08-28-2018, 05:47 AM
Ninurta sent out mental feelers along his limbs to insure that all of his body parts were intact, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that the maneuver was merely intended to delay the inevitable - he was going to have to get upright some time.
"No better time than now" he growled, and bolted upright into a more or less sitting position. That was, of course, a mistake. one which suggested that there might indeed have been a better time. But what was done was done, so he clung the the bare dirt floor for dear life. When the swirling of the world that had momentarily sped up reduced speed enough that he thought he might not get flung off of it, he peeped his eyes open and took in his surroundings.
He was inside some sort of rough timber shack. Daylight crept in between the gaps in the timbers, illuminating what appeared to be a storage shed. Shelves lined the walls with as yet unidentifiable equipment and parts of equipment, and wooden crates lined the floor. "Well, this isn't so bad", Ninurta thought. " 'Least I ain't been dropped into the middle of something that's trying to kill me this time" he mumbled. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, he gingerly clambered to his feet.
As he arose, and his blurry vision clarified, Ninurta's gaze alighted upon a canvas tarp covering one of the wooden crates. Seizing it and shaking the dust off, he tore the tarp roughly in half, and attempted to wrap it around himself toga-like. He decided that was not going to work. It was too binding, stifling freedom of movement, and the skirt portion tended to wrap his legs up, which were already none too steady, so he took it back off and looked around until he espied a rusty knife stuck point-first into one of the crates. Ninurta pulled the knife out of the crate and cut a simple slot in the center of the fragment of tarp, then stuck his head through it so that he was wearing a functional poncho.
That would do, Ninurta reckoned.
It was at that point that he noticed the crate that had been under the tarp. It was filled with yellow balls about the size of a baseball, each with two gray balls the size of ping-pong balls attached to the sides of it, the entire assembly having a thick stem protruding from the top. At the top of the stem was a knurled disc with some sort of alien symbols he couldn't decipher arranged around the rim. It slowly dawned upon Ninurta that what he was looking at was a storage shed filled with... explosives, among other odds and ends.
Maybe the universe WAS still trying to kill him.
Ninurta shrugged and set to work. When the universe gives you lemons, you make lemonade. That thought was a bit unsettling, given the yellow color of the main parts of the explosive charges. He cut a wide strip off of the unused portion of the tarp and wrapped it around his waist for a belt, more like a sash, and then slid the rusty knife into it. Next, he seized a canvas bag from the wall which had a flap and a shoulder strap and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the dirt floor before starting to fill the bag with explosives. Ninurta had learned long ago that when you were in a place where folks might get hurt, you didn't want to be that last one hurting. Once he had it filled, he slipped the strap over his shoulder and across his chest so that the bag hung at his hip for easy access, and started for the door.
When he got there, the door proved resistant to exit. Of course! Explosive shacks were generally locked to keep out the riff-raff. Ninurta drew a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and kicked the door sending it flying open with a ripping sound as the lock hasp tore free of it's moorings.
Ninurta blinked. He had been right - too much light made his head hurt exponentially worse, which improved his mood nary a bit. Peering out, he took in the surroundings and determined he must be in some sort of mining camp - that would explain the explosives, her realized. Off work miners were dragging along, entering rows of shacks via this door or that. Others were heading towards a gaping hole in the hillside, presumably to start their shift. Drawing a deep breath - and only slightly choking on the airborne dust - Ninurta strode forth. "Might as well", he thought. "Ain't no way I'm getting through here unnoticed in this getup".
Striding down the main drag as if he owned the mine, Ninurta drew curious gazes until those gazes were averted when he gazed back, hard. One fellow - Ninurta supposed the man must be some sort of foreman by his surly manner - stepped into the middle of the path and demanded "Just who are yo - " which was all he got out before Ninurta knocked him on his ass by the expedient of simply sticking his arm out, locking he elbow, and not slowing his stride until his hand made contact with the man's chest. The force of Ninurta's stride, transmitted through his arm, sent the foreman sprawling, and left him gasping on the ground.
"I ain't got time to talk, feller" Ninurta mentioned as he strode purposefully along. His objective was a gate opening onto an airfield of some sort... and AWAY from the mine environs. He had no idea where he was going, other than the fact that wherever it was, it was not here.
