory that was a lifetime ago. The color was a symbol of safety and security for her thoughts, even though she couldn’t explain why.
“I was hoping that we could look for her together, just like old times. But if I know you, and we both know I do, you’re out here seeking your own personal glories again, aren’t you? She would be so disappointed.” Grace shook her head with a pitying look.
“I’ve heard enough. I have no desire to talk to you any longer,” growled Des as she attempted to keep a lid on her boiling anger. “I will find out what I need from you, once I load your data.” Her final words were spoken solemnly as she raised a hand to face an open palm to Grace. “Goodbye, sister.”
“I’m glad She’s not here to see this; She would have been so disappointed with you.” Even as she could see her sister’s malice snap upon her face, Grace could only feel remorse for the witchmon. “Maybe it is for the best that we decide things here and n-”
Desdemona didn’t even allow Grace to finish her sentence before casting Friendly Fire. A fireball appeared before her outstretched hand, its face laughing insanely in Grace’s voice before rushing off to collide with her.
“Tch!” Holding her staff with both hands the sorcermon slammed its blunt end into the ground in front of her feet. Immediately a dome of ice and snow blocked her off from the rest of the world, only to be shattered by the oncoming projectile. The blast left a small cloud of cold air settling to the ground. Glaring back at Des with revulsion Grace pointed the end of her staff towards the witchmon. Ice and snow began to form a large spike.
Falling back onto her broomstick with ease Desdemona retreated, flying behind the windmill she had been using for shade. A large icicle flew past her just before she got behind the building. Unwilling to lose this fight the witchmon gritted her teeth. A waving gesture of her hand produced two clones of herself. With the three of them sharing one mind no words were necessary. One of the clones flew up to the top of the windmill. It winced as another icicle plowed into the structure and sent debris scattering into the air.
The real Des and her remaining clone flew out from behind the base of the windmill in opposite directions to take cover behind the rows of solar panels. The clone near the top of the windmill could see that Grace had also done the same, and relayed that information to her compatriots.
Seeing that she had been duped, the sorcermon decided to relocate as well. She stamped a foot on the ground and beneath her formed a board of ice that moved forward on its own. As she raced between the solar panels she could catch glimpses of the three witchmon giving pursuit.
They traded several volleys of projectiles at each other with neither being able to score direct hits. Fire and ice clashed over the land. The field of glass panes was quickly brought to ruin by their battle. By the time the residents of the Hardware Den came to investigate the disturbance, only a single mon could be seen in the distance leaving the destruction behind them.
Word Count: 1089
“No, but I was,” answered the sorcermon in a distinctly calm female voice. Standing outside of the windmill’s shadow she pulled the brim of her hat lower to help ward off the reflected rays shining from the glass-like panels surrounding them. In the enhanced lighting the white of her clothes almost glowed immaculately. “I don’t know why it took me so long to hatch, but I like to think that things happen for a reason.”
“I don’t have a twin,” repeated the witchmon sternly. “And if you were my twin, you would understand that I don’t need you.” There was a definite sharp edge to her tone, but even she knew she was denying the impossible truth. She could feel fragments of her own data within this stranger, Grace. As someone who had always been careful about keeping her data greedily to herself Des couldn’t account for this inexplicable affinity, and although she’d never admit it, that scared her.
“And if you were my twin, you would understand when I say that we weren’t always like this, were we?” Grace sighed and gestured to where they were with a sweeping movement of her staff, her eyes wearily studying the landscape. “Look at this place... There is nothing for us here. Cold calculations and inflexible algorithms lie buried beneath this ground. I feel no sense of belonging here, and neither should you. You have lost yourself. You have lost us.”
“My business is none of your concern!” Des snapped back. She could feel her grip squeezing her broomstick to the point of the wood flexing. Some of what Grace had said had hit too close to home for her. “What are you here for, if not to ask for my help in erasing your pathetic charade of an existence?!”
“Everything for a reason,” assured the sorcermon as their eyes met once more. “We are one. Two parts to the whole. Don’t you think it’s strange that our personalities have separated? I wonder which one of us She would have sheltered beneath her wing? Somehow, her name has escaped my memory, and I will never forgive myself for allowing that to happen even in death.” Grace sighed once more as she put a gloved hand over her heart. “Desdemona. You know who I’m talking about. Don’t you? You're wearing her color, after all.”
The witchmon didn’t answer this time, opting to merely glare daggers into the other mon’s eyes. She was still trying to stubbornly convince herself that this wasn’t happening. Of course she knew who Grace was talking about. She couldn’t remember Her name either, but she did remember the soft touch of crimson fabric from a memory that was a lifetime ago. The color was a symbol of safety and security for her thoughts, even though she couldn’t explain why.
“I was hoping that we could look for her together, just like old times. But if I know you, and we both know I do, you’re out here seeking your own personal glories again, aren’t you? She would be so disappointed.” Grace shook her head with a pitying look.
“I’ve heard enough. I have no desire to talk to you any longer,” growled Des as she attempted to keep a lid on her boiling anger. “I will find out what I need from you, once I load your data.” Her final words were spoken solemnly as she raised a hand to face an open palm to Grace. “Goodbye, sister.”
“I’m glad She’s not here to see this; She would have been so disappointed with you.” Even as she could see her sister’s malice snap upon her face, Grace could only feel remorse for the witchmon. “Maybe it is for the best that we decide things here and n-”
Desdemona didn’t even allow Grace to finish her sentence before casting Friendly Fire. A fireball appeared before her outstretched hand, its face laughing insanely in Grace’s voice before rushing off to collide with her.
“Tch!” Holding her staff with both hands the sorcermon slammed its blunt end into the ground in front of her feet. Immediately a dome of ice and snow blocked her off from the rest of the world, only to be shattered by the oncoming projectile. The blast left a small cloud of cold air settling to the ground. Glaring back at Des with revulsion Grace pointed the end of her staff towards the witchmon. Ice and snow began to form a large spike.
Falling back onto her broomstick with ease Desdemona retreated, flying behind the windmill she had been using for shade. A large icicle flew past her just before she got behind the building. Unwilling to lose this fight the witchmon gritted her teeth. A waving gesture of her hand produced two clones of herself. With the three of them sharing one mind no words were necessary. One of the clones flew up to the top of the windmill. It winced as another icicle plowed into the structure and sent debris scattering into the air.
The real Des and her remaining clone flew out from behind the base of the windmill in opposite directions to take cover behind the rows of solar panels. The clone near the top of the windmill could see that Grace had also done the same, and relayed that information to her compatriots.
Seeing that she had been duped, the sorcermon decided to relocate as well. She stamped a foot on the ground and beneath her formed a board of ice that moved forward on its own. As she raced between the solar panels she could catch glimpses of the three witchmon giving pursuit.
They traded several volleys of projectiles at each other with neither being able to score direct hits. Fire and ice clashed over the land. The field of glass panes was quickly brought to ruin by their battle. By the time the residents of the Hardware Den came to investigate the disturbance, only a single mon could be seen in the distance leaving the destruction behind them.
Word Count: 1089
