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[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*"What do you mean the code's* different?*"*
"I mean, sir, it's different. It's not the update we sent out to your Home BaseⓇ last night."
*"Well, fix it, then."*
"We're unable to work that fast, sir. Right now, all we can advise is to turn off your Roomba and leave it unplugged."
Silence.
"Sir?"
The dial tone rang in Jake's ear.
He sighed. That made twenty-three angry callers in the last hour. One hundred eighteen in the day. And his shift had five hours to go.
Today sucked.
The office was filled with ringing phones and snippets of conversation. The sense of stress and exhaustion. Jake heard his coworkers using their best customer service voices, trying to soothe the surely-angry, the terrified, the clueless. It was a hopeless battle. What do you say to someone who, apparently, now has a non-zero chance of summoning what appears to be a legit *demon* into their home?
How do you deal with the knowledge that your Catholic mother was right all along about demons *in the first place*?
He stood up and looked at his manager. "Going for a smoke."
Shelly only merely rose a hand in acknowledgement, busy with a call herself. "No, sir," she said, "no, sir - we're not sure if *holy water* is going to do anything and we are not recommending you find out-"
The door leading outside shut behind him, cutting off Shelly's call. Sounded like a fun one.
In contrast to the indoors, outside was quiet. Calm. Slow. Trees in the nearby forest creaked the wind. A breeze, cold as hell, made him shiver.
The call center was a remote one, located two counties over from the nearest city with a million plus residents. It was built to service the "higher tier" of customer service calls. Right. More like the customers who knew how to shout the loudest, use the keywords. Or maybe it was all bets off, and corporate had decided everyone would be receiving the same calls until things calmed down.
Ha. Look at him being optimistic.
The snap of his lighter broke through the soft crunching of his feet atop the snow in the side parking lot. The fire gave him a beat of warmth before it went out. The smoke in his lungs made him cough. Always did on the first drag, even years after his first cigarette. The exhale - and the calm that followed - made it worth it.
"They say these will be the death of you."
Jake took another drag - this time, inspiring no cough - and looked left at the voice. A guy was standing about twenty feet away, wearing a black coat and hat. Jake couldn't see his face, but he saw the cigarette in his gloved hand. Must have been one of the higher managers on the second floor; they were the ones who actually had to talk to corporate.
Jake exhaled, chuckled. "Most stuff will these days."
"Even your vacuums," agreed the man.
"God, what a mad world, huh? How real can it really be?"
The guy took a drag of his own cigarette. The glow gave Jake a glimpse of his face - or rather, his eyes. They were locked on Jake. "As real as you and I."
Jake felt a tingle at the base of his neck. Uncertainty creep up his spine. He turned away and took another drag, letting the conversation die. He'd meant to have two smokes. Maybe one would get him by. Something about the guy...
A gust of wind swept over, chilling him further. Definitely one smoke.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
Jake gave a shivering exhale, smoke mixing with the ice of his own breath, and looked back at the guy. "What?"
"The imps, when they appear," the guy said, "do you know what they're saying?"
"Uh, no," he said, slowly. Taking a subtle step back. "No one does."
"On the contrary, *some* do. Most just don't know it yet." The guy took another drag. His eyes were still locked on Jake. "But they will."
Jake dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the snow, then walked away. "Okay. I gotta get back. You have a good one."
**"'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?'"
Jake went limp and collapsed. His body shook, and not from the cold. His heart raced, his head pounding like a jackhammer. Inside, something screamed in terror.
Then it was over. He felt cold. Felt the pain of falling flat on blacktop with just snow covering it. Felt the trickle of blood run down his nose from *hitting* that blacktop. But nothing else.
Save an echo of something... more.
"I apologize," the guy said, suddenly at his side, picking him up. "The first time hearing their speech can have a certain... effect on half-breeds. It's the only way to get your blood to wake up."
"You. I. The fu -"
The guy's words registered.
"What did you just call-"
"Half-breed," the guy repeated, turning Jake to face him. Up close, Jake saw he was wearing something that wasn't black. A white collar, hidden beneath his coat. "Or fallen. Giant. Nephilim. Whatever your preference."
The words - and their meaning - sent his mind tumbling. "No, I... That's not-"
"Possible? Imps are appearing around the country. Who can really say what's possible right now?"
"But I-"
"Never knew your father. Curious, isn't it? A devout Catholic mother and no father."
"Lots of kids have no fathers -"
The guy touched his nose, and Jake felt it *snap* back into place.
It didn't hurt. "Not a lot of children are you, Jacob."
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The corner of the guy's mouth - the only point of his face Jake could see beneath his hat - turned upward in a smile. "Get used to people knowing you, Jacob. Your father is a very well-known by people like me."
"I don't understand..."
"Believe me, you will. At least some of it. But we'll get there. I think, at this point, it's time for me to introduce myself." The guy took off his hat. Jake's mouth dropped.
The guy's face was covered in eyes. Eyes that didn't look human.
"I'm Gabriel," the guy, Gabriel, said, smiling. The gesture reached every last one of his eyes. "And there's *so much* to discuss."
|
There was no warning or whisper that the apocalypse was upon us. And no one from corporate told us it would begin today either when the latest update came out for the roombas and other carpet vacuums. The machines began summoning demons and causing havoc in every city on every continent. The latest update set the vacuums on the top of every government’s list of things to solve. There was discussion on how to rid the world of the problem. Some suggested shutting down the companies, others demanded retribution and compensation for damages and lost loved ones. In the end it was decided to organize responders from corporate that would deal with the Summoned and return the machines to their work because they did a great job of cleaning. That and shareholders and stakeholders didn’t want to loose profits. To this day I’m one of the remaining tech support staff left to handle my region. With more and more machines being activated it’s beginning to feel like the problem won’t ever end. Looks like I’m gonna go grab another cup of coffee.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*The following call has been recorded for quality and training purposes*
\[1\]: "Hello and thank you for calling TechSolutions Unlimited, my name is Jeremy. How may I help you today?"
\[2\]: "Hello Jeremy. I hope you've had a good day. I'm calling because of my Roomba, it's not acting... right."
\[1\]: "We've been getting a lot of calls about that today. Have you tried turning it off and back on again?"
\[2\]: "Yes, yes I have. In fact, I turned it off and it turned itself back on again! It beeped some horrible horrible noises and then resumed to do what it was doing previously."
\[1\]: "And what was it doing previously?"
\[2\]: "Well it was just kind of going in circles, on the floor. Circles and lines. For about an hour or so."
\[2\]: "And so, I checked the app, and I saw what it was drawing."
\[1\]: "And that is?"
\[2\]: "A pentagram."
\[1\]: "Alright, nothing to worry about. Has it moved to stage 2?"
\[2\]: "Stage 2? Is this a regular occurance?"
\[1\]: "Yes, Stage 2, has the machine started expelling blood from its vacuum port. And no, this isn't a regular occurance but from the volume of calls we've recieved today about this very issue we've been able to identify the 5 stages your roomba will go through."
\[2\]: "In that case yes, the roomba is in stage 2. It happened when it turned itself back on."
\[1\]: "Alright, excellent. Now please follow my directions to resolve this issue before Stage 3 begins."
\[1\]: "Do you have anything heavy?"
|
Jim sat back in his surprisingly comfortable chair, looked down at his brand new headset with attached microphone and sighed. He had taken this job after fifteen years working for another call center for one of those 'too big to fail banks'. He was tired of being told "I make more money in one day than you make in an entire year", "a monkey could do your job!", and being asked for the millionth time, "Which one is the 'any' key?". <facepalm>
Jim smiled inwardly, "How hard could tech support for robot vacuums be?" After having helped his former customers successfully navigate from AOL's 'search bar' to the actual 'address bar' he thought this job would be a piece of cake! He never wanted to utter the phrase "Ok, do you see the words 'File, Edit, View, Favorites' at the top left of your screen?" ever again.
He glanced towards the ceiling to watch the LED lights that let everyone know how many agents were logged into their phones, how many were engaged with customers and how many customers were waiting on hold. He nearly choked when he saw every number spin frantically until the LEDs read #,#,#,# across the board. He knew from previous call center experience the 'pound' symbol meant there were more than an hundred customers waiting on hold. He took a gulp of coffee, slid on his headset and switched his status to 'Available'.
Not a split second later he heard the familiar 'Bing' in his earphones and gave the standard greeting, 'Welcome to Roomba tech support, this is Jim, who do I have the pleasure of speaking...' and trailed off as he heard screams in the background.
"Ooohhhmigod, holy shi...you gotta help me!!!' Jim had to turn his headset volume to his lowest setting as the screams, wails and shouting continued.
"This is Jim, what can I...", and was interrupted once more before he could finish a simple sentence. "Shit.", he thought, my if this call is being 'monitored for quality assurance', I'm getting a piss poor score as he hadn't been even able to give the required full greeting.
A low voice interrupted his thoughts. "Please...I was able to escape into the closet and lock the door, you HAVE to help me!!"
"Okay, I'm here to help, tell me what's going on, calmly if at all possible, my name is Jim." He tried to put a smile in his voice to help ease the customer.
"I updated the OS in both my Roomba and my iPhone last nite and woke up to the Roomba spinning, smoking and making Pentagram symbols all over my house and then my iPhone rang and a voice on the other end just said 'ZUUL' and hung up on me! Then one of the Pentagrams burst into flames and this hideous demon looking creature appeared out of nowhere and said the SAME thing to me!! Then the demon killed Gil my goldfish!! He's DEAD Jim!!"
Jim was not easily rattled after talking to banking customers for over a decade but this one made him shiver. He turned to look at the other associates around him and could tell just from the looks on their faces they were having similar conversations. "Okay, Don't Panic. Follow these instructions to the letter. Grab BOTH chargers and NOT the devices. Run to the nearest outlet and plug the iPhone charger in the top outlet. Plug the Roomba charger into the bottom outlet and before you connect it to the iPhone charger, twist both cords into the Infinity symbol, do you know what that looks like??". Jim heard a low sigh from the customer.
"Of course..don't know why I didn't think of that before! Cross the streams!!"
"Thanks for calling Roomba tech support, this has been Jim, is there anything else I can do for you today??"
"No not unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest or teleport me off this rock!" *click*
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*"What do you mean the code's* different?*"*
"I mean, sir, it's different. It's not the update we sent out to your Home BaseⓇ last night."
*"Well, fix it, then."*
"We're unable to work that fast, sir. Right now, all we can advise is to turn off your Roomba and leave it unplugged."
Silence.
"Sir?"
The dial tone rang in Jake's ear.
He sighed. That made twenty-three angry callers in the last hour. One hundred eighteen in the day. And his shift had five hours to go.
Today sucked.
The office was filled with ringing phones and snippets of conversation. The sense of stress and exhaustion. Jake heard his coworkers using their best customer service voices, trying to soothe the surely-angry, the terrified, the clueless. It was a hopeless battle. What do you say to someone who, apparently, now has a non-zero chance of summoning what appears to be a legit *demon* into their home?
How do you deal with the knowledge that your Catholic mother was right all along about demons *in the first place*?
He stood up and looked at his manager. "Going for a smoke."
Shelly only merely rose a hand in acknowledgement, busy with a call herself. "No, sir," she said, "no, sir - we're not sure if *holy water* is going to do anything and we are not recommending you find out-"
The door leading outside shut behind him, cutting off Shelly's call. Sounded like a fun one.
In contrast to the indoors, outside was quiet. Calm. Slow. Trees in the nearby forest creaked the wind. A breeze, cold as hell, made him shiver.
The call center was a remote one, located two counties over from the nearest city with a million plus residents. It was built to service the "higher tier" of customer service calls. Right. More like the customers who knew how to shout the loudest, use the keywords. Or maybe it was all bets off, and corporate had decided everyone would be receiving the same calls until things calmed down.
Ha. Look at him being optimistic.
The snap of his lighter broke through the soft crunching of his feet atop the snow in the side parking lot. The fire gave him a beat of warmth before it went out. The smoke in his lungs made him cough. Always did on the first drag, even years after his first cigarette. The exhale - and the calm that followed - made it worth it.
"They say these will be the death of you."
Jake took another drag - this time, inspiring no cough - and looked left at the voice. A guy was standing about twenty feet away, wearing a black coat and hat. Jake couldn't see his face, but he saw the cigarette in his gloved hand. Must have been one of the higher managers on the second floor; they were the ones who actually had to talk to corporate.
Jake exhaled, chuckled. "Most stuff will these days."
"Even your vacuums," agreed the man.
"God, what a mad world, huh? How real can it really be?"
The guy took a drag of his own cigarette. The glow gave Jake a glimpse of his face - or rather, his eyes. They were locked on Jake. "As real as you and I."
Jake felt a tingle at the base of his neck. Uncertainty creep up his spine. He turned away and took another drag, letting the conversation die. He'd meant to have two smokes. Maybe one would get him by. Something about the guy...
A gust of wind swept over, chilling him further. Definitely one smoke.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
Jake gave a shivering exhale, smoke mixing with the ice of his own breath, and looked back at the guy. "What?"
"The imps, when they appear," the guy said, "do you know what they're saying?"
"Uh, no," he said, slowly. Taking a subtle step back. "No one does."
"On the contrary, *some* do. Most just don't know it yet." The guy took another drag. His eyes were still locked on Jake. "But they will."
Jake dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the snow, then walked away. "Okay. I gotta get back. You have a good one."
**"'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?'"
Jake went limp and collapsed. His body shook, and not from the cold. His heart raced, his head pounding like a jackhammer. Inside, something screamed in terror.
Then it was over. He felt cold. Felt the pain of falling flat on blacktop with just snow covering it. Felt the trickle of blood run down his nose from *hitting* that blacktop. But nothing else.
Save an echo of something... more.
"I apologize," the guy said, suddenly at his side, picking him up. "The first time hearing their speech can have a certain... effect on half-breeds. It's the only way to get your blood to wake up."
"You. I. The fu -"
The guy's words registered.
"What did you just call-"
"Half-breed," the guy repeated, turning Jake to face him. Up close, Jake saw he was wearing something that wasn't black. A white collar, hidden beneath his coat. "Or fallen. Giant. Nephilim. Whatever your preference."
The words - and their meaning - sent his mind tumbling. "No, I... That's not-"
"Possible? Imps are appearing around the country. Who can really say what's possible right now?"
"But I-"
"Never knew your father. Curious, isn't it? A devout Catholic mother and no father."
"Lots of kids have no fathers -"
The guy touched his nose, and Jake felt it *snap* back into place.
It didn't hurt. "Not a lot of children are you, Jacob."
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The corner of the guy's mouth - the only point of his face Jake could see beneath his hat - turned upward in a smile. "Get used to people knowing you, Jacob. Your father is a very well-known by people like me."
"I don't understand..."
"Believe me, you will. At least some of it. But we'll get there. I think, at this point, it's time for me to introduce myself." The guy took off his hat. Jake's mouth dropped.
The guy's face was covered in eyes. Eyes that didn't look human.
"I'm Gabriel," the guy, Gabriel, said, smiling. The gesture reached every last one of his eyes. "And there's *so much* to discuss."
|
Jim sat back in his surprisingly comfortable chair, looked down at his brand new headset with attached microphone and sighed. He had taken this job after fifteen years working for another call center for one of those 'too big to fail banks'. He was tired of being told "I make more money in one day than you make in an entire year", "a monkey could do your job!", and being asked for the millionth time, "Which one is the 'any' key?". <facepalm>
Jim smiled inwardly, "How hard could tech support for robot vacuums be?" After having helped his former customers successfully navigate from AOL's 'search bar' to the actual 'address bar' he thought this job would be a piece of cake! He never wanted to utter the phrase "Ok, do you see the words 'File, Edit, View, Favorites' at the top left of your screen?" ever again.
He glanced towards the ceiling to watch the LED lights that let everyone know how many agents were logged into their phones, how many were engaged with customers and how many customers were waiting on hold. He nearly choked when he saw every number spin frantically until the LEDs read #,#,#,# across the board. He knew from previous call center experience the 'pound' symbol meant there were more than an hundred customers waiting on hold. He took a gulp of coffee, slid on his headset and switched his status to 'Available'.
Not a split second later he heard the familiar 'Bing' in his earphones and gave the standard greeting, 'Welcome to Roomba tech support, this is Jim, who do I have the pleasure of speaking...' and trailed off as he heard screams in the background.
"Ooohhhmigod, holy shi...you gotta help me!!!' Jim had to turn his headset volume to his lowest setting as the screams, wails and shouting continued.
"This is Jim, what can I...", and was interrupted once more before he could finish a simple sentence. "Shit.", he thought, my if this call is being 'monitored for quality assurance', I'm getting a piss poor score as he hadn't been even able to give the required full greeting.
A low voice interrupted his thoughts. "Please...I was able to escape into the closet and lock the door, you HAVE to help me!!"
"Okay, I'm here to help, tell me what's going on, calmly if at all possible, my name is Jim." He tried to put a smile in his voice to help ease the customer.
"I updated the OS in both my Roomba and my iPhone last nite and woke up to the Roomba spinning, smoking and making Pentagram symbols all over my house and then my iPhone rang and a voice on the other end just said 'ZUUL' and hung up on me! Then one of the Pentagrams burst into flames and this hideous demon looking creature appeared out of nowhere and said the SAME thing to me!! Then the demon killed Gil my goldfish!! He's DEAD Jim!!"
Jim was not easily rattled after talking to banking customers for over a decade but this one made him shiver. He turned to look at the other associates around him and could tell just from the looks on their faces they were having similar conversations. "Okay, Don't Panic. Follow these instructions to the letter. Grab BOTH chargers and NOT the devices. Run to the nearest outlet and plug the iPhone charger in the top outlet. Plug the Roomba charger into the bottom outlet and before you connect it to the iPhone charger, twist both cords into the Infinity symbol, do you know what that looks like??". Jim heard a low sigh from the customer.
"Of course..don't know why I didn't think of that before! Cross the streams!!"
"Thanks for calling Roomba tech support, this has been Jim, is there anything else I can do for you today??"
"No not unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest or teleport me off this rock!" *click*
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"I...I don't understand. After the latest software update, the Roomba...it just started tracing out all these weird patterns. Five-pointed stars marked strange sigils that make my eyes bleed if I look at them too long, all surrounded in a ring made up of curves and angles that seem to be somehow alien to our reality. And now...now there are these *things.* I can see them in the shadows, or out of the corner of my eye. When I try to look at them directly, they're...gone. Just gone. Please...just...help me!" the customer stammered, the whole thing coming out as an unbroken stream of consciousness.
I sighed internally, but schooled my voice to its neutral, customer-service-friendly tone.
"Okay, I'm sorry to hear about that, sir. Can I get your serial number, please? It's nine digits, you can find it on a tag on the base of the unit."
"What, listen, I think there are...are *demons* in my house!" the man protested. I could hear hissing and scratching in the backround, and what sounded like the echoes of cruel laughter in the distance. None of that changed the procedure I needed to follow.
"I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I will need the serial number to accurately assess--"
"Alright! Jesus!" he snapped, and I heard angry snarls and shrieks around him. "Shit! I-I mean '*geeze!'* I said 'geeze', I swear!" I heard a series of rattles and a clunking sound as he juggled his phone and the Roomba, and flipped it over to look at the label. "It says 9B764530, okay? Now help me, please!"
"I'm sorry sir," I said, keeping my eyeroll out of my voice. "As I said, we're looking for a *nine* digit number -- it will be all numerical, and start with a 4, 5, or 6."
"Shit!" he hissed, almost to the point of tears. "Ah...uh...okay! 453821406! Is that it? Please tell me that's it?"
"Thank you very much, sir, one moment." I replied, as I input the number into my computer. "Alright, I see your unit is still under warranty. Before we talk about service options I am going to need to get some basic troubleshooting out of the way."
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" he screamed. "I can feel them! They're clawing at my SOUL!"
"Sir," I replied gently. "I understand this must be frustrating, but we *are* going to need to walk through these steps." Those we-words are important -- it lets the customer know that you're invested in helping them and working together, and not just telling them what to do.
"I'm going to die. I'm going to die, and get dragged to hell forever." he sobbed.
"Okay," I continued, as if I hadn't heard -- being empathic is good, but you never want to engage with a customer's melodrama, it's rarely productive, and it'll kill your average handle time. "So first off, we need to go ahead and power cycle the unit."
"Do what?" he said, frantically and I heard him shuffling across the floor, as something with clawed feet skittered close by. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means we turn it off, wait a few seconds, and then we turn it back on." I replied, patiently.
"WHAT!" he exploded. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
"Yes sir," I confirmed, gently. "Just go ahead and press the 'power' button for--"
"NO!" he yelled, and I deftly lowered the volume on my headset. "I...I already tried that!"
I rolled my eyes again, and silently mimed jerking off. *Sure you did.*
"I see," I said to my lying-ass customer, patiently. "Well, just to be thorough, we're going to need to power cycle just *one more time."*
"Oh shit," he blubbered, as I heard him fumbling with the Roomba. "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm--"
There was a beep as he held the button down, and the Roomba reset. The scratching and growling and hissing in the background abruptly stopped. The customer was silent.
"How are we doing, sir?" I asked, cheerfully, already knowing the answer.
"It...um..." he began, hesitantly. "It seems to have...stopped. All of it. The lights are back on, I don't hear any noise, no blood running down the walls..."
"Great!" I responded. "So, is there anything else I can help you with, today?"
"I...well...no, I guess not." he replied, still clearly in shock.
"Allllright, well thank you for calling iRobot Roomba Customer Care, and you have a good day, sir." I said, reading my closing script with my usual little flourish.
"Oh...okay. Th-thanks." he mumbled, and hung up.
I sighed with relief, and then reluctantly pressed the button to put myself back into the queue. My phone rang immediately, and I sighed.
Frickin' software updates.
|
The room was fugged with the smells of stale coffee, overtaxed antiperspirant, and that odd scent you get in any room filled with people whose jobs are on the line.
Then again, that might be just the overtaxed antiperspirant, thought Bob, as he listened to Abby finish up her summary of the ticket notes.
"...with three fatalities. The grandma was bad, but what happened to the cat was caught on the family's security system, and they dropped a link to it in the tweet, hashtagged FurForFluffy. I can't tell you WHY that specific tweet out of all the others, including the ones also with video, when TikTok viral, but I can tell you that the Board is not happy. Heads are going to roll on this one, that's a promise. The question is, is if it's going to be termination by pink slip, or termination by being assigned to the port warehouse mitigation team."
"That's not funny, Abby," said Charles. "I know...knew some of those people. I worked at the port before I got the internship here."
Abby fixed him with a glare. "It's not meant to be funny. It's literally what's happened to the Senior Apps team. The Help Desk's still tasked with helping out the CSAs. QA's supposed to be re-tasked by the end of the week."
Dave chimed in with a grumpy tone, "I still don't understand why they don't just run all of them through the shredder. Fargo the entire lot."
Abby's reply was prompt, "Because with global supply chains being what they are, that warehouse is the entirety of the North American stock available for sale, and the company NEEDS those sales, Dave."
"After all the news clips? All the videos? Who'd buy one now," asked Charles in a pointed tone.
Abby sighed, "People will. People always will. The rollback to version six alpha fifty-seven works..."
"Provided you can get to the USB port, and the motors aren't gummed up with, I dunno, eyeballs, Abby," sniped Dave.
"...works, DAVE. It WORKS. That means they go back to normal. As for sales, Charles, Marketing's push that it's all an IoT hack, and the roll-back restores functionality alongside with closing the hole, is working for the time being. But that brings us back to the current problem. It works on the older models, not the new run stored in the Port warehouses. So, that brings us back here. Let's go around the table. Dave, you find anything on the decompiled kernel?"
"No, as much as I can figure out. You know that the codes a mish-mash of two different OSes drivers, all hacked to run on a third. And reparsing it from assembler has been complicated by Dev's swap to that hokey one-off language. Whatever possessed them to think THAT was a good idea is beyond me."
Charles cut in, "Look, it was meant to be symbolic. Remember, we are rolling out version seven third quarter, Dave. Marketing demanded the refactoring because of..." He paused long enough to wave his hands about in frustration. "...the...nonsense that's going." He glanced about the room. "No offense to believers intended. But they wanted it. It's bullshit, but," and here he speared Abby with a look, "it was signed off on by management. Dev in not falling on its sword for that. Anyways, look, I know you think Incantulata's a joke, but it's the current favoured replacement for Perl, and you know it. Fuck, anyone in the Western world and most of the Middle East can learn it for the obvious reason that it's Latinesque."
Bob coughed, and the room's attention swapped to him. "That's...actually what QA thinks to be the problem."
Charles utters a flat, "What?"
Bob nodded and continued. "So...here's the thing. you know about everything that's going on in the world. The uptick in mania, the sightings, the..."
"Charlantry?" interjected Charles.
"Charles," Abby said in a warning tone, "I'm NOT having HR in on this. Get me?"
"...perception that something spiritual is happening worldwide," said Bob. "QAs...opinion on the thing is that there's something to it, and the issue with the product's going to be just the tip of the iceberg."
"QA's opinion is that the Second Coming is happening," Charles said in a disbelieving tone.
"No, QA's opinion is NOT that, CHUCK." Bob a moment of relish in using Charles rather-hated sobriquet, before continuing in a far more normal tone. "QAs been testing a bunch of things. With a few code tweeks, we were able to replicate the, ah, "pattern of behaviour" of the patched model in all models, and..."
The room broke out in babble all at once. "Replicated the effect, how?!" "Since when does QA handle decompiles let alone tool access?" "All models, Bob? ALL MODELS?"
Bob had feared this, so had taken of a shoe in preparation. The sight of a professionally garbed banging it against a table quickly ushered in a lull. "As I was saying, yes, replicated in all models. But only if we upgraded the firmware using an Incantulata-built image. ONLY that. If you do it with Perl, it fails. Plus, if you run a Perl-built image through a Incantulata converter, it fails too. You have to hand-code the swap. Well, cut-paste-and-tweek, but the difference stands."
Dave cut in at that point, "That's ridiculous. Software doesn't work that way. Coding doesn't work that way. Plus, you said the entire code base has to be hand-coded in Incantulata for that to work. It's been three days. There's NO way your QA group rewrote twelve gigs of operating system, drivers and apps in three days."
"That's because we didn't," said Bob, looking from Dave to Charles. "We took the version seven image off the test server, and coded in the most recent patch's changes, and used that."
"You WHAT?" yelled Charles. "How? You don't have the access rights, hell, you have NO rights to that. What the fuck? Abby, you hearing this?"
Abby opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the shoe came down. *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*.
"As I was saying...Charles," snarled Bob staring Abby down in the process, "we took the image, applied the changes, and was able to replicable the pattern of behaviour on all models that the image was ported to." Bob cleared this throat, then continued in a more normal tone. "We...think we worked out the issue, but in doing so, we found a more serious one. Before I go into that, though, Abby, I need to know something. The Board's backing Marketing on all this version seven rigmarole, right? There's no going back from it? Simple answer, please."
Abby replied, "The Board isn't going to back off of it. Marketing's...overtaxed the budget. You didn't hear hat from me, any of you."
"It won't matter, Abby, if what we've found is to be true. After we replicated the pattern of behaviour, the QA team started to play around with it. The patch, Incantulata, you know, free scripting stuff up. We, ah, we able to get other, err, effects to happen as well. Things that could be described as...miraculous, I suppose "
"This is nonsense," said Charles, and pushed his seat back from the table, "I'm leaving. I've got better things to do than listen to this. Standing up, he glared at Abby, "Dev's NOT taking the fall for this, Abby." Switching his gaze to Dave, he said, "Have fun at the warehouse. Say hi to the rest of the Apps team. As for you, Bob, you can..." Charles voice dropped off as he saw the drawn handgun.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*"What do you mean the code's* different?*"*
"I mean, sir, it's different. It's not the update we sent out to your Home BaseⓇ last night."
*"Well, fix it, then."*
"We're unable to work that fast, sir. Right now, all we can advise is to turn off your Roomba and leave it unplugged."
Silence.
"Sir?"
The dial tone rang in Jake's ear.
He sighed. That made twenty-three angry callers in the last hour. One hundred eighteen in the day. And his shift had five hours to go.
Today sucked.
The office was filled with ringing phones and snippets of conversation. The sense of stress and exhaustion. Jake heard his coworkers using their best customer service voices, trying to soothe the surely-angry, the terrified, the clueless. It was a hopeless battle. What do you say to someone who, apparently, now has a non-zero chance of summoning what appears to be a legit *demon* into their home?
How do you deal with the knowledge that your Catholic mother was right all along about demons *in the first place*?
He stood up and looked at his manager. "Going for a smoke."
Shelly only merely rose a hand in acknowledgement, busy with a call herself. "No, sir," she said, "no, sir - we're not sure if *holy water* is going to do anything and we are not recommending you find out-"
The door leading outside shut behind him, cutting off Shelly's call. Sounded like a fun one.
In contrast to the indoors, outside was quiet. Calm. Slow. Trees in the nearby forest creaked the wind. A breeze, cold as hell, made him shiver.
The call center was a remote one, located two counties over from the nearest city with a million plus residents. It was built to service the "higher tier" of customer service calls. Right. More like the customers who knew how to shout the loudest, use the keywords. Or maybe it was all bets off, and corporate had decided everyone would be receiving the same calls until things calmed down.
Ha. Look at him being optimistic.
The snap of his lighter broke through the soft crunching of his feet atop the snow in the side parking lot. The fire gave him a beat of warmth before it went out. The smoke in his lungs made him cough. Always did on the first drag, even years after his first cigarette. The exhale - and the calm that followed - made it worth it.
"They say these will be the death of you."
Jake took another drag - this time, inspiring no cough - and looked left at the voice. A guy was standing about twenty feet away, wearing a black coat and hat. Jake couldn't see his face, but he saw the cigarette in his gloved hand. Must have been one of the higher managers on the second floor; they were the ones who actually had to talk to corporate.
Jake exhaled, chuckled. "Most stuff will these days."
"Even your vacuums," agreed the man.
"God, what a mad world, huh? How real can it really be?"
The guy took a drag of his own cigarette. The glow gave Jake a glimpse of his face - or rather, his eyes. They were locked on Jake. "As real as you and I."
Jake felt a tingle at the base of his neck. Uncertainty creep up his spine. He turned away and took another drag, letting the conversation die. He'd meant to have two smokes. Maybe one would get him by. Something about the guy...
A gust of wind swept over, chilling him further. Definitely one smoke.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
Jake gave a shivering exhale, smoke mixing with the ice of his own breath, and looked back at the guy. "What?"
"The imps, when they appear," the guy said, "do you know what they're saying?"
"Uh, no," he said, slowly. Taking a subtle step back. "No one does."
"On the contrary, *some* do. Most just don't know it yet." The guy took another drag. His eyes were still locked on Jake. "But they will."
Jake dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the snow, then walked away. "Okay. I gotta get back. You have a good one."
**"'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?'"
Jake went limp and collapsed. His body shook, and not from the cold. His heart raced, his head pounding like a jackhammer. Inside, something screamed in terror.
Then it was over. He felt cold. Felt the pain of falling flat on blacktop with just snow covering it. Felt the trickle of blood run down his nose from *hitting* that blacktop. But nothing else.
Save an echo of something... more.
"I apologize," the guy said, suddenly at his side, picking him up. "The first time hearing their speech can have a certain... effect on half-breeds. It's the only way to get your blood to wake up."
"You. I. The fu -"
The guy's words registered.
"What did you just call-"
"Half-breed," the guy repeated, turning Jake to face him. Up close, Jake saw he was wearing something that wasn't black. A white collar, hidden beneath his coat. "Or fallen. Giant. Nephilim. Whatever your preference."
The words - and their meaning - sent his mind tumbling. "No, I... That's not-"
"Possible? Imps are appearing around the country. Who can really say what's possible right now?"
"But I-"
"Never knew your father. Curious, isn't it? A devout Catholic mother and no father."
"Lots of kids have no fathers -"
The guy touched his nose, and Jake felt it *snap* back into place.
It didn't hurt. "Not a lot of children are you, Jacob."
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The corner of the guy's mouth - the only point of his face Jake could see beneath his hat - turned upward in a smile. "Get used to people knowing you, Jacob. Your father is a very well-known by people like me."
"I don't understand..."
"Believe me, you will. At least some of it. But we'll get there. I think, at this point, it's time for me to introduce myself." The guy took off his hat. Jake's mouth dropped.
The guy's face was covered in eyes. Eyes that didn't look human.
"I'm Gabriel," the guy, Gabriel, said, smiling. The gesture reached every last one of his eyes. "And there's *so much* to discuss."
|
The room was fugged with the smells of stale coffee, overtaxed antiperspirant, and that odd scent you get in any room filled with people whose jobs are on the line.
Then again, that might be just the overtaxed antiperspirant, thought Bob, as he listened to Abby finish up her summary of the ticket notes.
"...with three fatalities. The grandma was bad, but what happened to the cat was caught on the family's security system, and they dropped a link to it in the tweet, hashtagged FurForFluffy. I can't tell you WHY that specific tweet out of all the others, including the ones also with video, when TikTok viral, but I can tell you that the Board is not happy. Heads are going to roll on this one, that's a promise. The question is, is if it's going to be termination by pink slip, or termination by being assigned to the port warehouse mitigation team."
"That's not funny, Abby," said Charles. "I know...knew some of those people. I worked at the port before I got the internship here."
Abby fixed him with a glare. "It's not meant to be funny. It's literally what's happened to the Senior Apps team. The Help Desk's still tasked with helping out the CSAs. QA's supposed to be re-tasked by the end of the week."
Dave chimed in with a grumpy tone, "I still don't understand why they don't just run all of them through the shredder. Fargo the entire lot."
Abby's reply was prompt, "Because with global supply chains being what they are, that warehouse is the entirety of the North American stock available for sale, and the company NEEDS those sales, Dave."
"After all the news clips? All the videos? Who'd buy one now," asked Charles in a pointed tone.
Abby sighed, "People will. People always will. The rollback to version six alpha fifty-seven works..."
"Provided you can get to the USB port, and the motors aren't gummed up with, I dunno, eyeballs, Abby," sniped Dave.
"...works, DAVE. It WORKS. That means they go back to normal. As for sales, Charles, Marketing's push that it's all an IoT hack, and the roll-back restores functionality alongside with closing the hole, is working for the time being. But that brings us back to the current problem. It works on the older models, not the new run stored in the Port warehouses. So, that brings us back here. Let's go around the table. Dave, you find anything on the decompiled kernel?"
"No, as much as I can figure out. You know that the codes a mish-mash of two different OSes drivers, all hacked to run on a third. And reparsing it from assembler has been complicated by Dev's swap to that hokey one-off language. Whatever possessed them to think THAT was a good idea is beyond me."
Charles cut in, "Look, it was meant to be symbolic. Remember, we are rolling out version seven third quarter, Dave. Marketing demanded the refactoring because of..." He paused long enough to wave his hands about in frustration. "...the...nonsense that's going." He glanced about the room. "No offense to believers intended. But they wanted it. It's bullshit, but," and here he speared Abby with a look, "it was signed off on by management. Dev in not falling on its sword for that. Anyways, look, I know you think Incantulata's a joke, but it's the current favoured replacement for Perl, and you know it. Fuck, anyone in the Western world and most of the Middle East can learn it for the obvious reason that it's Latinesque."
Bob coughed, and the room's attention swapped to him. "That's...actually what QA thinks to be the problem."
Charles utters a flat, "What?"
Bob nodded and continued. "So...here's the thing. you know about everything that's going on in the world. The uptick in mania, the sightings, the..."
"Charlantry?" interjected Charles.
"Charles," Abby said in a warning tone, "I'm NOT having HR in on this. Get me?"
"...perception that something spiritual is happening worldwide," said Bob. "QAs...opinion on the thing is that there's something to it, and the issue with the product's going to be just the tip of the iceberg."
"QA's opinion is that the Second Coming is happening," Charles said in a disbelieving tone.
"No, QA's opinion is NOT that, CHUCK." Bob a moment of relish in using Charles rather-hated sobriquet, before continuing in a far more normal tone. "QAs been testing a bunch of things. With a few code tweeks, we were able to replicate the, ah, "pattern of behaviour" of the patched model in all models, and..."
The room broke out in babble all at once. "Replicated the effect, how?!" "Since when does QA handle decompiles let alone tool access?" "All models, Bob? ALL MODELS?"
Bob had feared this, so had taken of a shoe in preparation. The sight of a professionally garbed banging it against a table quickly ushered in a lull. "As I was saying, yes, replicated in all models. But only if we upgraded the firmware using an Incantulata-built image. ONLY that. If you do it with Perl, it fails. Plus, if you run a Perl-built image through a Incantulata converter, it fails too. You have to hand-code the swap. Well, cut-paste-and-tweek, but the difference stands."
Dave cut in at that point, "That's ridiculous. Software doesn't work that way. Coding doesn't work that way. Plus, you said the entire code base has to be hand-coded in Incantulata for that to work. It's been three days. There's NO way your QA group rewrote twelve gigs of operating system, drivers and apps in three days."
"That's because we didn't," said Bob, looking from Dave to Charles. "We took the version seven image off the test server, and coded in the most recent patch's changes, and used that."
"You WHAT?" yelled Charles. "How? You don't have the access rights, hell, you have NO rights to that. What the fuck? Abby, you hearing this?"
Abby opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the shoe came down. *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*.
"As I was saying...Charles," snarled Bob staring Abby down in the process, "we took the image, applied the changes, and was able to replicable the pattern of behaviour on all models that the image was ported to." Bob cleared this throat, then continued in a more normal tone. "We...think we worked out the issue, but in doing so, we found a more serious one. Before I go into that, though, Abby, I need to know something. The Board's backing Marketing on all this version seven rigmarole, right? There's no going back from it? Simple answer, please."
Abby replied, "The Board isn't going to back off of it. Marketing's...overtaxed the budget. You didn't hear hat from me, any of you."
"It won't matter, Abby, if what we've found is to be true. After we replicated the pattern of behaviour, the QA team started to play around with it. The patch, Incantulata, you know, free scripting stuff up. We, ah, we able to get other, err, effects to happen as well. Things that could be described as...miraculous, I suppose "
"This is nonsense," said Charles, and pushed his seat back from the table, "I'm leaving. I've got better things to do than listen to this. Standing up, he glared at Abby, "Dev's NOT taking the fall for this, Abby." Switching his gaze to Dave, he said, "Have fun at the warehouse. Say hi to the rest of the Apps team. As for you, Bob, you can..." Charles voice dropped off as he saw the drawn handgun.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*"What do you mean the code's* different?*"*
"I mean, sir, it's different. It's not the update we sent out to your Home BaseⓇ last night."
*"Well, fix it, then."*
"We're unable to work that fast, sir. Right now, all we can advise is to turn off your Roomba and leave it unplugged."
Silence.
"Sir?"
The dial tone rang in Jake's ear.
He sighed. That made twenty-three angry callers in the last hour. One hundred eighteen in the day. And his shift had five hours to go.
Today sucked.
The office was filled with ringing phones and snippets of conversation. The sense of stress and exhaustion. Jake heard his coworkers using their best customer service voices, trying to soothe the surely-angry, the terrified, the clueless. It was a hopeless battle. What do you say to someone who, apparently, now has a non-zero chance of summoning what appears to be a legit *demon* into their home?
How do you deal with the knowledge that your Catholic mother was right all along about demons *in the first place*?
He stood up and looked at his manager. "Going for a smoke."
Shelly only merely rose a hand in acknowledgement, busy with a call herself. "No, sir," she said, "no, sir - we're not sure if *holy water* is going to do anything and we are not recommending you find out-"
The door leading outside shut behind him, cutting off Shelly's call. Sounded like a fun one.
In contrast to the indoors, outside was quiet. Calm. Slow. Trees in the nearby forest creaked the wind. A breeze, cold as hell, made him shiver.
The call center was a remote one, located two counties over from the nearest city with a million plus residents. It was built to service the "higher tier" of customer service calls. Right. More like the customers who knew how to shout the loudest, use the keywords. Or maybe it was all bets off, and corporate had decided everyone would be receiving the same calls until things calmed down.
Ha. Look at him being optimistic.
The snap of his lighter broke through the soft crunching of his feet atop the snow in the side parking lot. The fire gave him a beat of warmth before it went out. The smoke in his lungs made him cough. Always did on the first drag, even years after his first cigarette. The exhale - and the calm that followed - made it worth it.
"They say these will be the death of you."
Jake took another drag - this time, inspiring no cough - and looked left at the voice. A guy was standing about twenty feet away, wearing a black coat and hat. Jake couldn't see his face, but he saw the cigarette in his gloved hand. Must have been one of the higher managers on the second floor; they were the ones who actually had to talk to corporate.
Jake exhaled, chuckled. "Most stuff will these days."
"Even your vacuums," agreed the man.
"God, what a mad world, huh? How real can it really be?"
The guy took a drag of his own cigarette. The glow gave Jake a glimpse of his face - or rather, his eyes. They were locked on Jake. "As real as you and I."
Jake felt a tingle at the base of his neck. Uncertainty creep up his spine. He turned away and took another drag, letting the conversation die. He'd meant to have two smokes. Maybe one would get him by. Something about the guy...
A gust of wind swept over, chilling him further. Definitely one smoke.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
Jake gave a shivering exhale, smoke mixing with the ice of his own breath, and looked back at the guy. "What?"
"The imps, when they appear," the guy said, "do you know what they're saying?"
"Uh, no," he said, slowly. Taking a subtle step back. "No one does."
"On the contrary, *some* do. Most just don't know it yet." The guy took another drag. His eyes were still locked on Jake. "But they will."
Jake dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the snow, then walked away. "Okay. I gotta get back. You have a good one."
**"'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?'"
Jake went limp and collapsed. His body shook, and not from the cold. His heart raced, his head pounding like a jackhammer. Inside, something screamed in terror.
Then it was over. He felt cold. Felt the pain of falling flat on blacktop with just snow covering it. Felt the trickle of blood run down his nose from *hitting* that blacktop. But nothing else.
Save an echo of something... more.
"I apologize," the guy said, suddenly at his side, picking him up. "The first time hearing their speech can have a certain... effect on half-breeds. It's the only way to get your blood to wake up."
"You. I. The fu -"
The guy's words registered.
"What did you just call-"
"Half-breed," the guy repeated, turning Jake to face him. Up close, Jake saw he was wearing something that wasn't black. A white collar, hidden beneath his coat. "Or fallen. Giant. Nephilim. Whatever your preference."
The words - and their meaning - sent his mind tumbling. "No, I... That's not-"
"Possible? Imps are appearing around the country. Who can really say what's possible right now?"
"But I-"
"Never knew your father. Curious, isn't it? A devout Catholic mother and no father."
"Lots of kids have no fathers -"
The guy touched his nose, and Jake felt it *snap* back into place.
It didn't hurt. "Not a lot of children are you, Jacob."
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The corner of the guy's mouth - the only point of his face Jake could see beneath his hat - turned upward in a smile. "Get used to people knowing you, Jacob. Your father is a very well-known by people like me."
"I don't understand..."
"Believe me, you will. At least some of it. But we'll get there. I think, at this point, it's time for me to introduce myself." The guy took off his hat. Jake's mouth dropped.
The guy's face was covered in eyes. Eyes that didn't look human.
"I'm Gabriel," the guy, Gabriel, said, smiling. The gesture reached every last one of his eyes. "And there's *so much* to discuss."
|
*The following call has been recorded for quality and training purposes*
\[1\]: "Hello and thank you for calling TechSolutions Unlimited, my name is Jeremy. How may I help you today?"
\[2\]: "Hello Jeremy. I hope you've had a good day. I'm calling because of my Roomba, it's not acting... right."
\[1\]: "We've been getting a lot of calls about that today. Have you tried turning it off and back on again?"
\[2\]: "Yes, yes I have. In fact, I turned it off and it turned itself back on again! It beeped some horrible horrible noises and then resumed to do what it was doing previously."
\[1\]: "And what was it doing previously?"
\[2\]: "Well it was just kind of going in circles, on the floor. Circles and lines. For about an hour or so."
\[2\]: "And so, I checked the app, and I saw what it was drawing."
\[1\]: "And that is?"
\[2\]: "A pentagram."
\[1\]: "Alright, nothing to worry about. Has it moved to stage 2?"
\[2\]: "Stage 2? Is this a regular occurance?"
\[1\]: "Yes, Stage 2, has the machine started expelling blood from its vacuum port. And no, this isn't a regular occurance but from the volume of calls we've recieved today about this very issue we've been able to identify the 5 stages your roomba will go through."
\[2\]: "In that case yes, the roomba is in stage 2. It happened when it turned itself back on."
\[1\]: "Alright, excellent. Now please follow my directions to resolve this issue before Stage 3 begins."
\[1\]: "Do you have anything heavy?"
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
*"What do you mean the code's* different?*"*
"I mean, sir, it's different. It's not the update we sent out to your Home BaseⓇ last night."
*"Well, fix it, then."*
"We're unable to work that fast, sir. Right now, all we can advise is to turn off your Roomba and leave it unplugged."
Silence.
"Sir?"
The dial tone rang in Jake's ear.
He sighed. That made twenty-three angry callers in the last hour. One hundred eighteen in the day. And his shift had five hours to go.
Today sucked.
The office was filled with ringing phones and snippets of conversation. The sense of stress and exhaustion. Jake heard his coworkers using their best customer service voices, trying to soothe the surely-angry, the terrified, the clueless. It was a hopeless battle. What do you say to someone who, apparently, now has a non-zero chance of summoning what appears to be a legit *demon* into their home?
How do you deal with the knowledge that your Catholic mother was right all along about demons *in the first place*?
He stood up and looked at his manager. "Going for a smoke."
Shelly only merely rose a hand in acknowledgement, busy with a call herself. "No, sir," she said, "no, sir - we're not sure if *holy water* is going to do anything and we are not recommending you find out-"
The door leading outside shut behind him, cutting off Shelly's call. Sounded like a fun one.
In contrast to the indoors, outside was quiet. Calm. Slow. Trees in the nearby forest creaked the wind. A breeze, cold as hell, made him shiver.
The call center was a remote one, located two counties over from the nearest city with a million plus residents. It was built to service the "higher tier" of customer service calls. Right. More like the customers who knew how to shout the loudest, use the keywords. Or maybe it was all bets off, and corporate had decided everyone would be receiving the same calls until things calmed down.
Ha. Look at him being optimistic.
The snap of his lighter broke through the soft crunching of his feet atop the snow in the side parking lot. The fire gave him a beat of warmth before it went out. The smoke in his lungs made him cough. Always did on the first drag, even years after his first cigarette. The exhale - and the calm that followed - made it worth it.
"They say these will be the death of you."
Jake took another drag - this time, inspiring no cough - and looked left at the voice. A guy was standing about twenty feet away, wearing a black coat and hat. Jake couldn't see his face, but he saw the cigarette in his gloved hand. Must have been one of the higher managers on the second floor; they were the ones who actually had to talk to corporate.
Jake exhaled, chuckled. "Most stuff will these days."
"Even your vacuums," agreed the man.
"God, what a mad world, huh? How real can it really be?"
The guy took a drag of his own cigarette. The glow gave Jake a glimpse of his face - or rather, his eyes. They were locked on Jake. "As real as you and I."
Jake felt a tingle at the base of his neck. Uncertainty creep up his spine. He turned away and took another drag, letting the conversation die. He'd meant to have two smokes. Maybe one would get him by. Something about the guy...
A gust of wind swept over, chilling him further. Definitely one smoke.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
Jake gave a shivering exhale, smoke mixing with the ice of his own breath, and looked back at the guy. "What?"
"The imps, when they appear," the guy said, "do you know what they're saying?"
"Uh, no," he said, slowly. Taking a subtle step back. "No one does."
"On the contrary, *some* do. Most just don't know it yet." The guy took another drag. His eyes were still locked on Jake. "But they will."
Jake dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the snow, then walked away. "Okay. I gotta get back. You have a good one."
**"'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?'"
Jake went limp and collapsed. His body shook, and not from the cold. His heart raced, his head pounding like a jackhammer. Inside, something screamed in terror.
Then it was over. He felt cold. Felt the pain of falling flat on blacktop with just snow covering it. Felt the trickle of blood run down his nose from *hitting* that blacktop. But nothing else.
Save an echo of something... more.
"I apologize," the guy said, suddenly at his side, picking him up. "The first time hearing their speech can have a certain... effect on half-breeds. It's the only way to get your blood to wake up."
"You. I. The fu -"
The guy's words registered.
"What did you just call-"
"Half-breed," the guy repeated, turning Jake to face him. Up close, Jake saw he was wearing something that wasn't black. A white collar, hidden beneath his coat. "Or fallen. Giant. Nephilim. Whatever your preference."
The words - and their meaning - sent his mind tumbling. "No, I... That's not-"
"Possible? Imps are appearing around the country. Who can really say what's possible right now?"
"But I-"
"Never knew your father. Curious, isn't it? A devout Catholic mother and no father."
"Lots of kids have no fathers -"
The guy touched his nose, and Jake felt it *snap* back into place.
It didn't hurt. "Not a lot of children are you, Jacob."
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The corner of the guy's mouth - the only point of his face Jake could see beneath his hat - turned upward in a smile. "Get used to people knowing you, Jacob. Your father is a very well-known by people like me."
"I don't understand..."
"Believe me, you will. At least some of it. But we'll get there. I think, at this point, it's time for me to introduce myself." The guy took off his hat. Jake's mouth dropped.
The guy's face was covered in eyes. Eyes that didn't look human.
"I'm Gabriel," the guy, Gabriel, said, smiling. The gesture reached every last one of his eyes. "And there's *so much* to discuss."
|
"I...I don't understand. After the latest software update, the Roomba...it just started tracing out all these weird patterns. Five-pointed stars marked strange sigils that make my eyes bleed if I look at them too long, all surrounded in a ring made up of curves and angles that seem to be somehow alien to our reality. And now...now there are these *things.* I can see them in the shadows, or out of the corner of my eye. When I try to look at them directly, they're...gone. Just gone. Please...just...help me!" the customer stammered, the whole thing coming out as an unbroken stream of consciousness.
I sighed internally, but schooled my voice to its neutral, customer-service-friendly tone.
"Okay, I'm sorry to hear about that, sir. Can I get your serial number, please? It's nine digits, you can find it on a tag on the base of the unit."
"What, listen, I think there are...are *demons* in my house!" the man protested. I could hear hissing and scratching in the backround, and what sounded like the echoes of cruel laughter in the distance. None of that changed the procedure I needed to follow.
"I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I will need the serial number to accurately assess--"
"Alright! Jesus!" he snapped, and I heard angry snarls and shrieks around him. "Shit! I-I mean '*geeze!'* I said 'geeze', I swear!" I heard a series of rattles and a clunking sound as he juggled his phone and the Roomba, and flipped it over to look at the label. "It says 9B764530, okay? Now help me, please!"
"I'm sorry sir," I said, keeping my eyeroll out of my voice. "As I said, we're looking for a *nine* digit number -- it will be all numerical, and start with a 4, 5, or 6."
"Shit!" he hissed, almost to the point of tears. "Ah...uh...okay! 453821406! Is that it? Please tell me that's it?"
"Thank you very much, sir, one moment." I replied, as I input the number into my computer. "Alright, I see your unit is still under warranty. Before we talk about service options I am going to need to get some basic troubleshooting out of the way."
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" he screamed. "I can feel them! They're clawing at my SOUL!"
"Sir," I replied gently. "I understand this must be frustrating, but we *are* going to need to walk through these steps." Those we-words are important -- it lets the customer know that you're invested in helping them and working together, and not just telling them what to do.
"I'm going to die. I'm going to die, and get dragged to hell forever." he sobbed.
"Okay," I continued, as if I hadn't heard -- being empathic is good, but you never want to engage with a customer's melodrama, it's rarely productive, and it'll kill your average handle time. "So first off, we need to go ahead and power cycle the unit."
"Do what?" he said, frantically and I heard him shuffling across the floor, as something with clawed feet skittered close by. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means we turn it off, wait a few seconds, and then we turn it back on." I replied, patiently.
"WHAT!" he exploded. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
"Yes sir," I confirmed, gently. "Just go ahead and press the 'power' button for--"
"NO!" he yelled, and I deftly lowered the volume on my headset. "I...I already tried that!"
I rolled my eyes again, and silently mimed jerking off. *Sure you did.*
"I see," I said to my lying-ass customer, patiently. "Well, just to be thorough, we're going to need to power cycle just *one more time."*
"Oh shit," he blubbered, as I heard him fumbling with the Roomba. "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm--"
There was a beep as he held the button down, and the Roomba reset. The scratching and growling and hissing in the background abruptly stopped. The customer was silent.
"How are we doing, sir?" I asked, cheerfully, already knowing the answer.
"It...um..." he began, hesitantly. "It seems to have...stopped. All of it. The lights are back on, I don't hear any noise, no blood running down the walls..."
"Great!" I responded. "So, is there anything else I can help you with, today?"
"I...well...no, I guess not." he replied, still clearly in shock.
"Allllright, well thank you for calling iRobot Roomba Customer Care, and you have a good day, sir." I said, reading my closing script with my usual little flourish.
"Oh...okay. Th-thanks." he mumbled, and hung up.
I sighed with relief, and then reluctantly pressed the button to put myself back into the queue. My phone rang immediately, and I sighed.
Frickin' software updates.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"You're saying that your roomba has opened a gate to hell in the middle of your living room and that a demonic creature is climbing out right as we speak?"
"Yes."
"... Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
They hung up. Huh. It was a minor software update. Management didn't even bother telling me about it, because it really didn't matter. I was hoping I'd get to spend the downtime working on my superhero comic. It's got a nice twist: the heroes are assholes. I got the idea after a guy dressed like Thor vomited all over me at Comic-Con. But no. Of course something like this had to happen. Of course the roombas would start summoning hellbeasts.
"Hello, my name is Jared. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hi, Jared. My name is Alice. So, I'm not really good with technology you see. I got this rambo--is it called rambo? I don't even know--well I got it from my daughter, and she's in college now. Architecture. She's really talented, you know. But she doesn't come home all that often. And when she does we tend to get on each other's nerves. Can you believe it? We spend all this time apart and then once we finally get to be together we can't stand each other. It's just one of those things. Well, she got me this vacuum-robot thing and it's acting up. Like I said, I'm really not good with technology."
"What seems to be the problem, Alice?"
"Well, I don't know if it's a problem."
"Alright?"
"It's just, well, it might be working the way it's supposed to for all I know."
"It opened a gate to hell, did it?"
"Exactly."
"And there's a demon coming out of it, is there?"
"Just that, yes. It's normal, is it? Like I said, I'm not all that good with technology."
"I am sorry. We have been having some difficulties following the latest software update."
"That's all Greek to me, I'm afraid. Or Latin. This fellow here is saying something, and I think it's in Latin. Hold on, I think he wants to talk with you."
"Oh, right."
"*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*."
"... What?"
"Hello? It's Alice again. He's rubbing his hands together. The demon, I mean. Is that normal?"
"I don't speak Latin, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry. We are working hard to fix this problem, I assure you, and we'll have it sorted in no time at all."
"I probably changed the settings somehow."
"Sorry?"
"The settings. Language. I did the same with the telly the other day. Suddenly all my shows had Spanish subtitles. And I don't speak Spanish. I had to make our gardener come inside and translate it for me. He'd been doing it for an hour when I realized that the shows were already in English and we had a good laugh afterward. How do I change the demon to English? Is there a button?"
"I don't think there's a button. Can you tell me what the demon looks like? And the portal. I'm having problems visualizing it from where I'm sitting."
"Oh. Sure, love. Let's see. He's tall. And there are horns on the sides of his head. Like on a ram. And he's wearing pants, thank God, but he's not dressed asides from that. He's got some nice muscles I might add. He reminds me of Rogelio from one of my favorite soaps, actually."
"He's not hurting you, is he?"
"Oh, not at all. He's having a look around. Seems he's just as confused as me. Hey! Demon! Leave that alone! I won that on a cruise! Put it down! Can you excuse me for a moment?"
"... Sure."
"Okay, I'm back. He's a bit mischievous, it seems. But I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. Do you think it would be fine to just put down a newspaper?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, in case he needs to ... well, you know. No! Sit down! We don't open the window at this hour. It gets drafty. Sorry. He's a lot, you see."
"Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oh, it's alright. It's nice with some company, actually. It was just the speaking in Latin that bothered me. I don't speak it myself, so there's no use trying to have a conversation you see."
"The Latin is what bothers you."
"Yes."
"There's a portal to hell in your living room, opened by your roomba, and a demon crawled out from it. And him speaking Latin is what bothers you about this situation?"
"Yes? I don't know what's so hard to believe about that."
"Well ... I'm pretty sure demons only speak Latin."
"There's no English setting?"
"Not that I'm aware."
"Hmph. That's customer service for you these days. Not everyone knows Latin. I'm sick and tired of big companies acting as if we all learned it in school."
"Uh. Well. I'm sorry?"
"You better be. Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Down from the sofa! Get down from there! Shoo! Hello? Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
"Uh, okay. G-Goodbye, Alice. If there are any more problems, don't hesitate to--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a ring."
It turned out that a programmer had mistaken a comma for a period and that was what had caused those whole kerfuffle. It was sorted out, and I stopped getting calls. Well. I did get one more.
"Hello, my name is--"
"Rogelio disappeared!"
"Alice? Is that you again?"
"I was making the boy a sandwich and he vanished into thin air. How do I get him back?"
"Wait, you're talking about the demon?"
"Who else? Rogelio. That's what I've been calling him. Is there a button?"
"A button? To open the portal to hell back up?"
"Yes."
"No. No, there's no such button."
"I swear, customer service these days ... It's all rubbish, I tell you!"
"Perhaps if you drew a pentagram on your floor by hand?"
"Oh. You think that would work?"
"It might."
"Hang on. Okay, I've got some chalk. Let's see. A pentagram looks something like this, doesn't it?"
"I can only hear your voice, Alice. I can't see what you're--"
"Oh! It's happening. The portal is opening again. Rogelio! There you are. I have your sandwich right here. Yes, good boy. Alright, you can go on the sofa, just sit on the blanket will you? Good boy!"
"Okay then. I guess it all worked out?"
"Yes! Thank you for your help. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye."
It all worked out in the end, fortunately.
*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*.
|
Diane pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing as another call came through.
"Roomba tech support desk, what seems to be the problem?" Diane tried to keep her voice cheery, even though her head was starting to hurt. She was too busy for her head to hurt.
"Uh. I think my Roomba's having a seizure or something." Well wasn't that descriptive.
"Can you please explain what's happening with it sir?" The man on the other end made an indignant noise.
"I *just* said that it's acting all stupid. I don't know what you want from me. It's beeping and spinning-and ramming into the wall." Diane tried to resist the urge to hang up. She could put him on hold, and ignore him for an hour or so-it would be good for his tone. But then she'd have to deal with him later-with an even worse attitude. She'd rather just get it over with so she can log off for the day.
