//------------------------------// // Iron Will vs Angry Units // Story: Ponies Versus Starcraft // by ambion //------------------------------// “Iron Will does not accept payment in vespene gas! Iron Will works for his living just like everyone else, and Iron Will expects to be paid just like everyone else!” “Blearughgasegh!” The overlord grumbled from deep within its gut. The immense bulk of it squirmed and writhed inches from the hard stare of the minotaur like some monstrous balloon, though not by choice. The minotaur had grasped its tendrils and pulled it down to the ground for a bit of eye to...something. Biceps that could mold steel bulged in arms of blue. “Iron Will is very sorry to hear that, but it is your problem and Iron Will is not willing to accept your mistake!” The trainer let the reverberations of his resounding voice echo through the smooshy brain of the zerg flyer. Some people had a voice that could reverberate through the air. Iron Will’s could reverberate through the ground, vibe its way up the legs and spine, then pound out the aches and tensions of the listener with a vigorous back massage. Hearing the minotaur speak with his forceful assertiveness wasn’t just an experience, it was the experience. The one fondly recalled with a slightly glazed over expression and blush, the months since getting it last counted out wistfully. The overlord hesitated. “Blearughgasegh?” It gurgled. Somehow in all the sloshing, undulating noises there came to be the notes of cautious hope. Iron Will’s face scrunched up in careful scrutiny, but as he started nodding his grip on the tendrils slackened. “Alright then. Iron Will is not unreasonable. You can bring his payment when you come to collect the zerglings after the meeting, but don’t forget what Iron Will has said!” “Blearughgasegh.” For a creature whose closest substitute for a shoulder were ventral sacs and was pretty much entirely lumpy head, it managed a fairly eager nod all the same. “Good to hear.” If his chest puffed out any further, the wind would have to start intentionally going around the minotaur, like a buff blue mountain. For its part the overlord turned away and struggled to gain altitude, its limp tendrils wiggling rather uselessly, a certain straightness in their noodliness from where Iron Will’s iron grip had ironed them out. He watched it drift away, appreciating the genuine beauty and expressiveness of the overlord language. Then he turned to face his class, all business. “That, class, is how one deals with an unexpected confrontation! If you have to improvise, be willing to compromise!” Growls, shrieks, ghostly wails and death threats chorused back to him. So far, so good. The towering trainer strolled back and forth like a commander before his troops. “You’re here for assertiveness training, because Iron Will has learned the hard way that assertiveness out of control is just plain old aggressiveness! It is not good!” The minotaur had heard of such a thing as an indoor voice. His was probably gathering dust in a lost-and-found somewhere. Point him at sails and ships would move, even against a stiff wind. Iron Will would probably just talk the wind into going his way, all the way, anyway. A little creature made mostly of teeth and tendons snapped at his heels. The hulking hunk whipped around so fast that there wasn’t just a thunderclap, there was a thunder-standing-ovation-and-calls-for-encore. A meaty finger hovered a menacing inch away from the glistening jaw of slavering aggression. “You wanna learn this the hard way, you’ll rue the day!” Iron Will shouted in its face. If he spoke in italics, it was because the force of his speech physically bent the letters, like a hurricane would trees. The voice alone sent the zergling staggering backwards. Its wide-eyed terror only helped things along and it quickly cowered at the back of seven others. Like a lightning strike, suddenly it was over. “Good,” he said, resuming his nonchalant stroll. “That’s lesson one! Look ‘em in the eye, just like a Fluttershy!” The zerglings and assorted others muttered amongst themselves, but no other challenged the minotaur. Iron Will’s seemingly aimless pacing took him to another of the trainees. In many apparant ways they were similar, trainer and trainee. Both were of a size, and were prominently blue. One was an overpowered being of raw force made by combining two other entirely powerful entities. In this instance those were named ‘left arm’ and ‘right arm.’ The other was an archon. It moaned in a haunted wail. “Powerrrr...overwhelming!” “And what comes with great power?” The streaming plasma of the energy being’s eyes flickered with what might have been ponderous blinking. “Responsibilityyyy...overwhelming?” “No!” Iron Will burst out with a deep guffaw, slapping the burning entity on the back so hard it staggered forwards and wheezed. “Don’t be ridiculous! With great power comes great respect! But before you can get respect from others, you gotta get it from yourself! Lesson two: You gonna be nasty, you’ll get picked lastly!” The zergling that had attacked, having no physiological right to scratch at its chin thoughtfully forgot itself and did just that, its eyes brimming with what might have been thought. The minotaur prodded a figure clad in blackened armour in the chest. Behind a black helmet and motif someone scoffed disdainfully at him. Iron Will huffed like any self-respecting bull. “Don’t feed the rage, get on the same page! Lesson three: have a healthy outlet of expression!” He struck a pose, grunting as he flexed more muscles than a sack full of shellfish. “What do ya do to vent some steam?” “Nuke the crap outta things,” the masked figure replied, the voice warbling with barely restrained aggression. Later the spectre would admit it to himself after a bit of a think that the incident stemmed from a fear of public speaking, but in this moment the spectre simply retaliated with a psionic lash. At the last instant some modicum of self-preservation kicked in and the crackling lance of energy was redirected from one big blue figure to another. “Weeee...Burn!” The archon wailed angrily, and with notes of hurt. Not hurt hurt, of course, but emotionally wounded, which was just as bad. The spectre’s impassive mask shook with trembles as he realized that, if he were very, very lucky, his chances of surviving his idiocy and quick thinking might even be in the double digits. Archons, it was a little known fact, were sensitive souls, with an emphasis on the plural. Some write poetry. All are very selves-conscious. “What you gonna do about this?” Iron Will asked testily. The archon’s eyes flashed brightly, than dimmed. “Notttt...destroy?” It asked hesitantly, having a lot of trouble managing the concept of one of those words. The trouble word wasn’t ‘destroy’ either. No merely organic throat could roll ‘t’s with such terrifying ability. Iron Will smacked his palm off his forehead. “No! If you’re going to get flak, don’t let them attack! Lesson four: keep control of yourself and your situation! Stand your ground and be assertive and it won’t have to come to blows! Now get this punk to apologize!” The archon drifted over with surprising speed, glowing like the heart of a furiously newborn star. “Youuuu...sorry?” The spectre muttered something. The archon’s burning eyes flared. “Willlll...be,” it moaned with vengeance in its voice. Iron Will stepped between the two, like an ocean that sidles in between two continents racing furiously into collision. Of course, one was a feared energy being, the other a ready package of burnt smears; just add huge doses of raw energy. The minotaur held them apart, and both had to think the same thing: confrontation had to be really, really worth something if it meant traversing the dangerous passes of left arm and right arm. “I’m sorry,” The spectre mumbled. “Good to hear! Both of you, I don’t want anymore of this in my class, got it?” “Yessss...” “Yeah...” Iron Will grinned. “Great! Let’s do some teamwork exercises.” The next hour passed with the awkwardness found by a disorderly and disparate group of misfits nonetheless trying to fit. If Iron Will had to squeeze and crush it in a bit here and there, oh well. There was one incident, again with that problem child zergling, though to its credit it was just too excited for its own good. With the reckless abandon characteristic of the zerg it had squealed and bit into Iron Will’s bicep. He flexed and teeth started breaking out and flying away like rivets from an overfilled pressure canister. Its entire jaw was stretched out into a forlorn expression of woe, and it certainly looked very sorry. Especially for itself. All in all, things were going well. So well, in fact, that something that had no right existing manifested anyway. Raging energy monsters of destruction, eyes aglow with fervent and wild energies should not be able to look bashful. This archon did. Even Iron Will had to stop for a second to regard those wide plasma eyes. It moaned something in a low whisper. “You...you sure that’s a good idea?” Iron Will asked. The archon moaned again. “Well, alright. Remember now, be assertive.” The archon nodded and tried to hide, almost successfully, behind the minotaur. “Class, uh, Mr. Archon is getting into the spirit of things and wants to recite a bit of poetry it seems.” The spectre scoffed, but a stern glare from the trainer put a quick stop to that. Even the zerglings crowded around, their heads clicking and twitching side to side, like birds, with curiosity. An archon clearing its metaphysical throat as it emotionally prepares is one of the weirdest, ethereal, and strangely ephemeral experiences there can be. “Ahhhh...hem,” it began, somewhat meekly. Twoooo...ones Issss...one Ammmm...blue Feelingssss...too. Iron