THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SAXOPHONE [ROUND 1: SPACE JAZZ LOUNGE]

[TimeothyHour]

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The Jazzmaster lifted the Saxophone from his lips. They were wet, tender, like a jazz musician’s lips should be. He looked at the well-dressed man standing in the back of his practice room. He was pretty sure the applause was done ironically. That man really had no sense of style.

“Hey Jazzy,” the applauder said. He made sure his smile was wide enough that the nickname was supposed to irritate him, which it did quite a bit.

“It’s the Jazzmaster. And I don’t really quite appreciate your tone there, Debt Collector.

The Debt Collector smiled even wider. He didn’t care about tone.

“I think you know why I’m here, Jazzy, and with the kind of debts you’ve racked up, I can use whatever tone I want.”

The Jazzmaster grimaced.

“I told them, I just need some time to-”

SLAP

Suddenly, The Jazzmaster was on the ground. Something resembling blood was pouring from his nose like a faucet. The Dept Collector stood over him, his smile so wide it practically broke the laws of physics.

“We’re tired of your waiting, Jazzy. Obviously you won’t ever be able to pay your debts to us.”

The Jazzmaster coughed. Blood was everywhere now. He could feel something like a hand, crushing him, crushing his insides, down, down, down.

“Please,” he gasped, bile spewing everyone. “Don’t kill me. Give me a chance.”

“There are no chances, Jazzy.”

“Please- rught- I’ll do anything! Anything!”

“Anything?” the pressure loosened a bit.

“Yes, goddammit, I will! Just let me live!”

“Well then,” The Debt Collecter said, checking his watch. His smile wasn’t as wide as it was before. “My employers have a special deal for you. A way to pay off your debt.”

“What?”

“A special kind of entertainment. Something they’d enjoy enough to let you live long enough to rack up another long, long list of debts you’ll never be able to pay off.”

“They… want me to play my Saxophone?”

“No, Jazzy, don’t be stupid. No one wants to hear your mediocre music.”

“…Tell me, then.”

The Debt Collector turned, and began to leave the room, his footsteps echoing louder than they should have. Just before reaching the door, he said his words, like a shrugging dismissal at a minor accusation.

“They want you to start the Incomprehensible Saxophone”


WEEEEEEEEEEEELCOOOOOOOOME TO THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SAXOPHONE!!!!! WHAT IS THIS, WELL, IT’S A GRAND BATTLE, OF COURSE! (NON-CANON, THOUGH, SO YEAH) IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THOSE ARE, BASICALLY IT’S A FIGHT TO THE DEATH WITH WORDS! EIGHT WRITERS WILL COMPETE FOR THE TOP SPOT, AND EACH ROUND, THE WORST WRITER WILL BE ELIMINATED UNTIL THERE IS ONLY ONE LEFT. IF THIS EXPLANATION IS CONFUSING, GO CHECK OUT ANOTHER BATTLE! THEY PROBABLY EXPLAINED IT BETTER.

NOW, THERE’S A TWIST TO THIS BATTLE, HOWEVER. EACH CONTESTANT HAS TO BE A MUSICIAN, AND INSTEAD OF A NORMAL BATTLE TO THE DEATH, THEY’RE GONNA BE FOYTIN WITH MUZAK OHHH YEAHHH!!!!! IT’LL BE A MUSICAL SHOWDOWN, YO, LIKE SPACE OR NEW YORK AW YEAHHHH

SO ENTER A PROFILE DUDE, I’M PRETTY CHILL HERE, SO JUST INCLUDE THIS INFORMATION:

Name: The guy’s name, yo

Gender: Your dude a chick?

Race: Aliens play pretty kickin’ music.

Colour: don’t use yellow on brown, that’s my property yo

Musical Talent: This would be like weapons/abilities, but more like instruments and stuff about music. Yeah.

Description: Let me know what this dude looks like, man.

Biography: Every man has a past, lay down the deets here.

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[Ixcalibur]

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Name: Infanta LaLa
Gender: Female
Race: Pop Sensation
Colour: darkmagenta

Musical Talent: The Infanta’s musical talent is limited at best; the main reason for her extraordinary success and legions of devoted fans is that she is weird. Her main talent is that she dresses up in strange clothing and makeup and her songs have messages that despite being bloody obvious are somehow vaguely inspiring if you are weird enough to identify with a woman who sometimes wears dresses made from fresh fish. Her musical talent is limited at best. Her fanbase is informally known as the Little Creatures and she is sometimes known as the Creature Queen.