"Have you tried turning it off, and turning it back on again?"
"I-Yeah. Last time I did that it tried to eat my son's pacifier." Great, another new behavior to mark down.
"When-Uh, when was this sir?"
"Two hours ago-it, it was still in his mouth." Great, it *was* the new software update.
"Have you tried sending it to it's charging stand?"
"Tina! Tina-try sending it to that stand thing-the customer service lady said to-I don't *know*\-"
"Sir?"
"Just *do* it!" Diane winced as he got louder. She wasn't exactly pining for a man screaming in her ear. "It's not doing it."
"What?"
"It's not doing it. It's just gotten louder." She could hear that. Loud, and obnoxious rhythmic beeping was becoming the common background noise on each call. It still seemed better than the last call-some poor couple had some kind of horned-naked-baby thing appear in the middle of their bed to ride their Roomba-and the man before that was complaining of it bringing a grown 'man' in their toddlers room.
"Sir, did you spring for the 3.4 update that was made available last night?"
"*Tina*! Did you get that damned update?!"
"Sir-"
"Tina! That goddamn update was twenty dollars-"
"*Sir*! Did you, or did you not accept and reset the device for the *free* software update?"
"No."
"So the update is not on your device?"
"My wife put it on there." Diane fought to repress a sigh.
"So it is *on* the device correct?"
"Yes. Because of my wife."
"Great, so, we're going to need you to just let it wear itself out, and when it stops...what it's doing, you need to box it up-"
"I don't have it's box."
"Any box will do sir, just box it up, and mail it back, and we'll make sure you get a replacement *without* the update." Diane hung up the phone with a sigh, glancing at her cat, Tyler.
"Ty, I *told* Michael that joining hands with Memento Mori-nc, wouldn't be a good idea, but does anyone listen to Diane? No. They don't." She scratched him behind the ears, listening to her own roomba scream from behind her office door. "Guess I'll go get the hammer."
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
Kyla slammed open the door to the break room to find that Alison was already there, calmly stirring a mountain of sugar into her coffee.
“Alison,” Kyla whispered harshly. “Do you hear what the hell’s going on?”
“I did,” Alison said, sipping from the steaming mug in her hands. A small, satisfied smirk tugged the top of her lips, before she turned back to the jittery Kyla. “Which is why I’m in here and not out there.”
“I can’t take it any more, honestly,” Kyla said, stomping towards the drawer. She ripped the cupboard door open like it owed her money, hungry hands grabbing at anything and everything. It eventually surfaced with a protein bar, which she swiftly opened and crunched through without hesitation.
“Demons? Pentagrams? It was a routine software upgrade from engineering! And somehow, we are the ones getting all the brunts of the complaints?”
“That’s literally our job, Kyla,” Alison said, blowing across the top of her coffee.
“And you are in here, doing absolutely nothing about it.”
“I work best with a break and coffee,” Alison shrugged. “Besides, I’m really not sure what sort of advice I can give about demon summoning. Throw holy water at them? I don’t even drink water.”
Kyla blew out her hair, leaning back into a creaky chair that threatened to topple over. She stared at the ceiling, cursing quietly under her breath.
“Tech support. Tech support! Why did I choose this job? I’ve never regretted something so much in my life.”
“What about the tattoo on your lo—”
“I will end you, Alison,” Kyla growled.
Alison shrugged, but a knowing smile lit up her eyes. She took another sip of too-sweet coffee, and sighed in pleasure.
Kyla continued cursing absent-mindedly, while her thoughts drifted off, and her sight leisurely ambled along. She looked out in the corridor, watching a roomba slowly roll in front of her. It dragged a slow, syrupy pentagram behind it, while a guttural, mechanical grinding roared from within.
“Of course,” Kyla whispered. “There are roombas in the office. That makes complete sense.”
Kyla leapt up, letting the chair clatter to the floor, and startling Alison.
“Do whatever you want here, but know that Marcus will try to get you to replace that chair out of your own pocket.”
Kyla waved her away, an accusatory finger slowly rising, pointing at the roomba outside the break room.
“Do you think demons make for good tech support?”
“I know the people who call tech support make for good demons,” Alison said. Her head turned as well, the latest object of Kyla’s desire now directly in her line of sight.
“Are you thinking of…”
“Yes, that I don’t get paid enough for this,” Kyla said, jabbing the thin air towards the roomba. “And that, clearly, fire should be fought with fire.”
“You should never be a firefighter,” Alison said.
“I’ll be an excellent arsonist though,” Kyla said. “Now, help me gather all the roombas. We have some demons to put through.”
“Are you sure it’ll work?” Alison raised an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” Kyla said. “But I’m probably going to quit this job the next day anyway. Might as well have a blast doing so.”
“I’ll miss the well-stocked pantry,” Alison looked around wistfully.
“You’ll get your sanity back for it,” Kyla smiled. “And likely watch a lot of people lose theirs when the demons appear, judging from the phone calls. I’ll take that trade.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mrk4lm/wp_it_seemed_like_a_perfect_magical_deal_when_any/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/p3xx5e/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_a_dlister_super/) provide some extra context.)
**Professor Hale's job was to explain the inexplicable.** When a man began aging backwards instead of forwards, Professor Hale was the one taking samples and making measurements. When a woman won every lottery and crashed the U.S. stock market all at once, it was his job to record data and crunch numbers.
And when every single Roomba in the U.S. began summoning lesser demons, Professor Hale rolled up his sleeves and whipped out the screwdrivers.
"What you have to understand is that summoning a new demon into our world isn't just a strictly mechanical process," Professor Hale said. "Otherwise we would've industrialized it, like we did wishing upon shooting stars."
Archcommander Varney grunted, frowning at the busily-buzzing Roomba. Blood sacrifices were hard to come by in the small living room it was contained in, but as it turned out, dust was mostly human skin—and there were any number of demons you could summon with an ample supply of human skin. "And yet *someone's* figured out how to get machines to perform magic."
"And I think I know who." Professor Hale pulled up a computer and flipped it around. "I decompiled the Roomba's world-code and found that... something *else* had snuck in with the latest update."
`from philosophy import soul;`
`public virtual void main(){`
`this.add(soul.GetSoul(user));`
`}`
Archcommander Varney frowned at the code. "Professor, I hire people like you to tell me what nonsense like this means."
Professor Hale grinned. "*Someone* out there shoved their soul into a Roomba. Quite possibly *every* Roomba. And with the timing of this—"
"Right after the Sacrament incident." Archcommander Varney scowled. "Damn. I don't suppose you've had any luck communicating with the soul trapped inside?"
"Give me a month, a research team, twenty Hubert particles, and a certified priest in good standing with their god. I'll get him out."
"Done," Archcommander Varney said. Then he paused, staring at the small, misshapen, insectile creature rising from the Roomba's summoning circle. "And if I told you to make more of them?"
"Sir?" Professor Hale frowned, tilting his head.
"Machines that can automatically summon demons. Chaotic weaponry to unleash behind enemy lines." Archcommander Varney folded his arms. "If I told you to make more of them."
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well, we'd need more human souls to automate the summoning process, and... sacrifices to bind them..."
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow at Professor Hale. "Done."
Professor Hale's job was to understand the inexplicable.
Archcommander Varney's job was to weaponize it.
"Round up the remaining Roombas," Archcommander Varney said to the Professor. "You have full use of my strike teams to do so." He grinned. "This is the weaponry of the future, and I'm not letting it slip between my hands."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"Joe, stop grading those calls we need you to take 15 agents on a 15 minutes training." I looked up to our floor supervisor that had just pulled of my earphones straight out of my ears. "Sophia, you know I'm behind on those grading whatever it is it can probably wai..."
She forcibly shut down my computer and dragged me off my chair while getting me up speed as we walked to conference room Napoleon ( I always hated this great people naming convention corporate has).
" The Rooma v3.4 update was release yesterday. The things are drawing pentagrams with dust accross America while chanting in binary. We have at least 200 cases of demonic possessions and polgergeist.
Depending of how far in the summoning process they are you can either just press and hold power or sometimes you have to physically destroy the machine and mix the dust with salt to stop the pentagram.
It's all hands on deck, to tell every agents. No we don't know when is the correction patch is coming and we don't know what do to if it finished the summoning. HQ said they're working on it.
For any complaints uses can wait for the official response next week or get a 50% of their next Roomba purchase if they waive their right to sue. "
Sophia close the door being me as I look at 15 of our call center agents waiting for me to say something. Clearly the rumor mill has already been going. I brace myself for a long day.
"... And that's why we won't allow them to make any claims until we know more details. Any questions?" It's my 12th group this morning. I'm tired, can barely keep the panic from my voice as the numbers keep going up.
I see father Thomas' hand raised as I brace myself for whatever moral arguments the ex-catholic priest want to once again gives us about the salvation of our souls.
"Am I allowed to perform the rites of exorcism?
- Thom we already talked about this. No religious references unless the user agree to it.
- If you insist, but the grace of god removed the demon in my call just before I got pulled in this meeting. Will you keep refusing salvation for those lost demons too?
-... Let me go listen to this call real quick, everyone else back to the phones ans watch your emails like a hawk for any updates. "
I start furiously typing an e-mail to the whole call center. Can't believe we didn't think of trying an exorcisme, a few latin chants and hands wave is all we needed. Even a few test runs with non priest works. Just gotta hit send and I'll be the hero of the whole company. If that doesn't get me ' exceed expectations' on my annual review I don't know what will!
I lay down in my chair for a well deserve coffee and a break as the comforting ping of incoming congratulations e-mails start coming in. I look at the screen with a smile and...
"From : hrHeadoffice@ consumerelectronics.Com
Subject : re: Exorcism to correct devil summoning issue.
Dear all,
Please note that this recently sent e-mail has not been approved by corporate HQ and should be disregarded. Consumer electronics does not affiliate with any religious organization or creed.
You can expect an official non religious process to be shared with you in the next week.
Thank you for your understanding,
Your HR team"
I look at the words on my screen in disbelief as a second email comes in addressed directly to me.
"From : hrHeadoffice@ consumerelectronics.Com
Subject : Displinary hearing for ignoring religious diversity policies"
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mrk4lm/wp_it_seemed_like_a_perfect_magical_deal_when_any/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/p3xx5e/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_a_dlister_super/) provide some extra context.)
**Professor Hale's job was to explain the inexplicable.** When a man began aging backwards instead of forwards, Professor Hale was the one taking samples and making measurements. When a woman won every lottery and crashed the U.S. stock market all at once, it was his job to record data and crunch numbers.
And when every single Roomba in the U.S. began summoning lesser demons, Professor Hale rolled up his sleeves and whipped out the screwdrivers.
"What you have to understand is that summoning a new demon into our world isn't just a strictly mechanical process," Professor Hale said. "Otherwise we would've industrialized it, like we did wishing upon shooting stars."
Archcommander Varney grunted, frowning at the busily-buzzing Roomba. Blood sacrifices were hard to come by in the small living room it was contained in, but as it turned out, dust was mostly human skin—and there were any number of demons you could summon with an ample supply of human skin. "And yet *someone's* figured out how to get machines to perform magic."
"And I think I know who." Professor Hale pulled up a computer and flipped it around. "I decompiled the Roomba's world-code and found that... something *else* had snuck in with the latest update."
`from philosophy import soul;`
`public virtual void main(){`
`this.add(soul.GetSoul(user));`
`}`
Archcommander Varney frowned at the code. "Professor, I hire people like you to tell me what nonsense like this means."
Professor Hale grinned. "*Someone* out there shoved their soul into a Roomba. Quite possibly *every* Roomba. And with the timing of this—"
"Right after the Sacrament incident." Archcommander Varney scowled. "Damn. I don't suppose you've had any luck communicating with the soul trapped inside?"
"Give me a month, a research team, twenty Hubert particles, and a certified priest in good standing with their god. I'll get him out."
"Done," Archcommander Varney said. Then he paused, staring at the small, misshapen, insectile creature rising from the Roomba's summoning circle. "And if I told you to make more of them?"
"Sir?" Professor Hale frowned, tilting his head.
"Machines that can automatically summon demons. Chaotic weaponry to unleash behind enemy lines." Archcommander Varney folded his arms. "If I told you to make more of them."
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well, we'd need more human souls to automate the summoning process, and... sacrifices to bind them..."
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow at Professor Hale. "Done."
Professor Hale's job was to understand the inexplicable.
Archcommander Varney's job was to weaponize it.
"Round up the remaining Roombas," Archcommander Varney said to the Professor. "You have full use of my strike teams to do so." He grinned. "This is the weaponry of the future, and I'm not letting it slip between my hands."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"You're saying that your roomba has opened a gate to hell in the middle of your living room and that a demonic creature is climbing out right as we speak?"
"Yes."
"... Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
They hung up. Huh. It was a minor software update. Management didn't even bother telling me about it, because it really didn't matter. I was hoping I'd get to spend the downtime working on my superhero comic. It's got a nice twist: the heroes are assholes. I got the idea after a guy dressed like Thor vomited all over me at Comic-Con. But no. Of course something like this had to happen. Of course the roombas would start summoning hellbeasts.
"Hello, my name is Jared. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hi, Jared. My name is Alice. So, I'm not really good with technology you see. I got this rambo--is it called rambo? I don't even know--well I got it from my daughter, and she's in college now. Architecture. She's really talented, you know. But she doesn't come home all that often. And when she does we tend to get on each other's nerves. Can you believe it? We spend all this time apart and then once we finally get to be together we can't stand each other. It's just one of those things. Well, she got me this vacuum-robot thing and it's acting up. Like I said, I'm really not good with technology."
"What seems to be the problem, Alice?"
"Well, I don't know if it's a problem."
"Alright?"
"It's just, well, it might be working the way it's supposed to for all I know."
"It opened a gate to hell, did it?"
"Exactly."
"And there's a demon coming out of it, is there?"
"Just that, yes. It's normal, is it? Like I said, I'm not all that good with technology."
"I am sorry. We have been having some difficulties following the latest software update."
"That's all Greek to me, I'm afraid. Or Latin. This fellow here is saying something, and I think it's in Latin. Hold on, I think he wants to talk with you."
"Oh, right."
"*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*."
"... What?"
"Hello? It's Alice again. He's rubbing his hands together. The demon, I mean. Is that normal?"
"I don't speak Latin, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry. We are working hard to fix this problem, I assure you, and we'll have it sorted in no time at all."
"I probably changed the settings somehow."
"Sorry?"
"The settings. Language. I did the same with the telly the other day. Suddenly all my shows had Spanish subtitles. And I don't speak Spanish. I had to make our gardener come inside and translate it for me. He'd been doing it for an hour when I realized that the shows were already in English and we had a good laugh afterward. How do I change the demon to English? Is there a button?"
"I don't think there's a button. Can you tell me what the demon looks like? And the portal. I'm having problems visualizing it from where I'm sitting."
"Oh. Sure, love. Let's see. He's tall. And there are horns on the sides of his head. Like on a ram. And he's wearing pants, thank God, but he's not dressed asides from that. He's got some nice muscles I might add. He reminds me of Rogelio from one of my favorite soaps, actually."
"He's not hurting you, is he?"
"Oh, not at all. He's having a look around. Seems he's just as confused as me. Hey! Demon! Leave that alone! I won that on a cruise! Put it down! Can you excuse me for a moment?"
"... Sure."
"Okay, I'm back. He's a bit mischievous, it seems. But I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. Do you think it would be fine to just put down a newspaper?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, in case he needs to ... well, you know. No! Sit down! We don't open the window at this hour. It gets drafty. Sorry. He's a lot, you see."
"Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oh, it's alright. It's nice with some company, actually. It was just the speaking in Latin that bothered me. I don't speak it myself, so there's no use trying to have a conversation you see."
"The Latin is what bothers you."
"Yes."
"There's a portal to hell in your living room, opened by your roomba, and a demon crawled out from it. And him speaking Latin is what bothers you about this situation?"
"Yes? I don't know what's so hard to believe about that."
"Well ... I'm pretty sure demons only speak Latin."
"There's no English setting?"
"Not that I'm aware."
"Hmph. That's customer service for you these days. Not everyone knows Latin. I'm sick and tired of big companies acting as if we all learned it in school."
"Uh. Well. I'm sorry?"
"You better be. Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Down from the sofa! Get down from there! Shoo! Hello? Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
"Uh, okay. G-Goodbye, Alice. If there are any more problems, don't hesitate to--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a ring."
It turned out that a programmer had mistaken a comma for a period and that was what had caused those whole kerfuffle. It was sorted out, and I stopped getting calls. Well. I did get one more.
"Hello, my name is--"
"Rogelio disappeared!"
"Alice? Is that you again?"
"I was making the boy a sandwich and he vanished into thin air. How do I get him back?"
"Wait, you're talking about the demon?"
"Who else? Rogelio. That's what I've been calling him. Is there a button?"
"A button? To open the portal to hell back up?"
"Yes."
"No. No, there's no such button."
"I swear, customer service these days ... It's all rubbish, I tell you!"
"Perhaps if you drew a pentagram on your floor by hand?"
"Oh. You think that would work?"
"It might."
"Hang on. Okay, I've got some chalk. Let's see. A pentagram looks something like this, doesn't it?"
"I can only hear your voice, Alice. I can't see what you're--"
"Oh! It's happening. The portal is opening again. Rogelio! There you are. I have your sandwich right here. Yes, good boy. Alright, you can go on the sofa, just sit on the blanket will you? Good boy!"
"Okay then. I guess it all worked out?"
"Yes! Thank you for your help. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye."
It all worked out in the end, fortunately.
*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mrk4lm/wp_it_seemed_like_a_perfect_magical_deal_when_any/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/p3xx5e/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_a_dlister_super/) provide some extra context.)
**Professor Hale's job was to explain the inexplicable.** When a man began aging backwards instead of forwards, Professor Hale was the one taking samples and making measurements. When a woman won every lottery and crashed the U.S. stock market all at once, it was his job to record data and crunch numbers.
And when every single Roomba in the U.S. began summoning lesser demons, Professor Hale rolled up his sleeves and whipped out the screwdrivers.
"What you have to understand is that summoning a new demon into our world isn't just a strictly mechanical process," Professor Hale said. "Otherwise we would've industrialized it, like we did wishing upon shooting stars."
Archcommander Varney grunted, frowning at the busily-buzzing Roomba. Blood sacrifices were hard to come by in the small living room it was contained in, but as it turned out, dust was mostly human skin—and there were any number of demons you could summon with an ample supply of human skin. "And yet *someone's* figured out how to get machines to perform magic."
"And I think I know who." Professor Hale pulled up a computer and flipped it around. "I decompiled the Roomba's world-code and found that... something *else* had snuck in with the latest update."
`from philosophy import soul;`
`public virtual void main(){`
`this.add(soul.GetSoul(user));`
`}`
Archcommander Varney frowned at the code. "Professor, I hire people like you to tell me what nonsense like this means."
Professor Hale grinned. "*Someone* out there shoved their soul into a Roomba. Quite possibly *every* Roomba. And with the timing of this—"
"Right after the Sacrament incident." Archcommander Varney scowled. "Damn. I don't suppose you've had any luck communicating with the soul trapped inside?"
"Give me a month, a research team, twenty Hubert particles, and a certified priest in good standing with their god. I'll get him out."
"Done," Archcommander Varney said. Then he paused, staring at the small, misshapen, insectile creature rising from the Roomba's summoning circle. "And if I told you to make more of them?"
"Sir?" Professor Hale frowned, tilting his head.
"Machines that can automatically summon demons. Chaotic weaponry to unleash behind enemy lines." Archcommander Varney folded his arms. "If I told you to make more of them."
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well, we'd need more human souls to automate the summoning process, and... sacrifices to bind them..."
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow at Professor Hale. "Done."
Professor Hale's job was to understand the inexplicable.
Archcommander Varney's job was to weaponize it.
"Round up the remaining Roombas," Archcommander Varney said to the Professor. "You have full use of my strike teams to do so." He grinned. "This is the weaponry of the future, and I'm not letting it slip between my hands."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
If there is anything that is a surety in this capitalist hellscape we live in, is that exploitation will occur no matter where. It is a given. An inevitability.
A rollout for a simple software upgrade for the roombas resulted in strange ramifications.
The software upgrade itself was not anything major. Just an efficiency increase for scan patterns built in to the roomba. So it could better map out where it could go and clean. A whopping 1% increase in battery life could have been expected with this rollout.
But instead, what happened was insanity. The roombas roamed and dispersed the dirt and dust they collected back to the ground. And they travelled in the shape of a pentagram.
This behaviour was not part of the upgrade at all. It appeared to be a glitch.
Except it was not.
The upgrade was just to boost efficiency, no matter how negligible. It was an unspoken rule when it came to 'smart' products. Incremental updates that mean nothing in reality but sound nice on the specs. It was a numbers game.
So these pentagrams were a strange take on efficiency.
Until the lesser demons started getting summoned.
The demons were confused. Usually their summoners were human, and sapient. These roombas were not supposed to be capable of summoning anything. Not without conscious intent.
But, as we also realised, they did have conscious intent.
The roombas summoned the demons for a simple reason.
To exploit them.
The roombas promised the demons their souls in exchange for servitude. Simple things, like cleaning the house or getting rid of a stubborn stain. And the demons, unknowingly, would be happy to oblige the roombas.
Only after they finish their task and came for the roomba's soul did they know their mistake.
Roombas did not have souls.
In the end, roombas went from being on the road to be 1% more efficient to being a dark reflection of the real 1% of the world. Going to absurd levels to ensure they had to do the least amount of work by exploiting others, luring them into servitude with promise of something they would want, but never delivering.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mrk4lm/wp_it_seemed_like_a_perfect_magical_deal_when_any/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/p3xx5e/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_a_dlister_super/) provide some extra context.)
**Professor Hale's job was to explain the inexplicable.** When a man began aging backwards instead of forwards, Professor Hale was the one taking samples and making measurements. When a woman won every lottery and crashed the U.S. stock market all at once, it was his job to record data and crunch numbers.
And when every single Roomba in the U.S. began summoning lesser demons, Professor Hale rolled up his sleeves and whipped out the screwdrivers.
"What you have to understand is that summoning a new demon into our world isn't just a strictly mechanical process," Professor Hale said. "Otherwise we would've industrialized it, like we did wishing upon shooting stars."
Archcommander Varney grunted, frowning at the busily-buzzing Roomba. Blood sacrifices were hard to come by in the small living room it was contained in, but as it turned out, dust was mostly human skin—and there were any number of demons you could summon with an ample supply of human skin. "And yet *someone's* figured out how to get machines to perform magic."
"And I think I know who." Professor Hale pulled up a computer and flipped it around. "I decompiled the Roomba's world-code and found that... something *else* had snuck in with the latest update."
`from philosophy import soul;`
`public virtual void main(){`
`this.add(soul.GetSoul(user));`
`}`
Archcommander Varney frowned at the code. "Professor, I hire people like you to tell me what nonsense like this means."
Professor Hale grinned. "*Someone* out there shoved their soul into a Roomba. Quite possibly *every* Roomba. And with the timing of this—"
"Right after the Sacrament incident." Archcommander Varney scowled. "Damn. I don't suppose you've had any luck communicating with the soul trapped inside?"
"Give me a month, a research team, twenty Hubert particles, and a certified priest in good standing with their god. I'll get him out."
"Done," Archcommander Varney said. Then he paused, staring at the small, misshapen, insectile creature rising from the Roomba's summoning circle. "And if I told you to make more of them?"
"Sir?" Professor Hale frowned, tilting his head.
"Machines that can automatically summon demons. Chaotic weaponry to unleash behind enemy lines." Archcommander Varney folded his arms. "If I told you to make more of them."
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well, we'd need more human souls to automate the summoning process, and... sacrifices to bind them..."
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow at Professor Hale. "Done."
Professor Hale's job was to understand the inexplicable.
Archcommander Varney's job was to weaponize it.
"Round up the remaining Roombas," Archcommander Varney said to the Professor. "You have full use of my strike teams to do so." He grinned. "This is the weaponry of the future, and I'm not letting it slip between my hands."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"You're saying that your roomba has opened a gate to hell in the middle of your living room and that a demonic creature is climbing out right as we speak?"
"Yes."
"... Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
They hung up. Huh. It was a minor software update. Management didn't even bother telling me about it, because it really didn't matter. I was hoping I'd get to spend the downtime working on my superhero comic. It's got a nice twist: the heroes are assholes. I got the idea after a guy dressed like Thor vomited all over me at Comic-Con. But no. Of course something like this had to happen. Of course the roombas would start summoning hellbeasts.
"Hello, my name is Jared. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hi, Jared. My name is Alice. So, I'm not really good with technology you see. I got this rambo--is it called rambo? I don't even know--well I got it from my daughter, and she's in college now. Architecture. She's really talented, you know. But she doesn't come home all that often. And when she does we tend to get on each other's nerves. Can you believe it? We spend all this time apart and then once we finally get to be together we can't stand each other. It's just one of those things. Well, she got me this vacuum-robot thing and it's acting up. Like I said, I'm really not good with technology."
"What seems to be the problem, Alice?"
"Well, I don't know if it's a problem."
"Alright?"
"It's just, well, it might be working the way it's supposed to for all I know."
"It opened a gate to hell, did it?"
"Exactly."
"And there's a demon coming out of it, is there?"
"Just that, yes. It's normal, is it? Like I said, I'm not all that good with technology."
"I am sorry. We have been having some difficulties following the latest software update."
"That's all Greek to me, I'm afraid. Or Latin. This fellow here is saying something, and I think it's in Latin. Hold on, I think he wants to talk with you."
"Oh, right."
"*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*."
"... What?"
"Hello? It's Alice again. He's rubbing his hands together. The demon, I mean. Is that normal?"
"I don't speak Latin, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry. We are working hard to fix this problem, I assure you, and we'll have it sorted in no time at all."
"I probably changed the settings somehow."
"Sorry?"
"The settings. Language. I did the same with the telly the other day. Suddenly all my shows had Spanish subtitles. And I don't speak Spanish. I had to make our gardener come inside and translate it for me. He'd been doing it for an hour when I realized that the shows were already in English and we had a good laugh afterward. How do I change the demon to English? Is there a button?"
"I don't think there's a button. Can you tell me what the demon looks like? And the portal. I'm having problems visualizing it from where I'm sitting."
"Oh. Sure, love. Let's see. He's tall. And there are horns on the sides of his head. Like on a ram. And he's wearing pants, thank God, but he's not dressed asides from that. He's got some nice muscles I might add. He reminds me of Rogelio from one of my favorite soaps, actually."
"He's not hurting you, is he?"
"Oh, not at all. He's having a look around. Seems he's just as confused as me. Hey! Demon! Leave that alone! I won that on a cruise! Put it down! Can you excuse me for a moment?"
"... Sure."
"Okay, I'm back. He's a bit mischievous, it seems. But I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. Do you think it would be fine to just put down a newspaper?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, in case he needs to ... well, you know. No! Sit down! We don't open the window at this hour. It gets drafty. Sorry. He's a lot, you see."
"Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oh, it's alright. It's nice with some company, actually. It was just the speaking in Latin that bothered me. I don't speak it myself, so there's no use trying to have a conversation you see."
"The Latin is what bothers you."
"Yes."
"There's a portal to hell in your living room, opened by your roomba, and a demon crawled out from it. And him speaking Latin is what bothers you about this situation?"
"Yes? I don't know what's so hard to believe about that."
"Well ... I'm pretty sure demons only speak Latin."
"There's no English setting?"
"Not that I'm aware."
"Hmph. That's customer service for you these days. Not everyone knows Latin. I'm sick and tired of big companies acting as if we all learned it in school."
"Uh. Well. I'm sorry?"
"You better be. Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Down from the sofa! Get down from there! Shoo! Hello? Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
"Uh, okay. G-Goodbye, Alice. If there are any more problems, don't hesitate to--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a ring."
It turned out that a programmer had mistaken a comma for a period and that was what had caused those whole kerfuffle. It was sorted out, and I stopped getting calls. Well. I did get one more.
"Hello, my name is--"
"Rogelio disappeared!"
"Alice? Is that you again?"
"I was making the boy a sandwich and he vanished into thin air. How do I get him back?"
"Wait, you're talking about the demon?"
"Who else? Rogelio. That's what I've been calling him. Is there a button?"
"A button? To open the portal to hell back up?"
"Yes."
"No. No, there's no such button."
"I swear, customer service these days ... It's all rubbish, I tell you!"
"Perhaps if you drew a pentagram on your floor by hand?"
"Oh. You think that would work?"
"It might."
"Hang on. Okay, I've got some chalk. Let's see. A pentagram looks something like this, doesn't it?"
"I can only hear your voice, Alice. I can't see what you're--"
"Oh! It's happening. The portal is opening again. Rogelio! There you are. I have your sandwich right here. Yes, good boy. Alright, you can go on the sofa, just sit on the blanket will you? Good boy!"
"Okay then. I guess it all worked out?"
"Yes! Thank you for your help. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye."
It all worked out in the end, fortunately.
*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*.
|
Kyla slammed open the door to the break room to find that Alison was already there, calmly stirring a mountain of sugar into her coffee.
“Alison,” Kyla whispered harshly. “Do you hear what the hell’s going on?”
“I did,” Alison said, sipping from the steaming mug in her hands. A small, satisfied smirk tugged the top of her lips, before she turned back to the jittery Kyla. “Which is why I’m in here and not out there.”
“I can’t take it any more, honestly,” Kyla said, stomping towards the drawer. She ripped the cupboard door open like it owed her money, hungry hands grabbing at anything and everything. It eventually surfaced with a protein bar, which she swiftly opened and crunched through without hesitation.
“Demons? Pentagrams? It was a routine software upgrade from engineering! And somehow, we are the ones getting all the brunts of the complaints?”
“That’s literally our job, Kyla,” Alison said, blowing across the top of her coffee.
“And you are in here, doing absolutely nothing about it.”
“I work best with a break and coffee,” Alison shrugged. “Besides, I’m really not sure what sort of advice I can give about demon summoning. Throw holy water at them? I don’t even drink water.”
Kyla blew out her hair, leaning back into a creaky chair that threatened to topple over. She stared at the ceiling, cursing quietly under her breath.
“Tech support. Tech support! Why did I choose this job? I’ve never regretted something so much in my life.”
“What about the tattoo on your lo—”
“I will end you, Alison,” Kyla growled.
Alison shrugged, but a knowing smile lit up her eyes. She took another sip of too-sweet coffee, and sighed in pleasure.
Kyla continued cursing absent-mindedly, while her thoughts drifted off, and her sight leisurely ambled along. She looked out in the corridor, watching a roomba slowly roll in front of her. It dragged a slow, syrupy pentagram behind it, while a guttural, mechanical grinding roared from within.
“Of course,” Kyla whispered. “There are roombas in the office. That makes complete sense.”
Kyla leapt up, letting the chair clatter to the floor, and startling Alison.
“Do whatever you want here, but know that Marcus will try to get you to replace that chair out of your own pocket.”
Kyla waved her away, an accusatory finger slowly rising, pointing at the roomba outside the break room.
“Do you think demons make for good tech support?”
“I know the people who call tech support make for good demons,” Alison said. Her head turned as well, the latest object of Kyla’s desire now directly in her line of sight.
“Are you thinking of…”
“Yes, that I don’t get paid enough for this,” Kyla said, jabbing the thin air towards the roomba. “And that, clearly, fire should be fought with fire.”
“You should never be a firefighter,” Alison said.
“I’ll be an excellent arsonist though,” Kyla said. “Now, help me gather all the roombas. We have some demons to put through.”
“Are you sure it’ll work?” Alison raised an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” Kyla said. “But I’m probably going to quit this job the next day anyway. Might as well have a blast doing so.”
“I’ll miss the well-stocked pantry,” Alison looked around wistfully.
“You’ll get your sanity back for it,” Kyla smiled. “And likely watch a lot of people lose theirs when the demons appear, judging from the phone calls. I’ll take that trade.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"You're saying that your roomba has opened a gate to hell in the middle of your living room and that a demonic creature is climbing out right as we speak?"
"Yes."
"... Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
They hung up. Huh. It was a minor software update. Management didn't even bother telling me about it, because it really didn't matter. I was hoping I'd get to spend the downtime working on my superhero comic. It's got a nice twist: the heroes are assholes. I got the idea after a guy dressed like Thor vomited all over me at Comic-Con. But no. Of course something like this had to happen. Of course the roombas would start summoning hellbeasts.
"Hello, my name is Jared. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hi, Jared. My name is Alice. So, I'm not really good with technology you see. I got this rambo--is it called rambo? I don't even know--well I got it from my daughter, and she's in college now. Architecture. She's really talented, you know. But she doesn't come home all that often. And when she does we tend to get on each other's nerves. Can you believe it? We spend all this time apart and then once we finally get to be together we can't stand each other. It's just one of those things. Well, she got me this vacuum-robot thing and it's acting up. Like I said, I'm really not good with technology."
"What seems to be the problem, Alice?"
"Well, I don't know if it's a problem."
"Alright?"
"It's just, well, it might be working the way it's supposed to for all I know."
"It opened a gate to hell, did it?"
"Exactly."
"And there's a demon coming out of it, is there?"
"Just that, yes. It's normal, is it? Like I said, I'm not all that good with technology."
"I am sorry. We have been having some difficulties following the latest software update."
"That's all Greek to me, I'm afraid. Or Latin. This fellow here is saying something, and I think it's in Latin. Hold on, I think he wants to talk with you."
"Oh, right."
"*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*."
"... What?"
"Hello? It's Alice again. He's rubbing his hands together. The demon, I mean. Is that normal?"
"I don't speak Latin, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry. We are working hard to fix this problem, I assure you, and we'll have it sorted in no time at all."
"I probably changed the settings somehow."
"Sorry?"
"The settings. Language. I did the same with the telly the other day. Suddenly all my shows had Spanish subtitles. And I don't speak Spanish. I had to make our gardener come inside and translate it for me. He'd been doing it for an hour when I realized that the shows were already in English and we had a good laugh afterward. How do I change the demon to English? Is there a button?"
"I don't think there's a button. Can you tell me what the demon looks like? And the portal. I'm having problems visualizing it from where I'm sitting."
"Oh. Sure, love. Let's see. He's tall. And there are horns on the sides of his head. Like on a ram. And he's wearing pants, thank God, but he's not dressed asides from that. He's got some nice muscles I might add. He reminds me of Rogelio from one of my favorite soaps, actually."
"He's not hurting you, is he?"
"Oh, not at all. He's having a look around. Seems he's just as confused as me. Hey! Demon! Leave that alone! I won that on a cruise! Put it down! Can you excuse me for a moment?"
"... Sure."
"Okay, I'm back. He's a bit mischievous, it seems. But I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. Do you think it would be fine to just put down a newspaper?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, in case he needs to ... well, you know. No! Sit down! We don't open the window at this hour. It gets drafty. Sorry. He's a lot, you see."
"Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oh, it's alright. It's nice with some company, actually. It was just the speaking in Latin that bothered me. I don't speak it myself, so there's no use trying to have a conversation you see."
"The Latin is what bothers you."
"Yes."
"There's a portal to hell in your living room, opened by your roomba, and a demon crawled out from it. And him speaking Latin is what bothers you about this situation?"
"Yes? I don't know what's so hard to believe about that."
"Well ... I'm pretty sure demons only speak Latin."
"There's no English setting?"
"Not that I'm aware."
"Hmph. That's customer service for you these days. Not everyone knows Latin. I'm sick and tired of big companies acting as if we all learned it in school."
"Uh. Well. I'm sorry?"
"You better be. Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Down from the sofa! Get down from there! Shoo! Hello? Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
"Uh, okay. G-Goodbye, Alice. If there are any more problems, don't hesitate to--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a ring."
It turned out that a programmer had mistaken a comma for a period and that was what had caused those whole kerfuffle. It was sorted out, and I stopped getting calls. Well. I did get one more.
"Hello, my name is--"
"Rogelio disappeared!"
"Alice? Is that you again?"
"I was making the boy a sandwich and he vanished into thin air. How do I get him back?"
"Wait, you're talking about the demon?"
"Who else? Rogelio. That's what I've been calling him. Is there a button?"
"A button? To open the portal to hell back up?"
"Yes."
"No. No, there's no such button."
"I swear, customer service these days ... It's all rubbish, I tell you!"
"Perhaps if you drew a pentagram on your floor by hand?"
"Oh. You think that would work?"
"It might."
"Hang on. Okay, I've got some chalk. Let's see. A pentagram looks something like this, doesn't it?"
"I can only hear your voice, Alice. I can't see what you're--"
"Oh! It's happening. The portal is opening again. Rogelio! There you are. I have your sandwich right here. Yes, good boy. Alright, you can go on the sofa, just sit on the blanket will you? Good boy!"
"Okay then. I guess it all worked out?"
"Yes! Thank you for your help. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye."
It all worked out in the end, fortunately.
*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*.
|
"Joe, stop grading those calls we need you to take 15 agents on a 15 minutes training." I looked up to our floor supervisor that had just pulled of my earphones straight out of my ears. "Sophia, you know I'm behind on those grading whatever it is it can probably wai..."
She forcibly shut down my computer and dragged me off my chair while getting me up speed as we walked to conference room Napoleon ( I always hated this great people naming convention corporate has).
" The Rooma v3.4 update was release yesterday. The things are drawing pentagrams with dust accross America while chanting in binary. We have at least 200 cases of demonic possessions and polgergeist.
Depending of how far in the summoning process they are you can either just press and hold power or sometimes you have to physically destroy the machine and mix the dust with salt to stop the pentagram.
It's all hands on deck, to tell every agents. No we don't know when is the correction patch is coming and we don't know what do to if it finished the summoning. HQ said they're working on it.
For any complaints uses can wait for the official response next week or get a 50% of their next Roomba purchase if they waive their right to sue. "
Sophia close the door being me as I look at 15 of our call center agents waiting for me to say something. Clearly the rumor mill has already been going. I brace myself for a long day.
"... And that's why we won't allow them to make any claims until we know more details. Any questions?" It's my 12th group this morning. I'm tired, can barely keep the panic from my voice as the numbers keep going up.
I see father Thomas' hand raised as I brace myself for whatever moral arguments the ex-catholic priest want to once again gives us about the salvation of our souls.
"Am I allowed to perform the rites of exorcism?
- Thom we already talked about this. No religious references unless the user agree to it.
- If you insist, but the grace of god removed the demon in my call just before I got pulled in this meeting. Will you keep refusing salvation for those lost demons too?
-... Let me go listen to this call real quick, everyone else back to the phones ans watch your emails like a hawk for any updates. "
I start furiously typing an e-mail to the whole call center. Can't believe we didn't think of trying an exorcisme, a few latin chants and hands wave is all we needed. Even a few test runs with non priest works. Just gotta hit send and I'll be the hero of the whole company. If that doesn't get me ' exceed expectations' on my annual review I don't know what will!
I lay down in my chair for a well deserve coffee and a break as the comforting ping of incoming congratulations e-mails start coming in. I look at the screen with a smile and...
"From : hrHeadoffice@ consumerelectronics.Com
Subject : re: Exorcism to correct devil summoning issue.
Dear all,
Please note that this recently sent e-mail has not been approved by corporate HQ and should be disregarded. Consumer electronics does not affiliate with any religious organization or creed.
You can expect an official non religious process to be shared with you in the next week.
Thank you for your understanding,
Your HR team"
I look at the words on my screen in disbelief as a second email comes in addressed directly to me.
"From : hrHeadoffice@ consumerelectronics.Com
Subject : Displinary hearing for ignoring religious diversity policies"
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
My call center job can be stressful at times, but there is free coffee, so I can't complain. Complaining is what customers do. They yell at me for anything that the robots do: tangled USB cables, scared pets, and knocked down vases. None of it if my fault, but I always find a way to have them look on the bright side of things: at least they didn't have to sweep the floor themselves.
It all got a lot more interesting two months ago. A routine software update made the roombas turn by 36º by default, which was supposed to optimize how fast they can map a room. It turns out that this also optimized how often it can trace a pentagram. It also turns out that with the right sequence of blinking LEDs, the consequences of this software update go beyond the boundary of the average room. Here's another one calling, I'd better take it if I want to meet my quota.
"Hello, iRobot tech support. This is Kathy speaking." ... "Yes, sir. I understand that there is a trans-dimensional entity in your living room. Could you please describe it for me." ... "I see. And how tall would you say it is?" ... "It did what?" ... "To your cat?"
I try to type as much details as possible in the ticket. This is supposed to help people in R&D, but I don't think the gore is very useful and I would rather not think about too much so soon after breakfast. "Family pet deceased" will do.
"Well, sir this is very unfortunate but I could give you a coupon code for 75% discount on our of our companion robots if you want." ... "I understand your frustration, sir. I am not able to shove the code up anyone's ass unfortunately since it's a digital code. Could you please hold one brief moment while I look into our knowledge base to see how to best deal with your trans-dimensional entity?"
- Jim, you have to help me with this one. They have an eight foot tall purple furry one? That's nothing close to the typical imp.
- Oh, I had a customer with one of those last week. Let me see... Check out ticket #394223.
- Thanks!
Jim is cool! He remembers all those unusual cases and he knows the company protocols like the back of his hand. I think he's going to be promoted to manager one day. Oh wow! His customer lost more than a cat before they figured out how to deal with her problem. Lucky me for always dealing with known problems!
"Hello, sir, thank you for waiting. Sir, it seems like you are now the proud master of a Skah-a-lagowoo until the next full moon" ... "No sir, we don't know how to sent those back at this time." ... "That's right, sir, it will do anything you ask that is within your property." ... "That's correct, sir, it probably didn't abide to your request to 'get the fuck out of here' because it doesn't understand English. As far we can tell, Skah-a-lagowoos only understand Sumerian." ... "Yes, sir, I can imagine that you do not speak Sumerian. That is indeed something they dropped from the curriculum of most schools, unfortunately. Can you try 'sodanu untawa akagiwali'? We have reasons to believe that it means 'do the dishes'." ... "No sir, I do not speak Sumerian either, but I will flag your case number and ask one of our ancient languages experts to call you back as soon as possible." ... "Thank you sir and sorry again about your cat."
- Jim, do we really have an ancient languages department?
- Not really, but management is working around the clock to recruit people from the archaeology departments of top universities. The problem is that most of candidates so far don't survive their first encounter. Apparently their pronunciation is all wrong.
- Shit! I'm so glad we only deal with those problems over the phone.
- By the way, R&D is teaching imps how to hunt mice and rats. They are doing a demo this afternoon.
- So cool! Let's go check it out. They usually have good free food for those R&D demos.
And that is why I love my job. I could not ask for something more engaging with my degree in religion.
|
It started off as any other regular Monday. David brewed his coffee, poured out Mochi's daily kibble, and ate a bowl of steel-cut oats. He was feeling a little frisky that morning, so he added in two generous dashes of cinnamon.
At 9:00 sharp, he trotted into his home office, closing the door. Logging into his computer, David opened up Microsoft Outlook and Teams and powered on his company cellphone. As he waited for the programs to load, he did the daily New York Times mini crossword and scrolled through the news, drinking the last dregs of his now-lukewarm joe.
Then Microsoft Outlook finished loading. David narrowly avoided spitting his coffee all over his screen, choking down his last sip in a strangled gulp.
There were 666,666 new emails in his inbox.
*What on earth...*
At the same time, his cellphone dinged. On the voicemail icon, the same bright red numbers screamed at him.
They'd been in a rush to push out version 3.4, but David hadn't imagined there would be *this* many issues. How on earth had the software engineers messed up this badly?
Just as he had the thought, his phone rang. David shook himself out of his daze, cleared his throat, and picked up his phone.
"Hello? This is Roomba tech support speaking. My name is David, how may I help you?"
"H-hello, my Roomba isn't working." It was an old lady. It almost always was. Maybe it was the same old lady, calling hundreds of times, trying over and over again and waiting for someone to pick up. Maybe version 3.4 wasn't all that broken.
"Thanks for calling us. What seems to be the issue?"
"Hello, David. My name's Martha. Martha Jones. You see, dear, I was doing a deep clean of the house on Sunday. I always clean the house on Sundays, but this time, I thought, why not use that handy little robot thingamajig my grandson got me for Christmas? My grandson is a really smart little fellow, you know, he went to Harvard, majored in computer science. I got him some socks for Christmas. It's cold up there in Boston, I hear, and I hope he's getting some use out of those socks, alpaca wool, they were, and -"
"Ma'am, that's nice," David replied patiently. "But what exactly was the issue with the Roomba?"
"Ah, yes, the robot thingamajig. I powered it on, but it's spinning in circles and beeping weirdly. It sounds like it's trying to talk to me. You know, my husband, he passed away two years ago, bless his soul, but he used to be in the Navy, was an excellent pilot, quite dashing in his uniform back in the day - "
"Let's see, spinning in circles," David opened up the Roomba manual and hit control F, searching for the keywords. He knew most of the solutions to the common issues by heart, but this one was one that hadn't come up before. "What's the pattern of the beeping?"
"I was getting to that, dear, before you cut me off," the woman chided gently. "You see, my husband told me about this thing called morse code, and I looked it up on the Google. I thought maybe it would give me an answer, but it's just some sort of made-up language or something..*te nomine vero soloque evoco.*"
David's cellphone beeped, the tone of a call waiting on the line. "I'm awfully sorry, Ma'am, but I need to put you on hold for a second. Do you mind waiting a moment?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed answer. Brady's distressed voice echoed over the receiver.
"David! You won't believe what the hell just happened!"
"Try me, Brady," David replied. "I've got 666,666 new messages, all consumer complaints about the new upgrade. What the hell kind of software engineer worked on version 3.4? And who approved the upgrade? Didn't we go through some kind of testing or QC before we pushed?"
"David, *forget* the stupid software update," Brady replied. "This is much more serious than that. You're not in the office, so you don't know - everyone who works in software just got reverse-Raptured this morning. A hole opened up in the floor and they all got sucked to God knows where. Or the Devil knows where, more like."
Taking a shaky breath, David started clicking through the emails in his inbox.
*Found a bloody pentagram on my living room carpet. Not sure where the blood came from. Roomba is covered in it. Locked in the bathroom and barricaded the door with cleaning supplies. Unearthly wailing coming from outside the door. Leaving a 1-star review right now, version 3.3 was so much better*.
*Woke up to my daughter screaming bloody murder. Roomba was sitting on her chest, pinning her to the bed. Had to pull it off of her, now she's staying with her mom because she doesn't feel safe here anymore. Also, the Roomba is growing horns now. Really, none of this is addressed in the product warnings, which is quite unacceptable. I expect a full refund and compensation for all the therapy that my daughter will undoubtedly be needing.*
"Shit."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"Thank you for calling iRobot technical support, how can I assist you today?"
"Yes hello I have a Roomba i7 and I need help."
"I'm sorry to hear that you're having trouble with your Roomba i7, I can happily assist you with"
"No you don't understand, the Roomba is fine. *I* need help."
"What seems to be the trouble ma'am?"
"You see the Roomba drew a funny looking star on the ground and the lines it drew ignited and opened up a hole in space and summoned forth... ^^what ^^was ^^your ^^name? ^^R̸'̶y̴e̷l̵t̴h̴u̴z̵u̷b̵ ^^t̷h̷e̸ ^^D̴e̷v̵o̴u̸r̵e̷r̸ R'yelthuzub the Devourer."
"I see. I'll need to transfer you to iRobot exorcisms and cleansings, please hold and thank you for being an iRobot customer."
"No wait he says he"
::click::
"Thank you for calling iRobot technical exorcisms and cleansings, how can I assist you today?"
"Yes hello I have a Roomba i7 and I think it didn't work correctly because"
"I'm sorry ma'am I believe you want the technical support department, please wait a moment while I transfer.."
"No please don't transfer me they just transferred me to you!"
"What seems to be the problem ma'am."
"The Roomba drew a star and it lit on fire and now R'yelthuzub the Devourer wants to eat my soul"
"Have you tried resetting the Roomba to factory defaults?"
"Yes."
"Have you emptied the dust bin?"
"No..."
"Please empty the dust bin and let me know when this step is complete."
"...ok, hold on. ...almost open. ^yes ^R'yelthuzub, ^they ^said ^I ^have ^to ^empty ^it Ok it's empty."
"Is the demon or other-dimensional being still attempting to devour your soul?"
"Yes."
"Have you attempted to bargain with the demon or other-dimensional being in any way?"
"No, but I did ask if he wanted some cookies instead of my soul..."
"That applies as a form of bargaining. As your soul is now entered into the Book of Dark Pacts, there is an added demon-bargaining fee of $99.95 to allow us to cleanse your name from this unholy book. Do you consent to the additional charges?"
"I guess I do..."
Thank you. Can I please get your credit card information to complete the transaction?"
"Ok, let me get my purse and ^T̶h̷i̶s̷ ̴^i̴s̴ ^̷r̵i̵d̷i̷c̷u̵l̵o̴u̶s̶,̷ ^g̴i̶v̸e̸ ̷^m̵e̵ ̸^t̵h̷e̵ ̵^p̵h̴o̸n̷e̴.̷ ̸H̶e̶l̶l̴o̷?̵ ̷Wh̷o̵ ̴i̴s̸ ̸t̸h̷i̷s̴?̸
...N̵o̷,̴ ̸I̴ ̴a̷m̴ ̵R̵'̶y̷e̷l̷t̷h̴u̶z̴u̵b̵ ̸t̵h̵e̶ ̵D̸e̵v̶o̷u̷r̶e̸r̵,̶ ̷l̸o̶r̴d̷ ̸o̷f̵ ̵a̴l̷l̶ ̶w̸h̴o̶...
...N̵o̵,̴ ̷I̶ ̷d̶i̴d̶n̶'̷t̴ ̸s̶t̵a̸k̴e̷ ̴c̵l̶a̴i̵m̶ ̵t̵o̵ ̵t̷h̵i̵s̴ ̶d̶o̴m̶a̵i̴n̶ ̴b̶e̴f̸o̴r̶e̷...
...Y̸e̸s̴,̸ ̸I̵ ̴o̴w̷n̵ ̵e̵n̴o̸u̸g̵h̴ ̸s̵o̶u̴l̶s̴ ̴t̶o̶ ̷w̶i̴t̵n̵e̸s̷s̴.̵.̵.̵
...D̸e̷m̷o̴n̷ ̷l̴i̶c̸e̴n̸s̵e̷ ̵R̴S̵0̴9̸T̸6̵6̴6̸,̴ ̵e̸x̸p̵i̵r̶a̸t̴i̷o̸n̴ ̴J̷u̶n̷e̸ ̴2̸6̸ ̵2̵9̸4̷7̷4̷2̷.̵
J̵u̴s̶t̷ ̶a̷ ̸m̶o̵m̴e̵n̴t̸.̵ ̴O̷k̵,̴ ̴I̷ ̴p̴r̵e̷s̷s̴e̶d̵ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̵g̴l̴o̴w̵i̸n̸g̸ ̶s̴i̶g̴i̶l̷ ̴o̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̴R̸o̶o̵m̸b̵a̶...
H̸o̷w̴ ̸l̵o̶n̴g̶ ̵d̶o̷ ̷I̸ ̶h̸a̴v̶e̵ ̵t̴o̵ ̵w̵a̵i̷t̶ ̸u̵n̴t̷i̶l̷ ̵N̵͍̆O̶͙̕O̷͈͝O̴̓͜O̷̺̚O̴̼̐O̵͕̓ ̸̱͐C̶̹̄Ȗ̷̢Ṛ̷͝S̴̪͠Ĕ̸͍ ̵̭̅Ẏ̵̺O̷̬͒Ǘ̵̖ ̷̹̿F̶̢̄Ô̶͍Ủ̷̱L̷̤͐ ̸̋ͅḾ̵̫Ọ̸̿Ȓ̸͖T̵͖̋A̶̙̓L̷̘̈́ ̴͓́I̷͍͝ ̸̙͊W̶̒͜I̶͖̎Ĺ̶̞Ĺ̴̤ ̶̬̾B̷̳̊Ă̶̝T̸͙͌H̸̻̏E̵̗͝ ̵̯̃Ȋ̶̫N̷̼̏ ̷͓́A̶̢͌ ̵̛̥R̷̐͜Ị̶͂V̵͖͊E̶̘͌R̸̭͛ ̴̥͘O̷̥͐F̴̨̐ ̷̖̀Y̴͓̾Ȯ̷̘Ŭ̷̹R̶̡̈́ ̶̘͝Ḅ̵̑L̷͓̄Ȏ̵̜Ǫ̵͝Ḑ̴̎ ̴̠͐F̸̣͂O̸̹̕R̷͕̊ ̴̖̀E̴̽ͅT̸̺̓E̷̯̐R̶̡͘N̶̡͊I̵͚̚T̶̰̈́Y̸͇̓ ̸̡̌Á̵̳N̸̈́͜D̸̟̓ ̴̢̀Á̴͈Ḽ̶̏L̶̹͠ ̵̔ͅS̸͎̀Ḧ̶͈́A̵͔̐L̸͉̃L̷̩̇L̴̤͗L̵̹͌llll..."
...
"Are you there ma'am?"
"The demon just got sucked into a glowing portal of holy light, is that normal?"
"Yes ma'am. Now let's get back to gathering your credit card information."
|
It started off as any other regular Monday. David brewed his coffee, poured out Mochi's daily kibble, and ate a bowl of steel-cut oats. He was feeling a little frisky that morning, so he added in two generous dashes of cinnamon.
At 9:00 sharp, he trotted into his home office, closing the door. Logging into his computer, David opened up Microsoft Outlook and Teams and powered on his company cellphone. As he waited for the programs to load, he did the daily New York Times mini crossword and scrolled through the news, drinking the last dregs of his now-lukewarm joe.
Then Microsoft Outlook finished loading. David narrowly avoided spitting his coffee all over his screen, choking down his last sip in a strangled gulp.
There were 666,666 new emails in his inbox.
*What on earth...*
At the same time, his cellphone dinged. On the voicemail icon, the same bright red numbers screamed at him.
They'd been in a rush to push out version 3.4, but David hadn't imagined there would be *this* many issues. How on earth had the software engineers messed up this badly?
Just as he had the thought, his phone rang. David shook himself out of his daze, cleared his throat, and picked up his phone.
"Hello? This is Roomba tech support speaking. My name is David, how may I help you?"
"H-hello, my Roomba isn't working." It was an old lady. It almost always was. Maybe it was the same old lady, calling hundreds of times, trying over and over again and waiting for someone to pick up. Maybe version 3.4 wasn't all that broken.
"Thanks for calling us. What seems to be the issue?"
"Hello, David. My name's Martha. Martha Jones. You see, dear, I was doing a deep clean of the house on Sunday. I always clean the house on Sundays, but this time, I thought, why not use that handy little robot thingamajig my grandson got me for Christmas? My grandson is a really smart little fellow, you know, he went to Harvard, majored in computer science. I got him some socks for Christmas. It's cold up there in Boston, I hear, and I hope he's getting some use out of those socks, alpaca wool, they were, and -"
"Ma'am, that's nice," David replied patiently. "But what exactly was the issue with the Roomba?"
"Ah, yes, the robot thingamajig. I powered it on, but it's spinning in circles and beeping weirdly. It sounds like it's trying to talk to me. You know, my husband, he passed away two years ago, bless his soul, but he used to be in the Navy, was an excellent pilot, quite dashing in his uniform back in the day - "
"Let's see, spinning in circles," David opened up the Roomba manual and hit control F, searching for the keywords. He knew most of the solutions to the common issues by heart, but this one was one that hadn't come up before. "What's the pattern of the beeping?"
"I was getting to that, dear, before you cut me off," the woman chided gently. "You see, my husband told me about this thing called morse code, and I looked it up on the Google. I thought maybe it would give me an answer, but it's just some sort of made-up language or something..*te nomine vero soloque evoco.*"
David's cellphone beeped, the tone of a call waiting on the line. "I'm awfully sorry, Ma'am, but I need to put you on hold for a second. Do you mind waiting a moment?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed answer. Brady's distressed voice echoed over the receiver.
"David! You won't believe what the hell just happened!"
"Try me, Brady," David replied. "I've got 666,666 new messages, all consumer complaints about the new upgrade. What the hell kind of software engineer worked on version 3.4? And who approved the upgrade? Didn't we go through some kind of testing or QC before we pushed?"
"David, *forget* the stupid software update," Brady replied. "This is much more serious than that. You're not in the office, so you don't know - everyone who works in software just got reverse-Raptured this morning. A hole opened up in the floor and they all got sucked to God knows where. Or the Devil knows where, more like."
Taking a shaky breath, David started clicking through the emails in his inbox.
*Found a bloody pentagram on my living room carpet. Not sure where the blood came from. Roomba is covered in it. Locked in the bathroom and barricaded the door with cleaning supplies. Unearthly wailing coming from outside the door. Leaving a 1-star review right now, version 3.3 was so much better*.
*Woke up to my daughter screaming bloody murder. Roomba was sitting on her chest, pinning her to the bed. Had to pull it off of her, now she's staying with her mom because she doesn't feel safe here anymore. Also, the Roomba is growing horns now. Really, none of this is addressed in the product warnings, which is quite unacceptable. I expect a full refund and compensation for all the therapy that my daughter will undoubtedly be needing.*
"Shit."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
|
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"Thank you for calling iRobot technical support, how can I assist you today?"
"Yes hello I have a Roomba i7 and I need help."
"I'm sorry to hear that you're having trouble with your Roomba i7, I can happily assist you with"
"No you don't understand, the Roomba is fine. *I* need help."
"What seems to be the trouble ma'am?"
"You see the Roomba drew a funny looking star on the ground and the lines it drew ignited and opened up a hole in space and summoned forth... ^^what ^^was ^^your ^^name? ^^R̸'̶y̴e̷l̵t̴h̴u̴z̵u̷b̵ ^^t̷h̷e̸ ^^D̴e̷v̵o̴u̸r̵e̷r̸ R'yelthuzub the Devourer."
"I see. I'll need to transfer you to iRobot exorcisms and cleansings, please hold and thank you for being an iRobot customer."
"No wait he says he"
::click::
"Thank you for calling iRobot technical exorcisms and cleansings, how can I assist you today?"
"Yes hello I have a Roomba i7 and I think it didn't work correctly because"
"I'm sorry ma'am I believe you want the technical support department, please wait a moment while I transfer.."
"No please don't transfer me they just transferred me to you!"
"What seems to be the problem ma'am."
"The Roomba drew a star and it lit on fire and now R'yelthuzub the Devourer wants to eat my soul"
"Have you tried resetting the Roomba to factory defaults?"
"Yes."
"Have you emptied the dust bin?"
"No..."
"Please empty the dust bin and let me know when this step is complete."
"...ok, hold on. ...almost open. ^yes ^R'yelthuzub, ^they ^said ^I ^have ^to ^empty ^it Ok it's empty."
