⇨ SPACE FIGHT

[ringleaders]

Who: Carnival members, athletes, and aliens.
When: Forward-dated to Day 44
Where: The carnival, Zargon, and Olympic Spaceship.
What: Whoops, it's an alien invasion.
Warnings: Cartoon violence, and an overabundance of Yakety Sax style shenanigans

THE ALIEN HORDES↴ On the morning of Day 44, things go a bit differently. The carnival opens it's doors and for an hour, things are going just fine...until the aliens attack, that is. ► ALIEN INVASION: The carnival, the athlete's village, and Olympic Spaceship will find themselves overrun by aliens: specifically, a race called the Greimen. The name's accurate: they look like stereotypical grey aliens, only 2-4 feet tall. They're invading the spaceship and the planet, trying to take control of Zargon and Olympic Spaceship for themselves. The main strength these aliens have is their numbers: there's literally thousands of them. Unfortunately for the aliens, they don't have many other strengths. They're easily punchable, kickable, ray guns permanently set to stun, and other amusing space weapons designed to minorly inconvenience people. ► FUCK THIS SHIT I'M OUT: The fighting lasts for a good half-hour or so before the Ringmaster decides no, this is dumb. Characters who aren't at the carnival will feel a compulsion to return to the carnival. Once everyone's there, the Ringmaster will magically eject the remaining aliens from carnival grounds and yank the carnival away from the Olympics themselves. ► OOC GUIDELINES: Despite the fact that this is a fight log, the carnage shouldn't be too excessive! No horribly mutilating the aliens, y'all. The aliens are only mildly better equipped than the Space Olympics themselves, so everything will be a bit comedic and light-hearted. Characters can get hurt, but the wounds should tend more towards 'amusing injuries' than 'someone losing a leg'. As the log's forward-dated, feel free to keep doing all your fun space olympics nonsense in the other logs!

Comments

[soft_focus]

Seriously!? It's the first thought in her head, but not one she broadcasts, and how fortunate-no doubt Foster would say..something, something that was unsettling, upsetting, or...

Well, something. The point was, it wouldn't be anything useful for the moment, and for the moment she clambers onto Foster's back after the brief confusion with regard to his voice coming from 'nowhere' while his feelings come from, well. 'Over there'.

"Mngh-" Goodness but the Greimen aren't making it easy at all. As she scrambles, a few things flutter from her pockets-something she doesn't notice, as she grips the other where she can. What a chaotic mess!

[criticallyfucked]

Well, that's what Foster is for.

One awful little grey goblin, trying to clamber up him from the opposite side and shoving Reira, grabbing at her face with its ling-clammy fingers, gets the boot first.

Not literally, of course, but it turns out Foster can just barely reach back and snag it by the ankle, which is exactly what he does, yanking it off his shoulders and back while Reira struggles with another alien or two on the other side--he keeps his eyestalks on her while he tries not to get zapped in the face with another laser.

Yes, another.

Foster's been tased before, more than once, and if it were anything like that, he would know. But it's a lot more like the early stages of pins and needles, combined with the numbness of getting a shot of novocaine at the dentist--though Foster hasn't seen a dentist in 15 years.

So the good news is that the ray guns these invaders are carrying don't really hurt.

The bad news is that there are a lot of them, and it really doesn't hurt other than the electric, weak-muscle live-wire feeling of awakening nerves--

He lets go of the Greman to cover his face, rubbing it vigourously--it's somewhere between disgusting and hilarious, and he's trying not to show any of it.

Which is why his mental voice is upbeat, almost buoyantly so.

[We'll sort out the rest later!]

What kind of pathetic invasion is nonlethal--?!

[soft_focus]

Well. Thanks, she supposes, Foster. At least one grei is getting beaned in the face by Reira's foot when she's clambered on, and so far it's probably troll resilience that's kept her awake the entire time in the first place. She huffs and puffs her cheeks while holding her breath whenever she's shocked-not because of pain, but rather because of the strange 'numbness' that keeps going through each zap point.

It feels a bit like something falling asleep, and it's extremely hard to resist the urge to shake any offending limb or body part to try and 'wake it up'. Regardless, she somehow manages to comprehend Foster's...statement?

Yes, that's a statement, she's not really sure what it's a statement about, however, and. Erm.

"S-sort what out..!"

Well, it doesn't matter, because it'll be later..!

[criticallyfucked]

He has a pair of eyes on her, but he only needs them for keeping track of the greimen--he can feel when she's settled, finding her place right in the curve of his back, behind his shoulders. It's a very different experience from having Zangetsu and Ginko on his back during the concert's mayhem--Zangetsu and Reira are very distinct weights, both of them.

He plants his six-fingered hands on the uneven floor and unfolds his forelegs, rising up to his full height and swinging his back end out, kicking one diminutive alien a glancing blow in the process; that one is an accident, but the two who go down like dominoes from his tail are not.

There are just too many of them, though. Even kicking them around like toys, he's taking irritating bug-zapper-like fire and he doesn't appreciate the taser against his butt, either--!

[The rest of these!]

[soft_focus]

It's more than just dominoes. More than even a house of cards, it's more like... ...Well if anything it's like when someone's playing the bowling games at the Carnival is what it's like. Reira is swinging about a fair bit despite her grip, and she's starting to really get irritated about all these THINGS climbing up after them though.

"Mnhhg-!! They're not letting us wait until later...!" Someone get her a really big fork, she's got alien instincts kicking in.

[criticallyfucked]

[Find something to hang onto,] is Foster's very serious advice, and just about the only warning Reira has before he takes off.

Not... quite literally, he's not airborne really, but while horses are at their fastest at a flat gallop, it turns out deer--and blue deerlike aliens--can just fucking bounce along at a pretty fast clip.