Description: Infanta LaLa looks pretty different in every music video she appears in. More often than not she sports spiked short platinum blonde hair, more makeup than a typical clown and some kind of outlandish outfit. The Infanta was in the middle of filming the video for her new song ‘No I Won’t Tidy My Room’ when she was taken to be part of the Incomprehensible Saxophone. Consequently her hair is dyed pink and has long pink extensions in it. She has special contact lenses in which cause the eye to look larger than it is by stretching the skin around it. She is wearing eyeliner, pale pink blush and magenta eyeshadow and lipstick. The outfit she is wearing is best described as a pink teddy bear costume if the teddy bear were also a slut. It doesn’t cover much of her skin though that which is revealed has been painted pink to match the costume. She is wearing fake claws and carrying a whip.

She is pretty weird, off in her own world most of the time. She claims a lot of emotion into her songs; they are generally about acceptance of people who are unusual and being who you want to be and all that kind of stuff. She will talk for a long time about that if someone gets her started. She is pretty self-obsessed. She can get pretty up in arms if somehow she manages to get the idea that someone is being treated unfairly. She will probably want to keep her Little Creatures up to date on her adventures via twitter.

Biography: The Infanta, real name Jessica Hall, was originally just a persona that the singer invented in order to become more popular after her first album bombed. It isn’t clear exactly what point she stopped being Jessica Hall and let the persona consume her life entirely, but she has reached the point where she completely believes that her persona is her life. She believes that she was bullied at school for being different and that is what spurred her on to be a star.

[Pick Yer Poison]

Reserved for a profile.

[Anomaly]

Reserved.

[Pick Yer Poison]

Name: Tribalman
Gender: Male
Race: Might be a human, but he only takes his mask off alone, if at all.
Colour: #228822

Musical Talent: He's got the grooves, he's got the moves, he's got the beats and does the feats. A singing voice said to be given to him by the gods and the ability to dance better than anyone in his village earned him widespread fame and recognition, at least within his tribe. His flute music has been known to make women become pregnant with his children just from hearing it.

Description: He's tall, tan, and handsome, and also totally ripped. He doesn't have many articles of clothing, but wears a leather loincloth that never seems to flap up and has similarly-made leather bracelets around his wrists that are padded with fur. His face is covered by a large, ornate tribal jungle mask. The mouth closes to an elongated cone, as if in an exaggerated whistle, and the eye holes have red warpaint underneath them and are topped off by thick eyebrows. He carries a wooden flute that fits perfectly into his mask's mouth hole.

Biography: Tribalman's origin is unknown. According to the members of the tribe he simply appeared in their midst one day, the sound of trumpets announcing his arrival as the avatar of the local musical deity, whose name is not pronounceable in any language, much less that of the natives'. Tribalman himself offered no input on this, but since he has never offered input on anything that didn't take the form of music or interpretive dance, this might not mean as much as it seems.

At any rate, Tribalman spent many happy years being worshiped, playing village-wide concerts, and making women pregnant through the power of music before he was abducted to join this battle. In all that time, he never spoke a word that wasn't part of a song sung in the natives' own incomprehensible language.

[Solaris]

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Name: Princess Giana
Gender: Femme
Race: Mermaid
Colour: #Blue-cyany-this
Musical Talent: She can sing very well, both above and below the sea. She does this to sea creatures that she can obviously speak to all the time and they are always pretty cool with her because she's up front and knowledgeable, and she is fine with listening and responding to your problems and shit. She has powerful lungs... or gills... whatever, the point is she has endurance and presence with her voice. Said voice can move oceans and part seas and all that, and as a gifted daughter of Posiden, she's got some nice water and fish controlling perks.
Description: She's nude, has long brown hair and pupil-less black eyes. She has very sharp teeth and a nice smile. Her face is fair and she has a very nice bone structure. Her nails sort of hinge on being claws. She has a purple fish tail. She's not that strong looking, but she's fairly good at lifting and fist throwing, if she prefers other methods.