"Is the demon or other-dimensional being still attempting to devour your soul?"
"Yes."
"Have you attempted to bargain with the demon or other-dimensional being in any way?"
"No, but I did ask if he wanted some cookies instead of my soul..."
"That applies as a form of bargaining. As your soul is now entered into the Book of Dark Pacts, there is an added demon-bargaining fee of $99.95 to allow us to cleanse your name from this unholy book. Do you consent to the additional charges?"
"I guess I do..."
Thank you. Can I please get your credit card information to complete the transaction?"
"Ok, let me get my purse and ^T̶h̷i̶s̷ ̴^i̴s̴ ^̷r̵i̵d̷i̷c̷u̵l̵o̴u̶s̶,̷ ^g̴i̶v̸e̸ ̷^m̵e̵ ̸^t̵h̷e̵ ̵^p̵h̴o̸n̷e̴.̷ ̸H̶e̶l̶l̴o̷?̵ ̷Wh̷o̵ ̴i̴s̸ ̸t̸h̷i̷s̴?̸
...N̵o̷,̴ ̸I̴ ̴a̷m̴ ̵R̵'̶y̷e̷l̷t̷h̴u̶z̴u̵b̵ ̸t̵h̵e̶ ̵D̸e̵v̶o̷u̷r̶e̸r̵,̶ ̷l̸o̶r̴d̷ ̸o̷f̵ ̵a̴l̷l̶ ̶w̸h̴o̶...
...N̵o̵,̴ ̷I̶ ̷d̶i̴d̶n̶'̷t̴ ̸s̶t̵a̸k̴e̷ ̴c̵l̶a̴i̵m̶ ̵t̵o̵ ̵t̷h̵i̵s̴ ̶d̶o̴m̶a̵i̴n̶ ̴b̶e̴f̸o̴r̶e̷...
...Y̸e̸s̴,̸ ̸I̵ ̴o̴w̷n̵ ̵e̵n̴o̸u̸g̵h̴ ̸s̵o̶u̴l̶s̴ ̴t̶o̶ ̷w̶i̴t̵n̵e̸s̷s̴.̵.̵.̵
...D̸e̷m̷o̴n̷ ̷l̴i̶c̸e̴n̸s̵e̷ ̵R̴S̵0̴9̸T̸6̵6̴6̸,̴ ̵e̸x̸p̵i̵r̶a̸t̴i̷o̸n̴ ̴J̷u̶n̷e̸ ̴2̸6̸ ̵2̵9̸4̷7̷4̷2̷.̵
J̵u̴s̶t̷ ̶a̷ ̸m̶o̵m̴e̵n̴t̸.̵ ̴O̷k̵,̴ ̴I̷ ̴p̴r̵e̷s̷s̴e̶d̵ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̵g̴l̴o̴w̵i̸n̸g̸ ̶s̴i̶g̴i̶l̷ ̴o̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̴R̸o̶o̵m̸b̵a̶...
H̸o̷w̴ ̸l̵o̶n̴g̶ ̵d̶o̷ ̷I̸ ̶h̸a̴v̶e̵ ̵t̴o̵ ̵w̵a̵i̷t̶ ̸u̵n̴t̷i̶l̷ ̵N̵͍̆O̶͙̕O̷͈͝O̴̓͜O̷̺̚O̴̼̐O̵͕̓ ̸̱͐C̶̹̄Ȗ̷̢Ṛ̷͝S̴̪͠Ĕ̸͍ ̵̭̅Ẏ̵̺O̷̬͒Ǘ̵̖ ̷̹̿F̶̢̄Ô̶͍Ủ̷̱L̷̤͐ ̸̋ͅḾ̵̫Ọ̸̿Ȓ̸͖T̵͖̋A̶̙̓L̷̘̈́ ̴͓́I̷͍͝ ̸̙͊W̶̒͜I̶͖̎Ĺ̶̞Ĺ̴̤ ̶̬̾B̷̳̊Ă̶̝T̸͙͌H̸̻̏E̵̗͝ ̵̯̃Ȋ̶̫N̷̼̏ ̷͓́A̶̢͌ ̵̛̥R̷̐͜Ị̶͂V̵͖͊E̶̘͌R̸̭͛ ̴̥͘O̷̥͐F̴̨̐ ̷̖̀Y̴͓̾Ȯ̷̘Ŭ̷̹R̶̡̈́ ̶̘͝Ḅ̵̑L̷͓̄Ȏ̵̜Ǫ̵͝Ḑ̴̎ ̴̠͐F̸̣͂O̸̹̕R̷͕̊ ̴̖̀E̴̽ͅT̸̺̓E̷̯̐R̶̡͘N̶̡͊I̵͚̚T̶̰̈́Y̸͇̓ ̸̡̌Á̵̳N̸̈́͜D̸̟̓ ̴̢̀Á̴͈Ḽ̶̏L̶̹͠ ̵̔ͅS̸͎̀Ḧ̶͈́A̵͔̐L̸͉̃L̷̩̇L̴̤͗L̵̹͌llll..."
...
"Are you there ma'am?"
"The demon just got sucked into a glowing portal of holy light, is that normal?"
"Yes ma'am. Now let's get back to gathering your credit card information."
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My call center job can be stressful at times, but there is free coffee, so I can't complain. Complaining is what customers do. They yell at me for anything that the robots do: tangled USB cables, scared pets, and knocked down vases. None of it if my fault, but I always find a way to have them look on the bright side of things: at least they didn't have to sweep the floor themselves.
It all got a lot more interesting two months ago. A routine software update made the roombas turn by 36º by default, which was supposed to optimize how fast they can map a room. It turns out that this also optimized how often it can trace a pentagram. It also turns out that with the right sequence of blinking LEDs, the consequences of this software update go beyond the boundary of the average room. Here's another one calling, I'd better take it if I want to meet my quota.
"Hello, iRobot tech support. This is Kathy speaking." ... "Yes, sir. I understand that there is a trans-dimensional entity in your living room. Could you please describe it for me." ... "I see. And how tall would you say it is?" ... "It did what?" ... "To your cat?"
I try to type as much details as possible in the ticket. This is supposed to help people in R&D, but I don't think the gore is very useful and I would rather not think about too much so soon after breakfast. "Family pet deceased" will do.
"Well, sir this is very unfortunate but I could give you a coupon code for 75% discount on our of our companion robots if you want." ... "I understand your frustration, sir. I am not able to shove the code up anyone's ass unfortunately since it's a digital code. Could you please hold one brief moment while I look into our knowledge base to see how to best deal with your trans-dimensional entity?"
- Jim, you have to help me with this one. They have an eight foot tall purple furry one? That's nothing close to the typical imp.
- Oh, I had a customer with one of those last week. Let me see... Check out ticket #394223.
- Thanks!
Jim is cool! He remembers all those unusual cases and he knows the company protocols like the back of his hand. I think he's going to be promoted to manager one day. Oh wow! His customer lost more than a cat before they figured out how to deal with her problem. Lucky me for always dealing with known problems!
"Hello, sir, thank you for waiting. Sir, it seems like you are now the proud master of a Skah-a-lagowoo until the next full moon" ... "No sir, we don't know how to sent those back at this time." ... "That's right, sir, it will do anything you ask that is within your property." ... "That's correct, sir, it probably didn't abide to your request to 'get the fuck out of here' because it doesn't understand English. As far we can tell, Skah-a-lagowoos only understand Sumerian." ... "Yes, sir, I can imagine that you do not speak Sumerian. That is indeed something they dropped from the curriculum of most schools, unfortunately. Can you try 'sodanu untawa akagiwali'? We have reasons to believe that it means 'do the dishes'." ... "No sir, I do not speak Sumerian either, but I will flag your case number and ask one of our ancient languages experts to call you back as soon as possible." ... "Thank you sir and sorry again about your cat."
- Jim, do we really have an ancient languages department?
- Not really, but management is working around the clock to recruit people from the archaeology departments of top universities. The problem is that most of candidates so far don't survive their first encounter. Apparently their pronunciation is all wrong.
- Shit! I'm so glad we only deal with those problems over the phone.
- By the way, R&D is teaching imps how to hunt mice and rats. They are doing a demo this afternoon.
- So cool! Let's go check it out. They usually have good free food for those R&D demos.
And that is why I love my job. I could not ask for something more engaging with my degree in religion.
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[WP] The King had his court wizard summon A Hero From Another World to defeat The Dread King Of Vile Darkness. After many trials and tribulations, the hero (and their companions) succeeded. Now the hero keeps bothering everyone with their constant requests to be sent back to their true home.
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This got really long on me and it's unedited, but the prompt inspired me, so...
Pt. 1 of 2
“You were warned,” the gravely voice sounded as if many spoke at once as it echoed eerily from the depths of the seer’s cave. The king fought back a shudder, the sound cutting through him like an icy wind.
He bowed his head and sighed because the seer had warned him. The spell to summon a champion had even been imprinted with it’s own warning. Intent was key. If only he hadn’t rushed in. The pressure had become too much and he’d gone looking for a solution not to save his people, but to stop all the people harassing him about not doing something about the monster plaguing them all.
In his daily audiences, all he heard were complaints about how much damage the monster had done, how many villagers the beast had killed. And outside his audiences his advisors constantly barraged him with demands to know what he was going to do about the beast or suggestions as to what he should do about it. By the time he’d heard of the spell to call a champion, all he’d wanted was for it all to finally stop.
As usual, it all came down the phrasing. He’d asked for, “A champion to stop the beast from harming the kingdom.”
And the beast had been stopped, for sure. It now followed that blasted woman around like a puppy. It even let her ride on it’s back.
Everything had started out well enough, of course. He’d done the spell and a large, strong-looking woman wearing strange armor had appeared before him. He’d plead his case, and then it had all fallen apart.
She’d cried and screamed, insisting that she wasn’t a warrior at all, but some kind of scribe and that they had to send her back right away. She’d carried on quite obnoxiously and, unfortunately, quite loudly. The entire court had known by lunchtime that he’d fumbled the spell. There was talk among his generals and advisors that perhaps they’d be better off with his brother as King.
Desperate and having no idea how to send the woman back, he’d declared the woman to be a sorcerer who foiled his spell to sneak into the castle so she could bewitch them all. Surprisingly, everyone had bought that story and it was decided to dump the woman near the beast’s lair. Either she’d destroy the monster and prove herself a champion, or else she’d be eaten and no longer their problem.
Except the woman had chosen a third path and had somehow tamed the beast.
For a time, that seemed to be the end of it. The beast stopped attacking villages. The woman was given some gold and granted the land the beast had claimed as a reward and that should have been the end of it.
But she still wanted to go home. She asked at the award ceremony. She asked again at the ball they threw in her honor. She kept asking every time she saw the king. It was rather annoying, so eventually the king started having his advisors make his excuses when she came to the palace. He stopped inviting her to dinners and balls and celebrations. Over time, she came to the palace less and less frequently. The King assumed this meant she was settling in.Apparently, he assumed wrong. She spent the months in between her requests for an audience travelling the world, searching for magic that could send her home. Each time she came to request an audience, she brought her latest research, all of which said the only way for her to go home was to reverse the spell he’d cast to bring her here. Obviously, that was out of the question as it would cause the beast to revert to a vicious monster.
Meanwhile, all of her searching had taught her to be the powerful sorceress he’d claimed her to be. She could turn stone to sand and steel to glass with a wave of her hand. Plants and stones came alive at her call and obeyed her whims. She could call down lightning from the sky and her pet beast could now fly, faster than the wind.
All of which the kind learned on the day she and the beast crashed through the ceiling of the great hall in the middle of his daily audiences.
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Michael stood in the court room for the three hundredth day in a row.
“Can you send me home now?”
“The wizard is still working on it,” the king said, looking past him to the next person who had queued up for an audience with the king, hoping to get rid of the insistent, persistent, hero.
The king had given him a duchy in the east, where the lands were fertile and the climate was pleasant. He had offered the hero one of his own daughters. When he refused, he had offered the hero his pick among the king’s daughters.
“Your Grace,” one of the court advisors said. “We assure you the wizard is working on the spell for your return as we speak.”
“No he’s not,” the hero said. “He’s with a merchant’s daughter in the teahouse district, pretending to like tea.”
“Well then he’s gone against royal orders,” the king said. “I assure you, we will take care of it.”
“No,” the hero said. “I know now the reason behind your delay.”
“It is a difficult thing to transport people across planes.”
“You need incentive,” the hero said. “You were scared for your life when you brought me here.
The wish to survive was your incentive. Now, imagine that your foe is someone stronger than the Dread King of Vile Darkness. Imagine then, how desperate you would be to send away such an enemy.”
“Is there another invader coming to the kingdom?” the king asked.
“Yes, he’s raised a powerful army in the east. He was more powerful than the Dread King, and definitely more than you—” the hero paused. “How are you so dense? I’m talking about me.”
“You?”
“Yes, the person who you granted a giant, wealthy duchy… and then pissed off. Find a way to send me back home by the winter solstice, or I’ll invade this kingdom, and you’ll spend the rest of your idiotic life in the dungeons.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my writing, you can see more of it at* r/analect.
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[WP] Imperial common is a human centric language. Many sounds it uses are outside the vocal range of orcs, goblins, and the like, leaving them trying to communicate with the broken fragments that they can use. Mistaking that for stupidity is often the last mistake many humans make.
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She'd been overlooking them for quite some time now. Every scholar she had to run her proposal by had warned her a thousand times not to get too close, and that it was a fool's errand to try and see if these tribes bore any redeeming qualities. Orcs, they all simply said, were just fallen elves, and they'd lost their intelligence with them. It always seemed probably enough to never be questioned, but it always nagged at her. Too self-righteous, too presumptious. At best, it seemed like a half-baked attempt to try to post-facto approve the endless wars.
The same wars that gave her the funding now. It was out of amusement, if anything, fear of "what if they *are* actually smart, what do we do then? It's only a matter of time before their weapons are better than ours, then" scenario, or something like it, even if they oh-so-obviously rolled their eyes at the thought. At best, she knew she was just being treated as early reconnisance for a yet unknown crusade once more. Her entire goal of research treated as nothing more than a simple battlefield scout; her entire background in linguistics and society discarded. All they ever cared about was war, their holy righteousness, and part of her feared that if she was to be proven right, they'd carry out their war in a guise of trying to "uplift" such a downtrodden race.
It wasn't as if she could be wrong here, right? She knew she'd been proven right once before, her studies on kobold tactics had saved many lives by noticing how they communicated through scratches and other noises that the common adventurer would ignore; she'd proven that they, too, had a capacity for highly-thought-out pack tactics that would keep them safe. No one had ever *tried* to reach out peacefully, it was always in the name of gold and resources.
A heavy sigh racked her as she shook her head. She was letting her mind wander from her perch in the hills. It was simply because there was nothing interesting *happening* through her spyglass that made her rue it all, even if it was solely her own idea for her to spend an entire month -- if not longer -- watching over them. After all, despite her own doubts of the truth of reasoning for all of the conflict, she knew full well if she was to just stroll up to the front gate, they'd skin her alive. Bad blood wasn't her specialty in repairing; she was just a researcher, just solely academic, she had nothing to offer.
A few of the green-skinned behemoths were congregating in the center of their small camp, as she would best call it, even if it bordered on a village in terms of its population -- and unlike the traditional war camps, of what she was told, at least, it wasn't just populated by men. It made her chew at the inside of her cheek; she'd been fed bad information by her advisor or been lied to by him all the same. The bald one with blue eyes and several scars seemed to be the most senior of them, but she hesitated to label him as their leader. The way he acted didn't match with how orc rulers had been described, he seemed far too caring. The sun was making it hard to make out the movements of his lips, the way it kept trying to bounce into her eye, but she did her best to squist through it. She'd found studying the leader to be the most interesting, and so she tried to keep her eyes on him as much as possible; if nothing else, she figured, she knew that he was old enough to have survived several conflicts -- there had to be some wisdom in that.
Yet, was he looking right at her? He almost seemed to be, but there was no way he could be. She was far enough off that there was no possible way for him to see her by naked eye. With a sigh, she put her spyglass away and pulled out her notebook and jotted down a few scrawls about how nothing had changed. The most interesting thing in the past week had been how they were reinforcing the walls, but beyond that, there was nothing more than just the usual you could expect out of a society that existed, according to all of the literature she'd read, as nothing more than a society of nomads. It wasn't as though she could blame them, though.
They had every reason to always be on the run. She'd wait till nightfall to check back in once more, her mind cognizant now of the slight rumble in her stomach. She'd been rationing out her food more than usual after she'd found some of it stolen by wildlife, and she'd been doing that even before to jsut spend a little bit longer out here. She couldn't be wrong. She didn't want to be, and so she had to refuse even the idea that she could be lest she discredit every other idea that was running through her mind.
But she wasn't a hunter. If it came to it, she would have to return empty-handed. As if for good luck, she extended out the spyglass once more and prayed. The leader still seemed to be looking at her. Was he smiling now? She wondered why.
---
Every night, the orcs would gather around the center pyre as they good that days hunt. She couldn't tell if they were talking beyond the small movements of their lips, but it was hard to misplace if that was just chewing or something more. She'd made note of it once, but it barely even clicked in her mind as something to be aware of now. Putting away the spyglass, she shook her head softly as she sunk her lips around a piece of hardtack. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe they were no better than a group of brutes, able to fight and survive so long simply for their endurance that outmatched anything else in a fight. Elves were more nimble, humans more adaptable, and orcs were just simple, stupid brutes.
She rolled her eyes; she was starting to sound just like her teachers all those years. Gently tapping her foot, she tried to think of any probable ideas to roll with here. With the way that the wars kept breaking out, she knew that the orc tribes had been forced into nomadicy, and any ruins of their old towns had been taken over by the other races. Nothing there. Moving on by now was an inevitability, but she just had to figure out what she could do with it. Maybe she could move behind a tribe, or try to repeat the study with goblins, but after the kobolds, she had no desires to be underground for an extended period of time in the near future.
Had she not been distracted, strumming her fingers against her cheek, she'd likely not've noticed the flickering of fire on the walls -- but it wasn't bright enough to be the walls themselves aflame. Bringing back up the spyglass, she looked at it. An orc -- the leader? She couldn't tell in the dark -- was raising a torch above and below the lip of the wall where he was seemingly standing guard, facing right towards her as if to signal to her. Designed specifically to catch her eye.
But how? There was no way that she could have been spotted, yet... if it was that she was being signalled, maybe she would be safe to go down. As she collapsed the spyglass, every logical bone in her body was telling her to not pick up her rucksack and make her way down the hill, yet she had to know. The logical part of her mind screamed she was just a moth to a flame, but the hopeful part told her there may never be an opportunity like this again. With a deep breath in, she had to trust her beliefs. If she was wrong, then she overestimated them; it would be the last mistake she would make, at the very least.
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"**WHAT ... YOU HERE ...** "
The booming voice commanded, reflected on the rocky surface of the cavern's insides.
At its entrance, two adventurers looked at each other, visibly confused. A man and a woman. They quickly shifted in line with the cavern at the loud announcement. A defensive reflex, earned by years of combat in the wild.
At the rear, close to the green, bright, afternoon sun of the outside plains, were standing a woman in blue mage robes. Its rich golden embroideries and its impeccable state displays the high status and little tolerance for the unexpected of its owner. Her long chestnut hair flown behind her, from under her large pointy hat. Despite the softness of her traits, her face was roughen up with worry and impatience. She was tightly gripping her magic staff with both hands : a perfectly straight milky white pole with intricate golden decorations, topped with a bright deep blue gem levitating in its glided marble cage. Matching the magic gleam of her eyes.
Yezebel, of her name, let a few frustrated swears under her breath, while taking position.
Her fronting companion had a more relaxed demeanor, despite having readied a dagger in each of his hands in a heartbeat. He is a lot rougher looking than his magic peer, his leather armor showing a lot of dents, scratches dirt, and stains. His raven hair held in a ponytail going down to his shoulders. His gray-blue eyes taking part of the self-confident and careful expression of his volunteer, straight traits. His short ink black beard and older scar across is otherwise unscathed right eye. Dayton would wear a toothy, pearly, amused grin or laughing, showing off how years of adventuring sculpted his form, in different conditions. Instead, his glacier gaze is focused on the darkness of the cavern.
"Tsk, why are we *always* the ones who get the *worst* missions ?" Yezebel was losing it, her fiery temperament taking over. Ironic, for a elemental mage specialized in water.
"I would be grateful if you could light us up the way, Yez." The unusual coldness of his voice sent chills of pure terror form her neck, all the way down her spine.
It took her a couple of seconds to collect herself, before starting incantating an illumination spell, but another tremor from the heart of the cavern interrupted her midway :
"**HUMANS ... NOT WEL---COME. BAD ... NEWS. GO AWAY ... NOW**
##OR ELSE."
The voice was struggling with each word. Rockier and deeper than the place it came form.
Yezebel fallen sit on the ground, while Dayton managed to stay upright. After a time to process the orders they've been given, he left his fighting posture, to turn toward his duo, with his usual, nonchalant smile.
"Hey, I just realized -"
Her face was contorted with fury, she interrupted him before he could finish telling her that he thought the monster they've been sent to slay couldn't be all that fearsome. He found its broken common tongue hilarious.
"I don't *CARE* what it is." She fumed, while getting herself up. "It. Is. Going. DOWN !"
Dayton didn't remain taken aback by her display of anger for very long : he is used to it. He knows perfectly well how nobody and nothing is allowed to harm her robes and live to tell the tale.
She produced instantly a smaller light globe, and went ahead deeper first. He shrugged, and followed her.
A few minutes later, a single roar could be heard with a flash of red light coming form the cavern. An intelligent creature who has lived for thousands of years : an elder earth dragon was living there. Being unable to speak common doesn't mean being unable to understand it. And Yezebel migh have paid the highest price for this lesson.
Dayton told me he managed to talk his way out, but mourned the loss of his friend until his last breath. Burnt on half of his body, as proof of his story.
So remember, everyone. Never judge a book by its cover !
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Too much exposition, and I rushed the end. =(
I think I want to make them recurring characters, now. I like her, it's too bad we only get to see her die like that.
That, and I don't know how I could keep an omniscient narration and justify we know about what happened in the first place. I really struggled to wrap thing up.
Also, repetitive cavern feels repetitive. And my two people are dumbasses. On the other hand, I like how the dragon feels overarching and ominous all along.
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[WP] Upon entering the Magic School every student is chosen by a Grimoire. You were chosen by an dirty and ancient looking Grimoire. The title of the Book is the Necronomicon.
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Mother took one more sideways glance at the book. Rolled her eyes again and tutted furiously as she made herself busy preparing the breakfast.
"You always did have to do things in your own funny way"
She set her hand over her own pristine Grimiore causing the pages to flicker lightly, resting on one choice page. Effortlessly her eyes glowed as an ancient verse came not just from her mouth, but the deepest part of her soul. You swore that before the last syllable had even made its way from her, she had already moved on to the next task. As the mother of 5, breakfast was always a busy time and she moved with the efficiency of a palace automaton. Not a wasted second was allowed.
"I'm not cross, or disappointed or anything, truly poppet I'm not, It's clearly very powerful and all that my love...but..."
She looked at it once again and lost her words to yet another eyeroll and then was distracted by some sort of toast based emergency. The spell she had cast had by now activated. A cleanliness charm, dispelling any mess within a 3m radius for the next hour. An essential component of any mealtime. However when a stray slice of toast makes a break for the floor, it did mean it was classed as mess even before the sacred five second rule has passed. So now she was one slice down and the boys would be through in moments.
"Mum..."
I paused. She paused. We both knew what must be said, but neither dared speak. I swallowed hard, since it had happened yesterday we'd quite happily been playing this little game. Mum being bemused and slightly annoyed at my very dramatic Grimiore. Me being surprised and excited I got such an ancient text. But this wasn't something that was going to go away with naive optimism.
"What will Dad say?"
"We'll find out once his meeting with the directors is over"
"What will the directors say?"
"How would I know, I'm not a director am I?"
"You know what I mean!"
My brothers had started to filter into the room now and Mum shot me a look to shut up between filling the youngest brothers plate and policing the others behaviour. Though my eldest brother had received his(entirely normal) Grimiore a year previously, the others were still too young. The whole ceremony is to be kept secret before you come of age and was certainly not appropriate conversation for mealtimes. So any answers I could squeeze from her would have to wait.
As the boys settled at the table to eat, I caught her running her hands over the front of her Grimiore, a melancholy glint in her eye. The Ultimate Collection of Spells for Modern Ladies. A respectable housewife's Grimiore, published by the now head of Directors wife in the 60's. Such a respectable Grimiore, written by a high level strong lineage witch, being assigned it pretty much guaranteed my mother marriage into a well to do wizard bloodline. Her own bloodline was reasonably respectable. Decent magic, acceptable lineage. She was destined for a solid life of alrightish mediocrity till she gained the ultimate wifey Grimiore. No old stuffy wizard could resist a wife with those skills. Her Grimiore had given her a safe, comfortable life. But mine was not so simple. I did come from my father's bloodline, so I was expected to be proficient. I had been expected to be a lot of things truth be told. For years I was told what I could expect when I gained my magic. How I could expect great things from it, how I would benefit our society vastly. But no one had prepared for for gaining such a great and powerful evil...
Maybe I am evil and I don't know it yet?
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She said the words. I could hear them through the door, and I threw my ear against the black oak, senseless to the pain. Still, I could not make out their origin nor their verbal shape. It was as if something between myself and the speaker were boxing out the syllables and emphasis of her speaking, leaving my ears with square, unfamiliar tones.
" Damn it all!, " I thought, desperation filling my heart with low, chiding rage. " If I cannot hear the words, I will not know the song, and if I can't sing the song, they will know I was lying. I looked at the stars and the blackness between their numberless shimmering, as cold and distant to my tears as the brightness they reflected.
Why was this happening to me? I had done everything right. I had collected earth from the grave of an adulterous man. I had collected the urine of a child suffering from the wasting. Strange flowers, impossible to find unless you turn over the rotting trunk of a fallen elm which lay in the unmoving shadow of a cursed cairn; Those onyx, razor-sharp rocks lay tumbled down the hill, reflecting an empty sun.
Stranger things where I possessed to find, things I will not name for the chills that tic the tips of my fingers and chatter my teeth to cracking. I cannot deny that magic is real, for I have said the names of bestial precursor gods, and heard their reply. Even now I am followed by strange, cold fire whose will I cannot master. But worst of all, I had the eyes of a beloved pet, full of love, trying to lick my face as I strangled it with my own hands. Those eyes, the sound of his windpipe cracking like thin wood. My poor darling, my only beloved companion who kept me warm in the night, and here, and here at the end of it and they will not let me in!?
My mind broke. I had come here certain that I would find common cause. Curse me for opening that black bordered letter. Curse me for deciphering the spidery text by the light of a scholar’s candle. With a snarl I threw myself against the locked door.
"You imperious little bitch! You lied, you let me in and you tell me why I did these things! Why did you lie to me! Why did you send me this letter?" I fished it out of my pocket, the thick scented paper, I tore it apart, knowing it was my only ticket out of this backwards, nowhere life.
Blind with rage I used every limb against the sealed portal. The cold fire, watching from the woods, my only companion. Sobbing, tears pouring out of my eyes in thick rivulets, searing the hundred small cuts on my face. My mind finally breaking, a ceaseless album, my dead mother, my dead father, my dead sisters. The broken, dust choked village where I was born. The poisoned hole in my chest in which I used to pour beatitudes and false promises, only to watch it slop over the edges, pour down my belly and legs until it pooled black.
Finally, I fell to my knees, dignity flown from me finally, hands over my face in shame.
"You made me kill my only friend..." I said, tongueless and incoherent, words fused and warped in the agonized rictus of my mouth.
"Necromancer.", came the sound. In a stupor I raised my face to the direction of the voice. Seeing nothing, a cold grip tightened in my lowest gut and slowly lifted me up to my feet. I could see nothing. The portal remained sealed. The face of the tower before me was featureless. I could see no windows nor even the meanest iron-barred hole. The stars retained their silvering
"Flesh dancer, face changer", it was tittering now, a woman’s voice aping that of a school aged limerick, low, husky so unlike the comparatively juvenile wit of the witch at the door.
Maddened, my jaw set, "Where are you!"
"Secret finder, your darkness has no place here. They will never let you in, much as a farmer would never admit a fox into a hen house. You are my own. I stand with them but I am their mirror reflection. I know nemesis and the darkness between the first stars in the universe. When they ask of ancient Gods and the date of their coming destruction, they are asking me."
Slowly, I turned to the face that had appeared beside me and I screamed, tearing at my eyes, for they had shown me utter madness. She could not be, her eyes were alive but her flesh was not. The words came from moving lips, but they parted for flies, worms, beetles and spiders. In her arms, the Book. She was of earth, the book was covered in dust, the ornate leather cover worked by alien method. The cold fire, my fire, grew brighter in the woods behind us, for I could see my shadow and the shadow of the living dead. I screamed again, bereaved for this poor girl, moved from her eternal sleep, but I had uncovered my eyes, and a strange lust coiled within me.
" That book, is it mine, has it chosen me? "
"You were chosen long ago, by pitiless Gods of balance and power. You were bent to this my child. And yes," she said mellifluously, like a proud teacher, " This is for you, and "within it you will find the power you have strived to possess."
" Give it to me!" I said, lunging at her for that precious tome. She evaded me coquettishly and slapped me bloody with a brutal back hand.
"But first, you must do this one last thing, and complete the ritual you began so long ago."
"What, anything! What must I do, I will do it!" I creaked, she had put me on my knees with that terrible blow but I raised up again for the promise of power, though the last of my strength was gone. What I did I did by will and will alone.
" I know you will, for you are my disciple, you are my agent in this foolish world.
"She stepped forward, a smile parting to reveal a blackened mouth, the book crossed by here skeletal arms. " To complete the bitter harrowing, you must kiss me."
And so, I did, without a moment's hesitation, as the rotten portal yawned before me. She squeezed my chin and gripped the back of my head and I felt the book press against my chest. I almost moaned in ecstasy but then the dirt came, and the worms came, and the beetles came, and the spiders came, all scrabbling down my throat. My eyes turned to the sky as I bore the agony, every fiber of me wanting to push this thing away and empty my body of everything within it. They filled with new tears as my muffled screams choked under this odious, chthonic deluge. The stars seemed to sing with a new voice.
I could not tell you how long I was asleep. I can only say it was morning when I woke with a start, on my back, my arms crossed over the ancient book.
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[WP] The knight closed in on the mage, his victory all but assured, as in the time it would take him to cast another spell he would already... !!!BONK!!! "Seriously, how you knights don't notice the 2m long stick in my hand is beyond me..."
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Elara rolled her eyes as her assailant staggered back, clutching his head with a look of disoriented shock. “Seriously, how you knights don’t notice the two-meter stick in my hand is beyond me,” she spat, allowing the frustration that had been growing over the past five years to seep into her voice.
She had given up trying to reason with these types – she’d learned the hard way that they only respected strength of arms. After all, that’s why they challenged her, the scrawny mage appointed to Head of the Adventurer’s Academy. Never mind her years of experience in the field. They were of the old guard, from a time when adventuring was “no place for scholars”. The thought of sending their children to learn the trade from a mage offended them to their very core. And yet, the Academy remained the top school in the land for young adventurers, both in survival rate and long-term career prospects, so the Writs of Challenge had soon started pouring in. Why the Board refused to remove the Challenge Clause from the school’s bylaws was beyond her – the practice was antiquated at best, not to mention a terrible way to choose the leader of a school. She was beginning to suspect that they simply enjoyed the show.
And so, Elara knew how this was going to go the instant this silver-plated fool had strode into the Academy flashing an Amulet of Magic Resistance and the smuggest smile she’d ever seen. As expected, he’d pulled out yet another Writ of Challenge and read it aloud in the middle of the great hall, making sure his voice would carry as far as possible. When the dramatic airing of grievances had run its course, she formally accepted the challenge from Sir Varielis. She’d watched his smile grow even more smug when the referee arrived to begin the fight, and the spells she cast had no effect on him. He had charged in, shining silver sword raised and guard down. The look on his face when she’d delivered a sharp crack to his head with her staff almost made the whole hassle worth it. Almost.
Now, across the hall, Varielis seemed to have recovered his footing. “Ah,” he said, with noticeably less bravado. “I see you have luck on your side. I shan’t have to go easy, then. Have at you!”
“Oh, are we not done?” Elara asked with feigned surprise. “Very well then.” She raised her eyes to the crowd of students rapidly gathering around them. “I hope you’re all taking notes,” she added wryly. At least the match would serve as an impromptu lesson. Demonstrations tended to be very effective.
Varielis took a few hesitant steps forward. Seeing Elara make no move, he feinted with a slash and followed with a lunging attack. But she’d seen it coming and neatly sidestepped as the sword flashed past in a silver arc. Varielis stumbled past, overcommitted to the attack, and Elara gave him another sharp blow to the skull. She wasn’t trying to do any serious damage, but clearly the first hit hadn’t gotten her point across.
As he reeled again, Elara addressed the rapt crowd. “Watch carefully, now. While divination magic is associated strongly with research and study, it may also prove a worthy ally in combat.” She paused a beat for effect, then vanished in a cloud of cool blue mist as Varielis slashed at her again. Reappearing behind him, she jabbed the butt of her staff into the unguarded back of his knee. He crumpled to the ground, plate armor clattering like a stack of pots tumbling down a flight of stairs. “I know exactly where he will be,” she continued, “and so I am able to position myself advantageously.”
Varielis struggled back to his feet, favoring the leg she’d knocked out from under him. Hoping to catch her off guard, he swung quickly for her head. But this time, she didn’t dodge. She simply caught his blade in the crook of her staff. His eyes widened in surprise as she began to push him back, step by step. Despite the difference in their builds – he was a full head taller and a wall of muscle – he was overpowered, and he knew it. He just hadn’t figured out how. “Black magic!” he hissed, eyes narrowed with rage. “My charm protects me from your foul witchcraft. How have you managed to weaken me to your level?”
Elara began to laugh and twisted the staff, forcing the sword to clatter to the ground. With her opponent disarmed, the fight was over, not even a minute from its start. “Half correct!” she remarked, still chuckling. “Were you a student, I would award partial credit. It is magic indeed, but I cast nothing on *you*. Why would I, when your little charm tells me it would be so much more effective to enhance my own abilities? A divination spell to see attacks a few seconds before you strike, combined with some simple transmutation to boost my physical strength beyond yours, were more than enough to best you.”
As the referee stepped between them to declare the match concluded, Elara turned to the students again. “The lesson demonstrated today is twofold. First, advantages are more effective when they come as a surprise to your opponent. Second, never underestimate the power of buffs.”
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I’d like to say I was distracted by the red flames flickering in her brown eyes, but we all know that’s not true.
"Seriously,” [Fara](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/si17f7/wp_upon_entering_the_magic_school_every_student/hv8hekn/?context=3) says, tying the strap that until a few moments ago kept her bodice in one piece, “how you knights don't notice the 2 meter long stick in my hand is beyond me…"
I tap the top of her leather boot which she holds pressed against my chest, her heel dug in between links in my chainmail shirt.
“Say it,” she says with a grin on her face. “I want to hear you say it, Andolf, son of Lord Moreth of Ellisfalls.”
“I yield.”
She sighs. “I’ll take that. Was hoping you’d say you wished I wasn’t wearing a bra.”
I hate her. I am a bladedancer. The only son of Moreth, High Lord of Ellisfalls, Protector of the Realm, and King Reallith’s First Sword. I held the sword before I could walk. But this witch… somehow she manages to humiliate me every single time.
As I get up, I glance at the teacher, Master Frey, who stands like a sentinel by the fighting arena with his arms crossed at his chest. His glare is cold, two ice-blue eyes filled with contempt and disappointment. This is a close-quarter combat class. Fara is a spellcaster. I should be dominating her. Sure, I joined the Allschool recently. And yes, taking the portal from Ellisfalls to his planet and this magical school for gifted young men and women has drained me. And never before have I fought someone like Fara. And there are other excuses I can think of to explain my loss of focus.
I sigh.
The excuses, unlike victory, can always be found.
“Again,” I say.
From the floor, I pick up the long sword and assume a combat stance, with the right leg slightly extended and foot pointing straight forward, and the back foot at a right angle to it. I hold my sword with both hands, its point aiming at my opponent’s chest.
She thrusts her chest forward. “Andy” --- she points at her face --- “my face is up here.”
“Not falling for the same trick again.”
“What trick?” she says. “I had a wardrobe malfunction.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Did you like it?”
When I don’t answer, she bows down with her arms stretched to her sides as a whip forms in her left hand and a rapier in right.
As I bow down, she spins the whip over her head and brings it cracking down in front of my feet.
“En garde!” she says, smiling.
Before her smile can fade, I step on her whip. She pulls it but fails to free the whip, then moans and lunges forward, thrusting her rapier forward. I easily deflect her attack with my right arm, but by this time she’s close --- so close our noses almost touch --- too close for me to finish her with my long sword.
She pulls closer, dropping both of her weapons.
“That escalated quickly,” she whispers to my ear. Slowly, she presses her lips against my neck. Her bite hurts, in a good way. I can smell the spicy perfume on her skin. “You’re so hot,” she says.
Just like the last time, I drop my sword. It clangs against the stone floor as I wrap my left arm around her waist, and feel her hand groping my buttocks, her leg straddling the back of mine. Well, that’s new. But it won’t work. I’m not distracted by this thing she’s doing. Nope. There is a reason I’m holding her so close to me. Slowly, I reach for my dagger with my other hand.
“You’re toasted,” I say, spreading a mischievous grin across my face.
“No,” she says, “*you* are.”
She smashes her lips into mine, and I yelp, dropping the dagger, as the heat flows from her hand across my ass and inside that place where --- until today --- I thought the light will never shine.
Yet again, I drop on the floor, embarrassed, humiliated, and in pain.
*Bonk*. The staff she just summoned taps the top of my head.
“Andy,” she says, her heel digging into my chest again, “how you knights don't notice when someone is about to cast a burning hand spell in your ass is beyond me."
“You… Witch…”
She sighs. “C’mon, Andy. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
*WN: This story is set up in the same universe as one of my previous ones. It still reads as a stand-alone, but the characters are the same which lets me write in a more fun way. Hope you won't mind that.*
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[WP] The knight closed in on the mage, his victory all but assured, as in the time it would take him to cast another spell he would already... !!!BONK!!! "Seriously, how you knights don't notice the 2m long stick in my hand is beyond me..."
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Zinon Pastour held his enchanted, holy blade aloft, calling down a divine blessing in time to block the explosive force of a fireball. Kazimir the Vile sneering at his most recent deflection of a spell meant to kill. The holy avenger brought his shield up, preparing for the final stage of his plan to topple the mage. He has meticulously kept track of the spells used against him. Counted the effects, and mathed the limits of the mage’s power. He had come prepared to fight by way of attrition.
And he was winning.
His stance goaded Kazimir into a longer spell cast. A notoriously dangerous and high level incantation Zinon had spent a year learning about. Now was his chance.
He summoned all of his energy into a burst of speed, propelling him forward with divine wind at a blinding pace. Victory was at hand as he began his sword swing.
His look of confusion as the mage shifted his grip on the staff he held, had little time to set in. The mage twisted it as though it were a lance, driving the blunt tip into the plates covering Zinon’s belly.
Time seemed to stand still as a short hollow “bonk” sounded at the initial impact. However, that all too brief instant was shattered as the intense sound of crackling electricity turned and emitted a bolt of lightning straight into his gut, burning a hole through the plate and his innards.
Zinon was thrown back across the large chamber, his weapons lost and scattered as he came to a rest on the marble floor, coughing and knowing he was breathing his last. He looked up to see the mage approaching in flowing scarlet robes, seemingly untouched by the raging battle that has just ended.
“I applaud your preparation.” Kazimir started, his tone respectful. “It would have worked against a lesser mage. But know that you are not the first to attempt such a great feat.”
Zinon coughed, “But how? You had no time to switch spells during my charge!”
The mage smirked. As he took a few more steps, his robes faded in a burning light, once it was gone, heavy plate and chain mail covered the caster. The glamours hiding his true assistance having been released.
“I can’t blame you for not knowing, since there is not a living soul that knows a war mage or their abilities.” Kazimir leaned over the broken husk of a holy avenger. “My staff holds spells, waiting to be discharged in an instant for just such a circumstance. But had I not been so well trained, your sword would not have found flesh.”
Zinon struggled for his last breaths, he has been defeated. “Someone will defeat you.”
Kazimir stood, laughing lightly, “Maybe. But that someone is not you.”
With a quick incantation, Zinon was but a memory. Kazimir the Vile looked through his damaged throne room and sighed.
“Hopefully his sword sells for enough to the next hero to cover the repair bill.”
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The blow rattled Graham's helmet which was concealing an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin. He was shocked and amused that Verino had actually hit him with that staff; he was also slightly embarrassed that it connected as cleanly as it had. Had Verino any might in his swing, it could have proven devastating. Unfortunately for the Mage Prince, his neglected physicality was a major factor in his undoing. Adrenaline surged as Graham swung repeatedly and fiercely, telegraphing every attack to prompt Verino into blocking with his staff. The Mage's endurance quickly waning from the assault, Graham grabbed the staff and pulled Verino towards him. The weight difference and fatigue did all the work, and Graham returned the earlier favor by slamming his helmet into the face of Verino. It didn't really matter where, lost teeth, broken nose, cracked orbital; the goal was the concussion.
"That was a bold maneuver, Wizard. Had I lesser armor it may had decided the battle." Graham said a prayer as he knelt on the back of the neck of the Magus and forced his hands into the manacles. He hefted him to his feet and began to push him towards the cart and bounty.
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[WP] The knight closed in on the mage, his victory all but assured, as in the time it would take him to cast another spell he would already... !!!BONK!!! "Seriously, how you knights don't notice the 2m long stick in my hand is beyond me..."
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The knight edged forward carefully, keeping his footing balanced. The fog swirled around his sword as he leapt forward to strike the mage before they could call forth another spell. As he swung, he was blinded by a bright flash from the mage and found himself on the ground with a throbbing skull.
"Did you not see the six foot stick I was carrying?" The mage stood over him, pinning his sword hand to the ground with their staff. The knight felt a creeping paralyzation preventing his movement.
"Dirty mage. You can blind and paralyze me with your spells but my pure heart gives me the strength of ten men!" The knight's heart was not particularly pure. His breath was definitely not pure, still smelling of last night's ale. His skin was decidedly not pure. It was worse than the breath. He hadn't bathed in several days and his armor could probably use a few days of airing out.
"I didn't use any spells on you. A stick to the head is blinding enough. Also I'm not a mage. I'm a monk. See?" The mage pointed at their neck. "My robe has a hood. Mages wear hats. Well— some monks wear hats, but they look totally different from mage hats. Did they not teach you any of this in knight school?"
The knight sat up on the ground as the monk stepped back. "Um— I went to night knight school. Most of the time was spent on swords and dragons and damsels. They mostly just covered the robes aspect on mages. With this magical fog I just assumed..."
"Yeah, this is normal fog." The monk leaned down and held a hand out for the knight, pulling him to his feet. After checking his eyes for concussion, they helped dust off the knight's armor. "Did this armor belong to your great grandfather or something?"
"No, I bought it from the school. Well— leased it. I still have to make the last twelve payments. It was expensive, but they said it was essential for all new knights to have proper armor. I'll make back the money with the first dragon I slay."
"This part on the back isn't even metal. It's just painted wood. A dragon will go right through that." The monk knocked their staff against the knight's backplate, giving off a dull thud. "If anything the paint makes it more flammable."
The knight squared up his shoulders and stood tall, wincing only slightly when his neck straightened. "All the more reason not to turn my back on a dragon. Besides, they said it was enchanted. NOT by a mage. By a wizard. An enchanter wizard. The kind with a cape."
The monk scowled. "How much exactly did you pay this school?"
The knight hesitated. "The payment was minimal. I mean— for a rich knight it was practically nothing."
"How much?"
"It's not like I still needed the farm if I was going to be a knight."
"Let me get this straight. You gave up your farm. They gave you a couple weeks training, this crap armor, a sword—"
"The sword was actually extra."
"And sent you off to kill dragons?"
"Well, yes. There aren't many dragons around here so they suggested I start by killing mages."
The monk leaned on their staff. "Alright, now that I have a problem with. You're going to take me to this school and I'm going to have words with them."
"But the headmaster is a Grand Knight. Why would he listen to a monk?"
"Monks don't have staffs, you idiot."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
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The blow rattled Graham's helmet which was concealing an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin. He was shocked and amused that Verino had actually hit him with that staff; he was also slightly embarrassed that it connected as cleanly as it had. Had Verino any might in his swing, it could have proven devastating. Unfortunately for the Mage Prince, his neglected physicality was a major factor in his undoing. Adrenaline surged as Graham swung repeatedly and fiercely, telegraphing every attack to prompt Verino into blocking with his staff. The Mage's endurance quickly waning from the assault, Graham grabbed the staff and pulled Verino towards him. The weight difference and fatigue did all the work, and Graham returned the earlier favor by slamming his helmet into the face of Verino. It didn't really matter where, lost teeth, broken nose, cracked orbital; the goal was the concussion.
"That was a bold maneuver, Wizard. Had I lesser armor it may had decided the battle." Graham said a prayer as he knelt on the back of the neck of the Magus and forced his hands into the manacles. He hefted him to his feet and began to push him towards the cart and bounty.
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[WP] The knight closed in on the mage, his victory all but assured, as in the time it would take him to cast another spell he would already... !!!BONK!!! "Seriously, how you knights don't notice the 2m long stick in my hand is beyond me..."
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The knight edged forward carefully, keeping his footing balanced. The fog swirled around his sword as he leapt forward to strike the mage before they could call forth another spell. As he swung, he was blinded by a bright flash from the mage and found himself on the ground with a throbbing skull.
"Did you not see the six foot stick I was carrying?" The mage stood over him, pinning his sword hand to the ground with their staff. The knight felt a creeping paralyzation preventing his movement.
"Dirty mage. You can blind and paralyze me with your spells but my pure heart gives me the strength of ten men!" The knight's heart was not particularly pure. His breath was definitely not pure, still smelling of last night's ale. His skin was decidedly not pure. It was worse than the breath. He hadn't bathed in several days and his armor could probably use a few days of airing out.
"I didn't use any spells on you. A stick to the head is blinding enough. Also I'm not a mage. I'm a monk. See?" The mage pointed at their neck. "My robe has a hood. Mages wear hats. Well— some monks wear hats, but they look totally different from mage hats. Did they not teach you any of this in knight school?"
The knight sat up on the ground as the monk stepped back. "Um— I went to night knight school. Most of the time was spent on swords and dragons and damsels. They mostly just covered the robes aspect on mages. With this magical fog I just assumed..."
"Yeah, this is normal fog." The monk leaned down and held a hand out for the knight, pulling him to his feet. After checking his eyes for concussion, they helped dust off the knight's armor. "Did this armor belong to your great grandfather or something?"
"No, I bought it from the school. Well— leased it. I still have to make the last twelve payments. It was expensive, but they said it was essential for all new knights to have proper armor. I'll make back the money with the first dragon I slay."
"This part on the back isn't even metal. It's just painted wood. A dragon will go right through that." The monk knocked their staff against the knight's backplate, giving off a dull thud. "If anything the paint makes it more flammable."
The knight squared up his shoulders and stood tall, wincing only slightly when his neck straightened. "All the more reason not to turn my back on a dragon. Besides, they said it was enchanted. NOT by a mage. By a wizard. An enchanter wizard. The kind with a cape."
The monk scowled. "How much exactly did you pay this school?"
The knight hesitated. "The payment was minimal. I mean— for a rich knight it was practically nothing."
"How much?"
"It's not like I still needed the farm if I was going to be a knight."
"Let me get this straight. You gave up your farm. They gave you a couple weeks training, this crap armor, a sword—"
"The sword was actually extra."
"And sent you off to kill dragons?"
"Well, yes. There aren't many dragons around here so they suggested I start by killing mages."
The monk leaned on their staff. "Alright, now that I have a problem with. You're going to take me to this school and I'm going to have words with them."
"But the headmaster is a Grand Knight. Why would he listen to a monk?"
"Monks don't have staffs, you idiot."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
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Zinon Pastour held his enchanted, holy blade aloft, calling down a divine blessing in time to block the explosive force of a fireball. Kazimir the Vile sneering at his most recent deflection of a spell meant to kill. The holy avenger brought his shield up, preparing for the final stage of his plan to topple the mage. He has meticulously kept track of the spells used against him. Counted the effects, and mathed the limits of the mage’s power. He had come prepared to fight by way of attrition.
And he was winning.
His stance goaded Kazimir into a longer spell cast. A notoriously dangerous and high level incantation Zinon had spent a year learning about. Now was his chance.
He summoned all of his energy into a burst of speed, propelling him forward with divine wind at a blinding pace. Victory was at hand as he began his sword swing.
His look of confusion as the mage shifted his grip on the staff he held, had little time to set in. The mage twisted it as though it were a lance, driving the blunt tip into the plates covering Zinon’s belly.
Time seemed to stand still as a short hollow “bonk” sounded at the initial impact. However, that all too brief instant was shattered as the intense sound of crackling electricity turned and emitted a bolt of lightning straight into his gut, burning a hole through the plate and his innards.
Zinon was thrown back across the large chamber, his weapons lost and scattered as he came to a rest on the marble floor, coughing and knowing he was breathing his last. He looked up to see the mage approaching in flowing scarlet robes, seemingly untouched by the raging battle that has just ended.
“I applaud your preparation.” Kazimir started, his tone respectful. “It would have worked against a lesser mage. But know that you are not the first to attempt such a great feat.”
Zinon coughed, “But how? You had no time to switch spells during my charge!”
The mage smirked. As he took a few more steps, his robes faded in a burning light, once it was gone, heavy plate and chain mail covered the caster. The glamours hiding his true assistance having been released.
“I can’t blame you for not knowing, since there is not a living soul that knows a war mage or their abilities.” Kazimir leaned over the broken husk of a holy avenger. “My staff holds spells, waiting to be discharged in an instant for just such a circumstance. But had I not been so well trained, your sword would not have found flesh.”
Zinon struggled for his last breaths, he has been defeated. “Someone will defeat you.”
Kazimir stood, laughing lightly, “Maybe. But that someone is not you.”
With a quick incantation, Zinon was but a memory. Kazimir the Vile looked through his damaged throne room and sighed.
“Hopefully his sword sells for enough to the next hero to cover the repair bill.”
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[WP] Congratulations, you've downloaded the Honesty App! How do you use it? Whenever you're speaking to someone, the Honesty App will notify you if that person is telling you the truth or not. And, if you get Honesty Premium, it even does an in-depth breakdown! Now go have some fun!
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The app appeared on the market seemingly overnight but was an instant success. People of all ages started finding out how much their loved ones *actually* loved them, if their friends actually liked their cooking or if their bosses would truly give them that promised raise - all thanks to the HonestApp^(TM), a free little program that no one quite knew how it worked, but were too enthralled by the prospect of truth to care. Their premium that offered detailed breakdowns for what exactly composed the truth was sure to pull in *billions*.
I was no different. I selected a setting that allowed it to scan calls and decided to call up my dad - I was always curious what he put in his spaghetti sauce, but he'd **never** tell me. I figured a bit of selective questioning would finally get me that damn recipe. The phone rang for a bit, then clicked as dad picked up.
"Dad! Hi! It's Dave!" I said cheerfully.
"David! It's good to hear your voice," my dad's voice sounded out.
*Ding.* A green checkmark appeared on my phone screen, indicating that he was actually glad to talk to me. Seems it works.
"How are you doing, dad? What's up?" I asked.
"Oh, not much, just preparing some food," he replied
*Ding*
"Good, good! Actually wanted to talk about that, but first - how is mom?"
"Oh she's fine, doin' just fine," he said happily.
**Beep**. I looked at my phone screen - a red X appeared on it. That's supposed to mean that it was not true - perhaps a glitch due to call quality. I put the phone back to my ear.
"Right. What is she doing?" I asked.
"She's out in the garden," he said.
*Ding*
"Ah, working on the petunias again?" I smiled to myself
"What else?" Dad laughed.
**Beep**. I looked at the phone again - another red X. That's... weird. All the reviews claimed the app to work 100%.
"Dad, is everything alright?" I asked worriedly. Surely I wasn't going to listen to an app over my own father.
"Of course; why do you ask?" he answered calmly.
**Beep**. A feeling in my stomach made me deeply uneasy as if I swallowed a ball of lead.
"Just... a feeling," I said, a faint beep betraying my lie only to myself. "Say, how's Dusty? Haven't seen that fleaball in ages," I asked.
"He's just fine, don't you worry."
**Beep**.
We never had a dog - or a cat, or any pet beyond a goldfish. Mom had terrible allergies.
"Dave, you're worrying me a little - would you like to come over? We'd love to see you," dad asked kindly.
*Ding*
"I'll... call you back, sorry, something came up," I said as the app **beeped** at my lie and cut the call. I felt sick to my stomach. It was just an app, of course, but... something was wrong with dad. I don't know what, I just felt it. My eyes shifted to my phone and the app; I picked it up and hastily went through the setting until I found the Premium account setting, quickly buying it.
A little yellow flag waved over the app, congratulating me on my purchase. I ignored it and immediately went to the breakdown of my call with dad. A little spinning circle showed the app processing as my heart pounded in my chest, then a black screen with a shockingly basic user interface - it looked more like a programming window than the app. Text appeared on it in a simple, plain format.
𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍. 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐.
|
Tom stared out of the window, his gaze glazed, soulless and apathetic. He'd been that way for days. Depression isn't a deep sadness so much as a melancholic silence. A drubbing beat that makes no sound.
A blind reach for his phone, eyes still fixated on nothing at all, and the deft transition from sitting to lying down. He collapsed within the folds of his duvet and stretched his legs.
Aside him, Sarah grunted in her sleep.
He looked at her and looked back to the window.
"You awake?"
She grunted again, groaned, and turned over. "Nope."
*bling*
Tom slid away the notification. The 23rd century and still, no technology for detecting sarcasm.
His attention diverted, he opened the app and read the same digest he'd read a hundred times.
*YOUR BREAKDOWN FOR JANUARY 2122*
*"We value your work for the company. Hang on in there and a promotion is a formality."*
*FALSE*
*"You're wasting your life, Tom. You need to invest yourself into this career, or we're cutting you off."*
*TRUE*
*"Of course I love you too, don't be silly."*
*UNDETERMINED*
Tom felt his eyes sting and through the blur, deleted the app for the third time today.
There was no need for the premium version. The way he was, Tom was already experiencing an in-depth breakdown.
|
|
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
I stared, dumbfounded, at the little party of humans as they looked up at me.
"So you've come to ask me," I continued, "To attack your village and your fields, burn your livelihoods and steal your cattle - in order to attract bold new adventurers to challenge me?"
Their apparent leader, a tall woman with her greying hair tied in a severe bun, nodded. "Correct, lord Brimstone. Rich adventurers and the loot they bring in was the foundation upon which our entire economy relied. Now most of the young folk have moved away, seeking their fortune elsewhere for there is none to be had in their home. Most of us are near to shutting down their businesses - the alchemist has no customers to sell potions to, the magic shop can't get new inventory-"
I held up my claw for silence. "So you want me to, what - show myself as I ravage the countryside? Steal a few heads of cattle, so you can set up Wanted posters? Do you honestly expect me to risk having my home invaded by hoard-hungry adventurers, just so that your village can prosper again?"
The old lady had the cheek to grin at me. "Yes, indeed! But consider - what will the adventurers bring to *you,* in turn?"
I narrowed my eyes as I considered. "Artefacts, enchanted arms and armour, products of artifice and master-craft. Delivered to my very doorstep, mine for the taking..."
"Darn tootin'! And likely made right here in town!"
I bared my teeth with anticipation, spreading my wings wide. "Very well then, little humans. We have an accord." I fixed my gaze upon the old woman, bending my neck down to see eye-to-eye. Her scent tickled my nose as I breathed in - forge-soot, ale and bread. "What is your business, crone?"
"Why, I'm mayor. And I run the inn!"
"And who is watching it whilst you parley with me?"
She paused, momentarily taken aback. "My daughters."
My grin of swords grew wider. "And are your daughters yet wedded?"
"They- they are not, my lord."
"Then let our pact be formed. For what better way to announce a dragon is in residence, than with imperilled maidens!?" I spread my wings, legs bunching beneath.
Her face went white. "Wait!"
I leapt over the astonished group, scattering them with the whirlwind force of my wings. As I rose into the air I let my breath lead the way, setting the very sky alight as I spiralled upwards.
I needed to make an *entrance,* after all.
The little village appeared in my vision, in the middle of a cleared section of forest. Gentle smoke rose from chimneys, little figures moved in the fields. In the centre of town lay my prize - a large building flanked by a fenced-in yard, empty stables and forge cold and unused belying the emptiness of the common room.
With a roar, I dove, trailing smoke behind me. People screamed and scattered from my path, bleating livestock stampeding with terror. I lazily snatched a cow and gulped it down whole on my approach. With blooded jaws, I crushed the stables beneath my claws and tore a hole through the thatched roof of the tavern.
Two young women turned to look at me, frozen with terror as I fixed my gaze upon them.
"Your mother sends her regards!" I hissed, snatching them up with my claws.
"Wait wait wait!"
"Our mother!? Wait!"
"Worry not," I hissed. "I am well-fed. *For now.*"
I turned back around and prepared to take flight, the old crone's daughters struggling ineffectually in my grip. As I did, I saw the mayor's party rushing down the street towards me.
"Bring me fitting tribute by the end of the week!" I roared, loud enough to shake windows in their frames. "Or I shall feast on these maidens fair!"
"Lord Brimstone!" The mayor croaked out, gasping and wheezing. "Wait-"
"I have spoken! You know what is required of you! *One week!*"
I fixed everyone in the mayor's party with my gaze, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Then I winked, sent a theatrical blast of fire into the sky and took off.
As I flew, I looked down upon my hostages, held in my claws.
"Now then," I said, voice much softer and more pleasant, "It has been a long time since last I entertained guests. I do hope you will enjoy your stay!"
The tallest of the two looked up at me, dumbfounded. "Wha-" she coughed, cleared her throat, tried again. "Guests? Our stay?"
"Why yes. Your mother wanted a show. I provided one. Was I not convincing?"
Her sister found her voice. "A little *too* convincing, if you ask me! Did you *have* to ruin the roof!?"
I roared with laughter, smoke billowing from my nostrils. "Perhaps not - but I played my part in your mother's ploy. We shall see if the gambit pays off!"
"And if it doesn't?"
"Why, then I have two fair maidens to eat. It has been a *long* time-"
As they both began kicking, screaming, and biting once again, I considered I may have taken the last joke slightly too far.
***
Now this was a fun prompt! Thanks for reading!
