Battle of the Snowflakes: Part Two

More two in the morning shenanigans. (Although this time it took nearly a week to edit said shenanigans into something that made sense).

If you’re new here, check out chapter one.

Story after the cut!

Part Two: Perfect Pairs

Trumpeting fanfare rings out, jets of fire shoot up around the outside of the circle, glitter rains from the ceiling, and of course small trays of chocolatey delicacies rise from a retractable floor tile in each of the sections.

After the brief celebratory snack break, the clicking noise that signals the voice is about to speak blares through the room.

“Welcome to round one to find The One,” the voice announces.

A loud groan comes from average looking brown-haired girl.

“You will now receive pairings for your first battles,” the voice continues, “Battles will run one at a time beginning with the first randomly selected pair and then continuing in the order announced. Each pair will be transported to a battle arena and will fight until one contestant has been eradicated. There are no stalemates and no ties. You may use whatever abilities you have while in battle. Any attempt to harm or damage other contestants outside of the specially designated battle-arenas will result in a prompt dismissal. Are there any questions?”

The purple-haired girl to my right shyly raises a hand.

“None?” the voice asks. “Excellent. Here are your pairings. First pair: Emily Aspen versus Angela “Angel” Hawke.”

As the voice says each name, it lights up in glowing green letters over the girl mentioned. “Emily Aspen” appears up over a completely forgettable, average looking brown-haired girl. Across the circle from her, “Angela Hawke” lights up over a. . .completely forgettable, average looking brown-haired girl.

I do a triple take. The two are so alike in looks and attire they could be twins, though a closer inspection of both unearths a few distinctive differences. “Angel” for instance is wearing jeans and a brown shirt with the words “Gamer Girl” written in cursive on the front. Emily on the other hand is wearing jeans and a brown shirt with the words “Olde Magyck” written in cursive on the front. They’re both so bland I decide to forget about them instantly.

“Second pair: ‘The Darkness’ versus uh, X–x-hug-ger, semicolon, twa–twaang?” The monotone voice stumbles over the name and coughs awkwardly before giving it a second try. “Second pair: ‘The Darkness’ versus ‘Triplexhuggersemicolon–’ you know what, screw this. Screw it right in the–what do you mean we’re still–? Ahem.” There is another pause before the voice returns to say in a slightly more controlled tone: “Second pair: ‘The Darkness’ versus [BLEEP]–chizel.”

The girl called “The Darkness” is two sections over from me and difficult to make out at such an angle. What I can make out is black. She’s covered in it from head to toe without an inch of skin showing. The outfit comes complete with a heavy cloak that obscures her entire face. Spooky.

Directly across from me is [BLEEP]-chizel. Her full name, which apparently is spelled “Xxx’hgrr;–twaangg’chizel,” appears in bright green lettering above her head. I’m a magically-gifted linguist and I don’t even want to attempt a proper pronunciation. It definitely matches her exotic looks though: green skin, red hair that appears to be partially made up of feathers, lengthy silver tail covered with both spikes and fur, and dragonfly wings on her back that mimic the blue color of an arctic glacier.

Her outfit however is completely horrendous. The pink, flower-patterned lace-up vest alone threatens to make me physically ill and I force myself to look away to avoid overexposure. My grandmother’s* couch has better fashion sense. As if the pattern wasn’t enough, the top is so low it’s showing her ample cleavage. I guess they don’t have any concept of modesty on whatever planet she comes from. Despite this, I still think she’s going to win her match. She’ll probably just pronounce her name properly and the poor mysterious goff will burst into flames.

“Third pair: Black Leopard Violet The Magnificent versus Corralynnne Esperosa Diagon Marchess of Hundor, princess of those who refer to her as princess and ruler of the seven sanctums of Telnotsho.” The voice seems a bit out of breath at this and heavy breathing echoes through the speakers before it continues: “but, seeing as we have two Corralynnne Esper–whatevers, I must stress that this is the Corralynnne which we are highlighting now.”

The lights appear over the pleasantly voiced red-eyed girl to my left, who is apparently named Black Leopard Violet The Magnificent, and the rainbow-haired girl across the circle who is apparently the Other Corralynnne.

“But–” Other Corralynnne’s brows flush bright pink in confusion. “I thought I was the only one.”

Black Leopard Violet The Magnificent cracks her knuckles attractively and snarls at the rainbow-girl, “pray now to whatever gods seem best, for you will have no time during our battle.”

Other Corralynnne says nothing but every hair on her head turns a violent red with yellow spots. Or it might just be red. It’s hard to tell since the green lettering of her name takes up so much space on the third dimension wall that it covers her entire body.

“Forth pair: Flixit Jane versus–” The voice sighs and inhales a giant breath. “CorralynneEsperosaDiagon–”

“You can call me Corrie,” I say to the ceiling.

“Oh. All right.” The voice sounds relieved. “Flixit Jane versus Corrie, then.”

Lights flicker on over myself and the purple girl to my right. Well, she’s not entirely purple. Her skin isn’t. Everything else though: shoes, hair, eyes, lips, nails eyeshadow, corset, skirt, tights, shoes, socks–everything has been dyed at least one shade of purple. It almost makes me long for the alien’s couch-vest. Almost.

“And our fifth and final pair: Hope Faith Charity Love versus Gabrielle Le’Amour.”

The last two contestants are in adjacent sections. Fruits of the Spirit is the blonde who got zapped by the third dimension wall. She appears to have recovered and is sitting quite primly in the center of her section with her feet tucked up under a long skirt and her hands clasped together as if in prayer.

Gabrielle Le’Amour’s form on the other hand is completely hidden inside a humanoid-shaped mechanical suit with a tinted shield across where her face would presumably be located. The suit remains motionless as the girl’s name flickers over it. Maybe she’s taking a nap. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Round one commencing in three. . .two. . .one. . ”

A brilliant white light flashes. When I’ve blinked away the single, gleaming tear from my eye, two sections in the circle are empty. For some reason I can’t seem to remember who was in them.

Oh well.

* Note: My adopted grandmother, that is. My real grandmothers had impeccable fashion sense before they were brutally murdered by a swarm of time-vortex blenders. It’s a long and fashionable story, perhaps for another time.

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Posted on June 25, 2013, in Battle of the Snowflakes, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Battle of the Snowflakes: Part Two.

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