Mentally she's a bit of a brat, but not to the point that you hate her. She's got her opinion's and she will stick to them, but she let's others get in words edgewise. She is content with what she has and knows how to make the most of it. Under pressure, she gets a bit more erratic and bitey, but for the most part she's generally straight forward and forthcoming about problems with someone and if they don't stop their shit she will cut them.
Biography: Princess Giana is one of the many daughters of Posiden. Unlike many of the others, she was completley content with living under the ocean as is and not dealing with the idiots on the surface. Day after day her siblings would try to sneak up there and day after day she wouldn't give a damn. Her father was so proud of her subordination, that he gifted her with song! She thought it was shitty gift.

What she didn't know was that with the power of song came a small amount of control as well. As she sung and sung, she learned more and more about her voice, and grew to be able to control water in many shapes and forms. After some time, beings from all over the sea would want to listen to her voice, and she was fine with it. Didn't care that much, but thought it was cool and it let her learn more about her father's subjects and give some interesting topics of debate so she was cool with it. So she continued this pleasant life until she was taken for this thing.

[Sanzh]

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Name: Tiiras
Gender: Male
Race: Ne’krien
Colour: #008B8B
Musical Talent: He really does not have that much musical talent, or even a talent for showmanship. His “chosen” instrument is the keytar, but he has only had around a fourth of an orbital cycle to practice and familiarize himself with the instrument-- it was a very dedicated period, admittedly, with most of the practice being with a firearm pointed in his direction and a few cultists ensuring he did his utmost to master the keytar.

Description: The ne’krien species follows a humanoid bipedal body plan, but has some noticeable differences. Their limbs are extremely gangly, and a ne’krien of the same height as a human will have much more of their height coming from their limbs than their chest and backbone. Their heads are much longer and more angular, have an additional pair of eyes above their primary pair, and a complete absence of hair-- there is a shell-like mantle covering the forehead and wrapping around the back of the head, which tends to grow longer for female ne’krien. The mantle also covers tentacle-like hair, resembling a bandana almost. Their skin tends towards blue and purple hues, typically having splotches and dots and occasional tattoos indicative of familial association. Finally, their toes and fingers resemble tentacles, and while they lack suckers are remarkably flexible. Overall, they look like a hybrid between a human and some variety of cephalopod.

Tiiras is a late adolescent to early-adult ne’krien, who was going to a prestigious academy prior to his first abduction. Physically, he isn’t particularly notable-- he is less fit than average, and walks with a noticeable limp, but other than that does not stand out much. He dresses in a fairly average set of clothing-- pants, some variety of shirt, a hooded jacket-- nothing particularly distinguishable. In addition to his keytar, he has a back-pack he managed to hold onto, full of course notebooks, a few textbooks, and a portable computer. His captors, for whatever reason, decided not to confiscate those items.

Biography: Tiiras was a fairly average ne’krien, going through one of his planet’s academies and studying astro-biology in hopes of securing an acceptable position in the sprawling ne’krien meritocracy. He mostly kept to himself, occasionally venturing out but tending to stick to his studies. Unfortunately for him, a group of musically-inclined cultists captured him and forced him to take up the keytar, claiming that “he was the chosen one to bring our salvation”. Tiiras’ desperate appeals to reason were met with days of forced practice at the end of a flechette launcher.

Just as he was nearing the end of his harrowing escape, having eluded the guards stationed to prevent him from refusing the mantle of the chosen keytarist, Tiiras was abducted again and sent into the Incomprehensible Saxophone.

[kabbage]

Name: Lololorot

Gender: Male

Race: Human (Russian)

Colour: Dark Orange

Musical Talent: His voice is his only instrument, man. his voice can convince anyone to do something for him, sing the greatest and smoothest hits with ease.

Description: Lololort is Trololols twin brother. He looks exactly like Trololol in the video above ^, but his hair is parted the exact opposite direction

Biography: Lololort, unfortunately, is not nearly as popular as his twin brother. He usually only preforms in private clubs and bars. When interviewing anyone about his performance,
they put the biggest smile on their face and say something along the line of, "Man, it was the best musical performance I've ever heard. The only thing you could've done to improve it was take everything but him and his voice away." Despite his success in the club, he has never been offered any musical contracts, because almost no one knows him.