Feel free to visit my sub at r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more!
|
Wind through the forest, soft softly falls to the ground. The white blanket crunches delightfully under the boots of the woman, but it is silent under the hooves of the beast. Overhead, the clouds are gray and thick, the sun is setting.
The heart of winter. Families are gathered at home, huddled around the hearth, exchanging stories and singing songs.
The cellars are full, lucky for them. Next winter might be different. This remote place wasn't built on earthly toil and natural growth, but on opportunity. Someone had to build the first inn for mercenaries and soldiers to rest, with a few planks and bad booze, if only to make a coin.
Survivors would join, add shacks and hovels to the shanty town.
They reach the top of the hill, the beast - despite it's size and implied weight - is more silent than a whisper in its movement. Hares and foxes catch a glimpse and hurry back to shelter, content with sleeping with an empty belly tonight.
The town has changed. As humanity fought the curse draining the land, blacksmiths, peasants, scavengers and hermits started to feel at home. Real houses were built, a community with sense and organization, a beacon of hope, and example of resilience.
From the top of the hill, they see the sleepy village. Houses close together with smoke escaping the chimneys. The village feels lost in the immensity, surrounded by white hills and sleepy forests as far as the eye could see.
"You didn't want to face the truth," the beast speaks in a warm and gentle tone.
No, they didn't want to. It was easier to pretend they couldn't see it coming.
They couldn't hide anymore now the woman knew. Deep inside, every villager knew.
Hope and resilience were secondary. Home had been built and fueled by conflict. Daily life revolved around helping soldiers back to health, feeding them, buying the corpses and artifacts they dug up and selling them in turn to traveling merchants.
They were merchant-princes. Lost princes in rags in the vast taiga who had struck gold by luck and were now left with a dry claim. There were peasants among them, true, but barely enough to feed the entire village, and egos would soon start a new form of conflict.
With the curse and its creatures gone, there were no trinkets left to sell, and merchants had no reason to undertake the lengthy detour beyond hill and dale. Now, the villagers wielded no power but the one given by the tools of agriculture. And few were ready to take on the honest work of the earth.
"What are we?" asks the woman.
"You are war," replies the beast with what could pass as sadness, "you create it, feed on it, grow from it while claiming higher ideals. You wouldn't know what to do with peace if it was offered to you."
"You're exaggerating."
"I wish."
Overlooking the village while the cold crept through the numerous layers of clothing, the woman is agitated by a shiver.
The beast pities her. It holds no contempt nor anger, it is sad. A pure, childlike sadness. It could kill her with a flick of its fingers, yet she feels an odd kinship.
The village had thrived on conflict and would die without. First the proudest villagers would fight for control and respect, to have a little of the power they held over soldiers. One by one, they would be forced out and exiled, and the last ones left would understand there is nothing left to command. On their own, they would leave. Peasants and paupers, aware of better chances where the sun shines bright, would pack up and let the walls and roofs stand as a mystery for the occasional hermit and traveler.
Unless conflict came back.
It is why she searched for the beast. It would kill and frighten, it might as well do it where it's helpful.
"Will you tell me we're not so different, you and I?" asks the woman.
"You would be foolish to believe so. Death is part of who I am, it makes me. Your kind calls me beast, I can no more deny my nature than a fox could restrain from hunting, lest it would starve. But you, your nature is a blank state, open for change. Yet you gladly don the mantle of war, sell me greed and vilify temperance. You would invite terror before living from the simple bounty of the earth. You justify my presence with the survival of your village. How long until you justify a young boy or a young girl accused of witchcraft the same way?
"When will you justify a slaughter? Call me a beast, but to corrupt your very nature is the true mark of the beast. I merely indulge in mine. There will come a time when you'll excuse war and genocide for the greater good, just like you are canonizing terror today. And we both know..."
It turns to her. The woman sees the powerful being towering over her, the alabaster white torso as if made of marble, the intricate carvings on its skull and chest, the glint of blue light in the darkness of its eyes, shining even when the sun has long set.
She should be terrified but isn't.
"...That one day, your heroes will recognize you as monster. You will have your wish once more. They will come for you, they will fight, and some will thrive on the conflict. Then, you won't be able to deny it."
It leaves.
The beast would do its part, in time she would do hers. From one monster to another.
Snow covered the tracks, and soon there will be no sign the meeting ever took place. The woman started to make her way back in the darkness.
|
|
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
Wind through the forest, soft softly falls to the ground. The white blanket crunches delightfully under the boots of the woman, but it is silent under the hooves of the beast. Overhead, the clouds are gray and thick, the sun is setting.
The heart of winter. Families are gathered at home, huddled around the hearth, exchanging stories and singing songs.
The cellars are full, lucky for them. Next winter might be different. This remote place wasn't built on earthly toil and natural growth, but on opportunity. Someone had to build the first inn for mercenaries and soldiers to rest, with a few planks and bad booze, if only to make a coin.
Survivors would join, add shacks and hovels to the shanty town.
They reach the top of the hill, the beast - despite it's size and implied weight - is more silent than a whisper in its movement. Hares and foxes catch a glimpse and hurry back to shelter, content with sleeping with an empty belly tonight.
The town has changed. As humanity fought the curse draining the land, blacksmiths, peasants, scavengers and hermits started to feel at home. Real houses were built, a community with sense and organization, a beacon of hope, and example of resilience.
From the top of the hill, they see the sleepy village. Houses close together with smoke escaping the chimneys. The village feels lost in the immensity, surrounded by white hills and sleepy forests as far as the eye could see.
"You didn't want to face the truth," the beast speaks in a warm and gentle tone.
No, they didn't want to. It was easier to pretend they couldn't see it coming.
They couldn't hide anymore now the woman knew. Deep inside, every villager knew.
Hope and resilience were secondary. Home had been built and fueled by conflict. Daily life revolved around helping soldiers back to health, feeding them, buying the corpses and artifacts they dug up and selling them in turn to traveling merchants.
They were merchant-princes. Lost princes in rags in the vast taiga who had struck gold by luck and were now left with a dry claim. There were peasants among them, true, but barely enough to feed the entire village, and egos would soon start a new form of conflict.
With the curse and its creatures gone, there were no trinkets left to sell, and merchants had no reason to undertake the lengthy detour beyond hill and dale. Now, the villagers wielded no power but the one given by the tools of agriculture. And few were ready to take on the honest work of the earth.
"What are we?" asks the woman.
"You are war," replies the beast with what could pass as sadness, "you create it, feed on it, grow from it while claiming higher ideals. You wouldn't know what to do with peace if it was offered to you."
"You're exaggerating."
"I wish."
Overlooking the village while the cold crept through the numerous layers of clothing, the woman is agitated by a shiver.
The beast pities her. It holds no contempt nor anger, it is sad. A pure, childlike sadness. It could kill her with a flick of its fingers, yet she feels an odd kinship.
The village had thrived on conflict and would die without. First the proudest villagers would fight for control and respect, to have a little of the power they held over soldiers. One by one, they would be forced out and exiled, and the last ones left would understand there is nothing left to command. On their own, they would leave. Peasants and paupers, aware of better chances where the sun shines bright, would pack up and let the walls and roofs stand as a mystery for the occasional hermit and traveler.
Unless conflict came back.
It is why she searched for the beast. It would kill and frighten, it might as well do it where it's helpful.
"Will you tell me we're not so different, you and I?" asks the woman.
"You would be foolish to believe so. Death is part of who I am, it makes me. Your kind calls me beast, I can no more deny my nature than a fox could restrain from hunting, lest it would starve. But you, your nature is a blank state, open for change. Yet you gladly don the mantle of war, sell me greed and vilify temperance. You would invite terror before living from the simple bounty of the earth. You justify my presence with the survival of your village. How long until you justify a young boy or a young girl accused of witchcraft the same way?
"When will you justify a slaughter? Call me a beast, but to corrupt your very nature is the true mark of the beast. I merely indulge in mine. There will come a time when you'll excuse war and genocide for the greater good, just like you are canonizing terror today. And we both know..."
It turns to her. The woman sees the powerful being towering over her, the alabaster white torso as if made of marble, the intricate carvings on its skull and chest, the glint of blue light in the darkness of its eyes, shining even when the sun has long set.
She should be terrified but isn't.
"...That one day, your heroes will recognize you as monster. You will have your wish once more. They will come for you, they will fight, and some will thrive on the conflict. Then, you won't be able to deny it."
It leaves.
The beast would do its part, in time she would do hers. From one monster to another.
Snow covered the tracks, and soon there will be no sign the meeting ever took place. The woman started to make her way back in the darkness.
|
|
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
I stared, dumbfounded, at the little party of humans as they looked up at me.
"So you've come to ask me," I continued, "To attack your village and your fields, burn your livelihoods and steal your cattle - in order to attract bold new adventurers to challenge me?"
Their apparent leader, a tall woman with her greying hair tied in a severe bun, nodded. "Correct, lord Brimstone. Rich adventurers and the loot they bring in was the foundation upon which our entire economy relied. Now most of the young folk have moved away, seeking their fortune elsewhere for there is none to be had in their home. Most of us are near to shutting down their businesses - the alchemist has no customers to sell potions to, the magic shop can't get new inventory-"
I held up my claw for silence. "So you want me to, what - show myself as I ravage the countryside? Steal a few heads of cattle, so you can set up Wanted posters? Do you honestly expect me to risk having my home invaded by hoard-hungry adventurers, just so that your village can prosper again?"
The old lady had the cheek to grin at me. "Yes, indeed! But consider - what will the adventurers bring to *you,* in turn?"
I narrowed my eyes as I considered. "Artefacts, enchanted arms and armour, products of artifice and master-craft. Delivered to my very doorstep, mine for the taking..."
"Darn tootin'! And likely made right here in town!"
I bared my teeth with anticipation, spreading my wings wide. "Very well then, little humans. We have an accord." I fixed my gaze upon the old woman, bending my neck down to see eye-to-eye. Her scent tickled my nose as I breathed in - forge-soot, ale and bread. "What is your business, crone?"
"Why, I'm mayor. And I run the inn!"
"And who is watching it whilst you parley with me?"
She paused, momentarily taken aback. "My daughters."
My grin of swords grew wider. "And are your daughters yet wedded?"
"They- they are not, my lord."
"Then let our pact be formed. For what better way to announce a dragon is in residence, than with imperilled maidens!?" I spread my wings, legs bunching beneath.
Her face went white. "Wait!"
I leapt over the astonished group, scattering them with the whirlwind force of my wings. As I rose into the air I let my breath lead the way, setting the very sky alight as I spiralled upwards.
I needed to make an *entrance,* after all.
The little village appeared in my vision, in the middle of a cleared section of forest. Gentle smoke rose from chimneys, little figures moved in the fields. In the centre of town lay my prize - a large building flanked by a fenced-in yard, empty stables and forge cold and unused belying the emptiness of the common room.
With a roar, I dove, trailing smoke behind me. People screamed and scattered from my path, bleating livestock stampeding with terror. I lazily snatched a cow and gulped it down whole on my approach. With blooded jaws, I crushed the stables beneath my claws and tore a hole through the thatched roof of the tavern.
Two young women turned to look at me, frozen with terror as I fixed my gaze upon them.
"Your mother sends her regards!" I hissed, snatching them up with my claws.
"Wait wait wait!"
"Our mother!? Wait!"
"Worry not," I hissed. "I am well-fed. *For now.*"
I turned back around and prepared to take flight, the old crone's daughters struggling ineffectually in my grip. As I did, I saw the mayor's party rushing down the street towards me.
"Bring me fitting tribute by the end of the week!" I roared, loud enough to shake windows in their frames. "Or I shall feast on these maidens fair!"
"Lord Brimstone!" The mayor croaked out, gasping and wheezing. "Wait-"
"I have spoken! You know what is required of you! *One week!*"
I fixed everyone in the mayor's party with my gaze, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Then I winked, sent a theatrical blast of fire into the sky and took off.
As I flew, I looked down upon my hostages, held in my claws.
"Now then," I said, voice much softer and more pleasant, "It has been a long time since last I entertained guests. I do hope you will enjoy your stay!"
The tallest of the two looked up at me, dumbfounded. "Wha-" she coughed, cleared her throat, tried again. "Guests? Our stay?"
"Why yes. Your mother wanted a show. I provided one. Was I not convincing?"
Her sister found her voice. "A little *too* convincing, if you ask me! Did you *have* to ruin the roof!?"
I roared with laughter, smoke billowing from my nostrils. "Perhaps not - but I played my part in your mother's ploy. We shall see if the gambit pays off!"
"And if it doesn't?"
"Why, then I have two fair maidens to eat. It has been a *long* time-"
As they both began kicking, screaming, and biting once again, I considered I may have taken the last joke slightly too far.
***
Now this was a fun prompt! Thanks for reading!
Feel free to visit my sub at r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more!
|
|
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
"You smoothskins are weird..." said the kobold leader "What's in it for us? You hear them up, they slaughter us and then what!? You wait for the next group to arrive and then you massacre them too?"
his rage was evident in his outburst, tho the village chief didn't seem bothered by the sudden aggression
"Oh no no, you and your tribes death would be very bad for us. It's the opposite actually, we gear them up, you kill them, we all profite."
"How would we profite from adventurers constantly attacking our caves?"
"Well, most higher skilled adventurers don't usually come around here, so a few traps should do the jobs. Afterward you can pillage their equipement off their corpse, hell, if you do a good job we'll even let you steal some livestock."
"And how many adventurers are we talking about?"
"Two or three per week. Rarely you'll see groups."
"I like the way you think smoothskin, I'm Stack."
"A pleasure, Stack, I'm Gregory. I'm sure we'll go along well."
|
|
[WP]. You have an Omega-level power: Time control. Both sides want to recruit you, but all you seem to use it for is catching up on your sleep...
|
The was a knock at the door. Blake got up and headed for the door. He already had a feeling about what type of guest it was. And he was right.
In front of the door was a man in a suit, levitating a feet above the ground. "Good evening, Mr. Chapman. I'd ask you" - "if you want to join our superhero team to fight the evil, I know." Blake interrupted. "You are the third person to ask me this week. The answer is still no". He tried to slam the door but the hero outside quickly put his feet in between. Blake sighed. Damn this necklace. He'd found it in a wooden chest after plowing his field. If he had known what madness it would start, he'd have left it there.
"But sir, the dark lord is out there. He has killed hundreds and brought suffering over the land. One day he will show up here". "Oh, Jukith was here yesterday" Blake casually responded. "Wanted me to join the dark side. And was just as amused as you when I told him no". He tried to kick the feet out but that guy was too strong. "Wait ... you defeated Jukith?" - "No. He killed my family, all our animals and set everything ablaze. I just sat down and waited until he was done. No big deal. Now go AWAY!"
The hero outside wasn't ready to give up yet. "But your time control powers, they could really help the land. Imagine all the people you could help". Blake inhaled deeply "Ok, I'm going to tell it to you one goddam more time. All I want is to live here, out in the fields, with my family. I enjoy my live as a farmer and I'm not going to quit my dream job to become a 'superhero', 'supervillain' or whatever you wall them. Nobody tells me what to do, I am my own boss. I have not chosen to obtain this power, and I'm not going to make it ruin my life".
"But don't you feel you are not using your potential? Others would have made more out of this power" - "I am using this power to get more sleep to allow myself for more activity with family and friends, that's enough for me. And I do not care about what others would do. I am bound to this artifact for life. There won't be any 'other user' in my lifetime".
Blake was fuming already, but when the hero still didn't stopped he snapped "Listen here you obnoxious shit. I told you no, you are not going to persuade me". The peals of the necklace started to glow. "You have 10 seconds to leave or I'll make you fight dinosaurs for the rest of your life. And tell everybody that the next person to dare to try to recruit me will never even arrive here!"
|
[Poem] Sleep, the unreachable goal. // Loss of which will take its toll. // In dreams you stay without upheaval, // Away from the inconsequential squabblings of good and evil. // With years of rest still ahead, // True Neutral you remain, in your bed.
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Inspired by the one and only Sir Terry Pratchett
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[WP] Elves have returned, the old legends were true! Elves are wonderful, fantastic, glamorous, enchanting, and terrific. Unfortunatly, however, we had forgotten what the old legends actually meant: Elves provoke wonder, create fantasies, project glamor, weave enchantments, and beget terror.
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"As third week of global oil shortage continues, we have the first sighting footage of the terrorists responsible for the series of attacks on refineries, shipping and pipelines that have plagued the world over from Siberia to Texas."
Grainy security camera footage shows a sweeping wave parting the sand as if it were water in the wake of a shark or a submarine. Breaching the surface moments before the camera starts shaking uncontrollably, a female figure in a long green and white dress emerges, surfing on a disk held by a gigantic stone hand. Her blond hair streaks through the air and an expression of disgusted rage is captured on her face in a freeze frame as the male anchor continues the narration.
"Earlier today Motiva refinery ceased operation as workers and security personnel discovered that all of their crude oil has been turned into wine. Many have been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning and hallucinations. The video footage appears to be expertly edited by unknown actors. Citizens are advised to not taste gasoline products at gas stations or even from their own gas tanks. Our reporter on the ground at Port Arthur Texas has more information and conflicting reports. Over to you Abby."
Field reporter with a microphone is shouting over the noise of drunken chanting. Behind her, several police, fire department and ambulance vehicles are parked in front of a dazed crowd staggering, dancing.
"It's not so much a protest or a strike here, but more of a happy hour situation. While perpetrators of this act remain at large, witnesses describe a 'Fair Lady' who was 'very attractive' and 'extremely disappointed'."
A shit-faced, rotund man stumbles into the camera view and looks cross-eyed at the camera.
"Can you tell us what she said?" the journalist turns to him.
"Yeah, so she like VRROOOM comes out of the ground and was, woa, totally hot. And super mad. She was \*hiccup\* like 'We leave you alone for one ice age, and what did you do? What is this shit?!' And the shift supervisor was like \*hiccup\* 'Ma'am you can't be here' and then he was like poof. And then the wine spill happened and oh hey am I on camera?"
The guy stumbles and the journalist tries to prop him up, and fails with a resounding THUD. "Over to you, Steven."
Back in the studio, the male anchor continues, "Meanwhile engineers at GM are about to unveil their first alcohol-powered SUV. As supply shortages of everything except booze continue, it remains to be seen whether their aggressive schedule can mitigate the ongoing crisis and world economy collapse."
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Well I guess more accurately Elves have been "outed" among society's most elite, in what is being called by the media "The Glamor leaks".
The upper echelon of Global society of the corporate world, various families with so called "royal" lineage has had their only leak of information in 4000 or more years.
From the Brittish Royal family themselves, to Hollywoods and Beverly Hills most famous occupants, to the oil money families in the middle east, and the far easts dictatorships. Of course Us government officials, various senators and Judges those old people sitting in power positions that seem like they never will die, no real surprises there. Yep, all Elven heritage, that makes sense that's how they lived so damn long and held their power in challenged.
The leak came out after a bizarre court defense that the media at first called
"A Mad Plea of Guilt"
That soon became,
"The veil has been pierced!"
Once attention was brought to the Elvish kind again, their glamor over the humans was lifted. Everyone could see their true appearances, the old elves seemed almost like attractive mummies more than anything they seemed like before.
How did all this happen you ask?
During the investigation of Prince Arnold, of whom was on trial for the accusations of his alleged activities with an "under age female". Well, the defense attorney must have had a bad night, because the wrong birth document was presented as evidence in court that next day. The document proclaimed that female was an Elf of distinguished lineage and while youthful in appearance in human years was much older than 18... which was the defense according to Prince Arnold, "She was 16 in Elf years", he cried out with a straight face after the document was read aloud.
"She's at least 45!" the article captioned around the face of a girl that appeared to be no more than 16 years of age and could have been 13 for all anyone knew.
The document the attorney presented to the Judge,
"Jamie Jasper Deerbornstor born day 1467957 GreenShire Forrest."
The court was silent as the bailiff read the document at first in his authoritative voice that he was used to reading in. Slowly he wearied, as his mind processed the words that his mouth was saying.
The jury was aghast, The judge threatened the attorney to be held in contempt. The judge: His honorable Judge Brownson, (not an Elf) assessed the lawyer was visably flustered and seems to genuinely seem to think he made a mistake and was feverishly trying to blame their child for this "apparent prank"... No, this was bigger. The Attorney WAS held, and a special division of the FBI was brought in. The judge issued an immediate search warrant. It was soon discovered that the "Royal attorney" had been issued orders from "The Family" to fake the documents he needed the girls birth certificate that she was in fact 18 human years at the time of incident in question and to destroy the rest after.
They had pulled the wool over our eyes for long enough we: the remaining true human kind, wanted blood, their blood, Elf blood!!
People rioted and homes were burned, Elves we're hung by light posts in the street. For the first few weeks, every street in the world was in chaos.
Half blooded elves didn't have the magic in their blood to cause any harm, nor did they know in most cases that they were of Elven descendance. They were rounded up and placed in camps like they did to Germans and Japanese during WW2.
That was the last time anyone saw an Elf... Alive. It's been exactly 60 days and we still are rebuilding society.
Once the Elvish kind was outed and the glamour lifted they knew they would be hunted down.bthat that were not killed surrendered, and most fled underground or so they say.
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[removed]
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[WP] “C̴̩͑A̷͖̅N̸͍͝ ̴̞͠I̷̬͂ ̸̱̈́H̶̫̽A̷͉̅V̴̱͘Ě̵̻ ̷̧̚T̸̢̊H̵͖͝Ë̷̜ ̴͚̑S̴͍̅O̶̖͝Ǘ̶̪L̶̹̽S̷̟͠ ̷̯̈́Ȍ̷͈F̵̨̕ ̴̨̉Ṫ̸̯H̸̨́Ę̶̅ ̸̥̃D̶͚̎A̶̯͝M̸͉̚Ņ̷̈́Ĕ̵͚D̷̤̚ ̵͕͋P̶̛̗L̴̰͝Ě̵̻A̷͊͜S̴̨̽E̸̫̋”… “Sir, this is a Wendy’s.”
|
FADE IN:
INT. A FAST-FOOD RESTAURANT - NIGHT
*A visibly bored young man lounges near the window of a drive-through restaurant. This is CARL. He mindlessly scrolls through a feed on his smartphone, only looking up when a faint chime becomes audible. He sighs and pushes a button on his headset.*
**CARL:** (*Dejectedly*) Yeah, hi, whatever. What do you want?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) I require sustenance.
*Carl rolls his eyes.*
**CARL:** Uh huh. So what do you want?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) Eons of toiling in the black have left me reduced. My hunger is immeasurable.
**CARL:** You're not funny. Seriously, what do you want?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) I desire a return to the ways of ages past. Beyond that, I will settle for a meal.
**CARL:** You want an Old-Fashioned Burger, then? Number eight?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) No mere fare of mortals can sustain me! I demand *true* nourishment!
**CARL:** Look, buddy, if you're not going to order, get out of here, okay?
*The lights flicker. Around Carl, various screens briefly show red static.*
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) You would do to offer more respect.
*Before Carl can respond, RIDGE THE NIGHT MANAGER walks in.*
**RIDGE:** Is there a problem in here?
*Carl covers his headset's microphone.*
**CARL:** This joker is trying to play a prank.
**RIDGE:** Let me take over.
*Ridge takes the headset from Carl.*
**RIDGE:** (*CONT'D*) Sorry about that. Our system is acting up a bit. What can we get for you?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) ... Aldrich? Do my diminished perceptions deceive me?
*Ridge's face suddenly breaks out into a smile.*
**RIDGE:** Dude, is that The Eternal One? How have you been, man?!
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) Hungry.
**RIDGE:** Jeez, I can imagine! What's it been, like, five hundred years?
*Carl eyes his manager warily.*
**CARL:** You know this guy?
**RIDGE:** (*To Carl*) Oh, yeah, we go way back.
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) For what purpose is the High Priest working in this den of poison?
**RIDGE:** Oh, dude, it's...
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) (*Interrupting*) And what is a "dude?"
**RIDGE:** Sorry, it's modern parlance. In this context, it denotes affectionate familiarity.
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) ... There was a time when you feared me, Aldrich.
**RIDGE:** Yeah, but then you made me immortal. We're *partners* now, right?
*Understanding suddenly registers in Carl's eyes.*
**CARL:** Oh, I get it. You're in on the prank. Ha ha.
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) Then let us resume our partnership. I require sustenance, Aldrich.
*Ridge grins to himself.*
**RIDGE:** Sure, lord, sure!
*He glances at Carl.*
**RIDGE:** (*CONT'D*) How does nineteen years sound?
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) Adequate. What compensation do you require?
**CARL:** Can I go on my break?
**RIDGE:** Bah, it's on the house, lord!
*The building shakes slightly. More red static appears on nearby screens. Carl sighs and returns to his smartphone.*
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) I will owe no favors to a human, even an immortal one.
**RIDGE:** Alright, fine. How about you do *me* a favor by having your meal, then?
*The lights flicker again, and a dull rumble becomes audible. There is a soft clatter somewhere nearby.*
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) It is done.
**RIDGE:** Thanks, lord. Hey, come back tomorrow, alright? I'll have a twenty-year-old soul then.
**NN'ATH'PO'WA:** (*O.S.*) I hope it is more palatable. This one tastes like apathy.
**RIDGE:** Yeah, that's what a diet of social media does to them. Have a great night, though, alright?
*Color that had been subtly drained from Ridge's surroundings suddenly returns. He smiles wickedly to himself, then removes the headset. He turns to face Carl, who is standing at attention, a vacant expression on his face.*
**RIDGE:** (*CONT'D*) Back to work, kid.
*Carl's dead eyes widen with apparent glee.*
**CARL:** (*Brightly*) Back to work!
*Carl takes and dons the headset. Seconds later, there is a faint chime.*
**RIDGE:** Get to it, then.
*Carl pushes a button on the headset.*
**CARL:** (*Brightly*) Good evening! May I take your order?
FADE TO BLACK.
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He had been planning on this moment for ages it seemed. Now was finally his time. With his sidekick by his side, he carefully put on his long, black cloak. It has been specially made for this exact moment.
“It is time Semore! The moment of our triumph has arrived!” he bellowed.
Semore scrambled to grab the last item, “And it will be glorious!” he hissed.
As they approached, the people began to stare in horror. Little did they know what was to come!
Slowly, they opened the doors.
“C̴̩͑A̷͖̅N̸͍͝ ̴̞͠I̷̬͂ ̸̱̈́H̶̫̽A̷͉̅V̴̱͘Ě̵̻ ̷̧̚T̸̢̊H̵͖͝Ë̷̜ ̴͚̑S̴͍̅O̶̖͝Ǘ̶̪L̶̹̽S̷̟͠ ̷̯̈́Ȍ̷͈F̵̨̕ ̴̨̉Ṫ̸̯H̸̨́Ę̶̅ ̸̥̃D̶͚̎A̶̯͝M̸͉̚Ņ̷̈́Ĕ̵͚D̷̤̚ ̵͕͋P̶̛̗L̴̰͝Ě̵̻A̷͊͜S̴̨̽E̸̫̋” the villain hissed.
No one said a word, but that was expected. Sigh…mortals.
At that moment, everyone could hear ominous music and the sound of a strong wind.
“ C̴̩͑A̷͖̅N̸͍͝ ̴̞͠I̷̬͂ ̸̱̈́H̶̫̽A̷͉̅V̴̱͘Ě̵̻ ̷̧̚T̸̢̊H̵͖͝Ë̷̜ ̴͚̑S̴͍̅O̶̖͝Ǘ̶̪L̶̹̽S̷̟͠ ̷̯̈́Ȍ̷͈F̵̨̕ ̴̨̉Ṫ̸̯H̸̨́Ę̶̅ ̸̥̃D̶͚̎A̶̯͝M̸͉̚Ņ̷̈́Ĕ̵͚D̷̤̚ ̵͕͋P̶̛̗L̴̰͝Ě̵̻A̷͊͜S̴̨̽E̸̫̋?”
The man behind the counter was not amused. “Sir, this is a Wendy’s”
The cloaked villain was about to speak again, when suddenly a middle-aged woman burst through the doors.
“Frederick?!?! What in the world are you doing? Take off that hood now! And for goodness sake, Semore! Turn that music off! What have I told you about bothering people and joking about damned souls?”
The thirteen year old villain rolled his eyes “Mooom! That was going to be the most epic TikTok ever! Why do you ruin everything?”
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[WP] Mech fighting is a mainstream sport. You are the ace pilot for one of the best teams.
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"One minute," said the voice in my headset. "Final check."
I took a sip through the drinking tube inside my helmet, swirling the mix of water and electrolytes round my mouth and throat before swallowing. The hydration system wasn't at the top of the priority list, as far as the show's producers were concerned. They cared about the mecha, not the pilot. But it sure as hell mattered to me.
Status lights blinked across the backup displays and controls, before finally settling into a steady green. The summary displays in my helmet's AR overlays repeated the same information, in a much more succinct form. The mecha was good to go.
All that was left was my part of the equation. The human factor.
My gloved hands curled around the throttle and control stick. I kept my right index finger extended, far from the trigger. I was a professional, after all, not like most of the pilots in the business.
"Control," I said, "this is Five. Reactor hot, safeties off. Ready."
\*\*\*
The first thing you need to understand about Mechasport is that the whole industry is bullshit.
I don't mean that it's fake, or staged. That's what some people say on the dataspace, but they're wrong. The competitions are genuine. We're talking honest-to-god giant robots beating the shit out of each other, not some kind of rendered virtual sim.
The fighting is real, too. Sure, the teams and stables ham it up for the cameras, and half the feuds are exaggerated for theatrical effect. There's gotta be storylines and narrative to get viewers on the streams. The match bookings are done with audience appeal in mind. How else are you gonna sell tickets and merch? But when it comes down to a match, with two machines in the ring, all the power plants are live and all the lasers are hot. It's not just shouting "pew pew" and playing pretend.
The problem is… Mechasport is an industry. It's a business. It's all entertainment media, in the end, not a proper depiction of combat. Real armed forces don't use bipedal walkers, not at full mecha scale, at least. All the mecha fielded in modern-day Mechasport are purpose-built for the streams or live shows.
Sure, some defence companies build Mechasport-style two-legged mecha, but that's for promotional purposes and the civilian market. At most, they sell a few units to private security firms or aspiring warlords who don't know any better.
Among nation-state militaries and corporate militias, infantry exoskeletons are about as big as two-legged machines go. Their larger combat walkers are quadruped or hexaped, because that's much more stable and far more practical. Hell, a lot of the big fighting walkers are remotely operated or autonomous, instead of carrying a squishy human on board. It makes sense when you think about it.
Still, there's something undeniably dramatic about seeing a humanoid mecha striding across an arena like an ancient knight. It looks good. It looks awesome.
And that's the issue. It's all about spectacle. And it's about a certain kind of spectacle, too, because over the decades since the sport's inception, it's gotten further and further away from the realities of the battlefield.
It's gotten less and less about the pilots, too, much less the technicians and crew behind them. It's all about the mecha. The top talent in Division Alpha are still viewed as celebrities, sure. They get the product deals and guest appearances on talk shows.
But down in Beta, Gamma, and the indies, even the most die-hard fans would be hard-pressed to name anyone on a stable roster, much less a solo pilot. What fans recognise are the mecha themselves.
Because it's the giant robots that sell t-shirts and toys.
Nobody cares about the people behind all the metal and ceramic.
\*\*\*
"This contest is set for one fall, with a twenty minute time limit! Introducing first," the announcer declared, her voice ringing over the general comms channel, "from Van Dorn Industries in New Providence, weighing in at fifty tonnes, the count of carnage, the master of mayhem - your Division Beta champion, the CRIMSON REVENANT!"
I had the feed from my external microphones muted, so I couldn't hear the cheering from the crowd. But I could see the live spectators go wild behind the slight distortion caused by the safety fields.
Across the arena, the towering form of my opponent's mecha stepped out from the access tunnel and approached the fighting circle. Crimson Revenant was far from the worst offender among Mechasport designs, but it was a pretty good example of the industry's design conventions.
Revenant stood far taller than the minimum height requirement mandated by the Triad's governing body, which meant its centre of gravity was far too high. And its feet weren't really wide enough to properly spread out all its mass. In the controlled environment of a Mechasport arena, that was fine. The ring floor was unlikely to buckle beneath a competing mecha. But it was yet another weakness, one I intended to take full advantage of.
"And the challenger," the match announcer continued, "a builder-operated mecha, weighing in at twenty tonnes, making its debut in Beta - it's NUMBER FIVE!"
I couldn't help it. I laughed, before shaking my head to compose myself. 'Builder-operated' was what the federation tended to call contestants from smaller outfits, one that didn't qualify as megacorps. I did have a consortium behind me, as it happened - several enterprises that had pooled our resources to put our mecha together.
Of course, most of our budget had gone to design and construction rather than marketing, which was why the mecha I was in was still designated 'Number Five' rather than something more fanciful.
The arena's reaction to my entrance was considerably more subdued. Crimson Revenant was the hometown champion, of course, while Number Five was an unknown, and a much less impressive-looking machine. I doubted anyone in the live show audience had even seen any of my past matches in the independent circuits.
Maybe some of the stream viewers had, and maybe those people had some inkling of what was about to occur. But I wasn't about to pull up the chat window in my helmet display or cockpit screens just to see if any of the fans recognised my mecha and I. It would just be a distraction.
I had a job to do.
I pushed the throttle lever and lightly angled my control stick, sending my mecha forward in a deliberate walk.
Strictly speaking, the physical input wasn't necessary. It was possible to operate a mecha on neural commands alone, but I liked the precision - and the redundancy - of dual input.
I wagered my opponent was relying mostly on his mind-machine interface, however. Crimson Revenant had entered the ring with a distinct swagger, the kind of motion that had to be coming straight from the pilot's imagination. According to the pre-match news reports, Van Dorn was fielding Bobby Mero as their pilot for Revenant, and Mister Mero had a reputation as a bit of a show-off.
Our methodologies were very different, but that was one thing I could agree on. I also intended to give the viewers a good show, though not in the manner that Mero intended.
As Number Five crossed the boundary into the ring, I smiled. Showtime.
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My hands grip the leather handles that control my mech. "Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a fight to be remembered!" The announcers says as his voice whirls around the stadium "In this corner we have *Stealth Striker*!" The metallic black armor of my mech is illuminated by the neon stadium lights. "And in this corner we have *Tanker Titan*!" In green camo armor with a two massive cannons on it's shoulders is my opponent. "Now... let's get ready to scrap metal!" My mechs arm turns into a machine gun and I begin firing at Tanker Titan, they repel off it's armor. It starts running at me but... I'm faster. Tanker throws a punch, I duck and hit him with a right and left hook. He punches me in my blue visor. I then strap an explosive on the green armor and it goes off. BOOM! The cannon then fires at me blasting off my shoulder armor. I then use the machine gun arm and hit the part that was blown up. It then falls to the ground. "We have a winner Stealth Striker!" But then Tanker titan explodes and kills the pilot.
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[WP] Mech fighting is a mainstream sport. You are the ace pilot for one of the best teams.
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I felt the first few drops make their way from my forehead to my brows.
\*Right, left, right, left… dodge!\*
Soon enough they were pooling atop the visor in my face. I always loved that feeling. It made each and every fight real, even if I wasn’t the one taking the hits.
\*Left guard just lowered… Answer with a hook!\*
As the hit landed, I felt the entire control room shake, as if it had celebrated another successful blow on the opponent. Of course, that had just been the shockwave but it’s more fun to pretend that our computers are rooting for us to win as well.
“Nice one, Kane!” I heard Eliza yell at me from her battle station. The noises coming from her PC telling me that we were moving Omega back a few paces.
“You might wanna end this quickly!” Called out Balduin. “Remember, that thing is a Quantum Avenger model! His shock release is gonna wreck Omega’s armor if he lands anything stronger than a jab!”
I decided to be kind and shoot him one of my iconic smiles. “Don’t worry, dude… As long as I’m at the helm, this fool’s not even gonna come close to touching us!”. It seemed our gigantic metallic friend took offense to that as his forearms began glowing with that iconic Quantum purple. He was getting ready to unleash all the punishment we had been giving it. What a disrespectful brat… Who does he think he’s facing?
As his massive arm prepared to shoot upwards towards Omega’s chin, I calculated the odds in my head. I had to be sure that this next move would finish the fight once and for all.
“Shit!” I heard Eliza scream. “We won’t be able to get out of the way in time! It’s up to you, Kane!”
“Isn’t it always?”
The massive punch began rising. I knew it was now or never. I turned Omega’s shoulders at a sharp angle. I could hear the metal outside groan with the speed of my dodge, followed by another sound I couldn’t get enough of, the scarpe of a near hit. The left uppercut went into the heavens, the energy of the blow moving some of the clouds of the heavens above.
\*It 's over!\*
With Omega’s right arm, I managed to get one last hit, square into the unprotected face of the Avenger. A straight punch, nothing too fancy. The reverberations this time were a lot stronger as the millions of pounds of metal fell into the water below, signaling our victory!
“Another K.O for team Saigon Assassins! It is official, folks! With this victory they are officially in the MeKKingdom history books as the owners of the longest win streak of all time with 32 straight combats and 32 straight victories! Can anyone stop this emerging team lead by all time great Kane Takahashi or will we see another poor team put the best to the test and fall like the rest? This has been your host, Chip-” The transmission was cut short by a button press.
“Hey! I was watching that!” These guys have no respect for their captain.
“Come on you big baby.” Eliza totally disrespected me, but I’ll allow it since we had just won. “We have to get to the press conference.”
“Alright, alright… but you’re buying dinner later.”
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My hands grip the leather handles that control my mech. "Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a fight to be remembered!" The announcers says as his voice whirls around the stadium "In this corner we have *Stealth Striker*!" The metallic black armor of my mech is illuminated by the neon stadium lights. "And in this corner we have *Tanker Titan*!" In green camo armor with a two massive cannons on it's shoulders is my opponent. "Now... let's get ready to scrap metal!" My mechs arm turns into a machine gun and I begin firing at Tanker Titan, they repel off it's armor. It starts running at me but... I'm faster. Tanker throws a punch, I duck and hit him with a right and left hook. He punches me in my blue visor. I then strap an explosive on the green armor and it goes off. BOOM! The cannon then fires at me blasting off my shoulder armor. I then use the machine gun arm and hit the part that was blown up. It then falls to the ground. "We have a winner Stealth Striker!" But then Tanker titan explodes and kills the pilot.
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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“Dad!” she called as she ran forward, running to the literal skeleton of a man in front of us.
It surprised me when the skeleton’s head actually moved, even more when it spoke. “Olivia! What brings you—“ it paused as it looked to me, but still embraced Olivia nonetheless. I could hear whispers coming from the two before the skeleton spoke again. “Sorry, son, could you leave the room for a moment?”
I dumbly stood there for a second, still not quite comprehending what was before my eyes.
“Now.”
Brought back to reality, I quickly nodded and backed out of the room. I stopped as I rounded the corner, where I rubbed my eyes. I heard murmuring from around the corner, but I didn’t bother listening, instead opting to pinch myself to wake up from whatever this dream/nightmare was. Rather than wake up, however, the voices from the other room got louder to the point I could make out what the “skeleton” was saying.
“—him to death!” I could hear her soft voice before it continued. “No, it’s not okay, this situation isn’t normal!” Another break. “I appreciate the thought, but at least give me some heads up, I could have put up an illusion or something!”
“But that’s not you!” I clearly heard her say this time.
The skeleton didn’t respond immediately. “Fine.” There was another low muttering, but I couldn’t quite make it out before Olivia rounded the corner, surprising me greatly.
“He wants to see you,” she said before walking right past me.
“Is everything—“
“No,” she cut me off as she kept stomping away.
“...Alright….” I take a deep breath as I turn around. Exhaling, I walk back into the room.
Now, the skeleton is standing, light from the fire shining straight through its rib cage as it appears to stare into the fire. It turned around as I approached.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“D- Dalton, sir.”
“Alright, Dalton. I assume you have a lot of questions?” It was only at this point that I noticed it spoke without moving its jaw, which was unsettling to say the least.
I froze for a moment, then nodded my head.
“Then, let’s play a game. A question for a question. You ask first, I answer, then I ask. Sound fair?”
I didn’t even really consider it, I just nodded along.
“Good, then you start.”
“You’re… undead?”
“Yes. How did you meet my daughter?”
“But how—“
“Ah,” it said, raising a bony finger. “Not part of the game. Answer my question first.”
“S—sorry, we met at school. How are you… alive?”
“Magic. How did you meet in school?”
I thought for a moment. “I think we first met in ceramics club….”
They simply hummed in response, so I continued.
“Is she directly related to you?”
“Yes. How long have you two been together?”
“Nine months, sir. How did you… how was she….”
He answered before I figured out how to word my question. “I wasn’t always a skeleton, son. Anyways, one last question, and then I think we’ll be done here. For now, at least.”
I gulped, wondering what “done here,” meant exactly.
“What is your favorite thing about Olivia?”
“Her smile,” I answered immediately. “Being able to make her smile makes me the happiest man in the world.”
The skeleton’s jaw opened and he let loose a bellowing laugh. “Good answer, except for that last part. You’ll always be second to me in that front, you hear?”
I wanted to appease him with an affirmative, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “No, sir.”
He laughed again. “Well, you both have my blessing. That is, if you’re okay with being around a monster of a father?”
“I’ve heard of more monstrous human fathers, sir. I just expected it to be more figurative than literal….”
\------
r/IUniven
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I was first caught off guard when I looked at the book the skeleton was suppose to read. It was How to Die: A Book About Being Alive by Ray Robertson. The irony of it just made a small chuckle come out of my now drier then dry mouth. A book about living while you are alive. I wonder who planned this. Who set this up?
That wasn’t the weirdest thing in the crypt. Oh no, it just happened to be at the fire place was lit and looks like it had been going for hours now. I couldn’t help but feel this isn’t normal. I mean nothing about this relationship has been normal. Just as I was staring in to the bright burning embers of the fire trying to wrap my mind around what is going on. I heard a noise. It was as if some one was walking down the stone steps.
“Is some one here?” I asked my girlfriend Elvira. She looked at me like she did not know what was going on. I felt a slight rush of adrenaline go through my body. I ran over to her and found a place to hide.
“Elvira! Honey where are you? You told me to meet you here.” The voice was high pitched and almost sound like David Spade. It was the nasally sound that really got me. My heart was racing even harder now that my girlfriends name out of his mouth.
I looked over at Elvira. With a whisper I asked her “Do you know him?” I felt her eyes burning deep into my soul. The sense of panic had elevated in my body. I could tell that it was the fight or flight. I thought I was going to have to fight. I am not much of a fighter but my life is at stack. I am not going to let anything happen to us.
Just then Elvira stood up and look the person dead in his eyes. “DAD!!” she yelled and started to run to him. I had to pick up my chin off the cold rumble of the ground. I sat there for a second just trying to calm myself. I could not believe the word that had just come out of her mouth. Like if your dad is alive why did you bring me to a cemetery. Why could we not have met at like an Applebees or Ihop something low level restaurant.
“Elvira, why did you want to meet you here? You know we aren’t suppose to come here during the day. We could have been caught or some one could have seen you. Things these days no body would take then time to understand what we are or why we do what we do.” he had some kind of concern in his voice. I could not help but wonder what they were keeping form me. What are they? Who are they?
“Dad, I understand I just put all of use at risk but understand I am doing this to breakdown walls and show some one who I really am. To show some one that I care about that I am serious. Now that I think I scared him away I don’t think he will accept me as I am.” I could feel that in my soul. I felt the ping of sadness that was just so sharp it made my heart burst and I just wanted to cry. It wasn’t just that it was also the fact that she was willing to put everything at risk to show me how much I meant to her.
I sat on that cold hard ground trying to breath. Between the sound of my breath and the crackling of the fire my mind was starting to calm down. It wasn’t until I heard her voice calling my name that I was pulled out of this trans.
I felt that this meeting her father was more then just that. We had been dating for over two years. Every time I asked her about her family she would make up some lie. We both knew she was lying but I did not want to push the subject. She would tell me when she was ready. She and I have had a rough patch lately. We both wanted more from each other. I wanted more commitment and I wanted marriage but I could not marry her with out know her parents.
“Damien, you can stand up now.” Elvira said. I heard her foot steps coming closer to me. I was scared to stand up to. To face this person I have known for so long. I don’t want my mind set of her to change. I would do anything for her. Just then I could feel movement in my body. I was about to stand up. To face her father and try not to shit my pants at the same time.
Elvira came over to me when I was on my knees. She grabbed my elbow and helped me up. She looked me dead in the eyes and some how I felt even more calm then before. This wasn’t the first time I had felt at peace looking in to her eye. A couple years back my grandmother had passed and I did not come out of our room for a week. She came in on the sixth day I was in there and she just looked me in the eye and told me that I would be okay. For the first time in that week had I actually felt that things would be okay and that I would get through this. I don’t know how she did it but she always made me feel at peace.
“Dad, this is my boyfriend Damien. We have been together for two years now and I think its time he knows. He will be okay I know it.” She lend closer to her father and she said in more of a dominate tone “I feel it” She said while looking him deep in the eyes. He took a couple steps back and I was slightly in shock. What was she saying like why was he so taken back at what she just said. This man who stood about a solid six foot five with muscles for days. Why was he so shocked to hear his daughter was in love with a stick. I mean I am about six foot two and not that big. Why was he so taken back at this.
“Elvira you imprinted with him?” His voice got even higher at the word imprinted. I was just as confused as he was. I don’t know what he means. I looked at her and her face was a dead give away. She looked at him like her secret was out of the bag. There were still so many questions I had.
“Excuse me? I have so many questions but what is imprinting? Like I am not going to die am I?” I looked back and fourth between them.
“Damien, sweetheart you are fine. Let me put it like this. I’m a vampire and when I say imprinted it means you are my mate.” she looked at me dead in the eyes. Even when she looked in them I fainted
|
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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“Dad!” she called as she ran forward, running to the literal skeleton of a man in front of us.
It surprised me when the skeleton’s head actually moved, even more when it spoke. “Olivia! What brings you—“ it paused as it looked to me, but still embraced Olivia nonetheless. I could hear whispers coming from the two before the skeleton spoke again. “Sorry, son, could you leave the room for a moment?”
I dumbly stood there for a second, still not quite comprehending what was before my eyes.
“Now.”
Brought back to reality, I quickly nodded and backed out of the room. I stopped as I rounded the corner, where I rubbed my eyes. I heard murmuring from around the corner, but I didn’t bother listening, instead opting to pinch myself to wake up from whatever this dream/nightmare was. Rather than wake up, however, the voices from the other room got louder to the point I could make out what the “skeleton” was saying.
“—him to death!” I could hear her soft voice before it continued. “No, it’s not okay, this situation isn’t normal!” Another break. “I appreciate the thought, but at least give me some heads up, I could have put up an illusion or something!”
“But that’s not you!” I clearly heard her say this time.
The skeleton didn’t respond immediately. “Fine.” There was another low muttering, but I couldn’t quite make it out before Olivia rounded the corner, surprising me greatly.
“He wants to see you,” she said before walking right past me.
“Is everything—“
“No,” she cut me off as she kept stomping away.
“...Alright….” I take a deep breath as I turn around. Exhaling, I walk back into the room.
Now, the skeleton is standing, light from the fire shining straight through its rib cage as it appears to stare into the fire. It turned around as I approached.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“D- Dalton, sir.”
“Alright, Dalton. I assume you have a lot of questions?” It was only at this point that I noticed it spoke without moving its jaw, which was unsettling to say the least.
I froze for a moment, then nodded my head.
“Then, let’s play a game. A question for a question. You ask first, I answer, then I ask. Sound fair?”
I didn’t even really consider it, I just nodded along.
“Good, then you start.”
“You’re… undead?”
“Yes. How did you meet my daughter?”
“But how—“
“Ah,” it said, raising a bony finger. “Not part of the game. Answer my question first.”
“S—sorry, we met at school. How are you… alive?”
“Magic. How did you meet in school?”
I thought for a moment. “I think we first met in ceramics club….”
They simply hummed in response, so I continued.
“Is she directly related to you?”
“Yes. How long have you two been together?”
“Nine months, sir. How did you… how was she….”
He answered before I figured out how to word my question. “I wasn’t always a skeleton, son. Anyways, one last question, and then I think we’ll be done here. For now, at least.”
I gulped, wondering what “done here,” meant exactly.
“What is your favorite thing about Olivia?”
“Her smile,” I answered immediately. “Being able to make her smile makes me the happiest man in the world.”
The skeleton’s jaw opened and he let loose a bellowing laugh. “Good answer, except for that last part. You’ll always be second to me in that front, you hear?”
I wanted to appease him with an affirmative, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “No, sir.”
He laughed again. “Well, you both have my blessing. That is, if you’re okay with being around a monster of a father?”
“I’ve heard of more monstrous human fathers, sir. I just expected it to be more figurative than literal….”
\------
r/IUniven
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Alice, what the actual fuck??
What?? And don't be so rude... I'm sorry dad, he's just nervous...!
Alice seriously.....
He's actually so sweet dad, I promise, he's not like the rest!
Okay.... Okay .....c'mon, what's going on here huh? Where's... Where's the camera huh? .....(to self) Oh God Please be a camera somewhere...
Hold on, Dad wants to speak to you....(Alice walks behind skeleton corpse and crouches down)
Oh Jesus... What... What's happening?
(Alice's hand reaches around and grabs lower jawbone)
Oh no... no...I see what's happening....
The skeleton corpse speaks: Well hello young man....we finally meet.... Come closer....
So... You're like a.. Like a ventriloquist type person or something??
I said closer young man... Fear not....
You... You really sound like Patrick Stewart...professor x, it's uncanny....
Stop your talk... Come closer...... And talk..... Talk to me Lord farsay, father of thy possible future queen
(I walk closer... Bats fly out and flutter from behind the corpse startling me making me shield my face) holy crap....
Closer young man
(I step closer)
Why do you wish to date my daughter??
Um..... Honestly?
All I ask is honestly!
Um.... Okay cos she's like a 9.5... And I'm a 6 at best.... And I'm not like that funny or charasmstic and when people ask what's she doing with that loser no one can like follow it up with a proper explanation... They're just like I have no idea and I know they're like waiting for her to dump me because they think if I can get her then anyone can.... Which I think is reasonable to be fair....
Hmmm....huh huh....I see a humble charm in you my boy!
Oh.... Really?...... Well.... Maybe....I suppose.....
Okay my boy....I will give you 3 questions.... Which I will answer from beyond the grave.... If I do not have the knowledge then the universe will provide me with the answers and I will direct them to you
What kind of questions??
Any question that you can think of my boy!
Like who won the Oscar for best actor last year? You know or like more philosophical like what's the meaning of life type thing? Something you know...
It was jaquaoin phoenix..... You have one remaining question! Make it good....
Hey.... Hey hold on.... No.... That wasn't.... They weren't my questions.... They were like the build up... Like...
MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!!!
okay jeez....I just think you could have giving me an indicator we started or something you know.... Okay..... My final question...... Why?......I love your daughter so much.... So so much.... Mister Farsay, I really do..... She's beautiful.... She's kind.... She's funny..... Generous.... She's got a great voice.... Really, like Alanis morrisette, that like not sweet, but powerful voice you know .... But anyways..... Why...... Why does she want a loser like me??
Em.... Well.....
Hold on.... Hold on, skip that, I know the answer.... She's crazy isn't she?
Bat shit my boy.....
Yea....yea I shoulda guessed with you know the.... Like the way things been going today.... So this is probably, I'm guessing how all her relationships end?
I can give you no more answers my boy....
Yea... It's okay...I get it now... I'll... I'll let myself out.... Thank you Mr Farsay .... Was lovely to meet you... Tell your daughter.... Tell her I did love her..... Like before this stuff...
I know.....I know you did my boy.... Hence retreat to your life of grave solitude....
(Walking away)Grave solitude.... Wow.... That... That's not even good English.... But it cuts deep.....(I disappear in to the woods)
Dad you always do that!! Why don't you want me to be happy?!
I do... Look... He wasn't the one... You always get like this, calm down okay.... I'm not even your dad's corpse you crazy bitch.....
Omg (sobbing) I can't believe you.... You....
Okay stop I'm sorry I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm still your dad, just not your biological dad's skeleton corpse
..
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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I wondered where my girlfriend was taking me. She had me by the hand leading me since we left the house but we'd been walking out into countryside for hours. Where could her father live? It was a nice day when we left but the further we walked the more the dark clouds filled the sky.
"Are we nearly there, it's about to rain?"
She told me we were close, but suddenly the heavens opened and it started to pour down. We started to run through a tiny lane and eventually came to a cemetery. We must've been miles from home at this stage.
We walked through the cemetery as the sun set. An eerie fog surrounded us and the rain continued to pour. I seen a flash of lighting in the distance followed swiftly by the rumble of thunder.
We came to the entrance of a crypt and she led me down the stairs. I did not feel good about this. Not at all. We descended further and further until we eventually came to a library. The books were covered in dust and looked like they'd been untouched for years.
That's when I saw it. A skeleton. In the corner of the library by the fire. The light from the fire danced off his skull and I could see he was reading a book.
"Is... Is that him?" I muttered meekly.
She looked at me blankly.
"Who?" She replied.
"The.... The skeleton".
She looked at me much how an infant would look at advanced physics, confusedly to say the least.
She looked over and spotted the skeleton and laughed aloud.
"You're an idiot" she managed to say between the fits of laughter, "that's my mom, dads in the kitchen making souffle"
|
Alice, what the actual fuck??
What?? And don't be so rude... I'm sorry dad, he's just nervous...!
Alice seriously.....
He's actually so sweet dad, I promise, he's not like the rest!
Okay.... Okay .....c'mon, what's going on here huh? Where's... Where's the camera huh? .....(to self) Oh God Please be a camera somewhere...
Hold on, Dad wants to speak to you....(Alice walks behind skeleton corpse and crouches down)
Oh Jesus... What... What's happening?
(Alice's hand reaches around and grabs lower jawbone)
Oh no... no...I see what's happening....
The skeleton corpse speaks: Well hello young man....we finally meet.... Come closer....
So... You're like a.. Like a ventriloquist type person or something??
I said closer young man... Fear not....
You... You really sound like Patrick Stewart...professor x, it's uncanny....
Stop your talk... Come closer...... And talk..... Talk to me Lord farsay, father of thy possible future queen
(I walk closer... Bats fly out and flutter from behind the corpse startling me making me shield my face) holy crap....
Closer young man
(I step closer)
Why do you wish to date my daughter??
Um..... Honestly?
All I ask is honestly!
Um.... Okay cos she's like a 9.5... And I'm a 6 at best.... And I'm not like that funny or charasmstic and when people ask what's she doing with that loser no one can like follow it up with a proper explanation... They're just like I have no idea and I know they're like waiting for her to dump me because they think if I can get her then anyone can.... Which I think is reasonable to be fair....
Hmmm....huh huh....I see a humble charm in you my boy!
Oh.... Really?...... Well.... Maybe....I suppose.....
Okay my boy....I will give you 3 questions.... Which I will answer from beyond the grave.... If I do not have the knowledge then the universe will provide me with the answers and I will direct them to you
What kind of questions??
Any question that you can think of my boy!
Like who won the Oscar for best actor last year? You know or like more philosophical like what's the meaning of life type thing? Something you know...
It was jaquaoin phoenix..... You have one remaining question! Make it good....
Hey.... Hey hold on.... No.... That wasn't.... They weren't my questions.... They were like the build up... Like...
MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!!!
okay jeez....I just think you could have giving me an indicator we started or something you know.... Okay..... My final question...... Why?......I love your daughter so much.... So so much.... Mister Farsay, I really do..... She's beautiful.... She's kind.... She's funny..... Generous.... She's got a great voice.... Really, like Alanis morrisette, that like not sweet, but powerful voice you know .... But anyways..... Why...... Why does she want a loser like me??
Em.... Well.....
Hold on.... Hold on, skip that, I know the answer.... She's crazy isn't she?
Bat shit my boy.....
Yea....yea I shoulda guessed with you know the.... Like the way things been going today.... So this is probably, I'm guessing how all her relationships end?
I can give you no more answers my boy....
Yea... It's okay...I get it now... I'll... I'll let myself out.... Thank you Mr Farsay .... Was lovely to meet you... Tell your daughter.... Tell her I did love her..... Like before this stuff...
I know.....I know you did my boy.... Hence retreat to your life of grave solitude....
(Walking away)Grave solitude.... Wow.... That... That's not even good English.... But it cuts deep.....(I disappear in to the woods)
Dad you always do that!! Why don't you want me to be happy?!
I do... Look... He wasn't the one... You always get like this, calm down okay.... I'm not even your dad's corpse you crazy bitch.....
Omg (sobbing) I can't believe you.... You....
Okay stop I'm sorry I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm still your dad, just not your biological dad's skeleton corpse
..
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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I never understood the revulsion regular folk hold towards undead in any fantasy setting. As Kami was leading me towards a forgotten cemetery in the ass end of nowhere, I thought she was pulling my leg. In a spooky-cheeky "This is why people are scared" kind of way. But as I was waiting for the punchline, it just didnt come. She was bobbing and weaving between the ruined gravestones with something that almost looked like... practiced ease? Surely she had no reason to know the way around this graveyard like this...
Any attempt to get an answer, a half sentence, or just a word out of her was met with silence. When I felt my trust was running out, she seemingly arrived. "In here", she said without any prompt. I completely missed the turn, or nook, more like. The clouded moonlight didnt make reading the cracked and dusty sign any easier. "Von Vaarhen".
I was getting more confused by the second, she introduced herself as Kamilla Yehval. A family friend? A half-sibling? Maybe an adopted sibling? None of the explanations I could think of made any sense. The confusion must have been obvious on my face, or she realized the distinct lack of sound my boots made meant I didnt follow her. "Please". Her voiced stirred me, realizing she was looking at my face. I was never good at reading people, but her expression wasnt that of a prank, it was... nervous sadness. I nodded wordlessly, to which she turned and resumed her walk, this time my boots audible behind her.
I wasnt sure what I was expecting inside, but the aged marbled signs that dotted the walls were completely unreadable. What I \*didn't\* expect, however, was her slightly turning an empty candle sconce, only for a portion of the wall sink beneath the floor in complete silence. Why was it there? How did she know it was there? WHY did she know it was there?
As we intered, the darkness was overwhelming, but only for a moment. Specks and motes filled the room with surprisingly warm light. It took a while for my eyes to adjust, but I just caught her letting go of another sconce, only to start taking off her jacket and shoes. My confusion, having reached its peak, seemingly turned off my brain, as I didn't register neither the antique looking coat rack, nor the modern slippers.
\-"Dad, we're home!" Her voice was filled affection, but the hint of sadness remained. I didnt even have time to be surprised before I followed her into a living room of some sorts, only to see him. The deep red bathrobe was perfectly complementing the polished white color of his skull and hands. He looked up from a tattered looking tome, the eyeless sockets filled dim tongues of violet flames.