And that is exactly what Foster is doing: the invading aliens, now, are effectively an animate field... concrete waves of grey-n.

[soft_focus]

"UM-!" Finding something is a bit tricky, but somehow she manages- which is fortunate, because she's about to test her skills as a bronco rider apparently. Light as she is, she's bounced around easily, her clawed fingers digging at the andalite's back for grip. "HHHAaaAHAaaaaaAAAAHHH-!"

Suffice to say, the sounds coming from behind are akin to what one would hear being chased by a roller-coaster.

That ICON....

[criticallyfucked]

It's a lot harder when he doesn't have as much fur, or at least not such long fur, and no helpful handholds in the form of colourful bracket mushrooms. But he still has those bony forward shoulders, and with his arms tucked back, she might get ahold of him by an elbow or two (but hopefully not more, as she would have come up with more arms than he actually has.)

But speaking of roller coasters...

This ride also comes with a big drop.

Foster, bounding down the hall, scattering greyliens like mice (or stomping them straight into the floor, they're apparently pretty durable little guys), lands on a weak plate in the poorly-constructed station and

d

r

o

p

s

[soft_focus]

"HhhAAAAaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!!!" Well that's happening. Her grip briefly looses, before she manages to awkwardly swim fall to clutch at a different spot, while gravity tries to assert itself and drag them to a proper spot. But they're sure going through a hole to the next floor down.

That's sure happening. "FFffFOSSSTERRRRR-!"

[criticallyfucked]

It has been... some time since Foster had the experience of his stomach flipping from a sharp drop or jolt, but it turns out the sensation is vastly more disorienting when the number of stomachs in your body is two. Honestly? It's a miracle he doesn't want to vomit. It's more like a thrill--the kind of thrill that comes from pain, but without pain, exactly, just--

Well. There is pain.

You see, horses... are not cats.

Neither, it turns out, are deer.

He hits the ground with enough force to pop out a shoulder, if he were landing more on his torso and less directly on his upper chest and face. But there is a strong case to be made for the amount of blood that fills his sinuses and throat, which dribbles down his front as he suffocates on it, laughing--

A broad-projection psychic laugh that it turns out even the greis find slightly off-putting.

[soft_focus]

It's good that she's not looking at him from the front-the laugh is already unerving enough, while all the greimen scramble to try and get back to their invasion. Not to mention what she can see from on his back, where she's currently shaking herself and rubbing her arms. It would be lying to say she hadn't, maybe, tried a certain spell to slow their fall...

(And failed, that certainly failed, but still)

...now her arms just feel numb. Ick. "...How hurt are you..?" she manages, looking up at the hole and back to him. "....can you move properly still?"

[criticallyfucked]

Foster has no idea if he can move yet. He hasn't even tried. He can't really breathe, right now; the only reason he hadn't broken more nose than he did is that he barely has one, but he also has no mouth and so he can't gasp for air through it. Every struggling breath is accompanied by a hot spray of dark blood, which spatters messily on the dented panels of the floor and runs down his furry blue chest in spots and rivulets.

It hurts, a lot.

And he's laughing not in spite of but because of it.

But at Reira's prompting--her prodding, urging, he unfolds one foreleg and then the other, testing them individually before gathering his hind beneath him to try and rise.

This also hurts. Not on the fore but in his back left and the lancing, shooting pain that starts in his ankle (or what he thinks of as his ankle, anyway) and runs up his leg like it will crack the bone in twain--

And it's in that invigorating, vivid burst of pain that he staggers upright, even as he snorts another bright red stream of fresh blood from his nose.

[soft_focus]

Oh boy, that is not an answer at all. Or well, not one she enjoys. She stands upon his back, doing her best to turn and look to him only to grimace. "...That doesn't look good," she mutters, sitting back down.

"At least they're not really down here. ...I guess all of the important stuff is on the other floor." ...Well, that and all of the Greimen that ARE down there are giving the gross bleeding thing Wide Berth.

That shit's unsanitary.

[criticallyfucked]

[I'm fine!]

Foster sounds better than fine--he sounds energetic and excited, and kicks off harder with his injured leg rather than trying to spare it. It's slowing him down, of course, but it turns out the greimen want absolutely nothing to do with the limping, swerving andalite veering erratically down the hall--eyes bright, face and fur soaked with blood, a trail of drops and smears left on the walls and floor in his wake.

[soft_focus]

"...Fine?!" She repeats rather incredulously, before renewing her grip as they haphazzardly go. How do they even find the way back to the Carnival from here? Where are the stairs? ARE there stairs??

Hold that thought though, since between blood and...this, there's some issues. "No you're not, we aren't moving in a straight line anymore..!"

[criticallyfucked]

[But I am moving--!]

Foster's counterpoint is really only meant to keep Reira occupied, because of course there is no arguing about whether he's going in a straight line or not. He is definitely not. The thing is, he doesn't care. He's running, and he feels more invigorated and connected, more alive now--with his own blood suffocating him and running down his chin, with every step accompanied by a fresh bolt of pain--than he did when he was in perfect shape.

At least there's an upshot: it is incredibly hard to aim a stun laser at a target that is lurching and swerving so badly that it would be running straighter if drunk.

At least Reira can rest assured he probably won't bleed to death from smashing up his alien septum, or whatever you call that part inside his Andalite face.

annnnd I'd say we can tie this off since we know what follows...

[soft_focus]

....Yes he Certainly Is. And she'll be stuck dealing with that as they go, successfully nabbing some sort of 'commemorative trident' from the side to swat any incoming Greimen along the way. No injuries, only swatting. Though there is a strangely Strong urge to actually poke one or two things with the fork end.

She resists though.

They'll be at the Carnival soon, at least. Thankfully.