[Pharmacy]

Name: Gray

Gender: Male

Race: Techno Griffin

Colour: #2C75FF

Musical Talent: Gray is a walking DJ (and laser-light show). He has mastery over electronica, the synthesized beats and the auto-tuned croons. His mastery is so honed that he can make both good and bad. Unfortunately, he has the tendency to experiment and his mixes tend to get all over the place in terms of listenability. He’s a great vocalist but it’s hard to hear him sometimes because his natural tone and pitch of his talking goes all over the freaking place.

Description: When a person thinks of “techno griffin,” they probably think of a giant robotic effigy of a monstrous mythological creature that is essentially an eagle with a lion-ass stuck on behind. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Gray only looks vaguely like a robotic griffin. The description of his appearance, although not mind-blowing, is hard to put in words. However, he does have wings, stands upright, has a tail and has two arms and two legs. He is always glowing with weird lights. For some inexplicable reason, he is wearing a motorcycle leather jacket and a pair of pretentious shutter shades.

In terms of personality, Gray is a complete jerk and thinks highly of himself. He likes to think he is the king of music, which is reinforced by his douchebaggish behavior and his extraordinary talent in pulling honeyed tones (and abyssal noise) from his natural affinity of music. Gray is also a bit of a hedonist and enjoys the finest of things. For instance, soy-shot fair trade mocha and acai protein smoothies.

Biography: Gray lives in a land of modern fantasy. As such, the concept of medieval fantasy and the comforts of modern technology have been mashed together. Some of them are smooth transitions – like magic-power cars or potion sodas. Others, not such much. Gray is an example of the later. People do not know whether to like him or to scoff him out. However, one day, the nightclub in which Gray hosts suddenly went

Quiet.

[Eversist]

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Man, I would love to join this but I honestly don't have the free time that this deserves.

So I will instead tell you what an awesome idea this is.

[Wojjan]

Oh HELL yes

[Phynicxs]

Aw... There are already eight wrighters :<

[Agent1022]

Aw... There are already eight wrighters :<

Nobody's stopping you from entering! ^__^

[Solaris]

Reserves are more like an intent to post a profile not so much a reserving of a spot in the game!
Even after eight people go and reserve/post profiles, anyone else can go and enter without much issue if the GM hasn't closed sign ups, which I don't think times has.
And even still, it isn't like this is the only spin off in sign ups.

AND IN ADDITION, Minigrands are always accepting new characters!

[TimeothyHour]

HEY PEOPLE WRITE PROFILES UP OR I'LL SEARCH YOU OUT AND TAKE YOU DOWN.

[TimeothyHour]

WELL SCREW YOU PEOPLE NOT FULFILLING RESERVES, WE'RE DOIN IT MINIGRAND STYLE

PEOPLE WHO MADE IT IN:
IXCALIBER
SANZH
PHARMACY
SOLARIS
PYP

GONNA START IT SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE

[IreneHasCookies]

HI HI HI HI I wanna join.

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Name: Ellen Jinx, and I am not a guy.

Gender: Chick. Or, scientific term, female.

Race: Demigod. My father's Apollo.

Colour: Red

Musical Talent: Vocal chords. Mouth. Singing. But I am pretty awesome on the guitar, bass, keyboard, and drums.

Description: Excuse me? I am a lady. Red hair (Natural- I hate dyes.) and dark green eyes. I have a splatter of freckles across my nose, but that's just it. I'm usually exposed to the sun, so I have a light tan.

Biography: Again, I am a lady. Please be ever so kind not to mistake a girl for a boy, after all I'm pretty sure boys don't have boobs. I was born in London, England, and I have an accent from it too. I was adopted at birth, sad sad, I know, but whatever doesn't really matter to me. I'm a great singer and also play the guitar, bass, drums, and keyboard. A lot of instruments, I know, but they are fun. I'm a fan of indie rock/ indie pop, the sorts.

So, when are we gonna do this thing? (If I get accepted, in which I hope I do!)

[Solaris]

I dunno if Times is going to grab another but if he doesn't Burecratic Mess needs just oooooone moooooore if you want to do a more "traditional" battle like.

[TimeothyHour]

Staccato notes… smooth notes… focus, focus… forte… and then rest!

