Transformice - FROMAGE

Rounds flew by like hours. Some were difficult; some were surprisingly easy. Yet for all of the rounds she played, Prismaz was still very much knew and confused about this new world. Mastering Transformice, she could see, could see, would require much time and dedication and patience.

Whenever she was far too slow to the cheese, she was iced or ridiculed, their jeers and taunts stinging more than any bee or wasp could. It hurt the most, knowing that she was viewed as worthless and undervalued in this world.

Any clumsy mistake was met with backlash and words that lashed like whips. She kept her head down; kept mostly to herself. Shied away from arguments between pros where the mice would turn vicious and ugly to bicker over petty issues. Sometimes the shaman were helpful. Sometimes they did their best, but were incapable of delivering the masses the cheese they needed. Sometimes the shaman did nothing at all, and their still form would dissipate into a mist of bubbles, leaving the mass of mice left behind to groan their frustration and off themselves to quicken the levels. And sometimes- those other times, the shaman was cruel.

This was one of those times.

The first time Prismaz experienced.

Rule number two.

It started off as a normal map- it seemed like a normal map, until the shaman- Leonthexsadistic, absolutely refused to build towards the cheese. It was to be expected- after all, some shamans absolutely refused to help their charges, instead opting to watch as the others eventually screamed out in frustration for them to "do something!"

This however, was a completely different case.

Within seconds their designated shaman was whirling on them, sending the first canon ball flying towards the first group of mice. The loud 'thunk' against flesh as the hit connected and sent the group careening over the edge was audible even to the girl's ears. Her heart dropped and thudded in her ears with sheer terror. She had never seen anything like this before.

"Troll sham!" Someone screeched, before being offed by the absolutely mad Leon, and it wasn't long before he turned on her. She felt sick. Like she could empty all of her stomach contents out in front of her. She turned and ran.

As always, she was slow, and far too inexperienced. The canon collided with her frail little body the moment she fled.

Prismaz felt like the wind was knocked out of her. Like someone had taken a train and slapped her with it. She couldn't breathe, and the overwhelming feeling of fear choked her senses as her limp body skidded to a stop somewhere on the grassy platform. The pain was unbearable; it lashed through her body like fire. She coughed up a crimson fluid- oh goddess, she was bleeding?

She hurt then; felt like her body was shattered and the world was going to end, her dying a long with it. She couldn't do a damn thing when Leon the fucking despicable loomed over her and prepared to summon another canon ball that would put her out of her misery for good. Was this how she was going to die?

Numb. Prismaz couldn't move. She closed her eyes, feeling her breathing slow. Perhaps this was a good thing? She was useless- She couldn't do anything. Goddess knew that the world would be better without another silly, naive little girl thinking she could make a living for herself in the Transformice world. The world, it seemed, was much more crueler than she had expected it to be.

"Goodness gracious you're trying too hard."

A voice- an unfamiliar one. Who were they addressing? The limp Prismaz tilted her head ever so slightly, groaning with the pain of the action, and opened her eyes ever so marginally to see someone speaking to the killer. They had certainly gotten Leon's interest as well, it seemed, for the despicable shaman that had been looming over her moments before was looking back at the speaker with obvious intent.

It was him. The grey little mouse with the alabaster muzzle. The first shaman she'd met- the one with the funny little headphones and baby blue cap. She had met him again. The only difference was that the first time she had met him, he was lax and casual. Now? The gaze of his black eyes were rimmed with a quiet annoyance and disdain. Prismaz felt like something bad was 'bout to go down.

"What did you say?" The ugly little thing called Leon- a disgracious little thing- hardly a mouse of a shaman, turned to the newcomer and bared his yellowing teeth with a fury in his eyes that even Prismaz was afraid of.

"I said you try way to hard. It's kinda annoying, you know. Transformice would be running way smoother if there weren't sorry-assed mice in the system like you."

This newcomer knew where to hit verbally- and he hit hard. She could see it the moment that the sadistic mouse's bared teeth turned into a wide grimace, that the gray savior had struck a sensitive cord. Leonthexsadistic, it seemed, wasn't too appreciative of insults.

In an instant, the troublemaker was dashing forward, summoning a canon ball with excellent efficiency. Prismaz's savior- (was she allowed to even call him that at this point?) was quick, however, far too quick. He was skilled and lithe, and jumped over the summoned object with practiced ease. She could see the white hairs at his belly rustle with the movement and rushing wind as he lept clear over the ball and it went sailing past him, moments where he had been before.

It was a game of cat and mouse. The grey mouse was obviously the cat in this situation, and it was a game he had played many times before. Even Prismaz, watching broken-boned from her side of the map, was awed at the fluid ease and expertise the gray mouse displayed. How did he move in such a way? Could she ever hope to reach his level?

The mysterious stranger was playing Leon like an instrument, leading the killer closer and closer to the map's edge. The troll became frustrated with each canon dodged, and it wasn't long before a wrong movement sent the wicked shaman teetering off into the edge below, the gray savior following in tow for his efforts. It was clear that he had sacrificed himself to bring the troll sham to a shameful death.

The timer hit 0:00.

It came of much a disappointment to the brown-furred mouse later that she had once more forgotten to catch the name of gray mouse in all his bravado. She had only hoped she'd find him again, though, she had given him his own personal nickname for his efforts.

The Indomitable.

Rule number two. Danger comes in many forms.