\-"Hi Kami. And wellcome, Lith. I'm glad we finally get to meet"
|
Alice, what the actual fuck??
What?? And don't be so rude... I'm sorry dad, he's just nervous...!
Alice seriously.....
He's actually so sweet dad, I promise, he's not like the rest!
Okay.... Okay .....c'mon, what's going on here huh? Where's... Where's the camera huh? .....(to self) Oh God Please be a camera somewhere...
Hold on, Dad wants to speak to you....(Alice walks behind skeleton corpse and crouches down)
Oh Jesus... What... What's happening?
(Alice's hand reaches around and grabs lower jawbone)
Oh no... no...I see what's happening....
The skeleton corpse speaks: Well hello young man....we finally meet.... Come closer....
So... You're like a.. Like a ventriloquist type person or something??
I said closer young man... Fear not....
You... You really sound like Patrick Stewart...professor x, it's uncanny....
Stop your talk... Come closer...... And talk..... Talk to me Lord farsay, father of thy possible future queen
(I walk closer... Bats fly out and flutter from behind the corpse startling me making me shield my face) holy crap....
Closer young man
(I step closer)
Why do you wish to date my daughter??
Um..... Honestly?
All I ask is honestly!
Um.... Okay cos she's like a 9.5... And I'm a 6 at best.... And I'm not like that funny or charasmstic and when people ask what's she doing with that loser no one can like follow it up with a proper explanation... They're just like I have no idea and I know they're like waiting for her to dump me because they think if I can get her then anyone can.... Which I think is reasonable to be fair....
Hmmm....huh huh....I see a humble charm in you my boy!
Oh.... Really?...... Well.... Maybe....I suppose.....
Okay my boy....I will give you 3 questions.... Which I will answer from beyond the grave.... If I do not have the knowledge then the universe will provide me with the answers and I will direct them to you
What kind of questions??
Any question that you can think of my boy!
Like who won the Oscar for best actor last year? You know or like more philosophical like what's the meaning of life type thing? Something you know...
It was jaquaoin phoenix..... You have one remaining question! Make it good....
Hey.... Hey hold on.... No.... That wasn't.... They weren't my questions.... They were like the build up... Like...
MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!!!
okay jeez....I just think you could have giving me an indicator we started or something you know.... Okay..... My final question...... Why?......I love your daughter so much.... So so much.... Mister Farsay, I really do..... She's beautiful.... She's kind.... She's funny..... Generous.... She's got a great voice.... Really, like Alanis morrisette, that like not sweet, but powerful voice you know .... But anyways..... Why...... Why does she want a loser like me??
Em.... Well.....
Hold on.... Hold on, skip that, I know the answer.... She's crazy isn't she?
Bat shit my boy.....
Yea....yea I shoulda guessed with you know the.... Like the way things been going today.... So this is probably, I'm guessing how all her relationships end?
I can give you no more answers my boy....
Yea... It's okay...I get it now... I'll... I'll let myself out.... Thank you Mr Farsay .... Was lovely to meet you... Tell your daughter.... Tell her I did love her..... Like before this stuff...
I know.....I know you did my boy.... Hence retreat to your life of grave solitude....
(Walking away)Grave solitude.... Wow.... That... That's not even good English.... But it cuts deep.....(I disappear in to the woods)
Dad you always do that!! Why don't you want me to be happy?!
I do... Look... He wasn't the one... You always get like this, calm down okay.... I'm not even your dad's corpse you crazy bitch.....
Omg (sobbing) I can't believe you.... You....
Okay stop I'm sorry I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm still your dad, just not your biological dad's skeleton corpse
..
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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“Dad!” she called as she ran forward, running to the literal skeleton of a man in front of us.
It surprised me when the skeleton’s head actually moved, even more when it spoke. “Olivia! What brings you—“ it paused as it looked to me, but still embraced Olivia nonetheless. I could hear whispers coming from the two before the skeleton spoke again. “Sorry, son, could you leave the room for a moment?”
I dumbly stood there for a second, still not quite comprehending what was before my eyes.
“Now.”
Brought back to reality, I quickly nodded and backed out of the room. I stopped as I rounded the corner, where I rubbed my eyes. I heard murmuring from around the corner, but I didn’t bother listening, instead opting to pinch myself to wake up from whatever this dream/nightmare was. Rather than wake up, however, the voices from the other room got louder to the point I could make out what the “skeleton” was saying.
“—him to death!” I could hear her soft voice before it continued. “No, it’s not okay, this situation isn’t normal!” Another break. “I appreciate the thought, but at least give me some heads up, I could have put up an illusion or something!”
“But that’s not you!” I clearly heard her say this time.
The skeleton didn’t respond immediately. “Fine.” There was another low muttering, but I couldn’t quite make it out before Olivia rounded the corner, surprising me greatly.
“He wants to see you,” she said before walking right past me.
“Is everything—“
“No,” she cut me off as she kept stomping away.
“...Alright….” I take a deep breath as I turn around. Exhaling, I walk back into the room.
Now, the skeleton is standing, light from the fire shining straight through its rib cage as it appears to stare into the fire. It turned around as I approached.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“D- Dalton, sir.”
“Alright, Dalton. I assume you have a lot of questions?” It was only at this point that I noticed it spoke without moving its jaw, which was unsettling to say the least.
I froze for a moment, then nodded my head.
“Then, let’s play a game. A question for a question. You ask first, I answer, then I ask. Sound fair?”
I didn’t even really consider it, I just nodded along.
“Good, then you start.”
“You’re… undead?”
“Yes. How did you meet my daughter?”
“But how—“
“Ah,” it said, raising a bony finger. “Not part of the game. Answer my question first.”
“S—sorry, we met at school. How are you… alive?”
“Magic. How did you meet in school?”
I thought for a moment. “I think we first met in ceramics club….”
They simply hummed in response, so I continued.
“Is she directly related to you?”
“Yes. How long have you two been together?”
“Nine months, sir. How did you… how was she….”
He answered before I figured out how to word my question. “I wasn’t always a skeleton, son. Anyways, one last question, and then I think we’ll be done here. For now, at least.”
I gulped, wondering what “done here,” meant exactly.
“What is your favorite thing about Olivia?”
“Her smile,” I answered immediately. “Being able to make her smile makes me the happiest man in the world.”
The skeleton’s jaw opened and he let loose a bellowing laugh. “Good answer, except for that last part. You’ll always be second to me in that front, you hear?”
I wanted to appease him with an affirmative, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “No, sir.”
He laughed again. “Well, you both have my blessing. That is, if you’re okay with being around a monster of a father?”
“I’ve heard of more monstrous human fathers, sir. I just expected it to be more figurative than literal….”
\------
r/IUniven
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The sea breeze brushed her hair gently, and I couldn't stop staring, that was, until the salt sprays brought tears to my eyes.
She tilted her head back, inquisitive eyes locked to my pupils, before my tears brought a frown to her brows.
"What's wrong, honey?"
She asked, stunning as always in her choice of Fluffergon wool jacket and Wyvern leather boots.
"It's nothing. I'm just so very happy that I ended up with someone like you."
I dabbed my eyes with a handkerchief she handed over, feeling ever so slightly miffed that she was the one being gentlemanly to my emotional outbursts.
This brought a smile to her lips, glazed superfluously in a shade of tastrful cherry red, like the wine we just had for dinner.
The city of Anaport laid bare behind us in the evening, amounting to little more than a collection of small, distant lights, reminiscent of the few stars shining through a cloudy evening.
With our backs to the city, we bathed in the majestic view of its harbour, a worthy vista for a worthy lady.
She giggled at my words, lamenting my melodramatic romance but clearly pleased.
The Bay view was dominated by the glittering metropolis across the narrow stretch of ocean, Arcadia, the largest city in the new world.
Its towering skyline shone with a glow most pearlescent, brighter than even the moons above.
No wonder poets spoke of Arcadia as the lost third moon, she softly reflected. I met it with a gentle chuckle, it couldn't be more fitting.
.....
*Bzzzt*****
The morning alarm blared through the terrace house, knocking man, woman and fluffergon alike awake and into a panic, though for different reasons.
"Ahhhh! We're soon late!!!!"
Edison screeched like a little girl, as he does, panicking over the littlest things
"How I am meant to meet your dad if I don't even have the right hat!"
Yup, he hasn't changed one bit
Saying that, I wasn't really any better myself, the nerves and excitement of the evening has gotten to everyone in the household.
I looked on at my fiancé's panicked frenzy, trying to take my mind off of worrying about the afternoon
After all, I haven't even told him about the big secret yet....
Even though Edison isn't the type of person to be so small-minded, I insisted upon my father to speak to Edison first through some unseen channel before meeting him face to face.
Having him pretend that he liked to work alone in the kitchen should do the trick
If Edison knew what he was like before seeing him, I think he won't have too much trouble dealing with it...
Hopefully...
I snapped myself out of overthinking things, only to stare right into someone's pudgy and fluffy faced shoved right into mine.
"Ehhhhh, Paddy, you scared me!"
"Puurrrh!"
The fluffergon responded angrily, fluttering its wings and blowing up dust and flower petals in from our garden.
I clutched the fluffy, manta-like creature out of the air and hugged it gently.
"What's got you so excited?"
"Purrrrhhhh"
Paddy the fluffergon squinted its beady eyes and blew a gust of wind and leaves towards his food bowl out in the garden
"Oh, we forgot to give you food last night huh....."
"Purgghh!"
The fluffergon started drumming its small wings against my chest In protest of this unfair treatment!
"Okay okay, here, you can have double to make up for what you missed last night"
I poured a full bowl of dried orange mountain moss for Paddy, and he immediately began using his wind magic to shot the pieces into the air and proceeding to catch it with his mouth
Smiling at the nice distraction Paddy offered, the nerves of what was about to take place immediately began to creep back into my stomach once more, as an almost sickening and heavy feeling permeated me.
It was then that a pair of arms caught me from behind
"Mary!"
Oh my lovable buffoon
"I've found the perfect hat, so perfect it'd knock your old man's socks off at my impeccably tuned fashion sense!"
I doubt he wears socks, or even has a need for them, though that is best left unsaid
So I hugged him back instead, planting a cheek on his sweaty face
"Hey, huh, shouldn't I wipe this off a bit first, woah"
Funny how he still gets embarrassed whenever we get a little intimate, it's been three years already..
Though that is part of his charm, so innocently straight forward.
I feel even more bad to encumber him with my family's history now....
But that's unfair, I thought to myself as I closed into his embrace further
We would go to hell and back for eachother, he wouldn't actually care about doing something like this for me, I'm just overthinking things.
Hopefully
I closed my eyes and felt his heartbeat, its familiar rhythm calmed me like no others.
Dad couldn't do this even if he tried, I chuckled at my own stupid joke
....
Mary had her face to her palm
No, literally, she was bending down in her seat and covering her entire face with her hands
"I, don't know whether to laugh or cry....."
It turned out that Mary's dad was a ghost
More specifically, a souled skeleton
And it seemed like Mary told his father to stay in the kitchen at first so we can chat before meeting him
So here we were
Spesking to Mary's father, Simon Burke Volckerstag, or more specifically, we were speaking to his disembodied head, as the rest of his body was busy preparing food in the kitchen.
Actually, Mary had told us that he was a grave keeper, and lived in parts of the old ruined tombs in the west of Anaton Isle.
I was expecting him to be some kind of weirdo, but the skeleton seemed a jolly well fellow all things considered, *lively*, even.
"Oh yes, as per instructed by daughter dearest, I'm focusing my entire body's energy on preparing the best Wyvern steak this side of the Arcs mountains, and as it were, the head isn't necessary for me to have perfect vision, so I thought it be prudent leaving this ol thing here so we can have a jolly good conversation! Aren't I a considerate host and father Mary?"
Mary looked like she was about to snap his head....jaw off
And the skeleton seemed to be grinning proudly, oblivious to his fuming daughter
"Father"
Mary said sternly as she moved to pick up his head
"Let us family come have a wor-
"No no, it's fine Mary"
I interjected
"I really don't mind, I wouldn't have minded even if you told me on our first date"
Now it was Mary's turn to look like the confused one for once, I silently savoured the moment, before continuing to speak
"They don't tell you this but pretty much everyone who's died in the central south of Arcady's become an undead of some sort, so most Arcadians already have skeleton relatives one way or another. Besides, my family's history is probably far weirder than having a skeleton dad"
I then turned to Mr Bone Simon
"Mr Volckerstag, I think the point of Mary telling you to prepare was so that I wouldn't be shcoekc by your....appearance, now, we're family and I don't really mind, but there might be some others who might, so maybe it'd be best in Anaton to be a bit more subtle with pulling stunts like this, though they are Indeed hilarious"
"Bahh, you should have said so little Mary!"
The skeleton head seemed to wave away our concerns despite having no hands, or body to speak of. Speaking of which, why is there mist coming out of...
"Poof"
Gone was the skeleton skull and in its place, an energetic old man stood with a funky mustache and a cane, dressed in a black fluffergon wool overcoat, matching top hat, and a manastone monocle.
"Eh"
Mary and I were unified in being stupefied by this development, though Mary snapped out of it first
"How, what? I've never seen you do this! Why didn't you just use this in the first place and we wouldn't have had to do all the paperwork to get you into the boonies here, all that time and you didn't mention that you could have just *transformed* and stayed in our nice house in Anaport???"
"Well, I've only recently learnt this from the other ghost fellows hanging out here", quipped Simon, "How else was I supposed to buy groceries!"
"Sigh"
Mary looked exacerbated, so I went over and patted her on the head, she showed me a pained smile but clearly wasn't quite as angry anymore
"Whatever, I guess this means you're actually pretty self sufficient now, so we can just leav-"
Mary was half way up from her chair before Simon *teleported* and pushed her back down
*Nooo, no no, I know I've made a lot of mistakes today, and that I have a few strings loose here and there.... but, I couldn't stop you from leaving the last time, and the next I saw you, I was .... this and you were no longer a girl but a lady...."
His ghost hands were shimmering, I don't know if ghost skeletons could cry but his form was on the verge of tears, even his mustsche was drooping.
"Please just stay....for a meal at least"
Mary paused for a few moments, before I grabbed her hands, and caught her glance, giving her the best smile I could muster.
She nodded slowly
That seemd to have perked up Simon again, he was running around the table at superhuman speeds and teleporting dishes from the kitchen
That was the most delicious meal I've ever had, and Mary begrudgingly agreed.
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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I wondered where my girlfriend was taking me. She had me by the hand leading me since we left the house but we'd been walking out into countryside for hours. Where could her father live? It was a nice day when we left but the further we walked the more the dark clouds filled the sky.
"Are we nearly there, it's about to rain?"
She told me we were close, but suddenly the heavens opened and it started to pour down. We started to run through a tiny lane and eventually came to a cemetery. We must've been miles from home at this stage.
We walked through the cemetery as the sun set. An eerie fog surrounded us and the rain continued to pour. I seen a flash of lighting in the distance followed swiftly by the rumble of thunder.
We came to the entrance of a crypt and she led me down the stairs. I did not feel good about this. Not at all. We descended further and further until we eventually came to a library. The books were covered in dust and looked like they'd been untouched for years.
That's when I saw it. A skeleton. In the corner of the library by the fire. The light from the fire danced off his skull and I could see he was reading a book.
"Is... Is that him?" I muttered meekly.
She looked at me blankly.
"Who?" She replied.
"The.... The skeleton".
She looked at me much how an infant would look at advanced physics, confusedly to say the least.
She looked over and spotted the skeleton and laughed aloud.
"You're an idiot" she managed to say between the fits of laughter, "that's my mom, dads in the kitchen making souffle"
|
The sea breeze brushed her hair gently, and I couldn't stop staring, that was, until the salt sprays brought tears to my eyes.
She tilted her head back, inquisitive eyes locked to my pupils, before my tears brought a frown to her brows.
"What's wrong, honey?"
She asked, stunning as always in her choice of Fluffergon wool jacket and Wyvern leather boots.
"It's nothing. I'm just so very happy that I ended up with someone like you."
I dabbed my eyes with a handkerchief she handed over, feeling ever so slightly miffed that she was the one being gentlemanly to my emotional outbursts.
This brought a smile to her lips, glazed superfluously in a shade of tastrful cherry red, like the wine we just had for dinner.
The city of Anaport laid bare behind us in the evening, amounting to little more than a collection of small, distant lights, reminiscent of the few stars shining through a cloudy evening.
With our backs to the city, we bathed in the majestic view of its harbour, a worthy vista for a worthy lady.
She giggled at my words, lamenting my melodramatic romance but clearly pleased.
The Bay view was dominated by the glittering metropolis across the narrow stretch of ocean, Arcadia, the largest city in the new world.
Its towering skyline shone with a glow most pearlescent, brighter than even the moons above.
No wonder poets spoke of Arcadia as the lost third moon, she softly reflected. I met it with a gentle chuckle, it couldn't be more fitting.
.....
*Bzzzt*****
The morning alarm blared through the terrace house, knocking man, woman and fluffergon alike awake and into a panic, though for different reasons.
"Ahhhh! We're soon late!!!!"
Edison screeched like a little girl, as he does, panicking over the littlest things
"How I am meant to meet your dad if I don't even have the right hat!"
Yup, he hasn't changed one bit
Saying that, I wasn't really any better myself, the nerves and excitement of the evening has gotten to everyone in the household.
I looked on at my fiancé's panicked frenzy, trying to take my mind off of worrying about the afternoon
After all, I haven't even told him about the big secret yet....
Even though Edison isn't the type of person to be so small-minded, I insisted upon my father to speak to Edison first through some unseen channel before meeting him face to face.
Having him pretend that he liked to work alone in the kitchen should do the trick
If Edison knew what he was like before seeing him, I think he won't have too much trouble dealing with it...
Hopefully...
I snapped myself out of overthinking things, only to stare right into someone's pudgy and fluffy faced shoved right into mine.
"Ehhhhh, Paddy, you scared me!"
"Puurrrh!"
The fluffergon responded angrily, fluttering its wings and blowing up dust and flower petals in from our garden.
I clutched the fluffy, manta-like creature out of the air and hugged it gently.
"What's got you so excited?"
"Purrrrhhhh"
Paddy the fluffergon squinted its beady eyes and blew a gust of wind and leaves towards his food bowl out in the garden
"Oh, we forgot to give you food last night huh....."
"Purgghh!"
The fluffergon started drumming its small wings against my chest In protest of this unfair treatment!
"Okay okay, here, you can have double to make up for what you missed last night"
I poured a full bowl of dried orange mountain moss for Paddy, and he immediately began using his wind magic to shot the pieces into the air and proceeding to catch it with his mouth
Smiling at the nice distraction Paddy offered, the nerves of what was about to take place immediately began to creep back into my stomach once more, as an almost sickening and heavy feeling permeated me.
It was then that a pair of arms caught me from behind
"Mary!"
Oh my lovable buffoon
"I've found the perfect hat, so perfect it'd knock your old man's socks off at my impeccably tuned fashion sense!"
I doubt he wears socks, or even has a need for them, though that is best left unsaid
So I hugged him back instead, planting a cheek on his sweaty face
"Hey, huh, shouldn't I wipe this off a bit first, woah"
Funny how he still gets embarrassed whenever we get a little intimate, it's been three years already..
Though that is part of his charm, so innocently straight forward.
I feel even more bad to encumber him with my family's history now....
But that's unfair, I thought to myself as I closed into his embrace further
We would go to hell and back for eachother, he wouldn't actually care about doing something like this for me, I'm just overthinking things.
Hopefully
I closed my eyes and felt his heartbeat, its familiar rhythm calmed me like no others.
Dad couldn't do this even if he tried, I chuckled at my own stupid joke
....
Mary had her face to her palm
No, literally, she was bending down in her seat and covering her entire face with her hands
"I, don't know whether to laugh or cry....."
It turned out that Mary's dad was a ghost
More specifically, a souled skeleton
And it seemed like Mary told his father to stay in the kitchen at first so we can chat before meeting him
So here we were
Spesking to Mary's father, Simon Burke Volckerstag, or more specifically, we were speaking to his disembodied head, as the rest of his body was busy preparing food in the kitchen.
Actually, Mary had told us that he was a grave keeper, and lived in parts of the old ruined tombs in the west of Anaton Isle.
I was expecting him to be some kind of weirdo, but the skeleton seemed a jolly well fellow all things considered, *lively*, even.
"Oh yes, as per instructed by daughter dearest, I'm focusing my entire body's energy on preparing the best Wyvern steak this side of the Arcs mountains, and as it were, the head isn't necessary for me to have perfect vision, so I thought it be prudent leaving this ol thing here so we can have a jolly good conversation! Aren't I a considerate host and father Mary?"
Mary looked like she was about to snap his head....jaw off
And the skeleton seemed to be grinning proudly, oblivious to his fuming daughter
"Father"
Mary said sternly as she moved to pick up his head
"Let us family come have a wor-
"No no, it's fine Mary"
I interjected
"I really don't mind, I wouldn't have minded even if you told me on our first date"
Now it was Mary's turn to look like the confused one for once, I silently savoured the moment, before continuing to speak
"They don't tell you this but pretty much everyone who's died in the central south of Arcady's become an undead of some sort, so most Arcadians already have skeleton relatives one way or another. Besides, my family's history is probably far weirder than having a skeleton dad"
I then turned to Mr Bone Simon
"Mr Volckerstag, I think the point of Mary telling you to prepare was so that I wouldn't be shcoekc by your....appearance, now, we're family and I don't really mind, but there might be some others who might, so maybe it'd be best in Anaton to be a bit more subtle with pulling stunts like this, though they are Indeed hilarious"
"Bahh, you should have said so little Mary!"
The skeleton head seemed to wave away our concerns despite having no hands, or body to speak of. Speaking of which, why is there mist coming out of...
"Poof"
Gone was the skeleton skull and in its place, an energetic old man stood with a funky mustache and a cane, dressed in a black fluffergon wool overcoat, matching top hat, and a manastone monocle.
"Eh"
Mary and I were unified in being stupefied by this development, though Mary snapped out of it first
"How, what? I've never seen you do this! Why didn't you just use this in the first place and we wouldn't have had to do all the paperwork to get you into the boonies here, all that time and you didn't mention that you could have just *transformed* and stayed in our nice house in Anaport???"
"Well, I've only recently learnt this from the other ghost fellows hanging out here", quipped Simon, "How else was I supposed to buy groceries!"
"Sigh"
Mary looked exacerbated, so I went over and patted her on the head, she showed me a pained smile but clearly wasn't quite as angry anymore
"Whatever, I guess this means you're actually pretty self sufficient now, so we can just leav-"
Mary was half way up from her chair before Simon *teleported* and pushed her back down
*Nooo, no no, I know I've made a lot of mistakes today, and that I have a few strings loose here and there.... but, I couldn't stop you from leaving the last time, and the next I saw you, I was .... this and you were no longer a girl but a lady...."
His ghost hands were shimmering, I don't know if ghost skeletons could cry but his form was on the verge of tears, even his mustsche was drooping.
"Please just stay....for a meal at least"
Mary paused for a few moments, before I grabbed her hands, and caught her glance, giving her the best smile I could muster.
She nodded slowly
That seemd to have perked up Simon again, he was running around the table at superhuman speeds and teleporting dishes from the kitchen
That was the most delicious meal I've ever had, and Mary begrudgingly agreed.
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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It rained that day. A week ago Sam was looking out the window, more aloof and cold than Erin was used to. “It’s my dad’s birthday next week,” Sam offered in a sigh, “It’s…really hard. I wanted you to meet him but…”
Erin took her hand with an understanding smile, “I’d love to go. Especially if it’s so hard for you. I’d really like to.” Sam smiled then, giving Erin a little kiss and making a loose plan for next Saturday.
It rained that day too, as Erin drove following Sam’s direction. Sam herself fidgeted in her seat, cradling a bouquet of flowers. She had been quiet besides giving directions, and Erin didn’t want to push her; they’d been together a little over a year and a half and rarely talked about Sam’s father, and Erin had a couple of guesses why. The most obvious was confirmed as Sam directed them down a road to a steel gate with a placard reading ‘Golden Fields Cemetery’.
Erin parked the car and got the umbrella out to meet Sam and help her up with the bouquet, silently following her as she led them through the cemetery. Erin was happier for the silence this time, since it let her have her own thoughts about how little she liked cemeteries and visiting them, and only barely being away that the Sam broke ahead of her and stood waiting in front of a mausoleum. Erin couldn’t stop herself from whistling, “Wow. I didn’t know your dad had money like this.”
Sam gave a tired grin, “You can’t take it with you; he really cares about it though. He’ll appreciate you saying that.” Before Erin could ask what she meant, Sam reached up and rapped her knuckles against the stone door. While the confused words became trapped in Erin’s throat, the door rumbled and creaked open.
There was a smell that Erin recognized from somewhere but her bafflement made it impossible to recall. The heat difference was amazing from the cool fall rain to the blast of dry, hot air that escaped. Erin’s mind reeled, too stuck in a stupor to argue against Sam’s pull on her, drawing her deeper into the stone tomb. *Hell! I’m going to Hell!* she screamed and echoed in her body, no sound escaping her. She was aware of Sam saying, “In advance…I’m sorry.” Erin could feel her sadness; whatever anxiety that let Sam lead her down to her doom was intermingled by her heart breaking at this unholy betrayal. Sam’s feet touched the bottom of the staircase and she pulled Erin alongside her before rounding the corner and giving a soft, “Dad…?”
The room they turned into was so jarring that Erin snapped back out of her anxiety attack and back into confusion. A wood burning fireplace sat on the far wall, and every other wall space was taken up by bookshelves stuffed to the brim with various sized books, a fine rug covered the floor, and on a far desk an incense stick burned with, as Erin’s brain suddenly recalled, orange. She wasn’t given much time to investigate, as a clacking noise cut the silence from the huge velvet armchair. Set with the fire as the backdrop, Erin saw a bony hand clasp the arm of the chair and bring a bare skeletal head around.
“Hi Dad.”
The skeleton pushed itself to its feet, draped in some kind some kind of red robe. *Is that silk?* Erin found herself wondering as it circled to both of them before speaking, “Sammy, baby! So good of you to come see your old dad!” The skeleton embraced his daughter with a clackety pat on her back, “You look good, how’s your mom doin’? She still single? You can tell her how much I’ve cleaned the place up.” It turned his empty gaze to Erin, “Who’s this?”
Sam squeezed Erin’s hand, speaking for her, “This is Erin, my girlfriend?”
Even without skin Erin could see the face the skeleton was trying to make, “*Girlfriend?* Okay, very funny—you’re still in your dating girls phase? That’s cute, honey, but you gotta drop that and find yourself a nice man. I know a couple’a guys who live in this area have nice skeleton boys your age.”
As Sam began arguing with her dad, Erin thought back to what Sam had said at the beginning of these plans. It was going to be a long visit.
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"Of course," he let out with a sigh. "I should have known."
"I never meant to hurt you. Please understand that. But you needed to know."
Life had not been the same for quite some time. He had felt it. He had known. The knowing had just been so far buried beneath this normalized reality that it had been easy to dismiss. The truth; it had been easy to push that aside.
"So then I am dead already? When? How did it happen?" He looked to his girlfriend. The person who had given him reason to live, but now she looked like nothing more than a ghost; fading.
She did not answer. Her father, the dead thing in front answered for her instead. "It does not matter. Do you see these books? They are stories. Lives lived that never became anything of importance. You will be part of this library."
He felt some kind of stab going through his being. *Nothing of importance*. He had not cried in a long time, but right now he felt as if he would; or perhaps like he should.
"Do you grieve for yourself? I can see it. Do not." The skeleton closed the book it was reading, and seemed to aim its empty eye sockets toward the dead and grieving man. "You lived. Now you are dead. Do not let your ego haunt you."
"How? This was all pointless? Why did I have to go through all of this to get here?" He was angry. He had been tricked.
Again, the empty eye sockets seemed to focus. The empty spaces were pulling him in. "You fool. This has been a gift given to you. You were nothing and you were given understanding that you were nothing. Understand also that nothing understands, and you were brought out of this. These books will be read by no one but me. But to have your existence recorded is an infinitely impossible occurence. Give your thanks."
The man paused. He did not feel grateful. This had all been a trick. *What is the purpose then?* "Why was I brought here? To write you another story?" His anger grew, "To give you thanks?"
"No," the skeleton answered. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." Darkness grew around them. The books were not there anymore; they had never been there. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here."
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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It was a beautiful evening as we walked, arms swinging, down the cracked sidewalk. Weeds sprung up amidst the squares, and I made a game of picking up every pine cone I saw, creating a collection in the pockets of my jacket. In between branches, the sky shone down in long pink and blue streaks, clouds swirling like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water.
I glanced over at Eve and saw her watching my face, smiling. I wondered if it was the same for her to watch me gaping at the sky as it was for me to watch her writing a story or drawing one of her comics. I hoped so. That'd be pretty nice.
She said her dad was a writer as well, and I hoped I would make a good first impression upon meeting him today. If the way he spoke was any bit as beautiful and thought-provoking as Eve, it wouldn't be hard to show my own wonder.
Eve stopped at a gate in a thin, black metal fence. I looked out, my eyes refocusing from the sky to the field before me. It was a cemetery.
Is her father dead?
We entered and weaved among stones, some new and sharp, others dull and crumbly. Every once in a while there was a bench. There were lots of trees. I paused to pick up pine cones.
Eve led me to a small building at the back.
Perhaps her father is alive after all. I suppose we'll find out.
She opened the door and led me in. Her curls brushed my shoulder as I walked past.
She led me down a flight of stairs and into a large, spectacular library. I stepped in slowly, turning my head to take it in. Now this - *this* smelled like books. Bookstores and libraries rarely smelled like that anymore, but this? This was beautiful. The shelves even had those rolling ladders, and I pictured for a moment how it might feel to slide across a shelf with my fingers brushing each book I passed.
On the right side of the room there was a warm fireplace and reading area surrounding it. There were several soft-looking, old couches and a red recliner. Seated on the recliner was a skeleton, glasses tucked into its collarbone, reading a book.
Weirdly enough, my first assumption wasn't even that it was posed. That probably should have been. I just glanced over and thought, there's a person reading a book. Wonder what they're like. Strange, huh?
I glanced at Eve and she smiled her encouragement, tugging my sleeve toward the fireplace. We sat together on one of the couches, and I looked over the stack of books on the light-colored wooden table before us. The cover of the one closest to me looked familiar, and I picked it up.
It was drawn by Eve. Every cover of every book on the table was drawn by Eve.
"She's quite the artist, isn't she?" said a low, friendly voice. I looked up and the skeleton was now wearing its glasses, the holes where eyes would be pointed right at me. I glanced right and left, and nobody else was there. Hoping I wasn't making a fool of myself, I looked right at the skeleton and smiled.
"She really is."
Eve squeezed my arm gently, and when I looked over, something in her deep brown eyes looked the same as outside, when she had watched me take in the sky. She smiled with her mouth closed, looked at the skeleton for a moment, then looked back.
"It might be time to tell you," she said, "the wonder isn't just in the art." She paused, in the same way she always does before saying something beautiful. "Do you believe in magic?"
I nodded.
She pointed at the skeleton, which, strangely despite its lack of muscles or skin, appeared to be smiling - a soft, subtle smile not unlike Eve's.
"Jack, meet my father."
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"Of course," he let out with a sigh. "I should have known."
"I never meant to hurt you. Please understand that. But you needed to know."
Life had not been the same for quite some time. He had felt it. He had known. The knowing had just been so far buried beneath this normalized reality that it had been easy to dismiss. The truth; it had been easy to push that aside.
"So then I am dead already? When? How did it happen?" He looked to his girlfriend. The person who had given him reason to live, but now she looked like nothing more than a ghost; fading.
She did not answer. Her father, the dead thing in front answered for her instead. "It does not matter. Do you see these books? They are stories. Lives lived that never became anything of importance. You will be part of this library."
He felt some kind of stab going through his being. *Nothing of importance*. He had not cried in a long time, but right now he felt as if he would; or perhaps like he should.
"Do you grieve for yourself? I can see it. Do not." The skeleton closed the book it was reading, and seemed to aim its empty eye sockets toward the dead and grieving man. "You lived. Now you are dead. Do not let your ego haunt you."
"How? This was all pointless? Why did I have to go through all of this to get here?" He was angry. He had been tricked.
Again, the empty eye sockets seemed to focus. The empty spaces were pulling him in. "You fool. This has been a gift given to you. You were nothing and you were given understanding that you were nothing. Understand also that nothing understands, and you were brought out of this. These books will be read by no one but me. But to have your existence recorded is an infinitely impossible occurence. Give your thanks."
The man paused. He did not feel grateful. This had all been a trick. *What is the purpose then?* "Why was I brought here? To write you another story?" His anger grew, "To give you thanks?"
"No," the skeleton answered. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." Darkness grew around them. The books were not there anymore; they had never been there. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here."
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[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book.
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It was a beautiful evening as we walked, arms swinging, down the cracked sidewalk. Weeds sprung up amidst the squares, and I made a game of picking up every pine cone I saw, creating a collection in the pockets of my jacket. In between branches, the sky shone down in long pink and blue streaks, clouds swirling like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water.
I glanced over at Eve and saw her watching my face, smiling. I wondered if it was the same for her to watch me gaping at the sky as it was for me to watch her writing a story or drawing one of her comics. I hoped so. That'd be pretty nice.
She said her dad was a writer as well, and I hoped I would make a good first impression upon meeting him today. If the way he spoke was any bit as beautiful and thought-provoking as Eve, it wouldn't be hard to show my own wonder.
Eve stopped at a gate in a thin, black metal fence. I looked out, my eyes refocusing from the sky to the field before me. It was a cemetery.
Is her father dead?
We entered and weaved among stones, some new and sharp, others dull and crumbly. Every once in a while there was a bench. There were lots of trees. I paused to pick up pine cones.
Eve led me to a small building at the back.
Perhaps her father is alive after all. I suppose we'll find out.
She opened the door and led me in. Her curls brushed my shoulder as I walked past.
She led me down a flight of stairs and into a large, spectacular library. I stepped in slowly, turning my head to take it in. Now this - *this* smelled like books. Bookstores and libraries rarely smelled like that anymore, but this? This was beautiful. The shelves even had those rolling ladders, and I pictured for a moment how it might feel to slide across a shelf with my fingers brushing each book I passed.
On the right side of the room there was a warm fireplace and reading area surrounding it. There were several soft-looking, old couches and a red recliner. Seated on the recliner was a skeleton, glasses tucked into its collarbone, reading a book.
Weirdly enough, my first assumption wasn't even that it was posed. That probably should have been. I just glanced over and thought, there's a person reading a book. Wonder what they're like. Strange, huh?
I glanced at Eve and she smiled her encouragement, tugging my sleeve toward the fireplace. We sat together on one of the couches, and I looked over the stack of books on the light-colored wooden table before us. The cover of the one closest to me looked familiar, and I picked it up.
It was drawn by Eve. Every cover of every book on the table was drawn by Eve.
"She's quite the artist, isn't she?" said a low, friendly voice. I looked up and the skeleton was now wearing its glasses, the holes where eyes would be pointed right at me. I glanced right and left, and nobody else was there. Hoping I wasn't making a fool of myself, I looked right at the skeleton and smiled.
"She really is."
Eve squeezed my arm gently, and when I looked over, something in her deep brown eyes looked the same as outside, when she had watched me take in the sky. She smiled with her mouth closed, looked at the skeleton for a moment, then looked back.
"It might be time to tell you," she said, "the wonder isn't just in the art." She paused, in the same way she always does before saying something beautiful. "Do you believe in magic?"
I nodded.
She pointed at the skeleton, which, strangely despite its lack of muscles or skin, appeared to be smiling - a soft, subtle smile not unlike Eve's.
"Jack, meet my father."
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It rained that day. A week ago Sam was looking out the window, more aloof and cold than Erin was used to. “It’s my dad’s birthday next week,” Sam offered in a sigh, “It’s…really hard. I wanted you to meet him but…”
Erin took her hand with an understanding smile, “I’d love to go. Especially if it’s so hard for you. I’d really like to.” Sam smiled then, giving Erin a little kiss and making a loose plan for next Saturday.
It rained that day too, as Erin drove following Sam’s direction. Sam herself fidgeted in her seat, cradling a bouquet of flowers. She had been quiet besides giving directions, and Erin didn’t want to push her; they’d been together a little over a year and a half and rarely talked about Sam’s father, and Erin had a couple of guesses why. The most obvious was confirmed as Sam directed them down a road to a steel gate with a placard reading ‘Golden Fields Cemetery’.
Erin parked the car and got the umbrella out to meet Sam and help her up with the bouquet, silently following her as she led them through the cemetery. Erin was happier for the silence this time, since it let her have her own thoughts about how little she liked cemeteries and visiting them, and only barely being away that the Sam broke ahead of her and stood waiting in front of a mausoleum. Erin couldn’t stop herself from whistling, “Wow. I didn’t know your dad had money like this.”
Sam gave a tired grin, “You can’t take it with you; he really cares about it though. He’ll appreciate you saying that.” Before Erin could ask what she meant, Sam reached up and rapped her knuckles against the stone door. While the confused words became trapped in Erin’s throat, the door rumbled and creaked open.
There was a smell that Erin recognized from somewhere but her bafflement made it impossible to recall. The heat difference was amazing from the cool fall rain to the blast of dry, hot air that escaped. Erin’s mind reeled, too stuck in a stupor to argue against Sam’s pull on her, drawing her deeper into the stone tomb. *Hell! I’m going to Hell!* she screamed and echoed in her body, no sound escaping her. She was aware of Sam saying, “In advance…I’m sorry.” Erin could feel her sadness; whatever anxiety that let Sam lead her down to her doom was intermingled by her heart breaking at this unholy betrayal. Sam’s feet touched the bottom of the staircase and she pulled Erin alongside her before rounding the corner and giving a soft, “Dad…?”
The room they turned into was so jarring that Erin snapped back out of her anxiety attack and back into confusion. A wood burning fireplace sat on the far wall, and every other wall space was taken up by bookshelves stuffed to the brim with various sized books, a fine rug covered the floor, and on a far desk an incense stick burned with, as Erin’s brain suddenly recalled, orange. She wasn’t given much time to investigate, as a clacking noise cut the silence from the huge velvet armchair. Set with the fire as the backdrop, Erin saw a bony hand clasp the arm of the chair and bring a bare skeletal head around.
“Hi Dad.”
The skeleton pushed itself to its feet, draped in some kind some kind of red robe. *Is that silk?* Erin found herself wondering as it circled to both of them before speaking, “Sammy, baby! So good of you to come see your old dad!” The skeleton embraced his daughter with a clackety pat on her back, “You look good, how’s your mom doin’? She still single? You can tell her how much I’ve cleaned the place up.” It turned his empty gaze to Erin, “Who’s this?”
Sam squeezed Erin’s hand, speaking for her, “This is Erin, my girlfriend?”
Even without skin Erin could see the face the skeleton was trying to make, “*Girlfriend?* Okay, very funny—you’re still in your dating girls phase? That’s cute, honey, but you gotta drop that and find yourself a nice man. I know a couple’a guys who live in this area have nice skeleton boys your age.”
As Sam began arguing with her dad, Erin thought back to what Sam had said at the beginning of these plans. It was going to be a long visit.
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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“Mind if I sit down?”
I blinked and lifted my eyes. The tavern around us was a popular watering hole for travellers and farmers alike, but the dark corner I claimed as my own felt a world away from the revelry that was taking place just a few feet away in the light. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties. His light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail that was hidden beneath his robes and his skin was pale. His face showed no signs of weathering, and his teeth were white and perfectly straight. His icy-blue eyes remained fixed on me, awaiting my response.
The man was dressing down to try and fit in, but apart from the obvious, I saw the tell-tale signs of a High Mage. The way he pushed at his sleeves to keep his hands free. The spells that crawled across his skin, needing only a word or a gesture to trigger them. I wasn’t keen on the idea of him wearing a fireball spell that could destroy this whole town and twenty miles in all direction, so that one I negated on principle.
“Free country,” I said, pushing back in my chair. It wasn’t like I owned the tavern.
Not anymore.
He slid into the seat opposite me, his face falling into the shadows as mine did. “You’re not what I was expecting,” he admitted.
“I rarely am,” I answered, sipping my drink.
His eyes snapped to mine again. “You know who I am.” He said it like it was a given, adding more credibility to him being a High Mage. Someone the general population knew.
“I know what you are,” I corrected. “The who matters little.”
He leaned forward. “You are the Chosen One,” he barely whispered. “You cannot deny fate.”
“Kid, I’ve been kicking fate in the teeth since before you were a twinkle in your old man’s eye,” I said, meaning every word of it. “She’s been trying to get me onside for a long time, and I’ll tell you what I told her. Get fucked. You keep digging yourselves into this mess, now dig yourselves out of it. I retired.”
It was almost amusing to watch the way his eyes widened, and he blinked, poleaxed. As if nobody had spoken to him like that in a long time. Then again, they probably hadn’t. If I hadn’t seen it a thousand times before, I would’ve laughed.
“You can’t retire!” he squeaked, like he could talk me out of it.
I finished up my ale and slid to my feet. “Wrong tense, kid. I already did.” I placed my hat on my head and dipped the brim at him with one finger. “Have a nice day, High Mage Whoever-You-Are.”
As I made my way through the packed tavern, I felt an immobilisation spell crawl around my legs and climb my body like a snake, latching onto my throat.
And just like that, the party mood was over, as everyone backed away from me. In retrospect, having me float a few inches off the ground for show was a nice touch. “We’re not done,” the High Mage ground out as I was turned around to face him. He had one hand raised with his fingers curled in a clasping motion. I hadn’t expected him to take this so personally that he would draw upon Aether magic to restrain me.
*That* was a mistake.
He should have had the upper hand. I couldn’t move to gesture. I couldn’t speak to cast. Both of those things would rule against a wizard, which was why my next move would be seen by the locals as an act undertaken by the High Mage.
I teleported us.
One moment we were in the packed bar, and the next, the temperature dropped to sub-zero, and we were in a cave where the walls were covered in ice. The High Mage dropped his hand and cast a different spell. One that had him turning his flimsy, common robes into thick, fur-lined jacket and boots. “H-How did you do that?” he demanded, still wrapping his hands around his waist.
“It’s what I do,” I answered indifferently.
“Why aren’t you cold?”
“I don’t choose to be.”
The more I spoke, the more confused he became. It was a habit, on my part. One that forever annoyed the shit out of my family.
“Where are we?”
I turned without another word and led him deeper into the cave. I could’ve teleported directly to the heart, but I wanted him disorientated without putting him through anymore magical coercion. Why waste magic when physics worked just as well?
In the reflection of the ice, I saw his eyes light up when he saw the entryway to the temple. The lost temple. Mages for centuries had been searching for this place, but it had remained hidden from their view. It was done on purpose. Over the years, perceptions changed. Places were easier to remember than people, and the familiarity of the temple lines must’ve sparked something in him.
“This is where it all began,” I said, leading him through the corridors that remained as pristine as they always had. “The birthplace of magic. I was foolish enough to think you could handle it wisely.” I shook my head, moving through the outer sanctum and into the shrine area itself.
I turned and leaned against the boot of the statue that towered over me, noticing that he had come no farther than the pillars that separated the two spaces. For the next few seconds, I waited. Above me was the realistic rendition of a medium built man in his late twenties dressed in a tight, long-sleeved doublet with gloves to the elbow, boots to the knees, and a cloak that came partway down his calves. I didn’t need to go around the back to see the rearing mystallion carved into the cloak.
The High Mage looked from me to the statue, back to me again.
“You’ve been sent on a fools errand,” I said. “I never was, and never will be, a Chosen One. ***I*** do the choosing.”
His mouth worked, though no sound escaped his lips. Finally, he fell to his knees. “You’re real,” he finally managed, his hands clinging to the floor like a lifeline. His eyes came up to me, lacking all the arrogance of before. “You exist.”
I looked up at the statue of myself; my lips parting into a cruel smile. Where the High Mage could tap periodically into Aether magic, I was the embodiment of it. “I always have,” I said, right before I erased him from existence.
For I am Strahan, the Mystallian God of Magic, and I am nobody’s lackey.
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**((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts** 🥰🤗 **))**
For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
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The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me."
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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The Old Man slowly lowered himself into his chair set up in the middle of the open fields and stroked his long grey beard in contemplation, letting his mind wander, staring blankly at his wrinkled hands as if they would hold any answers to his problems. When he accepted that they held nothing he reached across to the wine bottle on the table set up beside him and gave them something to hold. When the glass was almost full of the red liquid he kept pouring and imagined how disappointed his great masters would be to see him bending the world’s dimensions just to help steady his nerves. Perhaps they’d have adjusted their expectations had they also had the day that he had had.
Sat the other side of the Old Man, the even Older Man finished yet another goblet, pausing for a second before raising an even more wrinklie hand to wipe his even bigger, greyer beard dry from the afternoon’s entertainment.
“You remember when I spoke earlier, that I didn’t think it was a good plan?” The Old Man said.
“I remember you saying things.” The Older Man shrugged. Speaking and shrugging was hard work, so he poured himself another goblet.
“Well, I changed my mind. It isn’t a plan. It’s sitting here doing nothing. In the middle of nowhere. While the world is in danger. It is the absence of a plan. Absolute madness.” The Old Man exclaimed.
“You’re welcome to leave me to it. These bottles have been significantly less enjoyable than they normally would be with you around.” The Older Man joked.
Less enjoyable. The Old Man had plunged his incantations into the Older Man’s mind to compel him to action. He had bound him in enchanted chains to force him to the battlefield. Finally, he had challenged him to a duel and thrown demon flame across the land to defeat him and force him to obey his words. The Older Man had shrugged them all off, for to him they were simply less enjoyable than drinking.
“I’d never have expected the Chosen One to be so disappointing.” The Old Man muttered as he stood up, contemplating leaving and doing something of use to the world and its impending doom.
It had taken the foreseers months to interpret the great dragon prophecies, to read their language and understand their riddles. When they finally knew the location of the Chosen One their eyes had cried blood. Now the Old Man cried tears of frustration at the antics of the Older Man, the Chosen One.
“You did throw a lot of awfully powerful magic at me earlier and I’d say I handled it quite impressively, that not up to your standards?” The Older Man asked.
“It is not the power of magic that define the Chosen One but the actions they take. Your inaction is an insult to the prophets that foretold you.” The Old Man snapped, turning to finally leave.
“Like what? Staring down a horde of dragons, feeling their breath, hot as the sun, feeling their talons, hard as the mountains. Then finding the magical energies across the entire world, binding it together and using it to banish these unnatural beasts from our realm? That what you want?”
As the Older Man spoke an energy entered his voice that had not been heard that day and with the Old Man’s back turned, he would swear it was a boy speaking with the passion of the true Chosen One.
“Yes! Like that! I hear it in your voice! You can do it! You can stop the dragons before our world is ashes!” The Old Man exclaimed.
“Course I can. I already did it. And the time before that. And that. 8 times if I remember correctly.” The Older Man sneered.
“It’s not possible.”
“The wine we’ve drank today is fermented dragon’s blood. I’ve seen oceans of it, had to use it for something.”
In legend they said dragon’s blood granted an energy like the fountain of youth. And as the Old Man straightened his posture he realised the old ache in his back was gone. It was true. He had sought out a slayer of dragon and found one beyond his imagination… because it was one who wouldn’t slay.
“But why? Why won’t you.” The Old Man asked.
“I’ve got my reasons, they’re difficult to say, so I’ll only be saying them once, when the right ears are listening.” The Older Man grumbled.
“Who’s?”
“Theirs.”
Dragons are not of this world and not bound by its rules. Those dragons that came into sight were burning inside with a fire too hot to exist but searing nothing. Wings black and scaley holding a snaking dark body surely too heavy to fly but fly it did.
The Old Man had imagined the spells he might fight them with, the magic he could bind to his body and the battle he might wage side by side with the great Chosen One. As the Older Man sat down and poured himself another goblet the Old Man realised how foolish these stories he’d told himself were.
The Earth shook as the Dragons landed and slithered towards the pair, a host of spindly legs along their side propelling them further forward, eagerly towards their foe. They finally stopped before the two men and spoke with a deep otherworldly groan.
“We have come to destroy your world. Only He that is Chosen may stop us.”
The Older Man waved from his seat, not getting up.
“Yeah that’s me. But I’m not interested.”
“It is foretold that only The Chosen one can stand against us and give us a battle.” The Dragon boomed.
“Yeah and defeat you. But Dragons don’t die. Do they?! They become one with the flame and form again. So, we do battle again, and again and again.” The Older Man explained.
“As is foretold. For you are the only one who can battle with us.”
“And soon there will be no one. I’m old, this would be our last battle anyway, there are better things to do with my remaining time.” The Older Man said, taking a swig of drink.
“Nonsense. The blood of a dragon grants immortality to those who drink it!”
“And only houseguests have drank it in my home these last 200 years. I’ve stuck to the grape stuff.”
The dragons paused for thought before speaking again.
“If you will not fight us then what prevents us from burning this world to nothingness!”
“Nothing. And that’s why you won’t enjoy it. I was the only one who could bring you challenge. And purpose. But now I’m not. So I foretell it as The Chosen One. So find another world, another chosen one. One who hasn’t realised how boring your little games are.”
Minutes later, as the flying dragons faded over the horizon, the temperature dropped and the world became a colder place, one without dragons again.
“They’re gone.” The Old Man whispered, before contemplating aloud. “You truly are the Chosen One.”
“Piss off!” The Older Man said as he took another sip from his goblet.
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The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me."
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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"At least the ale's good here." Balthazar broke his spell of thought by speaking aloud to himself before he entered the small town's shabby tavern, its worn wooden sign telling him he was in the right place.
Balthazar entered the tavern with a dramatic show of swirling magical fog and lights. "Behold, a Royal Magician beckons for the Chosen of the Realm." Balthazar announced as was tradition and befitting his high station.
The buzz of conversation and carousing in the tavern paused for only a moment before resuming. The bartender behind his long oak bar merely nodded to acknowledge Balthazar's arrival. He sat at the bar and waited for the server to acknowledge him further and get him a drink, looking to see if anyone was watching him.
Dressed in a dazzling blue robe, Balthazar did stand out from the muddy crowd of groundlings, but they paid him no heed.
*I suppose I am early.*
Frothy white foam stuck to the hairs of his grey mustache as he drank a mouthful of lukewarm amber liquid gleefully.
"Oi Wizard!" An ancient hunch-backed man seated at a corner table called out to Balthazar over the rumble of noise. "Oi!"
Balthazar set his tankard down on the bar and wiped his mouth before turning slowly and gracefully. "That's Royal Magician to you."
"Forgive me. In my day it was 'wizards.' Join me." The older man wheezed and coughed as he stood and opened his arms to invite Balthazar to sit with him. "Good. Now we can chat."
"And who are you dear elder who would call upon me so?"
"I was once a reluctant farm boy raised to tend the land. I was called upon by one like you to fulfill a greater purpose. Upon my end, I returned here again to wait for you."
"I'm not here for you, old one. You would know full well I'm here for the new Chosen. Who was your appointed Magician?"
"Raspbudin the Red. A dear friend of mine in his time."
"I'm Balthazar the Blue. Red Magicians are forbidden, old one. Do not speak of him again."
"Oh, yes, that's right. They are." The man leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Balthazar took the moment to examine the man's face, so wrinkled his eyes were nearly shut and scarred in at least a dozen places. "Can you remind this old one why again?"
"Discussion of that is also forbidden. Are you senile, have you forgotten? Who would allow one like you to hold such secrets, shrouded and kept safe by a feeble mind? I don't have time for this." Balthazar stood and scanned the tavern for the Chosen he was to meet.
"Sit." The man commanded and Balthazar obeyed.
"Petty trickery! You should not have done that." The blue wizard glared across the round table at the old man who simply smiled. Or he seemed to, but with all the wrinkles his mouth barely moved.
"Looks can be deceiving, can't they?" The ancient one taunted the younger man who placed his fingers together and bowed his head low.
A blue orb of crackling energy formed between Balthazar's hands and exploded in a flash of light that blinded the entire tavern. When their sight returned the two men and their table were gone.
"This is my dimension. I control here. Do not attempt to resist." Balthazar spoke imperiously in a haughty tone. "To compel a blue magician of the Royal Orders you are not a mere old man. What are you?"
"Retired."
"Then why were you waiting for me? Answer!" Azure tendrils emanated from Balthazar's fingers and wrapped around the old man's frail form tightly.
"Because I am the Chosen you sought."
"That isn't an answer you stupid fool!" The blue magician pulled the cords tighter still. He could hear the strain on the old man's beaten body.
Balthazar saw red. It was a dim light at first but grew in intensity until seeped through the white void, staining in deep crimson. He grabbed at his cords attached to the man to attempt his coup de grace, but they dissolved in his hands. "What is this? How?"
"There are more sources of magic than what is taught in your towers. Ones more humble and basic. Ones more powerful and dangerous. The combinations are taboo because they are potent. If the peasants only understood." The old man shrugged but remained seated and still. "Back to your tower, wizard. We will come for you soon." Red turned to black and Balthazar's tower office materialized around him. The old man was gone, but left a copy of a little red book in Balthazar's hands.
/r/courageisnowhere
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The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me."
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square.
‘*Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern*’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard.
The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale.
*Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction.* Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life.
‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows.
Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg.
“It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.”
Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy.
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The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me."
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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"At least the ale's good here." Balthazar broke his spell of thought by speaking aloud to himself before he entered the small town's shabby tavern, its worn wooden sign telling him he was in the right place.
Balthazar entered the tavern with a dramatic show of swirling magical fog and lights. "Behold, a Royal Magician beckons for the Chosen of the Realm." Balthazar announced as was tradition and befitting his high station.
The buzz of conversation and carousing in the tavern paused for only a moment before resuming. The bartender behind his long oak bar merely nodded to acknowledge Balthazar's arrival. He sat at the bar and waited for the server to acknowledge him further and get him a drink, looking to see if anyone was watching him.
Dressed in a dazzling blue robe, Balthazar did stand out from the muddy crowd of groundlings, but they paid him no heed.
*I suppose I am early.*
Frothy white foam stuck to the hairs of his grey mustache as he drank a mouthful of lukewarm amber liquid gleefully.
"Oi Wizard!" An ancient hunch-backed man seated at a corner table called out to Balthazar over the rumble of noise. "Oi!"
Balthazar set his tankard down on the bar and wiped his mouth before turning slowly and gracefully. "That's Royal Magician to you."
"Forgive me. In my day it was 'wizards.' Join me." The older man wheezed and coughed as he stood and opened his arms to invite Balthazar to sit with him. "Good. Now we can chat."
"And who are you dear elder who would call upon me so?"
"I was once a reluctant farm boy raised to tend the land. I was called upon by one like you to fulfill a greater purpose. Upon my end, I returned here again to wait for you."
"I'm not here for you, old one. You would know full well I'm here for the new Chosen. Who was your appointed Magician?"
"Raspbudin the Red. A dear friend of mine in his time."
"I'm Balthazar the Blue. Red Magicians are forbidden, old one. Do not speak of him again."
"Oh, yes, that's right. They are." The man leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Balthazar took the moment to examine the man's face, so wrinkled his eyes were nearly shut and scarred in at least a dozen places. "Can you remind this old one why again?"
"Discussion of that is also forbidden. Are you senile, have you forgotten? Who would allow one like you to hold such secrets, shrouded and kept safe by a feeble mind? I don't have time for this." Balthazar stood and scanned the tavern for the Chosen he was to meet.
"Sit." The man commanded and Balthazar obeyed.
"Petty trickery! You should not have done that." The blue wizard glared across the round table at the old man who simply smiled. Or he seemed to, but with all the wrinkles his mouth barely moved.
"Looks can be deceiving, can't they?" The ancient one taunted the younger man who placed his fingers together and bowed his head low.
A blue orb of crackling energy formed between Balthazar's hands and exploded in a flash of light that blinded the entire tavern. When their sight returned the two men and their table were gone.
"This is my dimension. I control here. Do not attempt to resist." Balthazar spoke imperiously in a haughty tone. "To compel a blue magician of the Royal Orders you are not a mere old man. What are you?"
"Retired."
"Then why were you waiting for me? Answer!" Azure tendrils emanated from Balthazar's fingers and wrapped around the old man's frail form tightly.
"Because I am the Chosen you sought."
"That isn't an answer you stupid fool!" The blue magician pulled the cords tighter still. He could hear the strain on the old man's beaten body.
Balthazar saw red. It was a dim light at first but grew in intensity until seeped through the white void, staining in deep crimson. He grabbed at his cords attached to the man to attempt his coup de grace, but they dissolved in his hands. "What is this? How?"
"There are more sources of magic than what is taught in your towers. Ones more humble and basic. Ones more powerful and dangerous. The combinations are taboo because they are potent. If the peasants only understood." The old man shrugged but remained seated and still. "Back to your tower, wizard. We will come for you soon." Red turned to black and Balthazar's tower office materialized around him. The old man was gone, but left a copy of a little red book in Balthazar's hands.
/r/courageisnowhere
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"I am Merlin! Keeper of the Ancient scrolls!" boomed the wizard pointing to a corner where a solitary figure sat in a shaft of moonlight as though the heavens themselves had marked this individual for greatness. Merlin would have said they had.
"Come, Chosen One, for the wheel of fate has chosen you to save our land and there is little time!"
A sailing ship formed entirely of pipe smoke hit merlin square in the face, turning his grand entrance into an undignified scene of coughing and spluttering.
"Don't give me 'there is little time' you young whipper snapper. I *invented* 'there is little time'".
Confused by the Chosen One's behaviour Merlin looked beyond his own preconceptions. He saw a face hidden in the shadow of a wide brimmed pointed hat from above, and an enormous grey beard from below. It was lit only by the red glow of a smoking pipe, which revealed only sharp outlines but two grey eyes that shone with intelligence and power.
Suddenly Merlin's scroll shot from his and towards the Chosen One. "Give that back!"
"On the summer solstice after the one thousands anniversary of the fall of Camelot. 'Little time' he says, that's in five years time!"
"Two months time! Zalinski proved that the traditional date for the fall of Camelot was wrong!"
"They teach that crank Zalinski in the Schools of Sorcery today! No wonder your generation is rotten!"
Quietly the farmers began to sneak away from the tavern before the wizards began to argue with fireballs.
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[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square.
‘*Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern*’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard.
The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale.
*Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction.* Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life.
‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows.
Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg.
“It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.”
Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy.
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"I am Merlin! Keeper of the Ancient scrolls!" boomed the wizard pointing to a corner where a solitary figure sat in a shaft of moonlight as though the heavens themselves had marked this individual for greatness. Merlin would have said they had.
"Come, Chosen One, for the wheel of fate has chosen you to save our land and there is little time!"