The Jazzmaster lifted the saxophone from his mouth, and he licked his perfect lips. The Jazziest lips in all of the universe. He tasted their sweat in his mouth, and before him, were five perfect notes. A medley, a melody and countermelody, oh they would be fantastic. This battle, oh he would surely enjoy the artistic endeavors it brought it about. The ultimate collaboration, the ultimate competition. This would be so exciting.

The barrel of The Dept Collector’s gun in his back, however, was quite the distraction. But no, it must disappear, like breaths, like pauses, like wrong notes and bass parts.

“Hello,” He said in a deep baritone, a dramatic falsetto. “I am the Jazzmaster, and welcome to the Incomprehensible Saxophone! What do you think?”

Silence, several whole rests. The duet did not play because he had stolen their instruments.

“Right, right,” he said with a chuckle, glissandos. “You’re immobilized. Anyway, let me say: congratulations! You were notable enough musicians that I’m going to make you fight in a music showdown to the death! Right, yeah, that’s why you’re here.”

He clapped his hands together, base drums played a striking rhythm.

“So, it would be a bad idea to just throw you into one area without introducing you to each other, so, I’m going to be a polite guest, and do the ice-breaking for you! Thank me later.”

The Jazzmaster swiped his hands, and prefabricated laboratory synths and forgettable feel-good melodies played. He tried not to cringe, and an oddly dressed woman came into sight.

“This,” he said with a sigh. “Is Infanta LaLa. She’s a… pop singer. With a propensity for absurd fashion. Really, that’s all you need to know.”

Another shift, and tribal rhythms played, founded deep in life and in dance and simplicity. A loinclothed man with a crazy mask.

“This is Tribalman. He’s a tribal dude, and he’s great and stuff.”

The Jazzmaster put his hand on his forehead like he had a headache, and shook his head back and forth, making a maracas sound.

“I’d do cool musical interludes for all of you but really this is tedious and boring and I have debts to filled. Princess Giana is a singing mermaid princess, Tiiras is The Chosen One of Eighties Rock and also an alien, he has a keytar, that’s pretty great, and Gray is a techno griffin. There. Done. I’ll send you to my round location and please shut up Debt Collector.”

With the sound of slapbass, they suddenly appeared in a… spaceship? A Jazz Lounge? A space jazz lounge?

“Welcome to the Space Jazz Lounge,” The Jazzmaster said. I guess that question is answered. “It is populated by a variety of …interesting… regulars and the odd passerby. And, let’s just say, they’re connoisseurs of music. They’ll get, well, violent if you give anything less than completely amazing. Trust me on this. Anyway, I’ll turn you loose. Go kill each other with music, satisfy the crowd or something.”

And then he was gone.

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Its a Jazz Lounge. In space. There are snooty aliens that will kill you if you're not an amazing musician. Enjoy!

[Pharmacy]

Echoing in the void of cosmos, a soothing voice crooned into the nothingness – which is pretty amazing considering sound does not travel through space. Regardless of the scientific inaccuracies, the jazz lounge existed. However, this was not an ordinary jazz lounge. This was the best jazz lounge in existence, which might be why it was smack dab in the middle of the universe. Despite infinite dimensions, the lounge managed to attract plenty of customers. Some good, some bad. Some familiar, some not. Regardless, this particular place managed to keep a certain kind of sleaziness contained in its atmosphere, complementing the smooth jazz in the background.

Unfortunately, this sleaziness was soon to be wiped away.

With annoyance.

Enter Grey – his hand on his hip and claws on his grip. Like some sort of robotic rooster, the mythological effigy strutted his stuff into the lounge. With a swing of his legs, Grey buckled down, balancing on his toes as he daintily adjusted his shutter shades on his beaked brow. It was almost as if he was trying to whore attention to himself. Of course, not that he needed attention, he was pretty noticeable to being with, judging from the annoyed glances of the customers. After all, it is hard to ignore a winged monstrosity that was flashing enough lights to induce a blind man into an immediate seizure.

However, “pretty noticeable” was not cutting it for Grey the griffin. The Deejay did not care that there was this so-called Encyclopedia Sexy Bone or some sort of elimination thingy or something like that. He was here for the reason and the reason was himself. Grey was the star. Grey was the thing. As the star-thing, he wanted all eyes (or eye-equivalents) on himself and only himself.

