Quill vs. Squishy

Quill: Loft
Squishy: Locke
Pot: 20

This was, without a doubt, the village that time had abandoned. Frankly, Loft couldn't blame it for losing interest. This place was duller than a chocolate-less, fat-free, and sugar-lacking fudge-less sundae. It was shoved in the midst of a mountain range that leaned away from it, as if to avoid being infected by its lack of interesting qualities. A couple dozen two-story buildings were scattered around the valley, and some of them looked like they had been smashed in by a giant's wandering foot. The giant had probably barely glanced down before deciding that the little village wasn't worth any sort of attention. A lot of the wood had rotted away, windows were cracked and stained, and some of the buildings had collapsed altogether. All together, it was a place that was in serious need of being blown up and replaced by something fun.

He stretched, touching his toes and jumping up and down a few times to warm his body up. It wasn't cold in the village, thank goodness, but he still wanted to be ready. If this opponent was anywhere near as fun as the Deku Dante, he would need to be in top-shape. In fact, he didn't like where he was standing. He was underneath a large sign, its letters long since faded away by time's diligent scrubbing. He remembered the Deku firing wind and daggers and meteors at him every few seconds, and he decided that it was best to find someplace less exposed to stretch. He darted behind a pile of rusted metal boxes and sat, extending his legs and grabbing his feet with his hands.

Loft was at one end of the village, hidden only by a couple piles of rusted metal boxes. He couldn't see anything, and he had absolutely no idea where his opponent was. He could be anywhere, or anything. Loft didn't know, and that made him very nervous. He supposed that he could just jump out from behind the boxes and run around the village, waving his arms and screaming like a banshee, until something happened. Then he remembered what had happened the last time he was in the Arena. An arrow had flown out of some nearby trees and sliced into his head. He shivered. No way he was letting that happen again. No, this wasn't the time for banshee-Loft. This was the time for Loft to make like a ninja and be sneaky.

Thankfully, he had the perfect scout. He put his fingers to his lips and blew very faintly, just loudly enough for the notes to be clearly defined. He shifted over to his left, and another Loft was sitting against the crates in the exact position he had been in. Loft tilted his head and stared at the thing's face, the only part of the clone that wasn't a perfect replica. It was twisted in madness and despair and hatred, its eyes furrowed in confusion and fear, and Loft looked away. Something about that... he didn't want to look at it anymore. He didn't want to face it.

He put his fingers back into his mouth again, and blew softly. A different melody issued forth, and Loft's world dissolved into a rush of colors and and sounds. Spirit travel was highly efficient, and Loft soon found the world restored. He flexed his fingers, noting how the clone's body felt exactly the same as his, and stood. The crates were tall enough to shield him, and he found himself wishing that one of them contained a mirror. He wondered if his face and his eyes were still fixed in that pained expression, the never-ending screaming contained forever in his eyes....

Loft shook his head violently and leaned against one of the crates. It began to shift, and Loft jumped back and hurriedly stopped it from making too much movement or, Goddesses forbid, falling over. He steadied it, breathed a sigh of relief, and frowned. A solid metal crate shouldn't be that heavy, rusted or not. He tapped one softly, and grinned when he heard the sound echo through it. It was hollow. A hollow metal crate. An idea hit him, an idea so awesome that he could hardly contain his glee. The idea was so genius, so amazingly inspired, that he just had to pat himself on the back for being brilliant enough to come up with it. He lifted one of the boxes off of the pile and put it down on top of him. He had to do an awkward crouch to fit, but that was okay. He was a ninja, under the cloak of mysteriousness. No enemy could possibly see through this cunning disguise; for how could a box be anything but a box? They were an entirely innocent race of creatures; they could never do anyone any harm. Loft did his best villainous chuckle, and started down the lane.

He wasn't worried. This wasn't his body, after all. If he was harmed, he knew by experience that he would just be yanked back into his original form. No damage would be retained, and it would leave his opponent as confused as Loft had been when he had seen a bakery advertising healthy brownies. He started down the village's only street, waiting for something to happen.

Something thudded against the side of the box, and Loft's heart nearly jumped out of his throat. His opponent had arrows. Arrows! Not again- Loft hated arrows. They were so fast and small and pointy. He liked knives and swords better. He kept going, just because he had nothing better to do. He had started this, so he might as well stick it through it and see what happened. The arrow had hit from the left, though, so he repeated it in his head over and over again. "Attack from the left, attack from the left, that means that it's on the left."

He heard scuffling footsteps, and before he could do anything the box had been violently grabbed. A foot sailed in and smashed into his side, and Loft gasped as his world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds. When the world had again stabled itself, Loft jumped up. This was his chance! He rushed out from behind the boxes, but at the last second he decided not to directly attack the man with the bow hanging on his back. The man might be, like, telepathic and whip around and fill his stomach with a dozen arrows before Loft could blink twice. Instead, he turned to his right and sprinted as quietly as possible towards the first in a line of two-story buildings. He was only exposed for seconds, but his heart still hammered horribly in his chest. He jumped mid-sprint as hard as he could, managing a couple steps up the rough wall before pushing off the wall and grabbing the second story windowsill. He quickly hauled himself up, rolling onto the dusty and slightly rotted floor. Hopefully it wouldn't collapse and fill Loft's chest with pointy wooden bits.

