Armadillo Bowl - Bowling Alley
This is the heart of the Intrastellar Grakatraxian Habitat (I.G.H.) Armadillo Bowl, a
semi-modular mobile space station. This large room on its lower level is the simulated natural
habitat of the station's primary occupant, a Southern Three-Banded Armadillo. The engineers who
built this habitat, needless to say, got it completely wrong.
The room is dominated by a row of eighteen bowling lanes, far more than one can
expect ever to be in use. Most are regulation size, but the two farthest to the right, #17 and
#18, are dwarfish compared to the others. The lanes are against the wall opposite the entrance.
There is a racks of bowling balls on the wall to the right, consisting of around forty various
balls on four shelves, and a lattice of cubbies containing bowling shoes on the wall just to the
right of the door. A door near the back of the right wall leads to a maintenance area used to
service the lanes.
In addition, the room is supplied with other entertainment. A wide, ornate pinball
machine with a theme of lavish luxury. A pair of arcade machines, one featuring classic arcade
games of the 1970s and 80s, and one featuring ever more elaborate games with advanced graphics,
engines, and controls. The game available on each machine changes every few days. There is
also a pool table. All of the games, including the bowling, are free.
There are a few booths with tables behind the pool table, near the door to the
kitchen, to the left. There are also a few round tables with chairs in the middle of the room.
All the furniture is made made of bright, polished wood. The walls are made of slighter darker
wood, equally smooth. The predominant colors of this bowling alley are brown, orange, tan, and
beige.
And in the corner between the shoes and the balls, a little metal cage, padded with
something resembling astroturf, and filled with balls of crumpled up paper. Sammy's cage.
[ Obvious Exits: <Behind> the Pins, Into the <Kitchen> ]
[ <Out> to the Lower Corridor ]
Blood has arrived.
Timothy has arrived.
~ EPISODE 3: THE VIRTUES OF COMPANY ~
<OOC> Sammy pulls a Star Wars and does the episodes out of order.
As the shot pans in from the bowling alley, Sammy can be seen scrabbling at the door to the maintenance corridor. It's closed, and the handle is well out of reach for the diminutive armadillo--even if the door isn't locked, it's pretty much impenetrable for him. At least through traditional means. Already, the surface of the door is scored severely, and it's possible the digger is making progress through it. Elsewhere in the room, an irregular clanking sound issues from...
...the bowling alley, where Timothy, who had somehow found himself deposited on the top of a bowling pin, has knocked them down. Fortunately, he managed to jump free and clear the falling pins before one of them crushed him. He's about to relax when he sees a bar come down from the ceiling and jumps out of the way of it just before it hits the floor and pulls the pins back into what looks like the black maw of some monster. Letting out a squeak, he runs all the way up the lane, only slowing once he's jumped clear of the monster's long, wooden tongue. He pants a little, looking around at the strange surroundings.
Thud, thud. Such is the sound of the footsteps of the Armadillo Bowl's master walking into the alley. If only he had realized soon enough about his grave error. Blood just walks into the bowling alley. So this is the new arrival, is it? He's not as disappointed as he could have been. A mouse. A stupid mouse. Who was it who caught him? He doesn't say anything, just watches the poor mouse.
Sammy instantly leaves off his potentially futile scrabbling to investigate. "Who's there?" he shouts into the darkness--for the lights are off, currently, even if the alley machinery is functioning. "Did someone just--?" He dashes, not making terribly good speed on the smooth floor to which he's yet unaccustomed, and stops short at the edge of lane #8. Clearly something knocked down the pins and activated the reset...and then Sammy smells the figure, and discovers him at the end of the lane. He doesn't yet notice Blood, just realizes from the sounds of footsteps that something is happening again. The silence was too good to last, he realizes. "Who are you?" he repeats to the mouse.
Timothy blinks a little when he sees the odd-looking creature approach him, curling his tail around himself nervously. "I'm Timothy... Where am I? Who are you?" he replies, letting out another squeak as he looks around for the source of the thudding footsteps.
Thud... thud... thud. Finally Blood stops, riiiight behind Sammy, arms crossed, looking down on the puny creatures before him. A smile is plastered on his face, which is hardly a good sign coming from the Paratiger. A mouse and an armadillo. He needs to get his minions to work harder on getting more exotic specimens. He still doesn't say a word.