He needed to do something.

With a gait that could only resemble a paper bag full of smug, Grey swaggered his way to a nearby table, well, a table-equivalent anyway. As said before, this universal jazz lounge attracted all sorts of customers, but not all of them have anatomies and cultural analogies that could correlate to mundane humans. Despite that, the weird flat object being a table was a pretty good estimate since there were aliens (resembling chewed-up starfish) around it, doing, uh, drinking. I guess, something like that.

Regardless of what xeno-anthropological discovers we could see from these starfish aliens, the deeds they had to share with drinks in their suction cups did not matter. With a single sweep of his arm, Grey cleared their table completely. Liquors, cups, napkins, alien implements – all went crashing onto the smooth jazz floor. Before the aliens could voice a complaint (can starfish aliens even talk?), a gigantic DJ platform appeared out of thin air and fell down, splintering the alien furniture into splinters of synthesized shrapnel.

As the cloud of dust settled, the connoisseurs of music looked on – not out of appreciation of music, however. They were annoyed, really annoyed, especially since this ugly piece of machinery with some feathery metal freak on top, belting on the top of his lungs “GREY G. ON THE HOUSE AND TODAY, I SHALL SHOW MY LATEST MIX. LISTEN.” A dramatic pause. “AND OBSERVE.”

Repeating bass beats started to slam down, as cymbals came tinkling in. Grey wanted to build up the crescendo, lead up the music into the tones with rhythmic beats - softening the listening ears of the creatures for the harsh harmonies of the melodic synthesizer. As the drums kept droning on, Grey did not notice an alien customer going off,

and calling for security.

[Solaris]

"You are shitting me!" If one were to look at Giana, they would see one irritated mermaid. Her face was not necessarily one of anger so much as it was one of irritated annoyance with her beautiful eyebrows only slightly lowered and with her mouth showing the most displeasure. "I can't believe this shit. Don't you know who my fucking father is?"

As she continued to shout obscenities at the idiot who was only passively paying attention, the crowd was growing a bit restless.
"Who's the nude chick on the stage?" whispered a somewhat flustered human.
"Who the hell is Poe Cidar? Is he really that important?" asked a skeptical stick-like creature, his long arms crossed.
Many other comments like those were spread across this specific room of the Space Lounge.

Eventually, the other person on stage was able to muster up the courage to speak to her.
"Uhm, excuse me miss?" Began the grey haired man, dressed in a black tuxedo who was more than slightly perturbed at the sudden appearance of a mermaid on his piano.
"That is Princess Giana to you, land dweller," she scoffed in reply.
"Ah, Princess, uh... if you could take a look around, this is soooort of a classy place, uh, no offence," he added as soon as Giana began to alter her irritation to anger, "It is just that... you are naked and... this room has a dress code." After a few moments of silence, he added "So could you please either get something on or leave?" The pianist desperately hoped for the latter.

Giana, who loved the freedom of being clad how she was and truly saw no need to put on any of the absurd cloth that humans had taken on would have normally scoffed. The human was obviously weak and afraid of her, and she could surely take him out, but still, staring across the room and seeing that everyone else was wearing something and not only that, but something beautiful made her sigh, lose some of the irritation, and in her more normal, and engrossing voice, ask "Please fetch me a dress."

It sent out a chill in everyone's spine, before they were only looking at her, but with those words they had truly observed her. Despite the damp skin, sharp claws, and pointed teeth, they, especially the humans, and especially the aquatic aliens all felt a bit... captured.

After she was clad in a classy red dress, but still unmoving from the top of the piano, Giana had forgotten about most of her irritation and replaced it with bemusement. The pianist played as the various people mingled and she simple laid there, observing the creatures and all of their oddities.

Though it was certainly amazing, she did not think that it was anything close to the majestic sea. She missed it and her comfort of the waves, and hoped that this idiotic excursion would end soon. However, she was content with being here for now, as a slight change of pace never hurt anyone. Overall, she'd say that the lounge was... a six, maybe seven out of ten.

Then, after quite some time, someone found the balls or got drunk enough to ask her if she would sing. The pianist agreed and after a bit of conference between the two, she agreed, only slightly objecting.