.
"No better time than now" he growled, and bolted upright into a more or less sitting position. That was, of course, a mistake. one which suggested that there might indeed have been a better time. But what was done was done, so he clung the the bare dirt floor for dear life. When the swirling of the world that had momentarily sped up reduced speed enough that he thought he might not get flung off of it, he peeped his eyes open and took in his surroundings.
He was inside some sort of rough timber shack. Daylight crept in between the gaps in the timbers, illuminating what appeared to be a storage shed. Shelves lined the walls with as yet unidentifiable equipment and parts of equipment, and wooden crates lined the floor. "Well, this isn't so bad", Ninurta thought. " 'Least I ain't been dropped into the middle of something that's trying to kill me this time" he mumbled. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, he gingerly clambered to his feet.
As he arose, and his blurry vision clarified, Ninurta's gaze alighted upon a canvas tarp covering one of the wooden crates. Seizing it and shaking the dust off, he tore the tarp roughly in half, and attempted to wrap it around himself toga-like. He decided that was not going to work. It was too binding, stifling freedom of movement, and the skirt portion tended to wrap his legs up, which were already none too steady, so he took it back off and looked around until he espied a rusty knife stuck point-first into one of the crates. Ninurta pulled the knife out of the crate and cut a simple slot in the center of the fragment of tarp, then stuck his head through it so that he was wearing a functional poncho.
That would do, Ninurta reckoned.
It was at that point that he noticed the crate that had been under the tarp. It was filled with yellow balls about the size of a baseball, each with two gray balls the size of ping-pong balls attached to the sides of it, the entire assembly having a thick stem protruding from the top. At the top of the stem was a knurled disc with some sort of alien symbols he couldn't decipher arranged around the rim. It slowly dawned upon Ninurta that what he was looking at was a storage shed filled with... explosives, among other odds and ends.
Maybe the universe WAS still trying to kill him.
Ninurta shrugged and set to work. When the universe gives you lemons, you make lemonade. That thought was a bit unsettling, given the yellow color of the main parts of the explosive charges. He cut a wide strip off of the unused portion of the tarp and wrapped it around his waist for a belt, more like a sash, and then slid the rusty knife into it. Next, he seized a canvas bag from the wall which had a flap and a shoulder strap and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the dirt floor before starting to fill the bag with explosives. Ninurta had learned long ago that when you were in a place where folks might get hurt, you didn't want to be that last one hurting. Once he had it filled, he slipped the strap over his shoulder and across his chest so that the bag hung at his hip for easy access, and started for the door.
When he got there, the door proved resistant to exit. Of course! Explosive shacks were generally locked to keep out the riff-raff. Ninurta drew a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and kicked the door sending it flying open with a ripping sound as the lock hasp tore free of it's moorings.
Ninurta blinked. He had been right - too much light made his head hurt exponentially worse, which improved his mood nary a bit. Peering out, he took in the surroundings and determined he must be in some sort of mining camp - that would explain the explosives, her realized. Off work miners were dragging along, entering rows of shacks via this door or that. Others were heading towards a gaping hole in the hillside, presumably to start their shift. Drawing a deep breath - and only slightly choking on the airborne dust - Ninurta strode forth. "Might as well", he thought. "Ain't no way I'm getting through here unnoticed in this getup".
Striding down the main drag as if he owned the mine, Ninurta drew curious gazes until those gazes were averted when he gazed back, hard. One fellow - Ninurta supposed the man must be some sort of foreman by his surly manner - stepped into the middle of the path and demanded "Just who are yo - " which was all he got out before Ninurta knocked him on his ass by the expedient of simply sticking his arm out, locking he elbow, and not slowing his stride until his hand made contact with the man's chest. The force of Ninurta's stride, transmitted through his arm, sent the foreman sprawling, and left him gasping on the ground.
"I ain't got time to talk, feller" Ninurta mentioned as he strode purposefully along. His objective was a gate opening onto an airfield of some sort... and AWAY from the mine environs. He had no idea where he was going, other than the fact that wherever it was, it was not here.
.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.
Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’
Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’