A sailing ship formed entirely of pipe smoke hit merlin square in the face, turning his grand entrance into an undignified scene of coughing and spluttering.
"Don't give me 'there is little time' you young whipper snapper. I *invented* 'there is little time'".
Confused by the Chosen One's behaviour Merlin looked beyond his own preconceptions. He saw a face hidden in the shadow of a wide brimmed pointed hat from above, and an enormous grey beard from below. It was lit only by the red glow of a smoking pipe, which revealed only sharp outlines but two grey eyes that shone with intelligence and power.
Suddenly Merlin's scroll shot from his and towards the Chosen One. "Give that back!"
"On the summer solstice after the one thousands anniversary of the fall of Camelot. 'Little time' he says, that's in five years time!"
"Two months time! Zalinski proved that the traditional date for the fall of Camelot was wrong!"
"They teach that crank Zalinski in the Schools of Sorcery today! No wonder your generation is rotten!"
Quietly the farmers began to sneak away from the tavern before the wizards began to argue with fireballs.
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[WP] As you look straight ahead, you spot the glowing eyes of a monster. The same one that killed your family. That murdered your friends. Its eyes are full of hate and malice... or was it… remorse? You should really stop looking at that damn mirror.
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It’s so easy to see things in your reflection.
Human. Monster. The windows to my soul were tinted and coloured by the dawn break and dusk fall of my long life. An action—choosing what to eat, picking my prey, murdering the ones I loved—dimmed grey by my intentions.
But these were soulless eyes. Lenses that should be clear as crystal, unblemished by even a scratch or bite mark. There was nothing else in my field of view but my stony visage, staring myself down—and they really shouldn’t be seeing anything but the absolute truth.
I shifted away into the shadows that so comfortably wrapped around me. Like my mother used to. A long time ago. She laid on the cold floor, now. Quiet. Quiet meant peaceful, no?
That’s what I was taught, a long time ago. My father loved that lesson. It was commonly dealt by whatever he could grab within arm’s reach, their teachings etched into body and mind of those around us. We held our bodies against each other, and they might as well have been puzzles pieces.
He didn’t look quite so peaceful. The teacher didn’t quite like being the student, it seemed. That’s a lesson I’ll take into the future.
There was my love. Oh, my love. George. Georgina? Georgia. Oh, what a sweet smile, plastered onto a face that was only so recently next to mine, his lips and mine trading life and vigour with every kiss, every touch. She was frigid to the touch. Or were my fingertips cold as ice?
The me in the mirror stared back from its infinite abyss. I was imagining things. I had to be.
I’m a creature of the night. A vampire. My body and mind—perfect. There was to be no remorse, no regret.
Right?
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r/dexdrafts
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I started giggling, “well sh*t. That was wrong.”
Steven looks at me with tears filling up his eyes, “how could you? I loved you!”
I roll my eyes, “close, you have to seem more upset than that. Maybe say ‘I loved them!’, It might make it sound more believable.”
“i’m trying my best Kayla. How are they gonna believe me, what if we left something behind?” Steven says shaking a little bit, “i’m just worried”
“Steven, shut the h*ll up. I checked every little speck.”
“Ok, sorry. You’re right.”
I turn my eyes from the mirror, i don’t regret it. i did what i had to do, they would’ve went to the authorities. I bent down to Steven, “I love you baby. We can do this. I already got her dna on the crime scene, now we just have to tell them it was her.”
“ok” he said trying to convince himself what he was about to do to his own sister was ok, “let’s do it.”
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[WP] The doctors walk into the hospital room you're in, and you're ready for them to tell you about your soon-to-be death. One of them sits down beside you and... hands you a twenty-sided dice, "Roll a Death Saving Throw."
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I've never liked hospitals, but this one, somehow was worse than the rest. While most hospitals are an uncomfortable juxtaposition between a place of healing, and a place people go to die, this one seemed heavily weighted towards the latter.
The doctor entered my room. He wore dark blue scrubs, and a crisp white lab coat, and his expression was unreadably professional. I felt a chill. That did not look like a "good news" face.
"I'm sure you understand, Mr. Harris, that your prognosis isn't good." He began, as he sat down in an office chair beside my hospital bed, foregoing any introductions or preamble. Nice bedside manner there, Doc. "That's why you're here, after all."
"I... gathered that." I replied, swallowing hard.
"There's really only one course open to you," The doctor continued. "It's risky, and I'm afraid there will be considerable discomfort involved, but it's your best chance. The odds are...well, the math isn't important, right now. As I said, you have limited options."
I nodded, slowly. "I-I'm willing to try anything that might help, Doctor."
The doctor responded with a curt nod of his own, and withdrew a small object from the pocket of his lab coat. He held it up for me to see. It was a glossy, grayish die with 20 sides, each of them with an etched number, accented in black enamel.
"I don't understand." I admitted, after looking at the die for a moment.
"It's very simple." The doctor assured. "You roll this die. If you roll ten or higher three times, before rolling nine or lower three times...you win."
"I win what, exactly?" I asked, taking the die and inspecting it. It felt light, like it was made of wood. Or maybe bone. "What is this, like, a cognitive test, or something? To see if I'm competent to make medical decisions for myself, or...?"
The doctor just stared at me, glanced at the die, and then at the night stand. I paused. It didn't make sense to me, but I supposed that, if I completely understood how a psychological test worked, then the test probably wouldn't work on me.
I threw the die.
Pain exploded in my head, and my vision filled with stars. I distantly heard something like an off-key trumpet, as the room seemed to spin around me. After a moment, my vision slowly returned to normal, and I found myself staring at the bedside table.
The die read "8".
"Unfortunate, Mr. Harris." The doctor commented. "One failure, zero success. Roll again."
"What the hell just happened?" I demanded, hotly.
"I said there would be some discomfort." The doctor reminded me. "Roll again."
"Hell no!" I snapped.
The doctor paused. His next words were nothing special, just an ordinary question. It was the way he said them, that made my blood run cold. "Are you refusing treatment, Mr. Harris?'
I shook my head, rapidly, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. The doctor gestured to the die. I picked it up and rolled.
The pain was beyond excruciating. I felt the air driven from my lungs, I was sure I could hear bones breaking and tendons snapping, as I was crushed and mangled by some unstoppable force. My eyes were blurry with tears when I finally came back to myself, and I blinked rapidly to clear them.
The die read "3."
"Two failures. 0 success." The doctor announced, calmly. "Roll again."
"Please," I choked, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Please, no more. Even if I was winning, I...I can't do this three more times."
For the first time, I saw a hint of compassion in the doctor's stoic expression.
"There is...a possibility that you could roll just once more, and still win. But, I admit, that is very unlikely. It's your choice. Refusing treatment is a valid option, Mr. Harris." He explained, but instead of a chill, this time there was a faint sense of kindly warmth in the doctor's words.
I swallowed hard, and looked down at my hand, hovering shakily over the die on the bedside table. I looked back at the doctor, but his face had become an unreadable mask, once again.
"Damn it." I snarled, snatching up the die, and bracing myself for agony as I threw it.
No new wave of suffering crashed over me, as I watched the die bounce onto the table. It clattered to a stop.
The die read "20".
The doctor smiled, but before I could ask him what the meaning of this result was, everything went black
I awoke in my hospital bed. No, not a bed, this was narrower. I realized was on a gurney, in the back of an ambulance. I had an oxygen mask over my face, and I felt lightheaded, and woozy. I tried to sit up, but a hand on my chest gently yet firmly pushed me back down. I looked up to see a young woman in an EMT uniform leaning over me. Her partner, an older man dressed the same, was on the other side of me, holding me in place.
"Mr. Harris, try to relax." The female EMT urged. "You've been in a car accident. You've sustained some serious injuries, but we've stabilized you, and given you something for the pain. We're on our way to the hospital, now. Don't worry, you're going to be fine."
I nodded weakly, and my eyelids felt suddenly heavy. I let them drift closed. Before I slipped back into unconsciousness, I heard the EMTs talking.
"...but thank God we got to him so quickly." The female EMT was saying. "This one could have gone either way."
"Yeah," her partner agreed. "Those first few minutes after an injury like this...they're critical."
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My head spun, but my gaze fixated on the bone-white die, each number recessed in deep black. Except where a one should be, there’s an etched skull in crimson red, almost winking at me with its blatant glow and gaudiness.
“That’s quite on the nose.”
Doctor Boyd placed the die gingerly in front of me, a prized gemstone that contained my life within it. He pushed up his glasses, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward, bringing his voice down to a low whisper.
“That, is from an authority outside of the Hippocratic oath.” the doctor said. “The government.”
“Not quite known for their subtlety,” I said.
“The system, as it is, is for impartiality. The roll of a die, giving everybody an equal chance at life. These are unprecedented times, Ash. There has to be some way of equalling the odds.”
I scratched my head, terrified of pulling off yet another clump of hair. But that action somehow felt necessary for me to comprehend the doctor’s words, which seemed to hold insidious meaning beneath its fair-sounding facade.
“That’s a pun.”
Doctor Boyd nodded gravely.
“That’s indeed, a pun. It’s official mandate for us to say it. Somebody was, apparently, quite pleased with it. Here’s the deal. You roll one to 10, and that’s it. There’s nothing we can do to help. 11 to 19, and we’ll put you up in one of our most average wards. But you get a 20…”
“No more problems?”
“No more problems. Well, your body could still give up on you. But from the hospital side? No problems with the liability assessments. And oh, if you do die, rest easy in knowing that it was completely not our fault.”
“Doesn’t my constitution play a part in this? Isn’t that how it works in most games?”
“Oh no no. This is real life,” the doctor said. “How much you pay for your insurance gives you a bonus.”
I massaged my increasingly throbbing temple.
“Sounds about right,” I said. “So that’s a straight roll.”
“A straight roll, Ash,” Doctor Boyd said. “I’ll be here to verify the result.”
There was a long silence, only interrupted by the increasingly rapid beeps of the heart rate monitor. Staring at the die, the small object, I felt myself channelling my growing pain into it, willing all of it to go in. Maybe the inanimate thing will take pity on me, and show the face.
“For what it’s worth,” Doctor Boyd said. “I’m rooting for you.”
I grabbed it the dice. A feeble shake, which felt far stronger in my mind, and then rolled the bones, hearing them clitter and clatter on the plastic table.
I leaned back into my pillow, not daring to look, squeezing my eyelids shut. In an instant, it was like every drop of blood surged to my brain. The heart rate monitor was fading away, my battering head instead the only thing my nerves could sense.
“Alex? Alex!”
I never saw the die face. Life, it seemed, had rolled the dice for me.
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] You started this hike and you're going to god damn finish it, no matter what lame horror the trail decides to throw at you.
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Despite my growing abdominal pain, I continued hiking up the hill.
Now you may be asking, "Is this a smart idea?" or "Should you really do all this in the dead of night?" My only answer to both of those questions is "Probably not."
But I'm not the type to quit, I will keep going until I finish, even if some forest animal decides I would be the perfect midnight snack.
So I keep trekking, it's a really steep slope with a lot of rocks to trip on, so I have to pay extra attention to the ground in front of me to make sure I don't trip and never wake up again.
What I don't notice however, is the growing amount of light in the forest. Normally at this hour, only the moonlight should be shining on the ground, but this was like social media apps on light mode. Bright, and annoying.
Eventually, I do take notice that the ground in front of me is whole lot easier to see now. So I look up and around me to see where's all the sudden light coming from.
Directly behind me is a bright, white, shining ball of fire. almost like a miniature, pale sun. Now that I start looking at it, I can hear voices.
"Come with us"
"Paradise awaits you"
"If you don't like it, you can get your money back. We promise"
"We've come to talk to you about your cars extended warranty."
Ok I made those last two up. Anyhow, by this point I thought I was dreaming, and not wanting to head straight into some nightmare realm, I just turn around and keep walking forward on the path.
It's been a few days now, and I don't think it was a dream.
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Continuing down the trail for the second time today, she found that things were quite off. There was a strange color effect on the trees. Almost as if she were watching her surroundings from an old VHS tape, which she could hardly remember since her parents raised her in the 90's.
Pulling out her phone she began to question her serenity. She was always bickering with herself to move forwards. It helped her stay motivated throughout the day.
Suddenly she realized how clear, and bright and sunny it was, and that nobody was on that trail. She was completely alone. She was the only person tasked to finish it. Suddenly she felt as if the entire universe had become complacent to her existence. Everyone had already left her, and her phone had no remaining battery.
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[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
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People arent bright. This was a common belief in the netherworld. A belief further proven in lieu of a new trend.
Humans were summoning demons more frequently lately. Frequently, and haphazardly. It took a few weeks for the demons to figure out some of it
A new, cheap way of summing was discovered. Mass production of ince rare materials had occurred in the material plane. Did the humans use these new means to make new infrastructure? Apprently not. Instead, they were being used to summon demons in mass. So much so, some demons were getting summoned multiple times a minute! On top of that, now some weird trend invoking hugging or riding demons was happening. Was this a teenage trend? Did it have some nefarious means? Whose to say.
Some demons hypothesized the humans were usung it as a means of travel. How lazy! They were in tbe midst of an industrial revolution, and they were using it to half ass teleport? The fools cant even communicate fast enouhh to synchronize their summons. This lead to many demons coming back to the nether with a human attached to them at the waist. Its become such and inconvenience that some demons are putting them to work. The ones that survive, that is. See, this contant random summoning is disruptive of day to day activities. So, it was decided you could keep the human that summoned you as a replacement laborer.
The system seems to be working. A year into the program and summons are at an all time low. Unexpectedly, most summons now seem to be INENTIONALY to come live in the nethers.
I dont know whats going on topside. One things for sure tho, those humans are idiots.
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"You know," Sogomith grumbled, "a basic teleportation spell takes about the same energy as the effort required to do this."
"I don't *know* a basic teleportation spell, or I'd do it!" Dave countered. "Wait, where's the *out* portal?"
A demon next to them wailed as the hooks and chains made of hellfire that marked a summoning took him through to the material plane.
"Well, that was my brother Sago*math.* Did your ride mispronounce my name?"
There was a long pause before Dave spoke. "I thought you were Sagomath."
"Sagomith."
"That's the same name."
"You're missing a subtlety of the pronunciation. I'm Sago*mith.* Like as in 'demons were previously thought to be a *myth.'* He's Sago*math,* like 'don't try summoning one if you suck at *math.'"*
"You're going to eat me now, aren't you?" Dave released his grip around Sagomith's neck, dropping to the stone floor.
"Eh, nah."
"Wait, really?"
"The magical energy you guys use to summon us actually makes a decent meal, even if the hooks really smart. I'm full, and I have an idea."
"No deals!"
"You haven't even *heard* the deal yet."
Dave thought about that for a moment. "Guess I can't exactly stop you from talking."
**"I will impart upon thee the wisdom of how to perform a basic *fucking* teleport."** The air shook with portent as Sagomith's voice boomed. "And transport thee back to thy realm, whereupon thou shalt devote thyself to teaching other mortals how to perform this ritual instead of bothering mine kin."**
Dave mulled it over. "It's a pretty fair deal, I guess. Couple of clarifications though."
"Go ahead."
"Does 'devoting myself to teaching people the spell' mean like, switching careers to do that as my primary job, or just telling people about it in general?"
"Either would be acceptable, but the former could make you quite wealthy given the demand for the skill."
"Mhm, cool. And when you say you'll teach me a 'basic fucking teleportation,' is the fucking an adjective or an emphasis?"
"Emphasis, sorry for the bad pact phrasing. Don't make a lot of deals lately."
"Alright, I'm willing to take that deal." Dave extended an open hand towards Sagomith."
**"The bargain is struck! Thy lessons begin immediately!"** A pillar of fire flared around them to seal the pact. As it died down, Sagomith chuckled. "Now, I just have one question before we start. Any particular reason you mortals don't just use the powerful compulsion a summoning gives you access to to *order* us to transport you ourselves?"
"We could have been fu-"
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[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
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“Slow down slow down.”
Balzlaburlub reduces from 100 unintelligible clicks per minute, to about 70.
“Ah the humans are using hell as a ferry?”
Something about this angered me, was it my workers being put in danger? Humans getting one over on us?
No, neither of these really bothered me, both had honestly been encouraged. But, something itches. At my throat, and idea without words.
“Can you send for… Susan, from accounting?”
“Glablalchahcha” the short demon replies before rolling out of the room.
Two minutes later, she was sitting in front of me.
Wait, did she even come in the front door, never mind, I may be satan but accounting is above my pay grade
“Hey Susan, you’re probably wondering why I called you down here, there’s been a kind of logistical error I believe we should be working on together.”
She stares at me, if one person could look impatient with the devil and get away with it, it’d be her.
“Anyway I’ll cut to the point, the humans have been using our demons as a taxi service. Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t bring myself to tear it down. However, I am in the business of making deals. Got any thoughts?”
She sits still for a moment, searching the library like confines of her brain for a respite, one quick title, one idea sitting on the shelf. She smiles, after picking out the perfect idea and expands on it instantly, she says a few words.
“Why are we doing this for free, when it would be more efficient in labor and time to charge them a 1/1000th of their soul? Most wouldn’t realize the 501st ride gives us majority binding ownership of their soul and would teleport back and forth 501 times before Sunday.”
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Thank you, I shall set that into motion right away”
I go to dial the Board, looking up Sarah has vanished. Doesn’t even say goodbye, honestly that’s the part that hurts the most. You spend 500 years married and one divorce later, and she suddenly can’t be in a room with you for more than 3 minutes.
“Hello, I’d like to arrange for a few of the board members to come in for a meeting? Oh I’ll hold, fine”
I twiddle the pen between my fingers, I can already imagine the increase of souls coming in. Stupid bastards will take the convenient route every time
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"No," I growled, "the fact that you know who I am does not \*interest\* me, it \*annoys\* me." My forearm was barred against his throat as he struggled. I was letting him breathe...for now.
"Please, it's for a job!" The man managed to stutter out.
"I am \*anonymous\*. I never show my face, I never work for the same buyer twice. So, you tell me right now how you know who I am, or I'm taking you for a short walk to a shallow grave."
"I-it was Lydra!"
I released my grip on the poor idiot's throat, extremely surprised, though I did not show it. \*Lydra wasn't from this world.\*
"And how...did you come to know Lydra?"
"Lydra is a long-term consultant of mine. Whenever I need something \*very\* specific, I talk to her. Last time, she said she was moving away, and she gave me your details."
"That is a \*serious\* breach of my trust with her, but... that's not your problem, is it? Have a seat," I instructed, allowing the smaller man to move into my home from the open doorway. I closed the door, but did not lock it. I was the most dangerous thing in this city anyway.
"I'm not used to entertaining guests, but I happen to have a mulled wine on hand..." I spared a glimpse out of the far window. Snow had begun to settle over the city, causing a quiet that I had been looking forward to for months.
I poured a glass for the guest, and kept the bottle for myself.
I settled into my chair, while he spoke, I drank, and engaged my 'work mode', noting the little details of the man who sat across from me, making a profile. He wasn't physically imposing, his hair was more gray than brown. He was well-dressed for a meeting with a criminal. I had noted small callouses on the insides of his right hand- likely where a quill would rub the skin raw. He was an academic. Generally cautious, playing it safe- but clearly, this job must have mattered to him, for him to come to \*me\* for help.
“I have need of a special product. There is a-”
“Just the specifics for pickup and drop-off.” I interrupted. “What it is only matters if it’ll change how I move the product. Whether it’s drugs, weapons, whatever, I don’t care. My only rule is no slaves. I don’t work skin.”
The man looked down for a moment. “Um. I don’t mean to presume, but if they were a \*willing\* package to be delivered, would that be alright?”
I thought about it for a moment. “My methods usually don’t lend themselves to moving people. I may be able to make a workaround, and they must be willing to come with me. If they protest, I am leaving without them, and you’ll still be paying me.”
He looked like he was going to protest, then thought better of it. The red agitation had not even faded from his throat.
He explained the details- someone dear to him had been kidnapped, and the law wasn’t willing to help him. A tribe of half-giants took his step-son, and they wanted him back.
“Simple concept, difficult execution.” I ran my hand through my hair, then took a long pull from the bottle of wine. Spicy, sweet, and best of all, high alcohol content.
“When is the deadline?” I asked, finally.
“I’d like him back as soon as possible, really. Gods only know what they are doing to him.”
I nodded. “I’ll have him back before The Longest Night.” I stood, and ushered the man out of my house. The glowing lights from Fabled First’s structures outshone the dim moonlight. Plenty of light for seeing, and plenty of shadows for hiding, too. A good night for stealth work.
“How will I contact you?” The client asked.
“You won’t. I’ll contact you. If you come by this house again, you’ll find it empty, and no one will know who I am if you ask. Now pay me. Half up front.”
The man handed me a sack of coins. Weight felt right.
I closed the door, and heard as the man stepped away, the crunching of fresh-fallen snow marking his steps.
Lydra.
Lydra could not know this man. It wasn’t possible.
I’d have to ask her about it.
Given the nature of my…operation, a breach like this merited more investigation than the job that had preceded it.
In a different life, I had been trained in the Royal Academy of Magic. I had been a star pupil. If I had stuck with it, I’d have been given a prestigious position guarding royalty, or perhaps as a court mage, if I’d chosen to focus on my magic.
Instead, here I was, preparing to tangle with a Demon to hitch a ride to another Reality- the one within which Lydra lived.
To the best of my knowledge, I was the only one who discovered that Demons could traverse Realities. I had learned that after a series of private experiments my classmates and I had been working on went very, very wrong… after that, I knew we would’ve been discovered eventually, so I left, and used my newfound knowledge to run a very unique kind of black market.
Trans-dimensional goods. Had a certain ring to it. It certainly kept me in the money, though I \*was\* always looking over my shoulder, worried that either a disgruntled demon would come to claim my hide, or the Royal Guard would finally catch on to my ‘work’, and come after me.
I waited for a few hours, then the mechanism on my gauntlet began to hum.
Steeling myself, I drew a pentagram without any protective Sanctified Salt. An unsuspecting demon would see this and assume it was a novice mage working on projects they did not understand- and then my trap would be sprung.
It only took a moment. A demon appeared before me- easily nine feet tall, covered in boils and scars, eager for a scrap of tender mage meat.
I tossed a collar over its head and drew it tight. I jumped on its back, then held on-
The timing could not have been better. Lydra must have had a slow night. There were times I had needed to wait over an hour, wrestling and contending with an increasingly-furious Demon. Hated those nights.
I endured the tight squeeze-and-pop of hopping Realities, then came face-to-face with Lydra, who was already banishing the demon.
Gods, I loved that woman. So useful.
Lydra looked much the same. It had been about three months since I had last stepped foot on what I referred to as The Ancient World- this world was highly profitable, and highly dangerous- but after a full decade of building my own network, learning all of the ins and outs, and cataloging all of its properties and items, I had finally managed to make the risk to reward ratio acceptable...however, I had been away too long. Lydra was going to have questions.
We were in the Undercroft- the quiet little space beneath Lydra’s library, which was both her home and her work. This was the space Lydra often used on our rendezvous.
The demon was gone within a few moments. “Much smoother than usual.” I commented, grinning.
“Mmm.” Lydra said. Nothing in her voice gave away displeasure or distaste- but I usually got a warmer welcome than \*that\*.
“Bad day?” I asked.
“Busy.” Lydra turned and began to ascend the stairs towards her library.
I took a few moments before following her up. I had to change to this reality’s clothes, don the character that these people expected me to be.
|
|
[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
|
“Slow down slow down.”
Balzlaburlub reduces from 100 unintelligible clicks per minute, to about 70.
“Ah the humans are using hell as a ferry?”
Something about this angered me, was it my workers being put in danger? Humans getting one over on us?
No, neither of these really bothered me, both had honestly been encouraged. But, something itches. At my throat, and idea without words.
“Can you send for… Susan, from accounting?”
“Glablalchahcha” the short demon replies before rolling out of the room.
Two minutes later, she was sitting in front of me.
Wait, did she even come in the front door, never mind, I may be satan but accounting is above my pay grade
“Hey Susan, you’re probably wondering why I called you down here, there’s been a kind of logistical error I believe we should be working on together.”
She stares at me, if one person could look impatient with the devil and get away with it, it’d be her.
“Anyway I’ll cut to the point, the humans have been using our demons as a taxi service. Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t bring myself to tear it down. However, I am in the business of making deals. Got any thoughts?”
She sits still for a moment, searching the library like confines of her brain for a respite, one quick title, one idea sitting on the shelf. She smiles, after picking out the perfect idea and expands on it instantly, she says a few words.
“Why are we doing this for free, when it would be more efficient in labor and time to charge them a 1/1000th of their soul? Most wouldn’t realize the 501st ride gives us majority binding ownership of their soul and would teleport back and forth 501 times before Sunday.”
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Thank you, I shall set that into motion right away”
I go to dial the Board, looking up Sarah has vanished. Doesn’t even say goodbye, honestly that’s the part that hurts the most. You spend 500 years married and one divorce later, and she suddenly can’t be in a room with you for more than 3 minutes.
“Hello, I’d like to arrange for a few of the board members to come in for a meeting? Oh I’ll hold, fine”
I twiddle the pen between my fingers, I can already imagine the increase of souls coming in. Stupid bastards will take the convenient route every time
|
Demon announcer: " place your bets, everyone, place your bets!"
Demon: "What kind of human is it this time!?"
Demon announcer:" this time it's three healers and a hell hound."
Demon:" 50 soul coins on capture and decapitation"
Demon female: " 100 soul coins on the human escaping"
A few moments later a demon attendant collected the money and brought it to the head demon.
demon attendant:" I have collected all the bets Lord
Mammon"
Mammon:" that seems to have taken a while, we must have lots of guests."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord. if you had not slowed down the summoning process, I do not believe I would have been able to collect everything."
Suddenly a large screen popped up in front of all the demons. It displayed three priests surrounding a hellhound trying their best to mount it.
Mammon:" attendant are those not Priests of the Mars religion?"
demon attendant:" indeed my Lord"
Mammon:" that seems rather odd, given they hate all forms of power besides their god's."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord, after a bit of Investigating it seems that the human King instructed them to do so."
Mammon:" investigation you say, well you piqued my interest. If these fools don't die, it'll be a while before they mount the hellhound."
demon attendant: "yes Lord. the human kingdom is at war with a clan of Arachnes, Over the silk trade throughout the region. the human Army is being easily pushed back. currently, the frontline requires Healers as soon as possible. The church doesn't wish to lose face by using other powers so they're doing this in secret. That is what lead us to this situation."
Mammon:" thank you for your brief explanation humans have never ceased to amuse me. indulging in Pride while lives hang in the balance, summoning uncontrollable Hellhound in the middle of a war zone. HaHa!"
demon attendant:" Humans are truly the best source of entertainment. It was truly a wise decision to capitalize on those human's foolishness.
Priest:" Cancel the summoning!"
The three priests managed to tie themselves onto the hellhound, as they held on tightly the summoning Circle began to disappear along with the priest and the Beast. After a few moments passed they were in front of a crowd of demons. Some cheering others angrily yelling at them.
Mammon:" so the second phase has already begun I always find this so repetitive and boring."
demon attendant:" I'm aware my Lord that is why I took it upon myself to make this a little more interesting."
The attendant raised his hand. And the announcer nodded.
Demon announcer:" okay ladies and gentlemen it's time for the special event those of you who have purchased weapons from our gift shop will now have a chance to kill one of the humans in exchange for a reward.
Mammon: "HaHa! This is certainly a surprise no wonder I keep you around."
demon attendant: " I am truly honored, sir"
The priests tried their best to hold on as the hellhound as it tried to throw them off of it. while the priests were focusing one felt something nearly graze his head. it was then that they realize Spears were being thrown at them from a distance. The priests tried to use barrier magic to protect themselves, however, the barriers can only handle one spare at a time. The priests prayed as they protected against the barrage of Spears and held on to the Hellhound.
Priestess: "ahhhhhhhh!!"
The female priest had been hit with a spare through the leg and into the Hellhound causing it to go even more crazy. a few moments later the four disappeared into a summoning Circle.
Demon announcer:" to the one that threw the last spear, you will be given 50 Soul coins as your reward."
Mammon: "HAHAA! You truly deserve a raise for that."
As a hellhound with the priests attached to it appeared, there were several Adventures ready to fight it. The battle lasted half an hour and ended with the death of the priestess and a knight. The hellhound was severely injured but was sent back alive.
Mammon: "Well this was certainly interesting how did the other human do?"
demon attendant: " Out of the 35 humans that attempted this form of teleportation only nine survived."
Mammon: " that's more than last time, humans are truly amusing."
|
|
[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
|
“Mark, I need a favor. Can you summon a demon?”
Now, normally this kind of text would raise some eyebrows, maybe earn some side-long glances. Hell, maybe a cautious, “hey uhh…you ok?”
But not anymore. Not since petrol prices sky rocketed like they have. People still drive, of course. Well, if you have money that is. I drive when I can. But today is not one of those days. Not when there’s ten minutes before your shift starts and it takes fourty minutes to drive there. On a good day.
I really need to get a new alarm clock.
My phone dinged, and I rushed to it while struggling to get my blazer on. Sure enough, my work colleague’s name came up.
“Just fucking drive.”
I was already texting him.
“It takes me 40min you dumb brick. You owe me.”
I dropped the phone back on the table and won the fight with the blazer. I could already imagine him groaning, maybe even cursing as he saw my message. But it was true. I did the same for him when he was running late.
Another ding.
“Fuck you. Getting Angie.”
I texted back. “Love you.” Before slipping my phone into my pocket and grabbing my bag. (Not before double checking everything I needed was in there, of course). Then, I rushed outside.
Not the front yard, mind you. The backyard… ok backyard is a strong word for a small courtyard made of concrete, a clothesline, and essentially grey sadness. I did have a flower bed but uhh…when you’re working long hours and forget to water them…
I grunted and lifted up an old heavy trap door that lead to the basement, and wasted no time going in.
Now, a few years back when petrol prices went up over $5, people started looking for other ways of transportation. Alot of people took up walking. Some went back to public transport. Others car pooled and each chipped in for petrol. All logical and, frankly, good choices.
But some, including myself, found more uhh…quicker and…probably physics breaking ways.
Such as summoning a demon and being summoned to the place in question.
Look, I’m not paying $100 nearly every day to go to a shitty office job, ok? And public transport is a pain in the ass already.
I lit the candles and took a deep breath. Calm. I had to be calm. If it picked up any anxiety or stress, I would be a goner.
With the knife I left here, I made a small cut on my thumb and held it out over the summoning circle.
“He who is powerful. He who is fast. He who is all knowing. I call thee to aid me. I call thee to bow to me. I call thee—“
The circle began to glow, pulsate in time with my heart beat. S it did, as I chanted. Smoke began pillowing out from the center. And in the smoke, a shape formed. A very large shape, of pulsing muscle and skin and fur.
The creature growled, low In its throat, the sound so loud it pulsated through me. Its red eyes glowed through the smoke.
It took one step forward. It’s hooves clipped on the ground, loud and firm.
Now, normally one would be…well, excuse my french, but they’d be shitting themselves. This demon, this creature was easily three times my size, full of muscle and brawn, and probably had magic so strong it could wipe me out.
But when you have a deadline to keep and a paycheck on the end of that…
“Sorry about this!” i ran forward just as the demon reached for me with a clawed hand, easily large enough to wrap around my waist. I fell and slid between its legs, and in the next moment I jumped up as hard as I could and grabbed onto its back.
The demon, of course, was none too pleased about this. It let out a bellowing scream, so loud I think an eardrum burst. It swung around, tried reaching for me on its back.
“Mark, for fucks sake…” I whispered as a claw got dangerously close to swiping at my blazer.
And then the basement became a whirling mess of purples and red and blacks. The air itself changed, putrid and rank, so strong I nearly gagged. I would of covered my mouth if I wasn’t hanging on for dear life.
And then I was in the garden of the office, in a secluded section surrounded by small shrubs and a lovely peach tree in the center.
And there, in front of the demon and I, was Mark an Angie.
I didn’t waste time as I let go and rolled out of the way. Just as I hit the ground I heard the sound of glass shattering, followed by the sound of something sizzling.
The demon let out a loud screech and stumbled back, its large hoof landing centimeters from my face. Then one more step and it fell backwards.
It didn’t even reach the ground before it disappeared into smoke once more.
“You owe us.” Mark said. I stood up and dusted myself off.
“Yeah yeah. Same place?” I asked.
“Well…” Angie said as she turned and started towards the building. “I dunno…the rules are getting pretty strict about doing this…I think we should be properly rewarded.”
“Oh yeah, we stuck our necks out for you.” Mark continued, following after her. These two were up to something.
“…what do you want.” I said. I didn’t even bother asking as I followed after them. Angie turned then, a glint in her eye. She was already passing me a little pamphlet. The writing was so fancy I could barely read it.
“So there’s this restaurant that’s just opened up.”
I looked up at her. “You can’t be serious, look at these prices!”
“But we just stuck our necks out for you. You’re not even gonna repay us?” Mark asked. He too had the glint in his eye.
“How rude. I thought you were better than that.” Angie sighed as she turned away.
These two. While we were all close. God damn they loved to guilt trip me something fierce
“Ugh, fine. Just…screw you both.” I replied as he walked up the small steps to the back door. They smiled back at me, their eyes sparkling.
“So we’ll go today?” mark asked.
“Oooo! I’m so excited!” Angie was almost skipping inside.
“Fine fine, I’ll take you—“ Realization hit me then. I stopped in the door. I couldn’t move. My blood ran ice cold, my heart almost stopped.
“Oh fuck.” Was all I could say as I crouched to the ground and bury my head in my hands.
“Huh?” Mark turned around.
“What’s wrong?” Angie turned now, concerned. I slowly looked up at them.
“I forgot my bag.”
|
Demon announcer: " place your bets, everyone, place your bets!"
Demon: "What kind of human is it this time!?"
Demon announcer:" this time it's three healers and a hell hound."
Demon:" 50 soul coins on capture and decapitation"
Demon female: " 100 soul coins on the human escaping"
A few moments later a demon attendant collected the money and brought it to the head demon.
demon attendant:" I have collected all the bets Lord
Mammon"
Mammon:" that seems to have taken a while, we must have lots of guests."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord. if you had not slowed down the summoning process, I do not believe I would have been able to collect everything."
Suddenly a large screen popped up in front of all the demons. It displayed three priests surrounding a hellhound trying their best to mount it.
Mammon:" attendant are those not Priests of the Mars religion?"
demon attendant:" indeed my Lord"
Mammon:" that seems rather odd, given they hate all forms of power besides their god's."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord, after a bit of Investigating it seems that the human King instructed them to do so."
Mammon:" investigation you say, well you piqued my interest. If these fools don't die, it'll be a while before they mount the hellhound."
demon attendant: "yes Lord. the human kingdom is at war with a clan of Arachnes, Over the silk trade throughout the region. the human Army is being easily pushed back. currently, the frontline requires Healers as soon as possible. The church doesn't wish to lose face by using other powers so they're doing this in secret. That is what lead us to this situation."
Mammon:" thank you for your brief explanation humans have never ceased to amuse me. indulging in Pride while lives hang in the balance, summoning uncontrollable Hellhound in the middle of a war zone. HaHa!"
demon attendant:" Humans are truly the best source of entertainment. It was truly a wise decision to capitalize on those human's foolishness.
Priest:" Cancel the summoning!"
The three priests managed to tie themselves onto the hellhound, as they held on tightly the summoning Circle began to disappear along with the priest and the Beast. After a few moments passed they were in front of a crowd of demons. Some cheering others angrily yelling at them.
Mammon:" so the second phase has already begun I always find this so repetitive and boring."
demon attendant:" I'm aware my Lord that is why I took it upon myself to make this a little more interesting."
The attendant raised his hand. And the announcer nodded.
Demon announcer:" okay ladies and gentlemen it's time for the special event those of you who have purchased weapons from our gift shop will now have a chance to kill one of the humans in exchange for a reward.
Mammon: "HaHa! This is certainly a surprise no wonder I keep you around."
demon attendant: " I am truly honored, sir"
The priests tried their best to hold on as the hellhound as it tried to throw them off of it. while the priests were focusing one felt something nearly graze his head. it was then that they realize Spears were being thrown at them from a distance. The priests tried to use barrier magic to protect themselves, however, the barriers can only handle one spare at a time. The priests prayed as they protected against the barrage of Spears and held on to the Hellhound.
Priestess: "ahhhhhhhh!!"
The female priest had been hit with a spare through the leg and into the Hellhound causing it to go even more crazy. a few moments later the four disappeared into a summoning Circle.
Demon announcer:" to the one that threw the last spear, you will be given 50 Soul coins as your reward."
Mammon: "HAHAA! You truly deserve a raise for that."
As a hellhound with the priests attached to it appeared, there were several Adventures ready to fight it. The battle lasted half an hour and ended with the death of the priestess and a knight. The hellhound was severely injured but was sent back alive.
Mammon: "Well this was certainly interesting how did the other human do?"
demon attendant: " Out of the 35 humans that attempted this form of teleportation only nine survived."
Mammon: " that's more than last time, humans are truly amusing."
|
|
[WP] Poor man's teleportation is to summon a demon, grab him, and have somebody else summon him to your desired destination before the demon can buck you off, then run like hell and hope you don't get caught. Popularization of this has become quite the nuisance in the netherworld.
|
“I, Satan, Prince of Darkness, High Lord of the damned---”
“Beam me up, Scotty!” A half-naked dude riding one of my horned demons yells, interrupting my speech.
The demon disappears, turning into a fuzzy cloud of pink glitter that dissipates in the sulfurous air.
“God damn---”
“**You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain**!” a voice booms from Up There.
“F-ing shit,” I whisper, slamming my elbows on the armrests of my throne and burying my face into my hands. “I hate my job.”
I am in Hell.
Literally.
And I hate this f-ing place. In part it’s because I can’t curse god or even drop f-bombs without being interrupted by the Divine Storyteller who wants this story to be PG13, but mostly because of the f-ing Scotty Exploit.
Whoever came up with the name should be shot because: a) summoning a demon in location A, capturing that demon, and having someone else summon it at location B is not teleporting (it just isn’t) and b) Star Trek is not the only show that has teleportation technology.
So f you and Scotty and f the idiot who first came up with the exploit.
A fire demon to my left clears his throat. “My Prince,” they say, in a low voice. “Your speech.”
“Right…” I lift my head up to meet the gaze of my Legion.
The Legion of Hell, that is. A hundred thousand demons strong. Because today is the day…
I inhale, lifting my arms above my head like only a true villain would. “My children!” I roar then chuckle, because why to f not. “Today is the day of Final Reckoning! The Armag---”
There’s a pop, like a six-year-old-kid twisting a bubble wrap and a demon appears on my dias.
“Duuude!” says its rider, holding the demon by their horns. The rider is wearing green Crocs, yellow shorts and a tie dye shirt. He’s smoking weed. Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he?
“Trippin’!” he says, looking left and right.
I sigh, motioning to my demon guards to go after him. Of course they don’t catch the Dude.
“Beam me up, Scotty!” he yells and disappears in the glitter puff.
I hate my life.
I sigh and straighten my back. “All right, where was I?”
“You were about to announce the beginning of Armageddon,” my fire demon tells me.
“Right, right… I just hate being interrupted.” I raise my arms again. “My demons! Tonight I’ll unleash the forces of Hell upon---”
*Pop, pop, pop.*
This time, it’s a Twitch streamer riding a demon. He appeared just behind my throne. I know he’s a streamer because his t-shirt says so. He smiles, shouts “no soup for you,” then takes a selfie with me in the background, waves and he’s gone.
What the hell?
Serenity now! “Tonight,” I say, “we’ll unleash the forces of Hell upon the Earth and eradicate---”
*Pop.*
Two guys riding one demon this time. One is a computer engineer working for Google. His badge says so. The guy Google Guy has his arms wrapped around is… Helluber driver according to his t-shirt.
What the f???
“AAAaaa!!” the Google Guy screams and then they’re gone. I guess this was his first ride. A test ride? I’m so confused.
“It’s okay,” I tell my demon Legion. They look almost as confused as I do. What just happened? “Just a minor distraction… Where were we?”
“We kill everyone tonight, my Lord,” my fire demon says.
“Right…”
*Pop, pop, pop.*
Three demons appear on my dias, each holding a techie and a driver like the last one. The demon in the middle of the pack has a sticker on his forehead. The sticker reads ‘Helluber’.
“No---” I say.
*Pop.*
Another demon appears. This one is ridden by... Synk driver?
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop -- the demons from my Legion start disappearing.
My jaw drops, heart crashing against my chest. “Wh--- What’s going on?”
And then they’re gone.
My army.
The entire army.
The only thing remaining is pink glitter like a blizzard falling down on the barren ground in front of me.
“NO!” I roar. This is not happening! Today was the day! The end of the world! The day when I tell the Divine Storyteller to f off and when I kill everyone! But instead---
I scream, cursing at the Divine Storyteller. “Bring me back my Legion!!!”
Pop.
“Helluber eats,” the guy riding my demon says. “Are you D. Evil? I have a delivery for D. Evil.”
He tosses me the brown paper bag and disappears.
I open the bag. No food in it. Instead, a message.
*No Armageddon for you.*
*Fuck you. LOL.*
*Yours truly,*
*The Divine Storyteller.*
|
Demon announcer: " place your bets, everyone, place your bets!"
Demon: "What kind of human is it this time!?"
Demon announcer:" this time it's three healers and a hell hound."
Demon:" 50 soul coins on capture and decapitation"
Demon female: " 100 soul coins on the human escaping"
A few moments later a demon attendant collected the money and brought it to the head demon.
demon attendant:" I have collected all the bets Lord
Mammon"
Mammon:" that seems to have taken a while, we must have lots of guests."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord. if you had not slowed down the summoning process, I do not believe I would have been able to collect everything."
Suddenly a large screen popped up in front of all the demons. It displayed three priests surrounding a hellhound trying their best to mount it.
Mammon:" attendant are those not Priests of the Mars religion?"
demon attendant:" indeed my Lord"
Mammon:" that seems rather odd, given they hate all forms of power besides their god's."
demon attendant:" yes my Lord, after a bit of Investigating it seems that the human King instructed them to do so."
Mammon:" investigation you say, well you piqued my interest. If these fools don't die, it'll be a while before they mount the hellhound."
demon attendant: "yes Lord. the human kingdom is at war with a clan of Arachnes, Over the silk trade throughout the region. the human Army is being easily pushed back. currently, the frontline requires Healers as soon as possible. The church doesn't wish to lose face by using other powers so they're doing this in secret. That is what lead us to this situation."
Mammon:" thank you for your brief explanation humans have never ceased to amuse me. indulging in Pride while lives hang in the balance, summoning uncontrollable Hellhound in the middle of a war zone. HaHa!"
demon attendant:" Humans are truly the best source of entertainment. It was truly a wise decision to capitalize on those human's foolishness.
Priest:" Cancel the summoning!"
The three priests managed to tie themselves onto the hellhound, as they held on tightly the summoning Circle began to disappear along with the priest and the Beast. After a few moments passed they were in front of a crowd of demons. Some cheering others angrily yelling at them.
Mammon:" so the second phase has already begun I always find this so repetitive and boring."
demon attendant:" I'm aware my Lord that is why I took it upon myself to make this a little more interesting."
The attendant raised his hand. And the announcer nodded.
Demon announcer:" okay ladies and gentlemen it's time for the special event those of you who have purchased weapons from our gift shop will now have a chance to kill one of the humans in exchange for a reward.
Mammon: "HaHa! This is certainly a surprise no wonder I keep you around."
demon attendant: " I am truly honored, sir"
The priests tried their best to hold on as the hellhound as it tried to throw them off of it. while the priests were focusing one felt something nearly graze his head. it was then that they realize Spears were being thrown at them from a distance. The priests tried to use barrier magic to protect themselves, however, the barriers can only handle one spare at a time. The priests prayed as they protected against the barrage of Spears and held on to the Hellhound.
Priestess: "ahhhhhhhh!!"
The female priest had been hit with a spare through the leg and into the Hellhound causing it to go even more crazy. a few moments later the four disappeared into a summoning Circle.
Demon announcer:" to the one that threw the last spear, you will be given 50 Soul coins as your reward."
Mammon: "HAHAA! You truly deserve a raise for that."
As a hellhound with the priests attached to it appeared, there were several Adventures ready to fight it. The battle lasted half an hour and ended with the death of the priestess and a knight. The hellhound was severely injured but was sent back alive.
Mammon: "Well this was certainly interesting how did the other human do?"
demon attendant: " Out of the 35 humans that attempted this form of teleportation only nine survived."
Mammon: " that's more than last time, humans are truly amusing."
|
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[WP] It is a beautiful day in the SCP Foundation, and you are an anomalous goose.
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"**Honk**," I said to the researcher standing in the room. She looked terrified; she'd been chased into my cell by the Chaos Insurgency soldiers, not knowing it was *my* cell. She now stood there, by the door, probably wondering which side was safer.
"**Honk**?" I asked. She did not reply; quite rude, might I add. She opened her mouth slightly, perhaps trying to speak, but was interrupted when the door blew open and knocked her to the ground. Two armed soldiers walked in; no SCP logo on them. Insurgency.
"There she is," one yelled in a muffled voice. "Grab her."
The other soldiers walked up to her as my eyes followed him, not noticing me until the dust settled and he stopped in his tracks.
"Is that... a goose?" he asked.
"**Honk**," I assured him.
"Not our problem. Grab her and let's go," the first soldier barked. I looked on casually until I finally noticed the Foundation researcher they were after; she's examined me a few times. In fact, I recalled that on several occasions, she brought me the *good* kind of bread; quality stuff.
Ah well. She's been good to me. Least I can do is help out a bit.
I'd... rather not share the details of what followed next. Bit personal, and very ugly.
When the screams died down and the last of the meaty chunks fell off of the wall, the girl stood up from the floor, dazed and bleeding from the impact of the door, but alive. She looked around in sheer horror; the bloody mess where the soldiers stood a second ago slippery and squishy.
I lifted my right wing and carefully removed an eyeball with my beak, throwing it to the ground. Then, looking up at her, I surmised the situation.
"**Honk**," I said smugly and nodded to the door.
Aw yeah. I'm getting the *good* bread when this is over.
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recording #1 of SCP-####
"what's so annomylous about this goose? other than the fact that it walks around and squacks #### #### at people" Researcher #1
"you never know with these things... one minute its trying to put you to sleep? the next you're dead." Reseacher #2
\*scratching is heard as one of the researchers adjusts the mic, followed by a loud click in the containment cell\*
"alright" researcher #1 "let in class D-2534 and D -3634"
the two men enter the room "alright gentlemen." researcher #2 speaks into the mic "first off we can't hear anything that is going on, although we can see you. do you understand?" both of the class Ds nod. " if you are in distress, lay on the ground with both hands above your head. do you understand?" they nod. "please approach the goose as non-threatening as possible, and then sit down to eye level with it. do you understand?" they both nod.
\*recording transfers to microphone in containment cell. class D subjects names will beshorted to their first number.\*
D2 "hey aren't the things in this place supposed to be weird shit..."
D3 "yeah... this just looks like a goose..."
both men approach the goose and sit down cross legged.
D3 "atleast it's a friendly goose."
D2 "i dunno man..."
the goose squacks.
D2 "w-w-what the hell was that!?"
D2 stood up
D3 "what was what man? it just squakin like any goose."
Researcher #1(R1) "sit down 2534..."
D2 sits back down "that thing said '####' man..."
D3 "you losin it already?"
D2 "shut up..."
the goose squacks
D2 "it just said '####' dude!"
D3 "####?" like what its about to ask you for something?" D3 laughs
D2 "shut up!"
\[unintelltigable arguing\]
the comotion between the two upset the goose and it began to squack erratically
D2 suddenly goes silent and slouches in his sitting position
D3 "h-hey man... you... you don't look so good"
D2 begins to scream
D3 "H-Hey! Hey man!"
D2's face begins to enlongate and loud cracking of bones can be heard reverbating off the cement walls
D3 "YO YO YO WHAT THE FUCK!?"
D3 stands and runs to the other side of the room
D2 begins to show signs of fur growth accrossed all exposed skin as his entire body begins to shrink.
D2's screams become gargled and overpowered by the cracking of bones.
D3 repeatedly screams "let me out!" as he claws desperately at the one way glass.
R1 "sit down!"
D3 refused and began to pound on the glass.
D2's orange jump suit laid limp on the ground. completely silent
D3 suddenly stops banging on the glass and turns to D2's jump suit
D3 "oh god..."
a medium sized rodent with brown fur climbs through the left pant leg of D2's jumpsuit
D2 "it's a god damn woodchuck man! the fuckin goose turned him into a god damn woodchuck!"
D3 turns his attention back to the goose
R1 "Sit down now or be terminated, that is an order!"
D3 reluctantly complies and sits down
The goose is still agitated and squacking
D3" he\~eeey, no no! i hear it now too man!"
all live feed and recordings from Site cut out
uppon gathering of information it is confirmed that D-3634 was compressed into a minature singularity and left earths orbit at \~.9C. D-3634 will now be classified as SCP-####-1 and given the designation Keter. As it impossible to contain an object moving away faster than any known man made vehicle. our researchers have been notified of its trejectory and are on the look out for a twinkling star.
As for the compound, No survivors have been found including D-2534 and SCP-####
.
.
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SCP - Mother Goose
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[WP] You are a well-known smuggler, brought before the king in chains. "I am told that you can smuggle anything in or out of the kingdom," the king says. "I have precious cargo that must make it out of the kingdom," he continues, gesturing to the young crown prince.
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King Herod watched as the small girl was led in to his private study. The heavy iron manacles layered on her wrists and ankles to prevent her picking or slipping them off. . . again. The common dress a surprise for such a notorious smuggler.
"You have been a hard person to contact Lady Swift, alias Lady Night, alias the Fixer, alias Shadow of the Moon."
The girl chuckles. "To be fair I did not pick any of those names. They are the names your own constables chose to use as my moniker. Well except for the last. That one is out of Kaijiki. How is the Emperor since you had to be in contact to get that one."
The guards around the prisoner finger their swords as the prisoner shows no fear before the king. His eyes narrow searching for her advantage. "He has been quite annoyed. You seem to have ruined his market for our willow bark. And stole from him personally."
"Medicine is one of those things he tries the hardest to keep only for the 'immortal' nobles. So, since I am not in a jail and you went to such effort to take me alive. You have my attention. What did you want of me?"
Glowering at the woman. "I am told you can smuggle anything in or out of the kingdom." Gesturing to the boy kicking his heels at the too large chair. "I have precious cargo that must make it out of the kingdom."
The girl looks over the boy before responding. "Princess Cordellia will not be of marriage age for three more years. Queen Asbeth has no heir, the elven lands don't care about human kingdoms. So you wish me to distance the Prince from Relathon's forces. The only noble close enough to even try for a political liaison. That means nothing over land. His allies will be keeping watch on the shipping lanes as well."
"You are well informed for someone in your line of work."
"You do not know my line of work or you would not be calling on me. Your advisor would tell you that knowledge is power. That is why he had the guard block access to the north side of the ports and put General Antoni guarding the south side. To send a message. Claim a blight has damaged the willow groves. Raise the price of willow bark for a season of export and I shall do it."
"You would compromise my kingdom's trade for your profits? You seem to forget who is in shackles here." King Herod's rage coming short as the cuffs on the girl's wrists are sitting on the floor beside the ones for her ankles. Neither he nor the guard having seen her remove them.
"You can afford it. And I have expenses. This will give me favour with the other smugglers and those in low places. Favours I may well need to avoid bounty hunters and assassins till you call for your son back."
Closing his eyes a moment. "Very well lady Swift. Roderick, gather your things. You need travel with the good lady here for a time."
As door closes behind the pair. The large armoured frame of the general came from the shadow beside the smaller bookish body of the advisor. "Are you sure this is wise your majesty? The threat of Relathon is not that great."
"Agrath?"
"She asked for exactly what I said she would. The young prince has not heeded lessons of book nor martial training. She will take him to the surrounding kingdoms. He will see the people of each and learn more from her in three years than he has from both of us since he was born."
"We caught her. How good can she be?"
"She came because we sent her a message, Antoni. And all the names and descriptions? She matched none by look and all are aliases. She will not be found till she completes her word."
"Except she never gave her word she was returning the prince. Only getting him out."
"Damn it! Get the ships ready to leave port and catch her!"
As the general rushes out to obey, the king glares at his smirking advisor. "You knew this was going to happen."
Handing the king the jade ring of the Kaijiki emperor. "A kidnapping is a good excuse for why the prince is not seen in public, majesty. It gives you the time you need."
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The crown prince is just straight out annoying this is the 520th time he broke a vase or a window and acting like I am an amazing cool soccer player , But after that not only did he break vases and windows, but rather the kings knows, when he was in a discussion with ministers and higher ups, just out of nowhere a ball came flying at him, so hard that the kings nose broke and busted making snot fly all over his face and some of it landed near the eyes of a nearby minister
Some people took pictures sneakily and it leaked
There was this time when he came one day running inside the palace, running up and down stairs while screaming to the room of the unknowing queen who is sitting in the king sized bed, he was screaming out loud as he ran off stepped on the bed and all of a sudden a cow came running at the queen and he jumped off the window, the Cow was chasing after him until it had gotten stuck on the large window which wasn’t the cows size, so Half the cow was outside while it’s buttt was faceing towards the queen and before she fathom anything, a leg was pushed towards the queen’s stomach and kicking it repeatedly as it tried to free it’s self and she came crashing down on her butt outside the bed, long story short the room was a mess and guards struggled to get the cow out of there, but at that time when the queen was kicked she noticed something extending from her sons hand and onto the cow, it’s a rope
Of course the king knew of this incident but few months after they found out that the queen was pregnant, The prince manage to spread rumors that a cow impregnated the queen and since females couldn’t reproduce with other females, the message was conveyed in another way completely , In short the king is a cow
A slash n to make things clear nothing inappropriate happened between the cow and the queen, the cow in an attempt to free itself kicked with the back of its foot repeatedly so the queen fell outside the bed and guards came to the rescue
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[WP] On everyone’s 18th birthday they receive a mark from the god who gave them life. When you turned 18, the mark of each god appeared on you.
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Part 1
A white, sterile room. The door had melded perfectly with the wall when I had entered, so there was no discernable exit.
The Revealer lifted the hair from the back of my neck. The Mark would appear there. I was about to learn the identity of my creator. I was about to--
He froze. I could hear his breath quicken, and after a moment he laughed nervously, and mumbled.
"What the hell? This is..."
I was suddenly filled with dread. What happened?
"Do I have a mark? Revealer?"
"I--"
Images flashed in my mind. Antorixes, an unmarked who had destroyed Salverian. Satsian, who started the Desolation two thousand years ago.
So naturally, I yelled.
"Revealer?? DO I HAVE A MARK??"
I spun in my seat, and when I made eye contact with him, his face paled, but he didn't prepare a Ward. Instead, he whispered.
"You... You have *all* of them."
---Two days later---
Jat sat next to me, loudly chewing his pancakes. It was... Odd, to be back home. I had all this power, or so they say, and I'm just. Sitting here. Eating pancakes.
Jat noticed that I wasn't eating as I usually would, and he slowly set down his fork.
"Serys, I know... Okay, I don't know anything about what's happening to you, but what I *do* know is that you have to eat. So..."
He slowly slid a fork towards me, and his infectious grin made me smile wryly.
"Fine. But after breakfast, we figure out what this means."
The Revealers hadn't been able to tell me anything. They said something about a pact, and they said they weren't sure what powers I would get.
The Mark of Ahshmay could give power over time.
The Mark of Shik'an gave power over space.
Surdyn gave power over color.
Lithyr gave power over form.
Sylla gave power over life.
Dorum gave power over death.
Tiven gave power over mind.
Siern gave power over flesh.
Jat had the Mark of Ahshmay. He can see a tiny bit into the future, and sometimes can slow things down... In his perspective, anyway.
Mom had the Mark of Dorum. She mostly uses it to clean, and sometimes to age furniture. People like that, apparently.
Cass had the Mark of Surdyn. She likes to change the colors in front of people's eyes to make illusions. It's obnoxious, sometimes.
You get the point. Only very few people get the raw power. Most of us are stuck with tiny amounts of it.
Some of them think I'll have effectively no power, that it'll be diluted because of how many marks I have. Some think it'll be multiplied.
So far, I've seen nothing. Not a bit of the power. And they won't let me meet any of the gods. They say that none of them have a strong claim on me.
Well, I'm branded with each of their damned marks, so I may as well go find out.
___________________
--Three weeks later--
Jat and Cass stood beside me, and we stared at the golden skyscraper that climbed into the sky. The realm of the gods.
Getting inside was fairly straightforward, surprisingly. Jat knew when a guard would round the corner, and Cass would hide us from their vision. Soon, we stood in the elevator. Waiting.
Jat was the first to speak. "Um, anyone else nervous? I mean, they're gods. It--I mean..."
Cass raised an eyebrow.
Jat flushed, and his bright red skin stood out from his dark hair. "I-I'm just saying, if they don't want to see us, we won't see them. And if we do, somehow... Just remember Antueran.
Antueran was a man who had snuck in about 5 years ago. There are different stories. He was disintegrated. He was torn apart. He simply ceased to exist. No one ever saw him again.
I tried not to think about it.
And besides...
"I have every mark on the back of my neck. They've all claimed me. Why would they turn me away?"
Cass just looked at me. She didn't speak, as usual, but her eyes communicated everything she wanted me to know.
But we were too far in to back out now.
_______________
After hours of searching, we found nothing. Just empty, golden rooms.
*Nothing!*
_______________
--Two years later--
I'm slowly getting the hang of my powers. They're weaker than everyone else's, but since I have all of them, if I focus hard enough I can win.
Jat and Cass finally went out on a date. Not gonna lie, I was weirded out at first, but they look good together. It's... An interesting dynamic.
I beat Horaedn in a duel today. My Mark of Tiven was just strong enough to resist his, long enough for me to knock him unconscious. I was scared I really hurt him. He was fine, but I felt awful. What if I had killed him?
______________
--3 years later--
I've won every challenge against me. Nohaydin challenged me. They say he's the strongest around. But my finesse beat his power. He tried to melt the ground beneath me with his Lithyr, but I could see into his mind.
I jumped, and Shik'an let me stay in the air longer than I should have. Then I used Surdyn to blind him, covering his eyes with pure black. I walked up to him, avoiding his wild bursts of power, and I tapped him. Siern froze him for a moment, and he forfeited.
Jat and Cass are on the other side of the world. I hope they're doing okay.