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when I get home and can youtube trawl I might add on what song I’d imagine they’d sing

[Pick Yer Poison]

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The doors to one of the jazz lounges burst open and a tall, tan man wearing only a loincloth strode in. A few of the back audience members looked back to see what the commotion was, but most of the attention was still focused on Giana's admittedly lovely singing.

A chubby, out of shape guard named Larry followed him in, panting. "Excuse me, but you're not wearing enough clothing for lounge 2B. You'll have to come with me."

Tribalman's masked face snapped to look at him, the mask cocked at an inquisitive angle. Tribalman stepped uncomfortably close to Larry. The guard was considering going for his gun when Tribalman grabbed one of his hands with his own, wrapped the other around the guard's waste, and proceeded to tango into the middle of jazz lounge 2B. Tango music, but oddly stylized and played with tribal instruments, emanated from the dancing pair, and Larry found himself unable to consider breaking free. It was the first time in twelve years that he had ever felt...wanted. It was a nice feeling. He looked up warmly to Tribalman's mask, and Tribalman looked back at him in much the same way. At least, Larry assumed he was looking at him the same way; the whole mask thing made it a bit hard to tell.

Suddenly Larry came to his senses slightly, and he glanced around them. Tangoing pairs were all around them, all in perfect harmony. Tables had been pushed aside, and people in the audience were swaying with the music. Tribalman twirled him around, and he felt better than he had in years. It was almost like his paunch had vanished, almost like he was suddenly the healthy young man he'd been so long ago.

He looked back at Tribalman and was surprised to find a woman just slightly less obese than him tangoing with him instead of Tribalman. He was about to release himself sadly when all his newfound affection for Tribalman suddenly found itself latching onto her. He was absolutely enchanted. "Hey," he said quietly. "My name's Larry."

"Mine's Susan," she replied softly.

"Want to go out for dinner sometime?"

Tribalman, meanwhile, was skillfully switching dancing partners to get closer to the stage, and to the hot piece of tail he saw singing her siren's song on top of it.

Giana, for her part, hadn't yet realized that most of her audience had been enraptured by another.

Well, most of them except for the pianist. He was absorbed both by the music he was playing, and by the classy lady laying on his piano. He was entertaining a fantasy about inviting her back to his own room. Of course, she said yes. He skipped over the actual mechanics of how he'd get her there, but when they got back in his room, then...heh heh heh.

Tribalman flung himself up on the stage and landed with a thud, making the pianist hit a wrong note. Giana opened her eyes in confusion and saw Tribalman. He stayed in a hunched down position for a few dramatic moments, then slowly, majestically, rose to his full height. Giana's eyes widened as Tribalman began to stomp on the stage, somehow filling the room with the drum beat that only a large, hollow, wooden floor can. Suddenly, his flute was in his hands and raised to his lips, and a hush fell over the crowd.

A tribal backbeat sprung up out of nowhere, drums beating beautifully in a mystical rhythm no one present had ever heard performed so perfectly. Then Tribalman kicked in with his flute, and, unbeknownst to them, most of the women in the audience immediately conceived his children, leading to a very large number of strange alien children all being delivered at approximately the same time in the future.

Giana couldn't see his face, but she felt certain that Tribalman was playing for her. Caught off-guard by the musician's mojo, she found herself unable to take her eyes off of him.

This was evidently clear even from her back, as the pianist noticed and became filled with rage. He purposefully arranged his hands above the piano keys, played a very specific series of chords, and then leaped on top of the piano, picking a surprised Giana up in his arms. Beneath them, the piano expanded and shifted around, wooden plates folding out as it revealed itself to be a musical robot. "Never fear / My lady dear," the pianist sung to Giana. "The mad genius McMoe / Can beat any foe!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Giana exclaimed, but McMoe, caught up in the moment, ignored her, his mech advancing on Tribalman, whose mask looked at it as coldly as it looked at everything else.

"Prepare for trouble / You're about to be rubble! / I'll crush you fast / You've got no chance to last!"

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McMoe's color code is [color=#McMoe]. Yeah. I just did that.

[Ixcalibur]

The lights flickered and died.

The audience caught in the midst of celebration and panic, turned and stared into the blackness.

A thudding upon the heavy metal door.