Sammy is a little surprised, but not too excessively, to find that the stranger has just as little clue why he's here as Sammy does. He stops a foot away from the mouse, which now he recognizes as such, and shivers at the general shock of the atmosphere. It's almost as if this place is haunted. He turns, looks up, and quails down again, hiding his snout. A few seconds pass, and then he timidly raises it again, looking at the fearsome Curator as bravely as he can, which isn't much. "H...How can I...how can I help, you, Mr. Blood...sir?"
Timothy spots the feet of the very large creature before him, and he looks up, swallowing nervously. He doesn't say anything, but he does back away from the Curator, moving behind the armored creature, somewhat.
Blood looks down at Timothy, then to add to the intimitading effect, he leans over the two, looking Sammy and Timothy over. Keeping his eyes on Timothy, he finally speaks. A deep, rumbling voice. "This is the new one?" Almost a sharp growling voice. "Seems a bit *smaller* than my ideal specimen."
Sammy backs a step away, and his scaled tail brushes against the mouse. Not having anything to say, Sammy nods. A crackling sound issues from the paratiger's wrist, though--apparently, he has an active communication channel open. "Sir," comes a warped voice, just as ferocious as Blood in its low-pitched way. "That specimen came with green tag recommendation. Apparently the creature has a bit of a history. More valuable than its species usually is." There's a little bzip of sound marking the end of the transmission.
Timothy squeaks, pulling back a bit more as Blood leans over them. "... You could... let me go back?" he suggests quietly. "If I'm not wanted, that is..." He trails off when he hears the voice from the odd communicator device, his ears folding back. Maybe he meant the armadillo?
Blood chuffs. "You'd think that, wouldn't you, pipsqueak?" He stands back as tall as he can, towering over the other two. "Blue tag? Are you joking? He'd better have a damn good history, or you'll have something to account for!" He yells over the communicator. Finally, he points right at Timothy. "You had better start explaining, pipsqueak."
-krrrk!- Ar, that's green tag, sir. Anomalous. History with the dominant human species, possible interdimensional resonance, ful-wbebzzztrtrt-- And the voice ends in static. Sammy stands back, arranging himself behind the mouse, with the end of his tail curved in front of him, as if in protection. He doesn't know this newcomer, but he already wants to help him defend himself, somehow.
Timothy squeaks again when Blood points at him, shying back until he finds himself flat against the armadillo's side. "I--I... E-explain w-what, s-sir?"
Blood raises an eyebrow at hearing this. Anamolous indeed. "Where did you come from?!" Blood snaps. "Out with it!" Why be nice to the specimens? They're just that! He crosses his arms again, towering over the mouse.
Sammy whispers in the mouse's ear, his own ears bending down. "You'd better tell him what you know," he suggests. "Don't worry...if you cooperate, he won't hurt you." This is punctuated with a little squeeze of the tail, meant to reassure.
Timothy squeaks in fright at Blood's shouting, but manages to compose himself enough to reply, feeling a little better with the armadillo's reassurance. "I--I came from the city... escaped from a... laboratory... Only escaped a few days ago."
"Not good enough! What city?! What Laboratory?" Blood yells over the comm. "Someone better explain this to me, or heads will roll!" He glares at Sammy.
Sammy certainly isn't going to be that someone. He lowers his head and continues to curl about the mouse, hoping that somehow he'll have the answers to satisfy Blood. The wrist transponder crackles again, however. "...possibility the murine may be ransomed, in a pinch...otherwise, lucre from reverse engineering its augmentations..." And more static. The lane resetter, which has been whirring all ths time after replacing the collapsed pins, finally and abruptly goes quiet.
Timothy cringes again. "I... don't know the name of the city... I didn't have enough time to find out," he stutters. "The laboratory was in a place called NIMH, where I was experimented on with several other mice and some rats." His ears fold back a little when he hears the transponder; 'ransomed' sounded like he would be sold back to NIMH, and that was the last thing he wanted. 'Reverse engineering' sounded like an ominous euphamism to him for something unpleasent. "Please, sir, I don't want to go back to NIMH. They were cruel to us there, stuck in tiny cages and being forced to run in mazes and get needles poked in us..."