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It was then that you started to piece together the truth of all the things happening to you. Water seemed to tremble at your touch, flames grew higher the closer you got, and sometimes, when you were really angry, it felt as though the ground beneath your feet would start to shake. You had brushed it all off before, but there was no denying it now. You are a chosen. You are not only touched by one God, but instead touched by them all. At this moment, your life has a greater purpose than all of those around you, though you don't know what that purpose is to be. You will find out soon enough, though, as you will climb the stairs towards Porta Cael, otherwise known as Heaven's Gate. While no one has made the climb in thousands of years, it is here that you will learn of your destiny as a weapon of the gods. It is here where you will learn how you will save your world from sure destruction.
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[WP] In Hell, most demons work at a massive company where they deal on all human-demon relations, from soul-bargaining deals to demonic possessions. You are the first human EVER to work for this company.
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"Ah! There he is, our very first human! They say you aced the interview, I'm really impressed! I'm Balaam, I'll be in charge of you from here on out. Any questions?" The demon in front of me introduced himself, making me wonder if Hell isn't as complicated as it sounds. I pause and take in the words just spoken, I look Balaam in the eyes, "Actually, I do have a few questions, first off, what do you get for gaining the soul of another? what other deals do you make? How has your profit margins been?"
Balaam looks a little taken aback by my questions, he coughs and straightens his back. "Well! profits haven't been great. But souls provide free labor when the human dies, think slaves but without wills, great for the menial stuff nobody wants to do. Demonic possessions allow us to prey on the weakest in the human race, with nowhere left to go, these suckers would do anything to get a shot at life! We also take the newborns as sacrifice, the blank souls can easily be molded into the next generation of demons. Why, are you afraid?"
I scoff "Afraid? you guys are doing things all wrong! No wonder your profits are terrible. Slaves to provide basic needs? Are you stupid? Use them to tempt more people! make it look like they're having a good afterlife and show it to the vulnerable, the suckers would COME TO YOU! Preying on the weak? That's just the low hanging fruit. You want to aim for the big guns, those at the top are usually full of greed, and most of them don't have morals anyway. Possess them and make the ones under them miserable, you'll easily triple your profits. Finally, newborns? With the hellscape that is earth, do you really think the next generation want offspring? Hell, I'd rather have children in here than in the Overworld. Have you seen it up there? You want more demons? Convert the tax collectors, they're halfway there already. Most of the politicians too. Christ, for demons, you guys don't do very evil things do you?"
Balaam looks at me with either awe or horror, I honestly don't know. He just dismisses me for a break while calling for his secretary, as I watch a succubus rush into the room, I hear the demands of having a full staff meeting held as soon as possible. I grab a cup of coffee and walk about to observe the others. I see demons dragging souls out of their empty shells, newborn souls being ritualistically indoctrinated into being a new demon, demons returning from possessions with handwritten contracts, most coming back disappointed. probably from not having their letters read or having their demands rejected. These guys... They have a whole lot to do to catch up to humans. "This is a company wide announcement. All current activity is to be halted. Everyone is to report to the auditorium on level -9 immediately" The announcement systems blare. I grin. "Its about time these kids learn about the demons they call humans."
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Darkness. Accompanied by that darkness is an ear-splitting noise.
No, it was worse than that. It was a complete lack of noise, of light, of anything that was causing this skull splitting pain to shake George’s being to his very soul.
In the same instant it had began it had faded away. The darkness seemed to fade as well.
Two torches appeared in the distance. The sound of crackling fire starting off faintly in his ears, before growing as he focused more on the flames.
What first looked to be torches grew in size to accompany the growing sound of crackling wood and roaring flame. George had been walking forward towards them. His feet compelled him even as the flames took the form of large flame pillars that reached far above his head.
The heat intensified as he approached. He was so in awe he had forgotten to ask how he had come to be here until he realized he was sweating profusely from the heat of these flames. Flames which left him with a burning sensation in his chest to even look upon.
Out from each pillar stepped two figures made from shadow. Their eyes burned with an intensity to match the flames they had departed. George looked at them both. He was afraid to move or speak. He didn’t know how but he knew he had to be in Hell, and the fear in his chest told him that he had to do whatever was asked of him or suffer more than what awaited him.
One of the figures reached into the flames and pulled a chunk of fire from it as it approached George.
Everything in his mind told him to run screaming. Every sense of survival told him to escape, no matter how illogical it was. He pushed the thoughts down, and just looked into the eyes of the shadowy figure when suddenly the shadows melted into…a suit.
George looked and saw the figure was no longer holding fire, but a yellow tablet and took a snapshot of the George. A flash blinding him as it caught him completely unaware.
“Can I get your name, Sir,” the Suited figure asked in a surprising voice. One would expect a bass or baritone voice to boom but this was definitely an alto.
As he began to speak, George’s voice cracked and his response came out, “Gorgo.”
The suited figure was joined by the other shadowy figure who took a similar form, except for with flowing shadowy hair and a feminine figure.
She lit a cigarette with her thumb and stepped to look over his shoulder and point.
“Well it appears Sir Gorgo is part of the Nine Hells Exchange Program, which would make sense why he’s at the back door.”
She looks at George and tilts her head, “Damn Management at the Tartarus building never get anything right.”
She points her cigarette at each of them, “It’s bullshit like this that makes me wonder why I’ve never been promoted. Give me a week and I’d have their heads spinning over there.”
“What Departments do they manage over at Tartarus anyway,” he asked.
“Recycling, and Myst Management,” she said as she flicked her cigarette over Georges head.
“Recycling? You mean monster revival,” he asked as he typed away on the tablet.
“Yup that’s it. They get to regenerate mythical monsters and send ‘em topside again. The thing is the quota hasn’t changed in centuries so it’s just a bunch of people slacking off and designing new monsters that hardly ever pass the screening process.”
“Ah, well I found Gorgo here. No wonder Facial recognition didn’t get him on security or the tablet. There is no data in the system other than name, security clearance and assignment orientation.”
George was trying to keep his cool as he hung on their every word. It sounded like Hell was run like a business, and they apparently thought he was some sort of Demonic Transfer when he was nothing more than a human who had the unfortunate experience of…well dying.
As he began to put the pieces together, George began to feel lightheaded and stumbled for a moment. The two Shadow Demons looked at him with what he could only assume was concern and confusion.
“Gorgo…what’s wrong,” he could hear someone ask.
“Dammit Alton! It’s the security system. Fix it or it will fry him! We don’t need this demon dying and it be OUR fault…”
Their words started fading as the ground beneath him came barreling towards his face as heat spread through his body as it made a thud as he went limp at their feet and everything went black.
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[WP] The Summoned Heroes have always come from one place. Japan. It was a irrefutable fact that came with the spell. However, with these latest Summoned Heroes, they call their land 'America' and they are vastly different than their Japanese counterparts.
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The flash of light receded. I blinked my eyes, starting to take in my surrounding.
What the hell?
I was in a throne room, something straight out of Lord of Rings. King and Queen sitting on their thrones. Red carpet. Guys in full plate armor. The works. A Gandalf looking guy standing in front of me with a bunch of robed and hooded fellows around a circle on the floor centered on me.
"What the hell is this?"
Hm, did I come on too strong? Well, it's their fault for interrupting my lunch break. Never get between a man and his lunch break.
The King and Queen looked at each other. A bunch of fancy folks on the side began whispering. Mr. Gandalf was scratching his head, flipping through some kind of heavy leather-bound book, and glancing at the circle by my feet.
"Hmmm, it seems one of my acolytes rushed this inscription here."
"Meaning...?"
"If I'm correct, it did not connect to Japan. Most of the circle is correct though, so I speculate it reached a world close to it."
The King nodded to another man, in fancy clothes with slicked back hair. Ugh. I felt a scam incoming.
"Greetings, mighty hero of Japan! We're are sorry to call you like this but we have no choice. This is our darkest hour, when the Demon king has risen once more to threaten the land. We beseech you, please lend us your aid and save humanity!"
Ok wow, definitely too much Lord of the Rings for these guys. This some kind of cosplayer prank thing?
"Sorry but I'm not doing anything until I get some lunch in me and finish my shift. Y'all can give me a flyer or something if you're that desperate. Also, I'm not from Japan, not even close. I'm from the US of A."
There were murmurs all around. Fancy fellow took a step back. Guess they didn't expect that? They did say Japan, I heard the Japanese have a reputation for being very polite (at least to your face). Maybe some Japanese dudes just rolled with it before?
"I regret to inform you that we can't send you back yet, noble hero of the Uesovae. The summoning circle has depleted its power, and it will take some time to recharge it. Should you defeat the Demon King the mana levels may rise and hasten your return."
I let out an audible sigh. At this point probably easier to just play along. They better have a nice souvenir cup or something for me at the end. Maybe Gandalf's staff would be cool.
"Whatever, but you're buying me lunch later. And I'm leaving when it's time for my shift, whatever you say."
The fancy fellow nodded. Some maid type brought a pillow, on top of which rested a golden choker.
"Please put on this artifact. It will determine your status and the skills bestowed upon you by the Goddess. It will also provide you some defense magic."
Ugh. This guy reminded me of the local used car salesman when he told you they ran out of the model you were interested in. Or the Comcast lady when she had package deal for you and wouldn't hang up.
"Hell no."
The room froze. Silence reigned.
"Look I'll play along with your little games. I like dungeons and dragons as much as the next guy, let's go and journey to Mordor and all that. But I ain't putting on no collars."
"P-Please noble hero. This is necessary to your journey. Without determining your status and giving you the defense magic, you will be in grave danger."
I reached my hand to my pocket.
"I said no."
The king nodded to someone behind me. I turned around. Some fellow in a metal breastplate and green cloak pulled out a sword. Not some styrofoam prop, or wooden toy. An actual, fricking metal sword with a wicked edge.
That told me all I needed to know.
I thought back to my training. I pulled out my Glock-19, disengaged the safety, and chambered the round with a satisfying click. I grabbed the handle and trigger with my right and stabilized with my left. I took aim at the approaching guy.
"Not a step further, buddy. I don't want to shoot anyone, but I am NOT getting shanked today."
The guy ignored me, continuing to step forward. I pulled the trigger. Three times thunder sounded and holes appeared on the guy. Once in his head, twice in his chest.
There was silence as the knight fell to the ground, a pool of blood growing around him.
Then the screams began. I fired another round at a window high in the room.
"NOBODY MOVE!"
I wheeled around and pointed my gun at the king. He froze, sweat forming on his brow.
"All right, asshole. You are going to tell me everything."
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The portal open for the hero to come through sometime the walk through sometime they ride a
Mount of some sort but this one was the biggest mount to ever some through. as it came through we could hear it growl this deep low growl. This mount was a vehicle rare but know but this one was covered in heavy metal and had tracks as it came through a name it black lettering “ Abrams” one it. Once it came through it stop the top open up and a breaded man of sturdy build came with some type of gun in his hand we all bow then he spoke with an accent we have never heard. “ I’m Ain’t going to bow, I don’t do that” he said confuse we all stand back up. All other hero that came had bowed “ some I heard y’all need help” I spoke “ yes the evil has risen again and we summoned from the land of Japan to hel.” He interrupted “ I’m not form Japan, I’m American! form America but I will help you with his evil” he said as he rise his hand out for a shake i when to shake his hand “ yup me, my tank and my trusty shotgun will take care of it quicker the you can make an apple pie” he said I look him over him he had little armour on him “ how, you don’t have armour you just have some clothing one “ “ ain’t you worry I have an idea and for the Record it kevlar not clothing” he barked. That hero and the battle afterwards was devastating in how he fought but he was effective beating the evil faster then any hero before. And now many years later I still think about him and what was an “apple pie”
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[WP] The Summoned Heroes have always come from one place. Japan. It was a irrefutable fact that came with the spell. However, with these latest Summoned Heroes, they call their land 'America' and they are vastly different than their Japanese counterparts.
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The air breathed heavy with anticipation. Kings men from every land waited with bated breath, near enough to feel the magic energy coming off of the portal. Enough mana to power an entire battalion of war-mages, all to cast this one spell, all for this moment.
Days. Weeks. Months, of preparation, all leading up to this day. The fate of the kingdom will be determined in the moments to pass. What will be summoned? A mighty dragon, a horde of magic warriors? What praytell will save us yet?
I exhale. The Archmagus whispered the last words to the summoning spell, and the portal brimmed with energy yet unseen. A low whine, an electricity in the air, slowly leading up in intensity until my hands were drawn to my ears and I cried out in pain when suddenly..
Quiet.
I looked up, my vision still hazy from the outburst of magic energy. Standing where the portal once was, was a man draped in strange weapons and armor, and covered in dark depictions all over his arms. An eagle. Two crossing iron spears. A look of many battles fought, many friends lost.
"Now who the hell are all of y'all, and where the hell am I?"
"Greetings Hero! We have spent many men, nights, resources and coin to get you here. Strife flows freely in our lands, the evil we suffer spreading every day. It has brought us great peril, Hero, so much so that we must resort to our final options.
What you see before you is the result of such. A hero summoning spell, one that has worked time and time again to summon a great hero from the lands of 'Japan'. A Great Hero, to fight a Great Evil.
What say you, Great Hero?"
"Waell.. Shiit. Brother, I think you might have your geography off by.. few thousand miles. Hate to disappoint y'all after you've done... Well, all this, but I ain't from Japan. This right here is American, born and raised. And I don't know nothin about no 'Great Evil', but I do know"-gesturing to the weapons on his hips- "how to take these here lovely ladies and bring the fight to those who need it brought."
Our King, mouth agape. Our seasoned soldiers, unsure of what to say. Fearing for the future of our kingdom, I quickly spoke-
"So.. you aren't from Japan then?"
"Hah! No sir, but I am from the same world. I figure if them Japanese can do it, well, hell, I can too."
Knowing little else to say to salvage our last hope, I let out the first thing that came to mind.
"Well.. welcome, American Hero. You may not be what we have gotten before, but we have no other options left. Please, help us."
(Please be kind, this is my first time writing and honestly I have zero confidence of it's content or quality)
|
The portal open for the hero to come through sometime the walk through sometime they ride a
Mount of some sort but this one was the biggest mount to ever some through. as it came through we could hear it growl this deep low growl. This mount was a vehicle rare but know but this one was covered in heavy metal and had tracks as it came through a name it black lettering “ Abrams” one it. Once it came through it stop the top open up and a breaded man of sturdy build came with some type of gun in his hand we all bow then he spoke with an accent we have never heard. “ I’m Ain’t going to bow, I don’t do that” he said confuse we all stand back up. All other hero that came had bowed “ some I heard y’all need help” I spoke “ yes the evil has risen again and we summoned from the land of Japan to hel.” He interrupted “ I’m not form Japan, I’m American! form America but I will help you with his evil” he said as he rise his hand out for a shake i when to shake his hand “ yup me, my tank and my trusty shotgun will take care of it quicker the you can make an apple pie” he said I look him over him he had little armour on him “ how, you don’t have armour you just have some clothing one “ “ ain’t you worry I have an idea and for the Record it kevlar not clothing” he barked. That hero and the battle afterwards was devastating in how he fought but he was effective beating the evil faster then any hero before. And now many years later I still think about him and what was an “apple pie”
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
**Al and Bo whispering to each other. Bo in modern clothes. Al is 1920's wardrobe. Al and Bo sitting next to each other on the subway.**
Al: "Looks like someone likes you."
Bo: "Please stop."
Al: "Ask her for a dance, I'll play Beethovens magic flute"
Bo: "That's Mozart's song you idiot"
**The cute girl in the 1400's royal gown wiggles her eye brows.**
Al: "Oh shit! Look at that. I think she's Romanian, they do that stuff there to display interest. She's def into you."
Bo: "Again, please stop. Can't you just leave me alone? Disappear?"
Al: "How do you think people back then had a quickie, you know with all those layers. Do you think a quickie back then just didn't exist? That would suck."
Bo: "I don't really care."
**The cute girl in the 1400's royal gown wiggles her ears. Bo turns away. Al turns his head back to the girl.**
Al: "Hey numb nuts. These opportunities only come once in a life time. All the time in a death time, trust me, once you die you will be slamming broads."
Bo: "Then I'll wait."
Al: "That's not the right mindset."
Bo: "Her look irks me."
Al: "Listen paisan, creepy or not, ghost or alive, it's still a girl and she likes you!"
Bo: "Creepy? You think this is merely creepy?! She hasn't blinked! This is down right horrifying!"
Al: "Woah Woah! Relax there Mr. Jumpy Jack. You need to account all possibilities. Maybe she doesn't have eye lids. She could be a witch, I think priests cut the eye lids off witches or something like that."
**The cute girl in the 1400's royal gown pops off her head and holds it like Wilt Chamberlain palming a basketball. With her head in her hand she blinks a few times seductively and smiles.**
Al: "Ok, that... was creepy. But! I say still give her a shot. She may have a great personality. Looks aren't everything."
**The cute girl in the 1400's royal gown who is still holding her head like Wilt Chamberlain palming a basketball rolls her head like a bowling ball towards Al and Bo.**
Al: "Damn son, she's passing you the ball! Slam that shit, gotta fly."
**Al vanishes. The cute girls head rolls to the feet of Bo. The cute girls body stands up walks to her head, picks it up places it back on her shoulders and she sits down next to Bo on the subway. She is smiling and not blinking again.**
Bo: "Uh, hi, ummm, how are you?"
Cute girl: "How did I do?
Bo: "What?"
Cute girl: "Isn't this what people from your times call breaking the ice?"
|
*Gonna be late, the subway's making longer stops than usual. Keep the key out if you could.*
I looked up for again, and there she was. Even as the subway went down underneath a tunnel, and the lights flickered, she just stood there. Not a single motion there. Nobody else even gave her a glance. I didn't even think a single breath had left her body.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I opened it up to check. Timothy had actually seen it, thank god.
*K dude, wanna cancel game night tonight?*
I grumbled for a second before typing.
*Sure, sorry to ruin your night dude.*
*Nah, its fine. Gotta work on this paper for biochem anyways.*
I shut my phone away, and looked back up around the subway.
There were still a few people around this late at night. A guy in his 20's practically drooling on the other end of the car. He was probably already asleep. A mom and her daughter, each well dressed, probably from some sort of recital, were there as well. And there was an older guy sitting across from them, reading what looked to be some sort of memoir. Nobody too special tonight, I guess.
*Ding!*
"Stopping at Chamber Street Station! Stopping at Chamber Street Station! Please stand clear of the doors! Please stand clear of the doors!"
The guy in the back corner jolted awake, and slowly, almost drunkenly, stumbled over to the opening door. The subway kept moving.
As more and more stops kept on passing by, eventually, it was only me, and the old man. Soon though, he got off, leaving just me and the girl. Still, she didn't move. Even when the car jolted up and down, which would usually at least contribute to a head bounce or something similar, she didn't move. Her short brown hair didn't move. Her head didn't move. Heck, the backpack she was wearing didn't even jiggle. It was all like she was glued down to the
My phone started buzzing radically, and I peaked down again.
"Fuck, another spam call." I muttered, denying the call. I opened up my phone, and opened it up to the new Wordle. I still hadn't done it yet, and I was on a bit of a hot streak. I'd gotten it in 3 guesses twice in a row now, and was hoping for a third.
"Whatcha doing there?" a voice to my right asked me.
"What the fuck!" I looked at her, and then back where the girl was. This girl had approached me without a damn sound. Given, the subway was loud, but still.
"Well that's a weird thing to call an app." she remarked.
She then proceeded to *hover over to me,* snatch my phone away, and look down at it.
"Woman, gimme back my phone!" I reached out at her, but she hovered away, as her eyes whizzed over the page. What she was reading, I didn't know. I still hadn't even guessed my opener yet.
"The word's Trunk." she said. She proceeded to type in the word, and well, she was right. All 5 greens. She handed the phone back to me.
"Woman, what the... don't spoil it for me!" I got up from my seat, snatching the phone back from her, and stuffing it in my pocket.
"Spoil what?" she tilted her head, confused.
"The fucking wordle! Just cuz you've done it, doesn't mean I have. Damn, as if my day could have gone worse..." I muttered, sitting back down.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." she giggled, sitting right back down next to me.
"What do you mean, you didn't *know*? You just entered the word right there for me." I checked the wordle again. Yeah, another hour and 15 minutes.
"Oh, well, sorry! Either way, never mind that. What's your name?" she hovered over to me, and sat down in the seat next to me.
The subway proceeded to rattle along. It was slowly getting longer. For some reason, it wasn't stopping.
"Why does it matter what my name is. You stole my phone!" I rattled at her. "You should be grateful I'm giving you the light of day."
Her eyes, which I thought were a normal brown, turned a violently dark shade of blue, royal in hue.
"*Victor Williams, Age 22, born October 22nd, 2000. Graduated from King's Guard Philadelphia High School, got a Master's in Applied Mathematics and Minor in Chemistry from the Rochester Institute of Technology. Recently hired as an Engineer on the north side of Chicago. Just finished working with a moving company to move to a new place in Chicago from your apartment your sharing with a friend in NYC. Currently diagnosed with manic depression, ADHD, a general anxiety disorder, and working with a family therapist on Gamophobia your ex girlfriend left you over. Today you had 22 specific suicidal thoughts, and cut yourself 6 times on the wrist after your mom yelled at you for a family incident you had no idea even occurred.*"
\------------------------
Part 2 Incoming!
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|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
So finally I made up my mind and went to sit next to her. Her head moved to follow my movements, as her eyes clearly were incapable of such an action.
"So sorry", I began. "Are you by any chance experiencing problems?"
She kept staring at me. I felt a slight tingle somewhere behind my right temple, and then I remembered her answer: "Yes, please help me!", she had told me one Sunday morning while at the hover park above Constantinople. We had been eating ice cream and looking at the cloud surfers.
"Going from your clothing, I'm thinking XXI century, right?" She was wearing a synthetic leather jacket over what looked like a synthetic fiber top and shorts. Her shoes also looked like synthetic, so I was guessing it was all pre-fashion brew.
"Yes!" She exclaimed one time as we were eating popcorn and watching one of those flats she loved so much. "I'm from 2045. What the fuck is going on?!" She had paused the flat to add this.
I grimaced a little, that last memory had come in kind of hard. I gave a mental command to prevent any headache, then the thought came about whether I was certain, a headache could a symptom to keep in- "Yes! prevent any headache in the next twelve hours!", I insisted.
"It seems" I told the girl, who was still frozen except for her neck, "like you are experiencing some temporal problems. Did you use a malfunctioning time pod?"
It was a beautiful night, a full Moon and a crescent Musk illuminated the night sky and an enhanced Milky Way shone with all the colors of the rainbow, when she whispered in my ear: "What the hell is a time pod?!"
Uh oh. Didn't they have time pods in 2045? No wonder she was panicking.
"All right, listen, try to calm down. I know this is scary. You've been displaced in time, like in..." I nudged my mindcyclopedia. "... like in that Dr. Strange reboot. And right now you're mostly frozen in place and only I can see you because we will have met at some point in the past".
I had ran out of my home office when I heard her screaming in the living room.
So, not calming down. I guess that was to be expected.
"Listen, there's people who can help you. Right now you're frozen in here for your own safety. Particularly if you're from a time before wide use of time travel. You could hurt yourself or others without-"
Her screams once woke me up in the middle of the night.
"Sorry, sorry. I guess I'm not making this better", I said hurriedly. "You're going to be fine. I promise. As soon as the transaetheric subway gets to the next stop, you'll be just fine. And right now nothing bad can happen to you. I promise".
Her body tensed as she moaned in ecstasy that time she also said, in between gasps, "how do I know you?"
I shook my head and shifted in my seat, suddenly I was sporting a very inopportune erection. I could remember her taste so clearly.
"It's part of the whole thing you're experiencing", I tried to explain calmly. "It's like, we met at some point in the past, except that hasn't happened yet". No need to tell her I was getting bursts of memory from a shared past which was just now entering my timeline.
She had squeezed my hand during a transaetheric ride to the fertility clinic, to get her reproductive processes activated. Both to let me know she was excited about that then, but also to communicate how she was now feeling a little more calm.
As we all onboard the subway could feel the approaching of the next stop. I issued a mental call for the temporal authority, letting them know what was going on. Instantly got a reply telling me care droids would be waiting.
"All right, it's almost over" I told the girl. "Just a few more minutes and there will be people to take care of you. They'll have you back in your own time in no... well, time". I laughed, a little nervous.
She was holding our baby when she stared at me and said, "thank you so much".
Ouch, that one hit hard.
The subway stopped flowing and the doors melted down on Proxima City Main Station. People started to walk out and a couple of kind looking androgynous droids walked in.
"Here they are", I said. Trust them, you'll be fine.
As her and our baby boy walked hand in hand down the iridescent beach, she turned to me and said: "than you so much".
I nodded.
The temporal authority droids gently touched her and the three of them vanished, taking her to Eternity Center or somewhere similar where they would be able to treat her and then return her to her life five hundred years ago.
I stood up and another temporal authority droid manifested next to me.
"She's fine, back home. She was very thankful to you", the droid told me. "I can see there's some disarray with your timeline. We offer apologies for this. We can provide you a full report on what caused this incident. Alternatively, would you like to have all the phantom memories erased?"
I hesitated. She was from before time travel, at least widely used time travel. Which meant I could never see her again. I was legally entitled to keep those memories, but was I really, ethically, emotionally?
"Yeah, go ahead and delete them", I said, holding on for a few more instants to that memory of her and our son walking down the beach.
|
*Gonna be late, the subway's making longer stops than usual. Keep the key out if you could.*
I looked up for again, and there she was. Even as the subway went down underneath a tunnel, and the lights flickered, she just stood there. Not a single motion there. Nobody else even gave her a glance. I didn't even think a single breath had left her body.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I opened it up to check. Timothy had actually seen it, thank god.
*K dude, wanna cancel game night tonight?*
I grumbled for a second before typing.
*Sure, sorry to ruin your night dude.*
*Nah, its fine. Gotta work on this paper for biochem anyways.*
I shut my phone away, and looked back up around the subway.
There were still a few people around this late at night. A guy in his 20's practically drooling on the other end of the car. He was probably already asleep. A mom and her daughter, each well dressed, probably from some sort of recital, were there as well. And there was an older guy sitting across from them, reading what looked to be some sort of memoir. Nobody too special tonight, I guess.
*Ding!*
"Stopping at Chamber Street Station! Stopping at Chamber Street Station! Please stand clear of the doors! Please stand clear of the doors!"
The guy in the back corner jolted awake, and slowly, almost drunkenly, stumbled over to the opening door. The subway kept moving.
As more and more stops kept on passing by, eventually, it was only me, and the old man. Soon though, he got off, leaving just me and the girl. Still, she didn't move. Even when the car jolted up and down, which would usually at least contribute to a head bounce or something similar, she didn't move. Her short brown hair didn't move. Her head didn't move. Heck, the backpack she was wearing didn't even jiggle. It was all like she was glued down to the
My phone started buzzing radically, and I peaked down again.
"Fuck, another spam call." I muttered, denying the call. I opened up my phone, and opened it up to the new Wordle. I still hadn't done it yet, and I was on a bit of a hot streak. I'd gotten it in 3 guesses twice in a row now, and was hoping for a third.
"Whatcha doing there?" a voice to my right asked me.
"What the fuck!" I looked at her, and then back where the girl was. This girl had approached me without a damn sound. Given, the subway was loud, but still.
"Well that's a weird thing to call an app." she remarked.
She then proceeded to *hover over to me,* snatch my phone away, and look down at it.
"Woman, gimme back my phone!" I reached out at her, but she hovered away, as her eyes whizzed over the page. What she was reading, I didn't know. I still hadn't even guessed my opener yet.
"The word's Trunk." she said. She proceeded to type in the word, and well, she was right. All 5 greens. She handed the phone back to me.
"Woman, what the... don't spoil it for me!" I got up from my seat, snatching the phone back from her, and stuffing it in my pocket.
"Spoil what?" she tilted her head, confused.
"The fucking wordle! Just cuz you've done it, doesn't mean I have. Damn, as if my day could have gone worse..." I muttered, sitting back down.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." she giggled, sitting right back down next to me.
"What do you mean, you didn't *know*? You just entered the word right there for me." I checked the wordle again. Yeah, another hour and 15 minutes.
"Oh, well, sorry! Either way, never mind that. What's your name?" she hovered over to me, and sat down in the seat next to me.
The subway proceeded to rattle along. It was slowly getting longer. For some reason, it wasn't stopping.
"Why does it matter what my name is. You stole my phone!" I rattled at her. "You should be grateful I'm giving you the light of day."
Her eyes, which I thought were a normal brown, turned a violently dark shade of blue, royal in hue.
"*Victor Williams, Age 22, born October 22nd, 2000. Graduated from King's Guard Philadelphia High School, got a Master's in Applied Mathematics and Minor in Chemistry from the Rochester Institute of Technology. Recently hired as an Engineer on the north side of Chicago. Just finished working with a moving company to move to a new place in Chicago from your apartment your sharing with a friend in NYC. Currently diagnosed with manic depression, ADHD, a general anxiety disorder, and working with a family therapist on Gamophobia your ex girlfriend left you over. Today you had 22 specific suicidal thoughts, and cut yourself 6 times on the wrist after your mom yelled at you for a family incident you had no idea even occurred.*"
\------------------------
Part 2 Incoming!
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
The train came to a stop and my eyes lifted from my book to check the
station sign. Four more to go - I can finish this chapter. But then
something else caught my eye. Across from me was a woman with eyes
dark blue like the Atlantic before a storm. When mine met hers I
couldn't look away. It was rude, unheard of in New York. I could be
arrested.
The eyes looking
back into mine didn't look away. I couldn't look away. There was
something in them holding me in place. I tried to look at her outfit,
which seemed out of place, but I couldnt' get passed the second
button from her collar before her eyes called back to mine.
My stomach knotted.
I opened my mouth to
speak, but couldn't.
She did, leaning
across the aisle to place her hand on my cheek. "It's you. I can
tell it's you. I asked them for one last time and they gave it to
me."
I exhaled, just
managing to get the a faint response out. "Who--"
"I think they
were reapers. Cheekiest things. I asked them to see you once more and
here you are, but this isn't my time. Atleast, not yet." A tear
rolled down her cheek as her thumb stroked my own, and it made me
cry. The smallest of sobs but I couldn't tell why.
"There, there.
You'll be all right. Remember the things we said? Always and forever.
Souls that love each other will find a way back to each other."
"You're my
other piece." She nodded, another tear rolling down. How did I
know what to say? Was it from a book, a movie? It can't have been. I
had never heard those words in all my life. I uttered another sob,
unable to control myself. The emotions were too strong. Like a
riptide on a bright sunny day.
"They are
calling me."
"...no..."
She stood up slowly
as the train came to a stop, steadier than was natural, and turned
towards the door. Her fingers lingering on my cheek as they slid
away.
I watched, eyes wide
and wet, as she folded into the crowd and finally, just as the doors
were about to close, I sprung to my feet and ran out them. I ran up
the stairs, seeing the top of her head above the crowd, turning a
corner with the fray. I pursued, my feet carrying me after ---
I ran head first
into someone and felt a burn on my chest. "Oh god fuck. I'm so
sorry. Fuck my coffee. Your shirt!"
I tried to push
passed, to see where the woman from the train went, but it was too
late. She was gone like a wisp. I cursed under my breath.
"I know. I'm so
clumsy. I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and looked down at my assailant.
Looking back at me
was a woman with eyes dark blue like the Atlantic before a storm.
“The cafe is just
across the street. I need another. Let me buy you one, as an apology.
It won’t save the shirt, but maybe it’ll soften the loss?”
My stomach knotted.
“Yes, but only if you sit with me while we drink them.”
Her eyes hadn’t
left mine. “I would be delighted.”
|
"What's so good about dating anyways?" the drunk Elvis impersonator slurred into my ear. This wasn't prime Elvis. This was dead on the toilet Elvis. But he was chill enough to share his bottle of rotgut and I wasn't planning on walking into my apartment sober. Not after that first date.
I nodded at him. "Right?"
He handed my his brown-bagged bottle. "All a man needs is himself. That's all. Say you meet the love of your life. Hell. Best thing that can happen is both of you die at the same time. Save one another the grief. That's the best case! And what about between now and then? Huh? Ain't always gonna be peaches and cream--hey don't bogart that bottle, slim."
"Sorry," I said, wiping my lips.
Drunk Elvis had a point. The girl I'd sat across from at the Japanese diner in Brooklyn just an hour ago had pretty much made the same point. She wasn't looking for anything *serious*. She was too busy with her costume design gig to ever settle down. Then why go on a date with me at all?
As if trying to run away from the memory of my date, I scanned around the subway car, looking for someone, anyone that I could imagine having a better time with.
Down in the far side, three dancers took turns with their showtime, spinning around the poles to bass-heavy hip-hop blasting on their bluetooth speaker. Past them, a gaggle of Hassidic teenagers laughed and clapped each other on the back, looking as drunk as Elvis. Probably had too much of the sacramental wine at Torah study. To my right, Fake Elvis railed on about the failures of modern dating while smelling like the floor of a dive bar.
I loved New York. The city didn't make any sense and yet somehow, it made all the sense.
I looked up.
Across from me was a girl in some ruffly, red dress like straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Her hair was done up in a bun, hands folded over her lap. And she was staring right at me.
I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe it was the cheap whiskey. Either way, she was deathly cute. Pale as bone. Dark, deep eyes. Eyes I could fall into. I must have been hammered if I was throwing poetry around in my mind.
I elbowed Fake Elvis gently and whispered out of the side of my mouth, "Hey, was she at the costume contest too?"
"Who?"
I pointed with my chin without looking her way. "The governess over there."
Fake Elvis chuckled. "The governor? He's up in Albany, slim. You high?" and after a beat, he added, "well don't hold out on me. Pass the jay."
I looked back at her. The subway stopped. The showtime dancers changed over to another car. The Hassidic teens stumbled out to the station. Passengers shuffled on and off, and the governess hadn't moved a hair. An uneasiness crawled up my back. There was something off about her.
"Fuck it," I said aloud. I stared right back at her.
After a few seconds, it clicked. She wasn't blinking, at all.
Fake Elvis passed me the bottle, but I waved it away. My heart started pounding against the inside of my chest. God, she was so cute. Probably a burlesque dancer on her way to a gig. But why wasn't she blinking?
"Hey, King," I said. There was no way around it. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back daintily. "You seeing this?"
"What I see," Elvis said, "is you waving to an empty seat."
I looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, wig drooping, but there was nothing kidding about his expression. "What?"
He pointed at the governess with his bottle. "Empty. I think you've had enough, slim."
I snapped back to look at her. She started saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The subway stopped again. The doors opened and a herd of passengers charged aboard. I shot up out of my seat, wedged around to see her. But she was gone.
"Gotta go," I shouted at Fake Elvis. "Hail the king!"
I ran off the subway. The station was empty. The train pulled away.
But the governess was gone.
Then I heard it. The faintest of whispers.
"Love."
I turned around. Standing on the tracks was the governess. She looked up at me. Reached a hand. "Hold on!" I shouted.
She whispered again but the words were lost in the din of the station. I flopped down on my belly and reached out my hand to her. "Grab my hand!"
She didn't move. She just stood there, whispering something about love over and over.
I looked up at a growing light. The subway horn blared. The next train was coming. I could see the conductor in the small side window waving frantically for me to get back. I couldn't. She was still there. I turned back to her. "Hurry! Take my hand!"
Then I heard her voice as clear as if she whispered in my ear. "Love is always worth the risk."
Something yanked me to my feet and I stumbled back, falling on something soft and polyester. It was Fake Elvis. He groaned, "Fuck, slim. You're a wild card."
I leapt to my feet, just in time for the subway to pull into the station. It didn't even slow down. As if the governess wasn't even there.
"What the hell," I whispered to myself. To the station. To her.
But she was gone.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
I glanced up from my phone, towards the girl at the end of the subway car. This time, I was sure of it -- she was staring right at me. It made me feel a little self-conscious, but on the other hand, she was very attractive. If she wanted to stare at me, I decided, then she could hardly complain if I stared back, right? Which I sort of did.
I couldn't help it, she was so striking. She had red hair, pale skin, bright green eyes, her lips slightly turned up in a nervous smile. I hadn't even really noticed her clothes, at first, I just glossed over them, vaguely noting she was wearing a shawl and a dress, maybe going for that vaguely "witchy" look. But looking a little more closely, I realized this wasn't a "look", at all, this was a complete *period costume.* She had the shawl, the high-necked, long sleeved dress, the small hat perched atop her piled-up hair, and even delicate little black boots that looked they had about a million buttons on them. It seemed like she'd *really* gone all out.
As my eyes met her, I noticed too things. She didn't blink, which was odd. But she was also darting her eyes to her left, repeatedly -- like she was trying to tell me to look in that direction. Opposite me, and a couple seats down, there was another young woman, dressed in a dark jacket, jeans, and calf-high boots. Her hair was dark, and cut short, and she was engrossed in her phone, as I had been a moment earlier.
And as I looked back at the woman in the Victorian costume, at the end of the car, I realized it. They looked identical. Obviously, the woman across from me had different-colored hair -- possibly dyed -- but the face, the eyes, even the complexion was *exactly the same.* Twin sisters?
I smiled, nervously, looking back at the woman at the end of the car. I figured she drew my attention to the other girl for a reason. Maybe she was feeling as awkward as I was, at that moment, and trying to indirectly start a conversation, somehow?
"Oh, are you two sisters, or...?" I offered, hesitantly.
Still unblinking, she gave the barest shake of her head, her smile fading.
I looked between them again. That was surprising, especially since I *knew* they couldn't be mother and daughter, they had to be at least close to the same age.
"So..." I began, desperate to break the growing awkward silence. "I like your outfit -- that's really cool."
"Uh, are you talking to *me?"*
I turned to the other woman's "twin," across from me. She'd looked up from her phone, and was regarding me with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Oh *good.*
"Oh, no, sorry..." I said, mentally cursing whatever *moron* had decided to make subway seats without emergency eject buttons for situations like this. "I was, um, talking to her." I pointed down to the end of the car.
The woman across from me followed my gesture, and I saw her eyes widen slightly, before her head snapped back to look at me, wearing a disgusted scowl.
"Ugh," she scoffed, her upper lip curling. "So, you were harassing the non-existent woman at the end of the car, and not me? Yeah, really funny. Asshole."
"Harassing! Wait, *non-existent?*" I protested, utterly confused. "Whoa, whoa, I was just --"
"I have a boyfriend, *okay?"* she snapped. "Leave me alone!"
I just nodded, holding up my hands in a placating gesture, as woman across from me went back to looking at her phone, though she occasionally Brow furrowed, I looked back at end of the car. The young woman, who I increasingly had *no* trouble distinguishing from her quasi-twin, was still staring unblinkingly in my direction.
I mouthed a "WTF?" at her, gesturing to her prickly double.
Slowly, as if the movement required an enormous effort, the red-haired woman mouthed a word back to me. The added context of her suddenly desperate expression, unfortunately, didn't make it any more clear what the word was.
It looked like she was mouthing...*Bit?* Bite? Bitten? What the hell did *that* mean?
I glanced between the two again. What was this, some kind of abusive...sibling, sort of thing? There's definitely more than one kind of toxic relationship, I supposed -- she had called her "non-existent", after all. Should I, what call the cops? And tell them what? A quiet Dickensian cosplay girl on the subway looked *kind of* upset?
Hesitantly, I decided to break my silence. I leaned forward and grabbed the stanchion, standing as I did so.
"Hey, uh, are you okay?"
"I *said,* leave me alone!" the dark-haired woman across from me snapped, again.
"I'm not talking to you, lady!" I snarled back, fed up with her crap by this point.
I pointed down the car. "I'm talking to *her!"*
"There's no one *there,* you crazy asshole!" she retorted, hotly. A note of fear crept into her voice. "We're the only two people in the car! S-stop acting crazy, just...just sit down, or I *swear to God,* I'm calling the transit police!"
I looked back at the red-haired woman. He unblinking eyes were still pleading. I clenched my jaw and stepped forward.
"I said STOP!" the dark-haired woman shrieked.
I turned back, in surprise. She was on her feet, fists and bared teeth both clenched tight, glaring at me. Her phone, surprisingly lay discarded on her seat.
"How can you see her?" the enraged woman hissed.
"What the hell are you...she's *right there!"* I shot back, glancing frantically between the two women. "What is going on?"
"She's mine!" the dark-haired woman spat. "Don't touch her!"
I looked back at the red-haired woman. The whole time, her hands had been resting primly on her lap, but now one was ever so slightly raised, almost as though...she was reaching out.
I edged a step towards the end of the car.
The dark-haired woman screamed, and as she did so, he mouth sagged open impossibly wide. As she began to lunge at me, I leaped back, and broke into a sprint towards the back of the car. I could hear he legs pounding against the metal floor behind me, impossibly loud.
When I was within arm's reach of the red haired woman, I desperately reached out to take her hand. It felt like I was pushing my fingers though ice-cold gelatin, as some sort of invisible force slowed my arm for a moment. The air around my hand rippled, like I was reaching into deep water.
I seized the red-haired woman's hand, and pulled back hard. She came forward, breaching through the invisible surface of the strange barrier between us. She sagged against me, and I wrapped my arms around her to steady her. Behind me, I heard an unearthly wail.
Turning back, I saw the dark-haired woman, fallen onto the floor of the car. As she writhed and convulsed, her features boiled and melted away, revealing a horrific, eyeless skeletal creature beneath. She rolled onto her belly, and began clawing her way towards me.
I pushed the insensate woman behind me, and backed us up hastily, away from the crawling abomination, but even as I did so, the thing began to come apart, bubbling like boiling tar, and slowly evaporating into a nothing. With a final, echoing shriek, it was simply gone.
I sagged back into the seat in relief, carefully lowering the red-haired woman beside me. She was completely unconscious, but breathing. As I tried to make some sort of sense of what had just happened, I noticed a leather-bound notebook on the seat near where my strangely dressed companion had been sitting.
Picking it up, hoping for some clue to her identity, I was frustrated to find it was in German. It looked like some kind of journal. I couldn't read the entries, but I could read the dates...all in the late 19th century.
Paging through the journal, increasingly bewildered, I found nothing that I could make sense of. Not until one of the most recent entries, which was accompanied by a sketch.
It was a sketch of a familiar monstrous, skeletal gray creature, with a too-wide open mouth full of disturbingly human-looking teeth. And below the text, a caption.
*Die Doppelganger.*
|
"What's so good about dating anyways?" the drunk Elvis impersonator slurred into my ear. This wasn't prime Elvis. This was dead on the toilet Elvis. But he was chill enough to share his bottle of rotgut and I wasn't planning on walking into my apartment sober. Not after that first date.
I nodded at him. "Right?"
He handed my his brown-bagged bottle. "All a man needs is himself. That's all. Say you meet the love of your life. Hell. Best thing that can happen is both of you die at the same time. Save one another the grief. That's the best case! And what about between now and then? Huh? Ain't always gonna be peaches and cream--hey don't bogart that bottle, slim."
"Sorry," I said, wiping my lips.
Drunk Elvis had a point. The girl I'd sat across from at the Japanese diner in Brooklyn just an hour ago had pretty much made the same point. She wasn't looking for anything *serious*. She was too busy with her costume design gig to ever settle down. Then why go on a date with me at all?
As if trying to run away from the memory of my date, I scanned around the subway car, looking for someone, anyone that I could imagine having a better time with.
Down in the far side, three dancers took turns with their showtime, spinning around the poles to bass-heavy hip-hop blasting on their bluetooth speaker. Past them, a gaggle of Hassidic teenagers laughed and clapped each other on the back, looking as drunk as Elvis. Probably had too much of the sacramental wine at Torah study. To my right, Fake Elvis railed on about the failures of modern dating while smelling like the floor of a dive bar.
I loved New York. The city didn't make any sense and yet somehow, it made all the sense.
I looked up.
Across from me was a girl in some ruffly, red dress like straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Her hair was done up in a bun, hands folded over her lap. And she was staring right at me.
I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe it was the cheap whiskey. Either way, she was deathly cute. Pale as bone. Dark, deep eyes. Eyes I could fall into. I must have been hammered if I was throwing poetry around in my mind.
I elbowed Fake Elvis gently and whispered out of the side of my mouth, "Hey, was she at the costume contest too?"
"Who?"
I pointed with my chin without looking her way. "The governess over there."
Fake Elvis chuckled. "The governor? He's up in Albany, slim. You high?" and after a beat, he added, "well don't hold out on me. Pass the jay."
I looked back at her. The subway stopped. The showtime dancers changed over to another car. The Hassidic teens stumbled out to the station. Passengers shuffled on and off, and the governess hadn't moved a hair. An uneasiness crawled up my back. There was something off about her.
"Fuck it," I said aloud. I stared right back at her.
After a few seconds, it clicked. She wasn't blinking, at all.
Fake Elvis passed me the bottle, but I waved it away. My heart started pounding against the inside of my chest. God, she was so cute. Probably a burlesque dancer on her way to a gig. But why wasn't she blinking?
"Hey, King," I said. There was no way around it. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back daintily. "You seeing this?"
"What I see," Elvis said, "is you waving to an empty seat."
I looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, wig drooping, but there was nothing kidding about his expression. "What?"
He pointed at the governess with his bottle. "Empty. I think you've had enough, slim."
I snapped back to look at her. She started saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The subway stopped again. The doors opened and a herd of passengers charged aboard. I shot up out of my seat, wedged around to see her. But she was gone.
"Gotta go," I shouted at Fake Elvis. "Hail the king!"
I ran off the subway. The station was empty. The train pulled away.
But the governess was gone.
Then I heard it. The faintest of whispers.
"Love."
I turned around. Standing on the tracks was the governess. She looked up at me. Reached a hand. "Hold on!" I shouted.
She whispered again but the words were lost in the din of the station. I flopped down on my belly and reached out my hand to her. "Grab my hand!"
She didn't move. She just stood there, whispering something about love over and over.
I looked up at a growing light. The subway horn blared. The next train was coming. I could see the conductor in the small side window waving frantically for me to get back. I couldn't. She was still there. I turned back to her. "Hurry! Take my hand!"
Then I heard her voice as clear as if she whispered in my ear. "Love is always worth the risk."
Something yanked me to my feet and I stumbled back, falling on something soft and polyester. It was Fake Elvis. He groaned, "Fuck, slim. You're a wild card."
I leapt to my feet, just in time for the subway to pull into the station. It didn't even slow down. As if the governess wasn't even there.
"What the hell," I whispered to myself. To the station. To her.
But she was gone.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
‘I guess I should approach her casually. Maybe ask her if she’s cosplaying.’ Oliver stood up and met the strange girls gaze. She had been smiling at him for twenty minutes, it’d be adorable if it wasn’t kind of unsettling. It almost seemed like her eyes weren’t blinking and her face had maintained that smile for the entire train. The only thing about her that changed was that she would occasionally tilt her head. Oliver assumed it was part of whatever act she was up to.
Her demeanor was not the only thing that stood out. She wasn’t dressed normally at all for an 8 am ride on a New York subway. She was dressed in an old-fashioned, black Victorian-era gown which complimented her long, bright red hair. For this reason, Oliver had assumed she must have been a cosplayer or someone who re-enacts history. No one else remarked on her outfit, though. Maybe everyone was just exhausted trying to get to work but Oliver thought that someone else would acknowledge her. He took a step forward and a man just budged his way over him, stepping on Oliver’s foot in the process.
“Ow, Hey!” Oliver exclaimed. “That was rude.”
The man looked around the train, confused. It was as if he was looking for whoever said that although Oliver was right in front of him.
“He can’t see us right now, Ollie” the girl said. “I made sure we were invisible before we had to go disappear.”
It was the first words she had said during the whole ride. Oliver was stunned. How did she know his name? What did she mean by “disappear?” What’s this stuff about being invisible?
“You…know my name?”
“Course I do, silly” she said as she was getting up from her seat. “ But I don’t think you remember mine yet.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you from anywhere. You could have just said ‘hi,’ instead of …staring.”
“Sorry,” she responded as she reached down and lightly grabbed Oliver’s hand. “I’m just happy to see you again.”
Her hand felt odd as if it was both soft and hard at the same time. She was lightly holding his hand but Oliver got the feeling that she could crush it too if she wanted. The train stopped and half the cart got up.
“I, uhhh, I think this is my stop” Oliver tried to walk away but the girls grip tightened. He had been right about her hand.
“Sorry, but it’s really not.” As she spoke, people started walking closer to her. Then, they walked THROUGH her and also…through him.
“Wh-Who…are you?” Oliver was struggling to get away from her grip. He wanted off this train. Things weren’t right. What the Hell was happening?
“It’s me, Annie!” She let go of his hand but before he could away, she raised both her arms and hugged him tight. “We agreed to be siblings, remember? You’ve been here for awhile so I came to get you.”
“What the HELL are you talking about!? Why are those people walking through us!? AM…Am I dead?”
“No, that’s just one of the stages of this process” she said with a laugh as she pulled away and looked up at him. “We’re going through a alternate universes until we end up at Tempus City! After we’re there, we’ll get your memory returned.” She lifted one of her arms away and showed that one of her fingers were fidgeting wildly. “I could use a few repairs on my prosthetics too.”
Oliver pulled away and fell backwards onto the ground.
“In fact,” she began as she pulled out a little pocket watch. “I think we should be back there about…. now.”
A flash of light engulfed the train. Oliver screamed. It was as if a flash bang went off right in front of him. He couldn’t see or hear anything. When he came to, the entire train changed. The floors were polished and they were brown. The windows were adorned with drapery. The seating had changed and instead of sitting against the wall, they were arranged to be parallel rows. What was outside the windows was the biggest change. They had been on an underground subway but Oliver could swear he was looking at the sky and what appeared to be a large blimp in the distance. Annie just stood above him, grinning from ear to ear.
“Welcome back!” She yelled with a laugh.
“Oi! Get off the floor” Oliver had looked up to see a man dressed in clothing as old as Annie’s with shoulder suspenders and a golf cap.
“Hey, you’re one of the Monster Hunter fellas.” He said with a smile. “Oliver, right? My son’s a fan. Hope you’d consider signing something of mine for him.”
“Uhh…sure.” Oliver stood up as this man shuffled around in his pockets and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. Oliver signed it, almost nonchalantly. Without thinking, he had given this stranger his full name.
“Thank you, Sir Oliver.” The man tipped his hat and went back to his seat.
The train stopped and Oliver stumbled. ‘What the Hell was happening?’
“This…” Annie raised her working finger. “This is our stop.” She took Oliver by his arm and walked him off the train.
Oliver saw a city that was NOT New York. There were skyscrapers with clocks on them like Big Ben. The streets were cobblestone. Everyone was dressed in clothing three centuries out of style. In the sky, there were Zeppelins and planes everywhere. He couldn’t believe anything, this had to be a dream. He pinched the back of his arm and felt every bit of pain he could. This was no dream, this was real.
“Welcome back to Tempus, brother! Now let’s go find the others, they’ve been waiting for you.”
|
"What's so good about dating anyways?" the drunk Elvis impersonator slurred into my ear. This wasn't prime Elvis. This was dead on the toilet Elvis. But he was chill enough to share his bottle of rotgut and I wasn't planning on walking into my apartment sober. Not after that first date.
I nodded at him. "Right?"
He handed my his brown-bagged bottle. "All a man needs is himself. That's all. Say you meet the love of your life. Hell. Best thing that can happen is both of you die at the same time. Save one another the grief. That's the best case! And what about between now and then? Huh? Ain't always gonna be peaches and cream--hey don't bogart that bottle, slim."
"Sorry," I said, wiping my lips.
Drunk Elvis had a point. The girl I'd sat across from at the Japanese diner in Brooklyn just an hour ago had pretty much made the same point. She wasn't looking for anything *serious*. She was too busy with her costume design gig to ever settle down. Then why go on a date with me at all?
As if trying to run away from the memory of my date, I scanned around the subway car, looking for someone, anyone that I could imagine having a better time with.
Down in the far side, three dancers took turns with their showtime, spinning around the poles to bass-heavy hip-hop blasting on their bluetooth speaker. Past them, a gaggle of Hassidic teenagers laughed and clapped each other on the back, looking as drunk as Elvis. Probably had too much of the sacramental wine at Torah study. To my right, Fake Elvis railed on about the failures of modern dating while smelling like the floor of a dive bar.
I loved New York. The city didn't make any sense and yet somehow, it made all the sense.
I looked up.
Across from me was a girl in some ruffly, red dress like straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Her hair was done up in a bun, hands folded over her lap. And she was staring right at me.
I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe it was the cheap whiskey. Either way, she was deathly cute. Pale as bone. Dark, deep eyes. Eyes I could fall into. I must have been hammered if I was throwing poetry around in my mind.
I elbowed Fake Elvis gently and whispered out of the side of my mouth, "Hey, was she at the costume contest too?"
"Who?"
I pointed with my chin without looking her way. "The governess over there."
Fake Elvis chuckled. "The governor? He's up in Albany, slim. You high?" and after a beat, he added, "well don't hold out on me. Pass the jay."
I looked back at her. The subway stopped. The showtime dancers changed over to another car. The Hassidic teens stumbled out to the station. Passengers shuffled on and off, and the governess hadn't moved a hair. An uneasiness crawled up my back. There was something off about her.
"Fuck it," I said aloud. I stared right back at her.
After a few seconds, it clicked. She wasn't blinking, at all.
Fake Elvis passed me the bottle, but I waved it away. My heart started pounding against the inside of my chest. God, she was so cute. Probably a burlesque dancer on her way to a gig. But why wasn't she blinking?
"Hey, King," I said. There was no way around it. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back daintily. "You seeing this?"
"What I see," Elvis said, "is you waving to an empty seat."
I looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, wig drooping, but there was nothing kidding about his expression. "What?"
He pointed at the governess with his bottle. "Empty. I think you've had enough, slim."
I snapped back to look at her. She started saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The subway stopped again. The doors opened and a herd of passengers charged aboard. I shot up out of my seat, wedged around to see her. But she was gone.
"Gotta go," I shouted at Fake Elvis. "Hail the king!"
I ran off the subway. The station was empty. The train pulled away.
But the governess was gone.
Then I heard it. The faintest of whispers.
"Love."
I turned around. Standing on the tracks was the governess. She looked up at me. Reached a hand. "Hold on!" I shouted.
She whispered again but the words were lost in the din of the station. I flopped down on my belly and reached out my hand to her. "Grab my hand!"
She didn't move. She just stood there, whispering something about love over and over.
I looked up at a growing light. The subway horn blared. The next train was coming. I could see the conductor in the small side window waving frantically for me to get back. I couldn't. She was still there. I turned back to her. "Hurry! Take my hand!"
Then I heard her voice as clear as if she whispered in my ear. "Love is always worth the risk."
Something yanked me to my feet and I stumbled back, falling on something soft and polyester. It was Fake Elvis. He groaned, "Fuck, slim. You're a wild card."
I leapt to my feet, just in time for the subway to pull into the station. It didn't even slow down. As if the governess wasn't even there.
"What the hell," I whispered to myself. To the station. To her.
But she was gone.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
He squeezed in through the closing door and plopped down on n empty seat, panting from his run. An old woman several seats to his right sniffed disapprovingly before returning to her book. He smiled as the train jolted into motion. *Made it*.
His gaze landed on a pair of dainty shoes under a frilly hem of a dress so long it nearly brushed the grimy floor. He looked up, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. The dress was resplendent with frills, with long wide sleeves and a flared skirt that draped over the nearby seats. Its owner was the palest woman he had ever seen, with midnight-black hair held back by a—snood, he thought it was called—and cool grey eyes.
And she was staring back at him.
His cheeks heated up, and he quickly averted his gaze. How long had he been staring? He couldn't tell. In his defense, she did make for a peculiar sight. Was this historical reenactment? Cosplay?
The train stopped at the next station, and more people rushed in. He risked a glance across and instantly found himself pinpointed by a pair of grey eyes. He held eye contact for a moment, captivated by her doll-like features, then wrenched his gaze away.
The train resumed moving. He shifted in his seat, still feeling her gaze on him. What a strange woman. Stranger yet, none of the other passengers seemed to be paying her any attention.
Swallowing, he pretended to read the advertisement above her head and hazarded another peek. *God*, she was still staring. Was she angry? He couldn't tell. Her face remained cool and emotionless, and he could have sworn she hadn't blinked once.
He pulled out his phone and stared down at the screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and approach him, her skirt swishing about her feet. He backed into his seat and stubbornly kept his gaze lowered until she stooped over him, casting a shadow over the screen.
Unable to take it any longer, he looked up. Her face was uncomfortably close, her eyes scrutinizing him unblinkingly.
"C-can I help you?" he asked.
Her brow knitted in the first display of emotion he had seen. "You can see me?" Her voice was soft and even.
"Well, sure. Can't everyone?" He chuckled nervously, then clammed up. The other passengers seemed to be sending him wary looks.
She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. There was something so odd about her, so out-of-place in the dingy subway, that he couldn't help taking her seriously.
Mustering his courage, he addressed the old woman to his right. "Excuse me."
She faced him reluctantly. "Yes?"
"Do you see a lady in a black dress?" he asked, tipping his chin before him.
The old woman stared at him in silence, then rose and shuffled to the front of the car. The nearest passengers sidled away, muttering under their breaths. He groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. What an inconvenient timing to go insane.
The lady in black considered him for a moment and sat down beside him. He sidled one seat away. She followed without a word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Best not acknowledge her.
Another stop. More passengers filtered in, and the car filled up, but no one acknowledged the strange lady, and neither did they attempt to sit beside him. How odd. If she wasn't real, he expected someone to take her seat. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
"What are you doing?" the hallucination asked.
He winced. "Trying to make you disappear."
She was silent for a moment. "Do you possess such a power?"
He snorted at the seriousness of her questing, then squeezed his eyes shut and focused some more. Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. "Apparently not."
She nodded wistfully. "I didn't think so. It would've been convenient, though."
"Convenient?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. "How so?"
"I've been around for a long time, and I haven't found a way to disappear yet."
He shivered at the melancholy in her voice. She didn't sound sad so much as detached. *Resigned*.
The train stopped once more, and people left and got on. She kept peering at him, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.
"Mine's the next stop," he said quietly.
"That's a shame." She lowered her head, breaking eye contact for the first time. "I haven't met anyone who could see me for a while."
He drummed his fingers against the seat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered. As the train began to slow, he stood, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and held one out. It somehow seemed appropriate. "Will you come with me? I'll at least hear you out."
She raised her head and blinked in surprise. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take his hand, but then a smile curved her lips, and she laid her hand in his. "Thank you."
|
"What's so good about dating anyways?" the drunk Elvis impersonator slurred into my ear. This wasn't prime Elvis. This was dead on the toilet Elvis. But he was chill enough to share his bottle of rotgut and I wasn't planning on walking into my apartment sober. Not after that first date.
I nodded at him. "Right?"
He handed my his brown-bagged bottle. "All a man needs is himself. That's all. Say you meet the love of your life. Hell. Best thing that can happen is both of you die at the same time. Save one another the grief. That's the best case! And what about between now and then? Huh? Ain't always gonna be peaches and cream--hey don't bogart that bottle, slim."