The sound of screams and of children's laughter.

The pounding, the incessant pounding, only growing stronger and stronger, louder and louder.

A voice echoed across the room.

A husky female voice.

It went:

"LA LA, LA LA LA, LA LA, LA LA LA, LA LA, LA LA LA, WANT YOUR ATTENTION."

Doors opened; a tableaux like a child's party gone wrong revealed.

Bright blues and pinks splattered with dried red blood.

Dolls and toy soldiers, action figures and teddy bears.

Worn and torn, ripped and teared, red eyed and angry, scantily clad and slutty.

At the head Creature Queen in pink and black; A teddy bear with a whip and badly applied lipstick.

Her Little Creatures shuffled out behind her, like zombies their heads lolled, their arms outstretched, their stitching falling apart.

Somehow crazier than a room full of starfish aliens.

Blood red lights illuminated the room.

And LaLa began to sing.

By the end of the first line the aliens had recovered from their initial shock, driven back to sanity by the voice of the Infanta. They were of one mind.

For crimes against music, the Infanta had to die.

[Sanzh]

No no no no no no no--

He had just been escaping from the compound he was detained in, hoping to restart his life away from anything remotely related to music, when he had been relocated across dimensions twice in quick succession and told he was to compete in a musical competition to the death. I’m not even a musician! He thought. He had neither talent nor interest in music. He lacked the ability to summon chorus lines to accompany musical routines or provide a melody that could reshape emotions. His most notable talent, as of late, had been panicking under threat of being shot for not sufficiently practicing.

The alien looked around. He was backstage, and could see several other sapient beings were busy tuning their instruments or practicing. The diversity of species intrigued him-- his studies into astro-biology had not ventured past the study of extraterrestrial microbial life. He turned around and saw a bulky security guard-- some form of tripedal pachyderm.

“Are you prepared to go on stage?” The guard inquired, using slow and measured tones.

“Oh, uh, I’m not really a musician, I just got a little bit lost probably.” Tiiras responded.

“You have an instrument.”

“Uh, yes, I do?”

“I am afraid,” the guard un-holstered a menacing weapon that looked something like a cross between a police baton, a laser rifle, and a chainsaw, “that the penalty for an inability to perform is execution.”

Tiiras decided at that moment to run for it, dashing towards the nearest door. The guard followed in slow but certain pursuit.

[TimeothyHour]

“There aren’t enough.”

The Jazzmaster turned away from the viewing screen, and was immediately met with the wide grin that was The Debt Collector.

“…What?” he said, backing away a bit. The Debt Collector drew nearer with each step, keeping them the same distance away.

“There aren’t enough.”

“Enough… what?”

“Enough contestants you good-for-nothing idiot. Your… creditors want more contestants.”

“More? But-but, there’s FIVE of them!”

“A traditional battle has eight.”

“They didn’t want eight!”

“They didn’t want five, either.”

“What do they want then!?” The Jazzmaster said flinging his arms up into the air angrily. He was getting tired of this, fast.

“Six contestants.”

“Six!” The Jazzmaster said with a defeated tone to his voice. “Is there anyone they want in particular?”

“Why yes, yes there is.”

The Jazzmaster frowned.

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A new contestant that has like zero info about the battle or what is happening has been added to INCSAX! And guess what guys, it’s a musical snake! Authored by our very own Wojjan/Woffs! Woooo!

I’ve added the profile, here, for posterity:

Name: Klikke
Gender: Sexy male
Race: Sexy snakes
Color: [SNAKES] which is [00A0E0] so use that.

Musical talent: Klikke has such a malleable throat that he can produce and mimic almost any sound he can think of, amplify it, distort it, and whatever else a modern-day sampler does with computers. Having hatched near a bustling city, and being generally attracted to the sound, Klikke already has a lot of sounds in his repertoire, and entering IncSax can only make the list grow more.

Description: Klikke isn't just a snake. First of all, it's pretty large, and capable of more advanced thought than just killing. Second, through arduous practice it has managed to raise up straight like his extended cobra family. Third, whenever he hisses, his breath secretes a special cryogenic poison that sends shivers of ice arcing down his slender body in cascading thralls.

Backstory: Not much. Mostly mimicing sounds of prey to get a fix.