Blood laughs. How utterly *ironic* this is! He continues laughing, enjoying the humor of this poor mouse's situation. "Oh, good luck with that. Welcome to your new laboratory!" Laughing, Blood speaks into the comm. "I'll need a number and a cell for this one."
The -Krrrft- comes back, and it's a slightly different nasty voice speaking. "Is that a cell phone number or a prison cell number?" asks the muffled voice. Sammy looks sadly at the mouse. "At least there haven't been any needles for me...yet," he says symapthetically.
Timothy feels his blood run cold as the creature laughs at his predicament and his fears begin to be confirmed. He glances at the armadillo; probably 'cause of the thickness of his hide that he hasn't. He looks around briefly before making a sprint towards the now silent pinsetting machines!
Blood swistly grabs hold of the mouse with one hand and in only two strides. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Blood says, then speaks into the comm. "Specimen cell. I'm sure I'll enjoy finding the source of all that makes this one tick."
"Yes, sir," says the impersonal, muffled voice at Blood's wrist. Sammy speeds out of the way of the dashing feline, terrified. "Please don't hurt him," he says meekly, supporting himself on his tail and back legs with his front feet barely touching the floor. "Let him loose when you're not t--testing him...please." His ears waver pitifully.
Timothy squeaks in surprise as he's caught--even the humans weren't nearly as quick--, making pitiful noises as he futilely tries to struggle out of Blood's hand. He finally quiets, sensing the futility of it all, and just sobs openly. He had tasted freedom, and to have it pulled away from him so suddenly was devestating.
Blood looks down at Sammy curiously. "I see, you want to make sur enothing bad happens to this one?" Blood drops Timothy in front of Sammy. "Than you shall be in charge of caring for this one. Be sure to train him in what it is we do around here."
Sammy curls his body even further, inquisitively. "But no one's told me what I should be doing!" he protests. He sniffs the mouse and once again assumes a protective stance around him, just the same. "I guarantee," the armadillo says softly. "When you need this one, I'll make sure he doesn't resist, but comes straight to you."
Timothy blinks, finding himself on the floor in front of the armadillo, wiping his eyes a little as he hears the creature speak. He seems to calm somewhat, though he's still very frightened--from the sound of things, he's exchanged a small prison for a larger one, and they would still force him into unpleasent situations. He's not sure how the armadillo plans to keep him from resisting, and already plans begin to spring to the mouse's mind. Whether they'd work is another thing.
Blood glares daggers down at Sammy as he mentions he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. "Are you talking back at me?!" he growls. "For his sake, you better make sure he makes it to me the *instant* I call for him. Now... show him to his cell."
Sammy looks around uncomfortably. Didn't...didn't the tiger just +call+ for a cell for the mouse? Surely he hasn't got one yet. "All right," he says in a weak voice. The armadillo takes a few steps back toward his own cage, then turns around awkwardly and looks around, at a loss. At last he spies a crack in the baseboard of the pinball machine. He catches the mouse's eye and hurries in that direction. "Your cell is over here," he calls.
<OOC> Blood IS NOT REASONABLE.
<OOC> Sammy figured that out already!
Timothy hesitates a few moments before following after Sammy, blinking when he spots the 'cell' for him. Still, he's not going to complain and he squeezes himself through the crack with very little effort, peering back out at the armadillo.
Blood, apparently satisfied, turns and thud, thud, thuds his way back to the administrative section of the Bowl. He needs to make sure this new specimen is filed correctly. And maybe yell at a few minions. Soon, he is out of the bowling alley.
Sammy sits there outside the pinball machine like a mother worrying over her sick child. He peers in, only to find the bright little pair of eyes staring out. He sighs quietly. "Maybe you'd better get some rest," he suggests. "I'll explain everything to you when you're ready." What he knows himself, that is.
Timothy nods a little, offering a quiet "Thanks," in reply. The space inside the wall is cozy and as safe-feeling as anything else in this place is likely to be. And he can see some conduits for wires and such, so he doesn't worry about getting trapped there. It would've been better if the place had something he could use for bedding, but perhaps he might be able to find something later. Or maybe he'll be escaping by then... He yawns faintly and curls up in a corner to sleep.
The camera zooms out slowly on Sammy as he curls up beside the crack in the machine, keeping all intrusion out. The rooms is now entirely visible, and the scene fades to black.
~ Commercial break! ~