He raced over to the window facing the street and pulled out a Deku Nut, rolling it around in his fingers. He couldn't stay here; the man might find him, and Loft hated the idea of running from a man with a bow. He threw the Deku Nut down at the man, pulling out a throwing knife and sending it hurtling towards the man's head. He leaped out of the window, tugging another Deku Nut out of the wooden organ hanging from his belt as he fell and throwing it down to the ground. He closed his eyes just long enough to shield them from the flash and landed, drawing Prissy (his non-throwing knife with an identity crisis due to it being more of a short-sword than a knife) and slashing it at the man's face.

Score! Loft's knife slashed the man's face, colouring his forehead red. Hopefully, he would be blinded by the blood and Loft would have a chance to strike. Loft ducked under the retaliatory slash of the man's dagger, noting that it wasn't nearly as nice as his. Something wrenched at his legs and Loft was flipped to the ground. He used his hands to change the tumble to a handstand-flip, and he landed catlike on the ground. He rushed forward, feinting a thrust and swinging his foot through the air to try and catch the man off target. Unfortunately, the man stepped back, then lunged forward as Loft was recovering from the roundhouse kick. Loft reflexively flinched back, and the man chucked a small blue rock at his feet.

The rock smashed open, and wind began to explode from within it. Loft's eyes widened as his clothes rippled and his hair was blown up to the sky. The invisible vortex of wind had him securely in its grasp. There was no escaping it; he was caught in its invisible hold.

"Hope you like flying," the man jeered.

Loft grinned. "I'm a birdy." He reached out and grasped the man's shirt, yanking him close to Loft and into the wind's grasp. "Now you're one too."

Loft hissed as he saw the blade shine in the sun's light. He pushed himself away from the man, the vortex's power still boosting them up through the sky as he inserted distance between the two of them. He wanted to throw more daggers at him, but the vortex only made him and the other dude fly. He felt a twinge of sadness that his daggers wouldn't know the joy of flying, but he pushed it aside. They could feel it as he felt it; they were strapped to his body, after all.

The momentum ceased, and Loft hung for a split second at the apex of the vortex's power. They were really high up. They were really, really high up. They had almost cleared one of the smaller mountains, and Loft looked down below his feet. Uh-oh. The village was a tiny speck. None of the smaller buildings were really visible. Loft may have felt like a birdy when they were flying, but he didn't think he'd land like one. His eyes flicked back up to the man. He had started this, he must have had a way to finish it! No-one would carry a flying-stone without having a landing-stone too!

They began to fall back down, and Loft threw his arms out in an X. He waited a few seconds as his flight slowed. He flipped himself forward, angling down at the man. He exhaled and streamlined his body. He rocketed down through the air at the man's back. He slammed into his back and tried to wrap his arms around the man's body- arms included.

"Use a stop-stone!" He screamed. "Use it, or we go squish!"

Loft laughed, his arms still locked around his opponent. "I've already died once," he said, "death isn't scary anymore." His head was sore from when the man had smashed its top, but thankfully his nose hadn't been hit. That would have been bad. Speaking of bad, they only had a few seconds left before they crashed into the ground and became little puddles of glop. The launch stone had thrown them up really high into the air, but they were falling really, really quickly. The buildings below were growing larger at an alarming rate, becoming more and more defined as the duo plummeted towards the ground. There wasn't much time left for them, and there was certainly not enough time for chit-chat.

"Seconds left!" He screamed over the wind. "Stop-stone or death for us both!"

Footfals runing away, guy's leving. Cnat think. Head hurtz. Loft picked himself up, wincing. Touch head, blood. Gross. Loft staggered to the side, into a nearby building. He allowed himself to topple behind a cluster of barrels in a corner. Fog clouded his head like a mist around the base of a bakery, and Loft felt like a rat after being snapped in a mousetrap- rat because it would hurt more because a mousetrap was for mice and rats would get hurt more and Farore his head hurt. He touched the back of his head again, his trembling fingers coming back in front of his face covered in red fluid.

He sniffed and huddled behind the barrels again. He hated pain, he hated it. Pain hurt, burned, and Loft hated hated hated it. His prickling eyes glazed over a stairway, and he moved as if half-asleep, walking up the wooden flight to the roof of the two-story building. He stood on top of the spacious roof and looked down on the forsaken village. The village was stuck between the mountains, and the ground on which it stood was slanted. He was in a building near the top of the slant, the king of the hill. The sky was open and innocent, but Loft remembered the fall and shuddered, looking away. He wandered back down the stairs and stared at the barrels he had just hidden behind.