Will’s mouth opened. Iron Will’s mouth closed. Iron Will’s mouth opened and stayed open, but his eyebrows scrunched together and consulted one another. “That was. Something. Yeah.” For lack of a better thing to do, Iron Will clapped. It was a slow clap, but each impact, and they were impacts, resounded like controlled detonations. Each and every one served to brighten up the archon, which when dealing with nigh pure energy beings is a very literal turn of phrase. As the echoes died away, a moment of awkward silence came around unannounced, made itself at home and ate their proverbial food without asking. A mostly toothless jaw very lightly gripped Iron Will’s wrist. “Huh?” he said distractedly. “Kekekeke?” “Um. Yeah. Sure.” There was a whole exchange consisting of ‘k’ and ‘e’, and one zergling made a stern point with “kekekeke” before the now apparent leader rebutted it with a surprisingly concise “kekekeke.” With some prodding, the others stepped forwards and the archon shuffled aside, glowing with delight for itself. The zergling tapped a foot...claw to a jazzy beat. If zerglings had fingers, they’d be snapping theirs in sync. “Ke. Ke. Ke ke ke ke!” Zerglings danced. Any further attempt to detail this incident would be hazardous to one’s sanity. Of the entire experience Iron Will recalled only a vague, dreamlike quality, which was his mind effectively filtering out much of it. For all that, nothing could forget that one zergling that spun about five times on its head, and the one that did ballet spins...well, nothing could be said about that at all. Iron Will hastened through his little open mouth, close mouth ritual, this time adding in an extra repeat or two. The minotaur shuffled to the side of the equally bewildered spectre. “You got something to show too?” “Um, no?” Iron Will nodded briskly. “Good.” A glint of shiny mucus on the horizon, the sort plucked from only the deepest and richest of nostril excursions was a welcome sight. He whirled away and took to the fore again. “Alright, class, this has been, uh, a successful first meeting. I’ve got something here for you all.” His basket he’d set aside before starting, but the little wicker work fell into place in the crook of his mammoth arm like a beloved kitten. Iron Will carefully pulled aside the cloth covering, revealing the prizes within. With awkward ceremony, Iron Will handed out the chocolate chip cookies. The archon looked ready to cry with disbelief, which, considering what it was, could mean plasma tears that really, really stung. The archon held the thing in a tight mesh of energy, over what might be considered its heart. “Forrrr...me? Thankkkk...you. Willlll...treasure.” The archon had no mouth, but its eyes managed to smile just fine as a sudden faint glow encompassed the being. In the pale light the archon faded until it was gone entirely, recalled to whatever place it considered home. The zerglings tore into theirs with gusto, seeming so innocently happy with their treats that Iron Will couldn’t say no to tossing a few extras their way. He held one of the last out to the black armoured spectre. The mask looked to him, than to the cookie. There was a shrug, and an acceptance. With a hiss of gas the mask was taken off and dropped to the ground. The cookie crunched in such a way as to very satisfyingly fill the silence, if one pretended the ravenous pack of happy zerglings right there weren’t. “I’ve been told we’re crazy, us spectres.” “You don’t say.” “I’m not sure if what I saw here proved them right or wrong.” “I hope you’re talking the lessons to heart?” “Yeah...I think I’ll find a quiet world. Peaceful. Innocent. Then not nuke the crap out of it. You’ve got me thinking some strange things. ‘Anger does not dictate my life,’ they always said. It’s almost like that’s starting to make sense now. Huh.” “That’s a good one! I gotta remember that!” The spectre stooped to retrieve the mask and fitted it back into place. “See you around...” with a sudden hiss of electronics, the operative faded from view, and all that was left was a disembodied voice in the still air. “...or not. Thanks for the cookie.” Alone to his thoughts, Iron Will watched as the zerglings fussed like children about clambering up into the ventral sacs of the now arrived overlord. At an insistent grumble, they complied. All of them. All eight. That left no space for payment. The overlord glanced his way and struggled for altitude. “Wait! You owe Iron Will minerals! Get back here!” But it was out of reach, and Iron Will felt forever a-drone, or would, were not for his ever constant and faithful little basket. As is the way of these things, there tends to be one last cookie snuck away somewhere after surely they must all have been taken already. Big blue fingers rooted it out. With a ponderous crunch of chocolate chips, Iron Will thought about things. He took another bite. “Huh.”