With a crash, the lid of the nearest one fell to the ground. Loft reached into it and pulled out a few lumps of coal. He stared at it for a few seconds and then looked up at the many barrels in the place. He grinned, and his smile was lop-sided and his eyes still slightly glazed. Coal burned very well. Coal go big boom. Loft sidled back into the midst of the barrels and sat down, pulling out his Red Candle and nestling it in his lap.

"Hello?" He called. "Mr. Fly-bye man! I miss you," he said, laughing, "come back! I'm in here!"

The seconds ticked by. Or, at least, they would have, if only there was a clock present. Since the wall was sadly lacking a large grandfather clock, Loft was forced to make the ticking sounds himself. He swayed back and forth, ticking softly to himself with his tongue. He thought of the poor barrels, shoved into a corner of the house by their uncaring, unloving owner. All they had to look at were a couple windows, and all they showed were the sides of the next building. Not only were there no grandfather clocks in this room, but there were no pictures hanging from the walls, no spiderwebs of cracks worming through the wood, and no animal carcasses pinned above the door. How boring! These poor barrels, forced into looking only through the windows!

Loft's eyes wandered out the windows. He got a quick mental flash of how cool it would be if his eyes could literally wander out the windows; if they could just pop! out of his head and hop out the windows and see the world for themselves. The next building's wall wasn't too far away, and it's closeness gave the bored Loft an idea.

He glanced from side to side, checking to see if Monsieur Flybye Man was anywhere nearby. A grin flashed across his face and he held his still unlit Red Candle carefully in one hand as the other reached behind his waist and into a small wooden blob hanging from his belt. He pulled a small Deku Nut from the dead Deku's organ and threw it through the window. It smashed against the window with a loud crack!, white light flooding through Loft's closed eyelids and sending little squiggly worms dancing along his eyes. Loft giggled and repeated the game.

"1 Deku Nut smashed on the wall, 1 Deku Nut! Take 'em out, smash 'em around, 2 Deku Nuts smashed on the wall!" He paused in the song to smile at the nearby barrels. "Cool, huh?" He asked cheerfully. "Not so bored now, huh?"

Loft's hand flicked out again to toss another nut at the wall behind the window. "Seven thousand four-hundred ten billion Deku Nuts on the wall," he moaned. His head bonked backwards against a barrel of coal. "Where are you, Monsieur Flyguy?" He glanced behind him at the barrel of coal, and winced at the red smear left behind. "Too strong," he muttered, "hurt the barrel."

He sighed, reaching behind him again to pull another Deku Nut from his pouch. He held his Red Candle in his other hand, its magical flame burning straight and unwavering, powered by his will alone. It looked like Mr. Flyguy wasn't going to be coming anytime soon. How long would he have to wait? How long-

Three things happened in very quick succession. A multitude of bright silver flashes burst from a side window, embedding themselves into barrels and the floor. His arm, wrist, and side felt dipped in molten lead. His hand spasmed, sending the still-burning Red Candle flying into the air, its flame still burning brightly. Loft howled, pounding the floor and jumping up in down as pain speared through his body. It covered his mind in a dull red haze, oblitering all other thoughts and cutting off his concentration on the Red Candle. His brilliant booby trap clattered lifelessly to the ground across the room, its magical flame vanishing with the disappearance of its power source. Loft staggered back into the cluster of barrels, sending a few of them toppling over onto the ground. He tripped over them and disappeared into their midst.

Footsteps thudding on a wooden floor. Dully, Loft registered something smack his foot, but the feeling was vague, as if submerged in several layers of grape Jell-O. Loft loved Jell-O. A feeble grin stretched his face, unseen in the near-total darkness caused by the barrels pressed up against his face. He could go for some Jell-O right now. He reached up a shaking hand to touch the barrel, but he could barely muster up the energy to lift his hand, let alone shove that one barrel off of him. What about all the other barrels? They must really love him if they were crowding around him like this. Their lids had been knocked off by the toppling, and coal that hadn't met the sweet mountain air for years was now spilt against the floor all around him.

"Too much love," he said, although in reality what issued from his lips was only the slightest of inflectioned exhalations, "Loft can't breathe." He could breathe, though. Did that make him a liar? Loft didn't know.

Footsteps were moving again, moving away. Loft's hand nudged the barrel, finally, and he realized that he was holding something in it. Something hard, something nutty... one last Deku Nut, ready to play.

"Just you and me, buddy," he coughed. The coal dust, scattered all around him by the barrels' toppling, was hard to breathe in. He reached his hand up a little higher, face scrunched up with the effort, and knocked it against the barrel's opening.

The Deku Nut burst against the lid, and the explosive nut was enough to spark against the highly flammable coal. The dust and rocks both reacted to the tiny spark, and the barrel exploded with a bang! The other barrels were all swept up in the fire and force, creating an enormous chain reaction of booms in the small corner of the little building. The walls and roof were all blown outwards, and what little was left of the jell-O loving ninja, Loft, was either disintegrated or charred beyond recognition.