"Sorry," I said, wiping my lips.
Drunk Elvis had a point. The girl I'd sat across from at the Japanese diner in Brooklyn just an hour ago had pretty much made the same point. She wasn't looking for anything *serious*. She was too busy with her costume design gig to ever settle down. Then why go on a date with me at all?
As if trying to run away from the memory of my date, I scanned around the subway car, looking for someone, anyone that I could imagine having a better time with.
Down in the far side, three dancers took turns with their showtime, spinning around the poles to bass-heavy hip-hop blasting on their bluetooth speaker. Past them, a gaggle of Hassidic teenagers laughed and clapped each other on the back, looking as drunk as Elvis. Probably had too much of the sacramental wine at Torah study. To my right, Fake Elvis railed on about the failures of modern dating while smelling like the floor of a dive bar.
I loved New York. The city didn't make any sense and yet somehow, it made all the sense.
I looked up.
Across from me was a girl in some ruffly, red dress like straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Her hair was done up in a bun, hands folded over her lap. And she was staring right at me.
I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe it was the cheap whiskey. Either way, she was deathly cute. Pale as bone. Dark, deep eyes. Eyes I could fall into. I must have been hammered if I was throwing poetry around in my mind.
I elbowed Fake Elvis gently and whispered out of the side of my mouth, "Hey, was she at the costume contest too?"
"Who?"
I pointed with my chin without looking her way. "The governess over there."
Fake Elvis chuckled. "The governor? He's up in Albany, slim. You high?" and after a beat, he added, "well don't hold out on me. Pass the jay."
I looked back at her. The subway stopped. The showtime dancers changed over to another car. The Hassidic teens stumbled out to the station. Passengers shuffled on and off, and the governess hadn't moved a hair. An uneasiness crawled up my back. There was something off about her.
"Fuck it," I said aloud. I stared right back at her.
After a few seconds, it clicked. She wasn't blinking, at all.
Fake Elvis passed me the bottle, but I waved it away. My heart started pounding against the inside of my chest. God, she was so cute. Probably a burlesque dancer on her way to a gig. But why wasn't she blinking?
"Hey, King," I said. There was no way around it. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back daintily. "You seeing this?"
"What I see," Elvis said, "is you waving to an empty seat."
I looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, wig drooping, but there was nothing kidding about his expression. "What?"
He pointed at the governess with his bottle. "Empty. I think you've had enough, slim."
I snapped back to look at her. She started saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The subway stopped again. The doors opened and a herd of passengers charged aboard. I shot up out of my seat, wedged around to see her. But she was gone.
"Gotta go," I shouted at Fake Elvis. "Hail the king!"
I ran off the subway. The station was empty. The train pulled away.
But the governess was gone.
Then I heard it. The faintest of whispers.
"Love."
I turned around. Standing on the tracks was the governess. She looked up at me. Reached a hand. "Hold on!" I shouted.
She whispered again but the words were lost in the din of the station. I flopped down on my belly and reached out my hand to her. "Grab my hand!"
She didn't move. She just stood there, whispering something about love over and over.
I looked up at a growing light. The subway horn blared. The next train was coming. I could see the conductor in the small side window waving frantically for me to get back. I couldn't. She was still there. I turned back to her. "Hurry! Take my hand!"
Then I heard her voice as clear as if she whispered in my ear. "Love is always worth the risk."
Something yanked me to my feet and I stumbled back, falling on something soft and polyester. It was Fake Elvis. He groaned, "Fuck, slim. You're a wild card."
I leapt to my feet, just in time for the subway to pull into the station. It didn't even slow down. As if the governess wasn't even there.
"What the hell," I whispered to myself. To the station. To her.
But she was gone.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
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I glanced up from my phone, towards the girl at the end of the subway car. This time, I was sure of it -- she was staring right at me. It made me feel a little self-conscious, but on the other hand, she was very attractive. If she wanted to stare at me, I decided, then she could hardly complain if I stared back, right? Which I sort of did.
I couldn't help it, she was so striking. She had red hair, pale skin, bright green eyes, her lips slightly turned up in a nervous smile. I hadn't even really noticed her clothes, at first, I just glossed over them, vaguely noting she was wearing a shawl and a dress, maybe going for that vaguely "witchy" look. But looking a little more closely, I realized this wasn't a "look", at all, this was a complete *period costume.* She had the shawl, the high-necked, long sleeved dress, the small hat perched atop her piled-up hair, and even delicate little black boots that looked they had about a million buttons on them. It seemed like she'd *really* gone all out.
As my eyes met her, I noticed too things. She didn't blink, which was odd. But she was also darting her eyes to her left, repeatedly -- like she was trying to tell me to look in that direction. Opposite me, and a couple seats down, there was another young woman, dressed in a dark jacket, jeans, and calf-high boots. Her hair was dark, and cut short, and she was engrossed in her phone, as I had been a moment earlier.
And as I looked back at the woman in the Victorian costume, at the end of the car, I realized it. They looked identical. Obviously, the woman across from me had different-colored hair -- possibly dyed -- but the face, the eyes, even the complexion was *exactly the same.* Twin sisters?
I smiled, nervously, looking back at the woman at the end of the car. I figured she drew my attention to the other girl for a reason. Maybe she was feeling as awkward as I was, at that moment, and trying to indirectly start a conversation, somehow?
"Oh, are you two sisters, or...?" I offered, hesitantly.
Still unblinking, she gave the barest shake of her head, her smile fading.
I looked between them again. That was surprising, especially since I *knew* they couldn't be mother and daughter, they had to be at least close to the same age.
"So..." I began, desperate to break the growing awkward silence. "I like your outfit -- that's really cool."
"Uh, are you talking to *me?"*
I turned to the other woman's "twin," across from me. She'd looked up from her phone, and was regarding me with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Oh *good.*
"Oh, no, sorry..." I said, mentally cursing whatever *moron* had decided to make subway seats without emergency eject buttons for situations like this. "I was, um, talking to her." I pointed down to the end of the car.
The woman across from me followed my gesture, and I saw her eyes widen slightly, before her head snapped back to look at me, wearing a disgusted scowl.
"Ugh," she scoffed, her upper lip curling. "So, you were harassing the non-existent woman at the end of the car, and not me? Yeah, really funny. Asshole."
"Harassing! Wait, *non-existent?*" I protested, utterly confused. "Whoa, whoa, I was just --"
"I have a boyfriend, *okay?"* she snapped. "Leave me alone!"
I just nodded, holding up my hands in a placating gesture, as woman across from me went back to looking at her phone, though she occasionally Brow furrowed, I looked back at end of the car. The young woman, who I increasingly had *no* trouble distinguishing from her quasi-twin, was still staring unblinkingly in my direction.
I mouthed a "WTF?" at her, gesturing to her prickly double.
Slowly, as if the movement required an enormous effort, the red-haired woman mouthed a word back to me. The added context of her suddenly desperate expression, unfortunately, didn't make it any more clear what the word was.
It looked like she was mouthing...*Bit?* Bite? Bitten? What the hell did *that* mean?
I glanced between the two again. What was this, some kind of abusive...sibling, sort of thing? There's definitely more than one kind of toxic relationship, I supposed -- she had called her "non-existent", after all. Should I, what call the cops? And tell them what? A quiet Dickensian cosplay girl on the subway looked *kind of* upset?
Hesitantly, I decided to break my silence. I leaned forward and grabbed the stanchion, standing as I did so.
"Hey, uh, are you okay?"
"I *said,* leave me alone!" the dark-haired woman across from me snapped, again.
"I'm not talking to you, lady!" I snarled back, fed up with her crap by this point.
I pointed down the car. "I'm talking to *her!"*
"There's no one *there,* you crazy asshole!" she retorted, hotly. A note of fear crept into her voice. "We're the only two people in the car! S-stop acting crazy, just...just sit down, or I *swear to God,* I'm calling the transit police!"
I looked back at the red-haired woman. He unblinking eyes were still pleading. I clenched my jaw and stepped forward.
"I said STOP!" the dark-haired woman shrieked.
I turned back, in surprise. She was on her feet, fists and bared teeth both clenched tight, glaring at me. Her phone, surprisingly lay discarded on her seat.
"How can you see her?" the enraged woman hissed.
"What the hell are you...she's *right there!"* I shot back, glancing frantically between the two women. "What is going on?"
"She's mine!" the dark-haired woman spat. "Don't touch her!"
I looked back at the red-haired woman. The whole time, her hands had been resting primly on her lap, but now one was ever so slightly raised, almost as though...she was reaching out.
I edged a step towards the end of the car.
The dark-haired woman screamed, and as she did so, he mouth sagged open impossibly wide. As she began to lunge at me, I leaped back, and broke into a sprint towards the back of the car. I could hear he legs pounding against the metal floor behind me, impossibly loud.
When I was within arm's reach of the red haired woman, I desperately reached out to take her hand. It felt like I was pushing my fingers though ice-cold gelatin, as some sort of invisible force slowed my arm for a moment. The air around my hand rippled, like I was reaching into deep water.
I seized the red-haired woman's hand, and pulled back hard. She came forward, breaching through the invisible surface of the strange barrier between us. She sagged against me, and I wrapped my arms around her to steady her. Behind me, I heard an unearthly wail.
Turning back, I saw the dark-haired woman, fallen onto the floor of the car. As she writhed and convulsed, her features boiled and melted away, revealing a horrific, eyeless skeletal creature beneath. She rolled onto her belly, and began clawing her way towards me.
I pushed the insensate woman behind me, and backed us up hastily, away from the crawling abomination, but even as I did so, the thing began to come apart, bubbling like boiling tar, and slowly evaporating into a nothing. With a final, echoing shriek, it was simply gone.
I sagged back into the seat in relief, carefully lowering the red-haired woman beside me. She was completely unconscious, but breathing. As I tried to make some sort of sense of what had just happened, I noticed a leather-bound notebook on the seat near where my strangely dressed companion had been sitting.
Picking it up, hoping for some clue to her identity, I was frustrated to find it was in German. It looked like some kind of journal. I couldn't read the entries, but I could read the dates...all in the late 19th century.
Paging through the journal, increasingly bewildered, I found nothing that I could make sense of. Not until one of the most recent entries, which was accompanied by a sketch.
It was a sketch of a familiar monstrous, skeletal gray creature, with a too-wide open mouth full of disturbingly human-looking teeth. And below the text, a caption.
*Die Doppelganger.*
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The train came to a stop and my eyes lifted from my book to check the
station sign. Four more to go - I can finish this chapter. But then
something else caught my eye. Across from me was a woman with eyes
dark blue like the Atlantic before a storm. When mine met hers I
couldn't look away. It was rude, unheard of in New York. I could be
arrested.
The eyes looking
back into mine didn't look away. I couldn't look away. There was
something in them holding me in place. I tried to look at her outfit,
which seemed out of place, but I couldnt' get passed the second
button from her collar before her eyes called back to mine.
My stomach knotted.
I opened my mouth to
speak, but couldn't.
She did, leaning
across the aisle to place her hand on my cheek. "It's you. I can
tell it's you. I asked them for one last time and they gave it to
me."
I exhaled, just
managing to get the a faint response out. "Who--"
"I think they
were reapers. Cheekiest things. I asked them to see you once more and
here you are, but this isn't my time. Atleast, not yet." A tear
rolled down her cheek as her thumb stroked my own, and it made me
cry. The smallest of sobs but I couldn't tell why.
"There, there.
You'll be all right. Remember the things we said? Always and forever.
Souls that love each other will find a way back to each other."
"You're my
other piece." She nodded, another tear rolling down. How did I
know what to say? Was it from a book, a movie? It can't have been. I
had never heard those words in all my life. I uttered another sob,
unable to control myself. The emotions were too strong. Like a
riptide on a bright sunny day.
"They are
calling me."
"...no..."
She stood up slowly
as the train came to a stop, steadier than was natural, and turned
towards the door. Her fingers lingering on my cheek as they slid
away.
I watched, eyes wide
and wet, as she folded into the crowd and finally, just as the doors
were about to close, I sprung to my feet and ran out them. I ran up
the stairs, seeing the top of her head above the crowd, turning a
corner with the fray. I pursued, my feet carrying me after ---
I ran head first
into someone and felt a burn on my chest. "Oh god fuck. I'm so
sorry. Fuck my coffee. Your shirt!"
I tried to push
passed, to see where the woman from the train went, but it was too
late. She was gone like a wisp. I cursed under my breath.
"I know. I'm so
clumsy. I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and looked down at my assailant.
Looking back at me
was a woman with eyes dark blue like the Atlantic before a storm.
“The cafe is just
across the street. I need another. Let me buy you one, as an apology.
It won’t save the shirt, but maybe it’ll soften the loss?”
My stomach knotted.
“Yes, but only if you sit with me while we drink them.”
Her eyes hadn’t
left mine. “I would be delighted.”
|
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
‘I guess I should approach her casually. Maybe ask her if she’s cosplaying.’ Oliver stood up and met the strange girls gaze. She had been smiling at him for twenty minutes, it’d be adorable if it wasn’t kind of unsettling. It almost seemed like her eyes weren’t blinking and her face had maintained that smile for the entire train. The only thing about her that changed was that she would occasionally tilt her head. Oliver assumed it was part of whatever act she was up to.
Her demeanor was not the only thing that stood out. She wasn’t dressed normally at all for an 8 am ride on a New York subway. She was dressed in an old-fashioned, black Victorian-era gown which complimented her long, bright red hair. For this reason, Oliver had assumed she must have been a cosplayer or someone who re-enacts history. No one else remarked on her outfit, though. Maybe everyone was just exhausted trying to get to work but Oliver thought that someone else would acknowledge her. He took a step forward and a man just budged his way over him, stepping on Oliver’s foot in the process.
“Ow, Hey!” Oliver exclaimed. “That was rude.”
The man looked around the train, confused. It was as if he was looking for whoever said that although Oliver was right in front of him.
“He can’t see us right now, Ollie” the girl said. “I made sure we were invisible before we had to go disappear.”
It was the first words she had said during the whole ride. Oliver was stunned. How did she know his name? What did she mean by “disappear?” What’s this stuff about being invisible?
“You…know my name?”
“Course I do, silly” she said as she was getting up from her seat. “ But I don’t think you remember mine yet.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you from anywhere. You could have just said ‘hi,’ instead of …staring.”
“Sorry,” she responded as she reached down and lightly grabbed Oliver’s hand. “I’m just happy to see you again.”
Her hand felt odd as if it was both soft and hard at the same time. She was lightly holding his hand but Oliver got the feeling that she could crush it too if she wanted. The train stopped and half the cart got up.
“I, uhhh, I think this is my stop” Oliver tried to walk away but the girls grip tightened. He had been right about her hand.
“Sorry, but it’s really not.” As she spoke, people started walking closer to her. Then, they walked THROUGH her and also…through him.
“Wh-Who…are you?” Oliver was struggling to get away from her grip. He wanted off this train. Things weren’t right. What the Hell was happening?
“It’s me, Annie!” She let go of his hand but before he could away, she raised both her arms and hugged him tight. “We agreed to be siblings, remember? You’ve been here for awhile so I came to get you.”
“What the HELL are you talking about!? Why are those people walking through us!? AM…Am I dead?”
“No, that’s just one of the stages of this process” she said with a laugh as she pulled away and looked up at him. “We’re going through a alternate universes until we end up at Tempus City! After we’re there, we’ll get your memory returned.” She lifted one of her arms away and showed that one of her fingers were fidgeting wildly. “I could use a few repairs on my prosthetics too.”
Oliver pulled away and fell backwards onto the ground.
“In fact,” she began as she pulled out a little pocket watch. “I think we should be back there about…. now.”
A flash of light engulfed the train. Oliver screamed. It was as if a flash bang went off right in front of him. He couldn’t see or hear anything. When he came to, the entire train changed. The floors were polished and they were brown. The windows were adorned with drapery. The seating had changed and instead of sitting against the wall, they were arranged to be parallel rows. What was outside the windows was the biggest change. They had been on an underground subway but Oliver could swear he was looking at the sky and what appeared to be a large blimp in the distance. Annie just stood above him, grinning from ear to ear.
“Welcome back!” She yelled with a laugh.
“Oi! Get off the floor” Oliver had looked up to see a man dressed in clothing as old as Annie’s with shoulder suspenders and a golf cap.
“Hey, you’re one of the Monster Hunter fellas.” He said with a smile. “Oliver, right? My son’s a fan. Hope you’d consider signing something of mine for him.”
“Uhh…sure.” Oliver stood up as this man shuffled around in his pockets and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. Oliver signed it, almost nonchalantly. Without thinking, he had given this stranger his full name.
“Thank you, Sir Oliver.” The man tipped his hat and went back to his seat.
The train stopped and Oliver stumbled. ‘What the Hell was happening?’
“This…” Annie raised her working finger. “This is our stop.” She took Oliver by his arm and walked him off the train.
Oliver saw a city that was NOT New York. There were skyscrapers with clocks on them like Big Ben. The streets were cobblestone. Everyone was dressed in clothing three centuries out of style. In the sky, there were Zeppelins and planes everywhere. He couldn’t believe anything, this had to be a dream. He pinched the back of his arm and felt every bit of pain he could. This was no dream, this was real.
“Welcome back to Tempus, brother! Now let’s go find the others, they’ve been waiting for you.”
|
The train stopped. Few people went down, while some changed seats. I sat beside the window as always to feel the night breeze. It was really cool tonight and felt homely.
The train began to move, I settled properly and dug out a novel by a favourite author: Dean Koontz, a woman probably in her mid forties, sat close next to me. I nodded a little as a sign of greeting and returned my gaze to the book.
After ten minutes of trying to get connected to the storyline, I got tired, closed the novel and looked up, immediately my eyes locked with an ocean dews eyes which seemed to tell a lot of stories.
I gazed at the face, it was beauty, a calm, blissful girly face with nice savoury lips.
How come I didn't notice or any of the football guys making catcalls down the subway didn't notice?
She was stunning!
She kept on staring at me, not blinking and I tried not to back off the staring competition because it felt like one.
I observed she was wearing an Elizabethan gown with little touches of red, she also wore thick socks and had this shoulder holster. Now, this is ridiculous I thought, who wore these kinds of outfits these days?
She totally look like those Eastern ladies of the 1800's, I laughed a little, still staring.
I was getting tired.She wasn't blinking, wasn't saying anything, just staring and giving me a cold vibe
Who was she and where did she come from?
The worst part, which I noticed now, was no one seemed to notice her especially her outfit, for that alone could have made people curious like a cat.
I moved my gaze towards the bus conductor trying to get his attention for I was getting uncomfortable but it seems he was more interested with his burger than me. So I gave up and returned my gaze to her and trust me she was still staring.
I wonder what she wanted from me? Could she be Dad's extended relative? the royalty's cult witch supreme? She could be latter I finally concluded for she reminded me of Witch Mari but the cult witch supremes were all locked away in a dungeon. Did she escape? I thought again.
I must get down at next stop; I spoke loudly. The woman next to me, smiled and asked if the novel was getting interesting in my head?
I replied with a smile. I guess she was wondering why a teenage boy was behaving weird after reading a novel.
The train finally stopped and I rushed out immediately, running not stopping for once to catch my breath. I didn't look back until I got to the estate and there she was, staring like a statue, like she was built there forever.
Okay, this is really weird, how did she get here? I asked myself in a fearful voice.
The right thing to do is to confront her; a voice whispered in my head. No, you don't know who she is; another voice whispered loudly.
I smacked my head, summoned all the courage I had in me and walked towards her. She was stunning but that outfit and shoulder holster, something was definitely wrong.
So what do you want? I asked in a shaky but clear voice.
I want You; she spoke from lips that didn't move.
How did she do that? Was I hearing her in my head? This was crazy.
You....want me? I asked still unsure of what she said.
Yes, I want you. You are the final piece to the puzzle.
What puzzle? I asked gaining my courage a little.
Come with me. With that, she took my hands, they were cold as ice and we disappeared into oblivion.
The last thing I remember was her hands holding me tightly and me screaming so loud.
I am still in the oblivion but they call it "the place of the people without iron"
I don't know what they want but I know I am just the key to their final puzzle.
|
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
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"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
|
The train stopped. Few people went down, while some changed seats. I sat beside the window as always to feel the night breeze. It was really cool tonight and felt homely.
The train began to move, I settled properly and dug out a novel by a favourite author: Dean Koontz, a woman probably in her mid forties, sat close next to me. I nodded a little as a sign of greeting and returned my gaze to the book.
After ten minutes of trying to get connected to the storyline, I got tired, closed the novel and looked up, immediately my eyes locked with an ocean dews eyes which seemed to tell a lot of stories.
I gazed at the face, it was beauty, a calm, blissful girly face with nice savoury lips.
How come I didn't notice or any of the football guys making catcalls down the subway didn't notice?
She was stunning!
She kept on staring at me, not blinking and I tried not to back off the staring competition because it felt like one.
I observed she was wearing an Elizabethan gown with little touches of red, she also wore thick socks and had this shoulder holster. Now, this is ridiculous I thought, who wore these kinds of outfits these days?
She totally look like those Eastern ladies of the 1800's, I laughed a little, still staring.
I was getting tired.She wasn't blinking, wasn't saying anything, just staring and giving me a cold vibe
Who was she and where did she come from?
The worst part, which I noticed now, was no one seemed to notice her especially her outfit, for that alone could have made people curious like a cat.
I moved my gaze towards the bus conductor trying to get his attention for I was getting uncomfortable but it seems he was more interested with his burger than me. So I gave up and returned my gaze to her and trust me she was still staring.
I wonder what she wanted from me? Could she be Dad's extended relative? the royalty's cult witch supreme? She could be latter I finally concluded for she reminded me of Witch Mari but the cult witch supremes were all locked away in a dungeon. Did she escape? I thought again.
I must get down at next stop; I spoke loudly. The woman next to me, smiled and asked if the novel was getting interesting in my head?
I replied with a smile. I guess she was wondering why a teenage boy was behaving weird after reading a novel.
The train finally stopped and I rushed out immediately, running not stopping for once to catch my breath. I didn't look back until I got to the estate and there she was, staring like a statue, like she was built there forever.
Okay, this is really weird, how did she get here? I asked myself in a fearful voice.
The right thing to do is to confront her; a voice whispered in my head. No, you don't know who she is; another voice whispered loudly.
I smacked my head, summoned all the courage I had in me and walked towards her. She was stunning but that outfit and shoulder holster, something was definitely wrong.
So what do you want? I asked in a shaky but clear voice.
I want You; she spoke from lips that didn't move.
How did she do that? Was I hearing her in my head? This was crazy.
You....want me? I asked still unsure of what she said.
Yes, I want you. You are the final piece to the puzzle.
What puzzle? I asked gaining my courage a little.
Come with me. With that, she took my hands, they were cold as ice and we disappeared into oblivion.
The last thing I remember was her hands holding me tightly and me screaming so loud.
I am still in the oblivion but they call it "the place of the people without iron"
I don't know what they want but I know I am just the key to their final puzzle.
|
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
He squeezed in through the closing door and plopped down on n empty seat, panting from his run. An old woman several seats to his right sniffed disapprovingly before returning to her book. He smiled as the train jolted into motion. *Made it*.
His gaze landed on a pair of dainty shoes under a frilly hem of a dress so long it nearly brushed the grimy floor. He looked up, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. The dress was resplendent with frills, with long wide sleeves and a flared skirt that draped over the nearby seats. Its owner was the palest woman he had ever seen, with midnight-black hair held back by a—snood, he thought it was called—and cool grey eyes.
And she was staring back at him.
His cheeks heated up, and he quickly averted his gaze. How long had he been staring? He couldn't tell. In his defense, she did make for a peculiar sight. Was this historical reenactment? Cosplay?
The train stopped at the next station, and more people rushed in. He risked a glance across and instantly found himself pinpointed by a pair of grey eyes. He held eye contact for a moment, captivated by her doll-like features, then wrenched his gaze away.
The train resumed moving. He shifted in his seat, still feeling her gaze on him. What a strange woman. Stranger yet, none of the other passengers seemed to be paying her any attention.
Swallowing, he pretended to read the advertisement above her head and hazarded another peek. *God*, she was still staring. Was she angry? He couldn't tell. Her face remained cool and emotionless, and he could have sworn she hadn't blinked once.
He pulled out his phone and stared down at the screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and approach him, her skirt swishing about her feet. He backed into his seat and stubbornly kept his gaze lowered until she stooped over him, casting a shadow over the screen.
Unable to take it any longer, he looked up. Her face was uncomfortably close, her eyes scrutinizing him unblinkingly.
"C-can I help you?" he asked.
Her brow knitted in the first display of emotion he had seen. "You can see me?" Her voice was soft and even.
"Well, sure. Can't everyone?" He chuckled nervously, then clammed up. The other passengers seemed to be sending him wary looks.
She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. There was something so odd about her, so out-of-place in the dingy subway, that he couldn't help taking her seriously.
Mustering his courage, he addressed the old woman to his right. "Excuse me."
She faced him reluctantly. "Yes?"
"Do you see a lady in a black dress?" he asked, tipping his chin before him.
The old woman stared at him in silence, then rose and shuffled to the front of the car. The nearest passengers sidled away, muttering under their breaths. He groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. What an inconvenient timing to go insane.
The lady in black considered him for a moment and sat down beside him. He sidled one seat away. She followed without a word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Best not acknowledge her.
Another stop. More passengers filtered in, and the car filled up, but no one acknowledged the strange lady, and neither did they attempt to sit beside him. How odd. If she wasn't real, he expected someone to take her seat. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
"What are you doing?" the hallucination asked.
He winced. "Trying to make you disappear."
She was silent for a moment. "Do you possess such a power?"
He snorted at the seriousness of her questing, then squeezed his eyes shut and focused some more. Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. "Apparently not."
She nodded wistfully. "I didn't think so. It would've been convenient, though."
"Convenient?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. "How so?"
"I've been around for a long time, and I haven't found a way to disappear yet."
He shivered at the melancholy in her voice. She didn't sound sad so much as detached. *Resigned*.
The train stopped once more, and people left and got on. She kept peering at him, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.
"Mine's the next stop," he said quietly.
"That's a shame." She lowered her head, breaking eye contact for the first time. "I haven't met anyone who could see me for a while."
He drummed his fingers against the seat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered. As the train began to slow, he stood, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and held one out. It somehow seemed appropriate. "Will you come with me? I'll at least hear you out."
She raised her head and blinked in surprise. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take his hand, but then a smile curved her lips, and she laid her hand in his. "Thank you."
|
The train stopped. Few people went down, while some changed seats. I sat beside the window as always to feel the night breeze. It was really cool tonight and felt homely.
The train began to move, I settled properly and dug out a novel by a favourite author: Dean Koontz, a woman probably in her mid forties, sat close next to me. I nodded a little as a sign of greeting and returned my gaze to the book.
After ten minutes of trying to get connected to the storyline, I got tired, closed the novel and looked up, immediately my eyes locked with an ocean dews eyes which seemed to tell a lot of stories.
I gazed at the face, it was beauty, a calm, blissful girly face with nice savoury lips.
How come I didn't notice or any of the football guys making catcalls down the subway didn't notice?
She was stunning!
She kept on staring at me, not blinking and I tried not to back off the staring competition because it felt like one.
I observed she was wearing an Elizabethan gown with little touches of red, she also wore thick socks and had this shoulder holster. Now, this is ridiculous I thought, who wore these kinds of outfits these days?
She totally look like those Eastern ladies of the 1800's, I laughed a little, still staring.
I was getting tired.She wasn't blinking, wasn't saying anything, just staring and giving me a cold vibe
Who was she and where did she come from?
The worst part, which I noticed now, was no one seemed to notice her especially her outfit, for that alone could have made people curious like a cat.
I moved my gaze towards the bus conductor trying to get his attention for I was getting uncomfortable but it seems he was more interested with his burger than me. So I gave up and returned my gaze to her and trust me she was still staring.
I wonder what she wanted from me? Could she be Dad's extended relative? the royalty's cult witch supreme? She could be latter I finally concluded for she reminded me of Witch Mari but the cult witch supremes were all locked away in a dungeon. Did she escape? I thought again.
I must get down at next stop; I spoke loudly. The woman next to me, smiled and asked if the novel was getting interesting in my head?
I replied with a smile. I guess she was wondering why a teenage boy was behaving weird after reading a novel.
The train finally stopped and I rushed out immediately, running not stopping for once to catch my breath. I didn't look back until I got to the estate and there she was, staring like a statue, like she was built there forever.
Okay, this is really weird, how did she get here? I asked myself in a fearful voice.
The right thing to do is to confront her; a voice whispered in my head. No, you don't know who she is; another voice whispered loudly.
I smacked my head, summoned all the courage I had in me and walked towards her. She was stunning but that outfit and shoulder holster, something was definitely wrong.
So what do you want? I asked in a shaky but clear voice.
I want You; she spoke from lips that didn't move.
How did she do that? Was I hearing her in my head? This was crazy.
You....want me? I asked still unsure of what she said.
Yes, I want you. You are the final piece to the puzzle.
What puzzle? I asked gaining my courage a little.
Come with me. With that, she took my hands, they were cold as ice and we disappeared into oblivion.
The last thing I remember was her hands holding me tightly and me screaming so loud.
I am still in the oblivion but they call it "the place of the people without iron"
I don't know what they want but I know I am just the key to their final puzzle.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The train stopped. Few people went down, while some changed seats. I sat beside the window as always to feel the night breeze. It was really cool tonight and felt homely.
The train began to move, I settled properly and dug out a novel by a favourite author: Dean Koontz, a woman probably in her mid forties, sat close next to me. I nodded a little as a sign of greeting and returned my gaze to the book.
After ten minutes of trying to get connected to the storyline, I got tired, closed the novel and looked up, immediately my eyes locked with an ocean dews eyes which seemed to tell a lot of stories.
I gazed at the face, it was beauty, a calm, blissful girly face with nice savoury lips.
How come I didn't notice or any of the football guys making catcalls down the subway didn't notice?
She was stunning!
She kept on staring at me, not blinking and I tried not to back off the staring competition because it felt like one.
I observed she was wearing an Elizabethan gown with little touches of red, she also wore thick socks and had this shoulder holster. Now, this is ridiculous I thought, who wore these kinds of outfits these days?
She totally look like those Eastern ladies of the 1800's, I laughed a little, still staring.
I was getting tired.She wasn't blinking, wasn't saying anything, just staring and giving me a cold vibe
Who was she and where did she come from?
The worst part, which I noticed now, was no one seemed to notice her especially her outfit, for that alone could have made people curious like a cat.
I moved my gaze towards the bus conductor trying to get his attention for I was getting uncomfortable but it seems he was more interested with his burger than me. So I gave up and returned my gaze to her and trust me she was still staring.
I wonder what she wanted from me? Could she be Dad's extended relative? the royalty's cult witch supreme? She could be latter I finally concluded for she reminded me of Witch Mari but the cult witch supremes were all locked away in a dungeon. Did she escape? I thought again.
I must get down at next stop; I spoke loudly. The woman next to me, smiled and asked if the novel was getting interesting in my head?
I replied with a smile. I guess she was wondering why a teenage boy was behaving weird after reading a novel.
The train finally stopped and I rushed out immediately, running not stopping for once to catch my breath. I didn't look back until I got to the estate and there she was, staring like a statue, like she was built there forever.
Okay, this is really weird, how did she get here? I asked myself in a fearful voice.
The right thing to do is to confront her; a voice whispered in my head. No, you don't know who she is; another voice whispered loudly.
I smacked my head, summoned all the courage I had in me and walked towards her. She was stunning but that outfit and shoulder holster, something was definitely wrong.
So what do you want? I asked in a shaky but clear voice.
I want You; she spoke from lips that didn't move.
How did she do that? Was I hearing her in my head? This was crazy.
You....want me? I asked still unsure of what she said.
Yes, I want you. You are the final piece to the puzzle.
What puzzle? I asked gaining my courage a little.
Come with me. With that, she took my hands, they were cold as ice and we disappeared into oblivion.
The last thing I remember was her hands holding me tightly and me screaming so loud.
I am still in the oblivion but they call it "the place of the people without iron"
I don't know what they want but I know I am just the key to their final puzzle.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
|
"So there I was, on the subway, and there was this super cute girl." I told my friends with a smirk, as we sat in the restaurant booth.
"Oh really? Tell us more." as they leaned in.
"She was wearing this old colonial dress, and she didn't blink at all."
"Ooo, sounds like the start of a ghost story." That got their attention.
"I know, right, so anyway, I take the seat next to her and ask her how she's doing."
"Oh no.." mentioned one of my friends
"This is where she eats your head." said another.
"So, anyway", I coughed, "She says, 'Thanks for asking, miss. I'm on my way to the theatre. It's always been my dream to perform on stage, but I'm blind which makes it hard. However, they have a role where it's just singing for the crowd as part of a choir. I think I have a chance, and I've been working on my singing voice. She hummed a few bars, and it was the most beautiful notes I had ever heard."
"Did you flirt with her?"
"Yea, I told her that if she got the part, I'd treat her to dinner, and gave her my number."
"Oh, so you asked out the ghost girl! Smooooth!" Said one friend
"Oh, so she was just a normal girl, that's disappointing." Said the other.
"Yep. Anyway, she's right outside, and was just waiting for me to introduce her. I'd like all of you to meat Lilly White."
Changed out from her Victorian garb, now wearing a very tight-fitting (but badly colored) top and tights, she sat next to me and the rest of the girls, "Thanks Amelia. I'm famished after the audition. I always put a lot of soul into my singing." As the itallian dish came out, and was set in front of us, I began to dig in my fork. However, Lilly just sat there, so I gently leaned over and asked quietly, "Would it help if I fed you."
She smiled, "A kind offer, but I can feed myself."
My friend interjected, "What's with that shirt though, it looks horrible!"
"Yea, looks like you got dressed in the dark." mentioned the other.
The lights flickered.
Then it was just me at the table.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
He squeezed in through the closing door and plopped down on n empty seat, panting from his run. An old woman several seats to his right sniffed disapprovingly before returning to her book. He smiled as the train jolted into motion. *Made it*.
His gaze landed on a pair of dainty shoes under a frilly hem of a dress so long it nearly brushed the grimy floor. He looked up, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. The dress was resplendent with frills, with long wide sleeves and a flared skirt that draped over the nearby seats. Its owner was the palest woman he had ever seen, with midnight-black hair held back by a—snood, he thought it was called—and cool grey eyes.
And she was staring back at him.
His cheeks heated up, and he quickly averted his gaze. How long had he been staring? He couldn't tell. In his defense, she did make for a peculiar sight. Was this historical reenactment? Cosplay?
The train stopped at the next station, and more people rushed in. He risked a glance across and instantly found himself pinpointed by a pair of grey eyes. He held eye contact for a moment, captivated by her doll-like features, then wrenched his gaze away.
The train resumed moving. He shifted in his seat, still feeling her gaze on him. What a strange woman. Stranger yet, none of the other passengers seemed to be paying her any attention.
Swallowing, he pretended to read the advertisement above her head and hazarded another peek. *God*, she was still staring. Was she angry? He couldn't tell. Her face remained cool and emotionless, and he could have sworn she hadn't blinked once.
He pulled out his phone and stared down at the screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and approach him, her skirt swishing about her feet. He backed into his seat and stubbornly kept his gaze lowered until she stooped over him, casting a shadow over the screen.
Unable to take it any longer, he looked up. Her face was uncomfortably close, her eyes scrutinizing him unblinkingly.
"C-can I help you?" he asked.
Her brow knitted in the first display of emotion he had seen. "You can see me?" Her voice was soft and even.
"Well, sure. Can't everyone?" He chuckled nervously, then clammed up. The other passengers seemed to be sending him wary looks.
She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. There was something so odd about her, so out-of-place in the dingy subway, that he couldn't help taking her seriously.
Mustering his courage, he addressed the old woman to his right. "Excuse me."
She faced him reluctantly. "Yes?"
"Do you see a lady in a black dress?" he asked, tipping his chin before him.
The old woman stared at him in silence, then rose and shuffled to the front of the car. The nearest passengers sidled away, muttering under their breaths. He groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. What an inconvenient timing to go insane.
The lady in black considered him for a moment and sat down beside him. He sidled one seat away. She followed without a word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Best not acknowledge her.
Another stop. More passengers filtered in, and the car filled up, but no one acknowledged the strange lady, and neither did they attempt to sit beside him. How odd. If she wasn't real, he expected someone to take her seat. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
"What are you doing?" the hallucination asked.
He winced. "Trying to make you disappear."
She was silent for a moment. "Do you possess such a power?"
He snorted at the seriousness of her questing, then squeezed his eyes shut and focused some more. Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. "Apparently not."
She nodded wistfully. "I didn't think so. It would've been convenient, though."
"Convenient?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. "How so?"
"I've been around for a long time, and I haven't found a way to disappear yet."
He shivered at the melancholy in her voice. She didn't sound sad so much as detached. *Resigned*.
The train stopped once more, and people left and got on. She kept peering at him, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.
"Mine's the next stop," he said quietly.
"That's a shame." She lowered her head, breaking eye contact for the first time. "I haven't met anyone who could see me for a while."
He drummed his fingers against the seat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered. As the train began to slow, he stood, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and held one out. It somehow seemed appropriate. "Will you come with me? I'll at least hear you out."
She raised her head and blinked in surprise. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take his hand, but then a smile curved her lips, and she laid her hand in his. "Thank you."
|
"So there I was, on the subway, and there was this super cute girl." I told my friends with a smirk, as we sat in the restaurant booth.
"Oh really? Tell us more." as they leaned in.
"She was wearing this old colonial dress, and she didn't blink at all."
"Ooo, sounds like the start of a ghost story." That got their attention.
"I know, right, so anyway, I take the seat next to her and ask her how she's doing."
"Oh no.." mentioned one of my friends
"This is where she eats your head." said another.
"So, anyway", I coughed, "She says, 'Thanks for asking, miss. I'm on my way to the theatre. It's always been my dream to perform on stage, but I'm blind which makes it hard. However, they have a role where it's just singing for the crowd as part of a choir. I think I have a chance, and I've been working on my singing voice. She hummed a few bars, and it was the most beautiful notes I had ever heard."
"Did you flirt with her?"
"Yea, I told her that if she got the part, I'd treat her to dinner, and gave her my number."
"Oh, so you asked out the ghost girl! Smooooth!" Said one friend
"Oh, so she was just a normal girl, that's disappointing." Said the other.
"Yep. Anyway, she's right outside, and was just waiting for me to introduce her. I'd like all of you to meat Lilly White."
Changed out from her Victorian garb, now wearing a very tight-fitting (but badly colored) top and tights, she sat next to me and the rest of the girls, "Thanks Amelia. I'm famished after the audition. I always put a lot of soul into my singing." As the itallian dish came out, and was set in front of us, I began to dig in my fork. However, Lilly just sat there, so I gently leaned over and asked quietly, "Would it help if I fed you."
She smiled, "A kind offer, but I can feed myself."
My friend interjected, "What's with that shirt though, it looks horrible!"
"Yea, looks like you got dressed in the dark." mentioned the other.
The lights flickered.
Then it was just me at the table.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"So there I was, on the subway, and there was this super cute girl." I told my friends with a smirk, as we sat in the restaurant booth.
"Oh really? Tell us more." as they leaned in.
"She was wearing this old colonial dress, and she didn't blink at all."
"Ooo, sounds like the start of a ghost story." That got their attention.
"I know, right, so anyway, I take the seat next to her and ask her how she's doing."
"Oh no.." mentioned one of my friends
"This is where she eats your head." said another.
"So, anyway", I coughed, "She says, 'Thanks for asking, miss. I'm on my way to the theatre. It's always been my dream to perform on stage, but I'm blind which makes it hard. However, they have a role where it's just singing for the crowd as part of a choir. I think I have a chance, and I've been working on my singing voice. She hummed a few bars, and it was the most beautiful notes I had ever heard."
"Did you flirt with her?"
"Yea, I told her that if she got the part, I'd treat her to dinner, and gave her my number."
"Oh, so you asked out the ghost girl! Smooooth!" Said one friend
"Oh, so she was just a normal girl, that's disappointing." Said the other.
"Yep. Anyway, she's right outside, and was just waiting for me to introduce her. I'd like all of you to meat Lilly White."
Changed out from her Victorian garb, now wearing a very tight-fitting (but badly colored) top and tights, she sat next to me and the rest of the girls, "Thanks Amelia. I'm famished after the audition. I always put a lot of soul into my singing." As the itallian dish came out, and was set in front of us, I began to dig in my fork. However, Lilly just sat there, so I gently leaned over and asked quietly, "Would it help if I fed you."
She smiled, "A kind offer, but I can feed myself."
My friend interjected, "What's with that shirt though, it looks horrible!"
"Yea, looks like you got dressed in the dark." mentioned the other.
The lights flickered.
Then it was just me at the table.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
|
I think...
I think I see read people.
It makes a...certain amount of sense. From a certain point of view. Reading brings characters to life, after all. You see them in your minds eye, feel their feelings, watch them struggle and learn and grow.
We all see read people, really.
Still, more than a little disconcerting when they stick around long after the book has been set down. Their lives are simply spaces in our heads, and fleeting.
She doesn't seem to be going away, though.
There are more, I think. Things often seem to be a bit more crowded than they should be, and there have certainly been some oddly dressed people. Most do a better job of blending in than she does, but I've noticed a few recurring characters that I think I can trace to various books. I'd bet almost anything that that one salesman was Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, and I'm pretty sure that those two guys arguing about one of them having crabbaples in their cheeks were Yossarian and Orr. They're all dressed in pretty modern clothes, but that makes some sense- your minds eye might skimp on a lot of details, let the characters wear whatever would be incongruous. Your perception of them updates, isn't tied to one time so much as the *character*.
The girl is from a period piece, though. I'm pretty sure. I'm *also* pretty sure...
Feels...feels a little awkward to say, actually. But somehow, in my minds eye, I saw her as having a crush on me.
I don't know why, exactly. She's nice enough, and she was (and *is*, now) pretty enough, in my minds eye. But it's not like I had a particularly strong crush on *her*. Just...something about her made her seem as though she'd be crazy about me if she actually met me. We assign odd characteristics to characters, sometimes. Makes them seem more full, more human.
Here's the thing, though- they're *not*. Humans are *complicated*, full of twisting emotions and desires and a bunch of stuff that, to be perfectly frank, frequently makes no damn sense whatsoever. This one person has a talent for baking scones but can't bake anything else somehow, and has memorized chapter three of book three of the Harry Potter series because they had to do some crazy school assignment about it, and none of that *matters* but it's still part of who they *are*.
People are complicated.
And I couldn't make full-fledged *people*, not even with an authors help. A talented painter can make an incredible image of a mountain, complete with happy little trees, but image is not reality, and they can't conjure a mountain from nothing any more than you or I can.
Had I created them? Pale images conjured within my mind, given shadowy form in reality, cursed to wander forever, snapshots lost without context, searching for fleeting meaning?
I mean, I *hope* not.
Still, the alternative isn't exactly pretty. Something in my mind has broken a little. Or more than a little.
Difficult to deal with, but more possible than dealing with actual phantoms. Step one was to see a psychiatrist, learn what to do from an expert.
Fortunately, I was able to breeze through, get an appointment the very day that I inquired. A little odd, but it makes sense- you don't want to leave serious mental issues on the back burner. Not least because you never know how long clarity may last.
I sat down, and described my symptoms in detail- what I had thought I'd seen, and what I thought was going on.
"You think *you've* got problems? What about *my* problems?"
Funny how I'd managed to get so far without actually learning the doctors *name*. A quick check revealed the truth- I was talking to doc Daneeka.
This may prove harder to deal with than I thought.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
He squeezed in through the closing door and plopped down on n empty seat, panting from his run. An old woman several seats to his right sniffed disapprovingly before returning to her book. He smiled as the train jolted into motion. *Made it*.
His gaze landed on a pair of dainty shoes under a frilly hem of a dress so long it nearly brushed the grimy floor. He looked up, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. The dress was resplendent with frills, with long wide sleeves and a flared skirt that draped over the nearby seats. Its owner was the palest woman he had ever seen, with midnight-black hair held back by a—snood, he thought it was called—and cool grey eyes.
And she was staring back at him.
His cheeks heated up, and he quickly averted his gaze. How long had he been staring? He couldn't tell. In his defense, she did make for a peculiar sight. Was this historical reenactment? Cosplay?
The train stopped at the next station, and more people rushed in. He risked a glance across and instantly found himself pinpointed by a pair of grey eyes. He held eye contact for a moment, captivated by her doll-like features, then wrenched his gaze away.
The train resumed moving. He shifted in his seat, still feeling her gaze on him. What a strange woman. Stranger yet, none of the other passengers seemed to be paying her any attention.
Swallowing, he pretended to read the advertisement above her head and hazarded another peek. *God*, she was still staring. Was she angry? He couldn't tell. Her face remained cool and emotionless, and he could have sworn she hadn't blinked once.
He pulled out his phone and stared down at the screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and approach him, her skirt swishing about her feet. He backed into his seat and stubbornly kept his gaze lowered until she stooped over him, casting a shadow over the screen.
Unable to take it any longer, he looked up. Her face was uncomfortably close, her eyes scrutinizing him unblinkingly.
"C-can I help you?" he asked.
Her brow knitted in the first display of emotion he had seen. "You can see me?" Her voice was soft and even.
"Well, sure. Can't everyone?" He chuckled nervously, then clammed up. The other passengers seemed to be sending him wary looks.
She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. There was something so odd about her, so out-of-place in the dingy subway, that he couldn't help taking her seriously.
Mustering his courage, he addressed the old woman to his right. "Excuse me."
She faced him reluctantly. "Yes?"
"Do you see a lady in a black dress?" he asked, tipping his chin before him.
The old woman stared at him in silence, then rose and shuffled to the front of the car. The nearest passengers sidled away, muttering under their breaths. He groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. What an inconvenient timing to go insane.
The lady in black considered him for a moment and sat down beside him. He sidled one seat away. She followed without a word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Best not acknowledge her.
Another stop. More passengers filtered in, and the car filled up, but no one acknowledged the strange lady, and neither did they attempt to sit beside him. How odd. If she wasn't real, he expected someone to take her seat. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
"What are you doing?" the hallucination asked.
He winced. "Trying to make you disappear."
She was silent for a moment. "Do you possess such a power?"
He snorted at the seriousness of her questing, then squeezed his eyes shut and focused some more. Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. "Apparently not."
She nodded wistfully. "I didn't think so. It would've been convenient, though."
"Convenient?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. "How so?"
"I've been around for a long time, and I haven't found a way to disappear yet."
He shivered at the melancholy in her voice. She didn't sound sad so much as detached. *Resigned*.
The train stopped once more, and people left and got on. She kept peering at him, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.
"Mine's the next stop," he said quietly.
"That's a shame." She lowered her head, breaking eye contact for the first time. "I haven't met anyone who could see me for a while."
He drummed his fingers against the seat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered. As the train began to slow, he stood, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and held one out. It somehow seemed appropriate. "Will you come with me? I'll at least hear you out."
She raised her head and blinked in surprise. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take his hand, but then a smile curved her lips, and she laid her hand in his. "Thank you."
|
I think...
I think I see read people.
It makes a...certain amount of sense. From a certain point of view. Reading brings characters to life, after all. You see them in your minds eye, feel their feelings, watch them struggle and learn and grow.
We all see read people, really.
Still, more than a little disconcerting when they stick around long after the book has been set down. Their lives are simply spaces in our heads, and fleeting.
She doesn't seem to be going away, though.
There are more, I think. Things often seem to be a bit more crowded than they should be, and there have certainly been some oddly dressed people. Most do a better job of blending in than she does, but I've noticed a few recurring characters that I think I can trace to various books. I'd bet almost anything that that one salesman was Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, and I'm pretty sure that those two guys arguing about one of them having crabbaples in their cheeks were Yossarian and Orr. They're all dressed in pretty modern clothes, but that makes some sense- your minds eye might skimp on a lot of details, let the characters wear whatever would be incongruous. Your perception of them updates, isn't tied to one time so much as the *character*.
The girl is from a period piece, though. I'm pretty sure. I'm *also* pretty sure...
Feels...feels a little awkward to say, actually. But somehow, in my minds eye, I saw her as having a crush on me.
I don't know why, exactly. She's nice enough, and she was (and *is*, now) pretty enough, in my minds eye. But it's not like I had a particularly strong crush on *her*. Just...something about her made her seem as though she'd be crazy about me if she actually met me. We assign odd characteristics to characters, sometimes. Makes them seem more full, more human.
Here's the thing, though- they're *not*. Humans are *complicated*, full of twisting emotions and desires and a bunch of stuff that, to be perfectly frank, frequently makes no damn sense whatsoever. This one person has a talent for baking scones but can't bake anything else somehow, and has memorized chapter three of book three of the Harry Potter series because they had to do some crazy school assignment about it, and none of that *matters* but it's still part of who they *are*.
People are complicated.
And I couldn't make full-fledged *people*, not even with an authors help. A talented painter can make an incredible image of a mountain, complete with happy little trees, but image is not reality, and they can't conjure a mountain from nothing any more than you or I can.
Had I created them? Pale images conjured within my mind, given shadowy form in reality, cursed to wander forever, snapshots lost without context, searching for fleeting meaning?
I mean, I *hope* not.
Still, the alternative isn't exactly pretty. Something in my mind has broken a little. Or more than a little.
Difficult to deal with, but more possible than dealing with actual phantoms. Step one was to see a psychiatrist, learn what to do from an expert.
Fortunately, I was able to breeze through, get an appointment the very day that I inquired. A little odd, but it makes sense- you don't want to leave serious mental issues on the back burner. Not least because you never know how long clarity may last.
I sat down, and described my symptoms in detail- what I had thought I'd seen, and what I thought was going on.
"You think *you've* got problems? What about *my* problems?"
Funny how I'd managed to get so far without actually learning the doctors *name*. A quick check revealed the truth- I was talking to doc Daneeka.
This may prove harder to deal with than I thought.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
I think...
I think I see read people.
It makes a...certain amount of sense. From a certain point of view. Reading brings characters to life, after all. You see them in your minds eye, feel their feelings, watch them struggle and learn and grow.
We all see read people, really.
Still, more than a little disconcerting when they stick around long after the book has been set down. Their lives are simply spaces in our heads, and fleeting.
She doesn't seem to be going away, though.
There are more, I think. Things often seem to be a bit more crowded than they should be, and there have certainly been some oddly dressed people. Most do a better job of blending in than she does, but I've noticed a few recurring characters that I think I can trace to various books. I'd bet almost anything that that one salesman was Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, and I'm pretty sure that those two guys arguing about one of them having crabbaples in their cheeks were Yossarian and Orr. They're all dressed in pretty modern clothes, but that makes some sense- your minds eye might skimp on a lot of details, let the characters wear whatever would be incongruous. Your perception of them updates, isn't tied to one time so much as the *character*.
The girl is from a period piece, though. I'm pretty sure. I'm *also* pretty sure...
Feels...feels a little awkward to say, actually. But somehow, in my minds eye, I saw her as having a crush on me.
I don't know why, exactly. She's nice enough, and she was (and *is*, now) pretty enough, in my minds eye. But it's not like I had a particularly strong crush on *her*. Just...something about her made her seem as though she'd be crazy about me if she actually met me. We assign odd characteristics to characters, sometimes. Makes them seem more full, more human.
Here's the thing, though- they're *not*. Humans are *complicated*, full of twisting emotions and desires and a bunch of stuff that, to be perfectly frank, frequently makes no damn sense whatsoever. This one person has a talent for baking scones but can't bake anything else somehow, and has memorized chapter three of book three of the Harry Potter series because they had to do some crazy school assignment about it, and none of that *matters* but it's still part of who they *are*.
People are complicated.
And I couldn't make full-fledged *people*, not even with an authors help. A talented painter can make an incredible image of a mountain, complete with happy little trees, but image is not reality, and they can't conjure a mountain from nothing any more than you or I can.
Had I created them? Pale images conjured within my mind, given shadowy form in reality, cursed to wander forever, snapshots lost without context, searching for fleeting meaning?
I mean, I *hope* not.
Still, the alternative isn't exactly pretty. Something in my mind has broken a little. Or more than a little.
Difficult to deal with, but more possible than dealing with actual phantoms. Step one was to see a psychiatrist, learn what to do from an expert.
Fortunately, I was able to breeze through, get an appointment the very day that I inquired. A little odd, but it makes sense- you don't want to leave serious mental issues on the back burner. Not least because you never know how long clarity may last.
I sat down, and described my symptoms in detail- what I had thought I'd seen, and what I thought was going on.
"You think *you've* got problems? What about *my* problems?"
Funny how I'd managed to get so far without actually learning the doctors *name*. A quick check revealed the truth- I was talking to doc Daneeka.
This may prove harder to deal with than I thought.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
He squeezed in through the closing door and plopped down on n empty seat, panting from his run. An old woman several seats to his right sniffed disapprovingly before returning to her book. He smiled as the train jolted into motion. *Made it*.
His gaze landed on a pair of dainty shoes under a frilly hem of a dress so long it nearly brushed the grimy floor. He looked up, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. The dress was resplendent with frills, with long wide sleeves and a flared skirt that draped over the nearby seats. Its owner was the palest woman he had ever seen, with midnight-black hair held back by a—snood, he thought it was called—and cool grey eyes.
And she was staring back at him.
His cheeks heated up, and he quickly averted his gaze. How long had he been staring? He couldn't tell. In his defense, she did make for a peculiar sight. Was this historical reenactment? Cosplay?
The train stopped at the next station, and more people rushed in. He risked a glance across and instantly found himself pinpointed by a pair of grey eyes. He held eye contact for a moment, captivated by her doll-like features, then wrenched his gaze away.
The train resumed moving. He shifted in his seat, still feeling her gaze on him. What a strange woman. Stranger yet, none of the other passengers seemed to be paying her any attention.
Swallowing, he pretended to read the advertisement above her head and hazarded another peek. *God*, she was still staring. Was she angry? He couldn't tell. Her face remained cool and emotionless, and he could have sworn she hadn't blinked once.
He pulled out his phone and stared down at the screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and approach him, her skirt swishing about her feet. He backed into his seat and stubbornly kept his gaze lowered until she stooped over him, casting a shadow over the screen.
Unable to take it any longer, he looked up. Her face was uncomfortably close, her eyes scrutinizing him unblinkingly.
"C-can I help you?" he asked.
Her brow knitted in the first display of emotion he had seen. "You can see me?" Her voice was soft and even.
"Well, sure. Can't everyone?" He chuckled nervously, then clammed up. The other passengers seemed to be sending him wary looks.
She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. There was something so odd about her, so out-of-place in the dingy subway, that he couldn't help taking her seriously.
Mustering his courage, he addressed the old woman to his right. "Excuse me."
She faced him reluctantly. "Yes?"
"Do you see a lady in a black dress?" he asked, tipping his chin before him.
The old woman stared at him in silence, then rose and shuffled to the front of the car. The nearest passengers sidled away, muttering under their breaths. He groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. What an inconvenient timing to go insane.
The lady in black considered him for a moment and sat down beside him. He sidled one seat away. She followed without a word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Best not acknowledge her.
Another stop. More passengers filtered in, and the car filled up, but no one acknowledged the strange lady, and neither did they attempt to sit beside him. How odd. If she wasn't real, he expected someone to take her seat. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
"What are you doing?" the hallucination asked.
He winced. "Trying to make you disappear."
She was silent for a moment. "Do you possess such a power?"
He snorted at the seriousness of her questing, then squeezed his eyes shut and focused some more. Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. "Apparently not."
She nodded wistfully. "I didn't think so. It would've been convenient, though."
"Convenient?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. "How so?"
"I've been around for a long time, and I haven't found a way to disappear yet."
He shivered at the melancholy in her voice. She didn't sound sad so much as detached. *Resigned*.
The train stopped once more, and people left and got on. She kept peering at him, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.
"Mine's the next stop," he said quietly.
"That's a shame." She lowered her head, breaking eye contact for the first time. "I haven't met anyone who could see me for a while."
He drummed his fingers against the seat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered. As the train began to slow, he stood, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and held one out. It somehow seemed appropriate. "Will you come with me? I'll at least hear you out."
She raised her head and blinked in surprise. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take his hand, but then a smile curved her lips, and she laid her hand in his. "Thank you."
|
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
|
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
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This girl in fancy Industrial Revolution era attire was definitely out of place, but nobody seemed to notice. She’s clutching some kind of handbag to her chest and seems to be silently sobbing as she stares, unblinking, at me.
I want to go over and ask what is the matter, but something feels off. Why am the only one that seems to notice her, and why does she never blink?
The train pulled up at my stop and the woman followed me, the doors closing right on her, but she just walked right through them. I start to panic as I walk home with her following. What if this is a vengeful spirit from forever ago seeking to right a wrong? What if they want to steal my soul to return to the mortal world? What if they want to drag me to their world for murder purposes? What if…! She’s gone.
I don’t feel any different. At least, I think I don’t. Must be the stress getting to me. I’ll go home and have a drink to relax, then that woman will never worry me again.
As I sat down with a beer in hand, there she was, on the couch next to me. Still clutching that handbag.
“You can see me, can’t you?” Her voice was smooth yet piercing. All I could do was nod. “So you are the destined one.” She put her handbag in my lap. “Open it.” She demanded. I opened the bag and saw a letter and a box. I grabbed the letter
> If you are reading this, then you are the key to lay this wayward soul to rest. You must go to your workplace with this box, place it under the stairs on the second floor, then clap three times. This will activate the box and provide closure. Once this is done, you will be handsomely rewarded by this woman’s mortal agent.
“So if I do this, you can move on?”
“Yes. It has been far too long.”
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There once was a ghostly ghoul
She sat on the train on a stool
Her hair was a mess
From her afterlife stress
But her features were calming and cool
I told her a kiss would be fun
And offered a sip of my rum
I pondered her frown
Until I looked down
And saw that my fly was undone
[Poem]
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
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A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
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There once was a ghostly ghoul
She sat on the train on a stool
Her hair was a mess
From her afterlife stress
But her features were calming and cool
I told her a kiss would be fun
And offered a sip of my rum
I pondered her frown
Until I looked down
And saw that my fly was undone
[Poem]
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[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
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A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
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This girl in fancy Industrial Revolution era attire was definitely out of place, but nobody seemed to notice. She’s clutching some kind of handbag to her chest and seems to be silently sobbing as she stares, unblinking, at me.
I want to go over and ask what is the matter, but something feels off. Why am the only one that seems to notice her, and why does she never blink?
The train pulled up at my stop and the woman followed me, the doors closing right on her, but she just walked right through them. I start to panic as I walk home with her following. What if this is a vengeful spirit from forever ago seeking to right a wrong? What if they want to steal my soul to return to the mortal world? What if they want to drag me to their world for murder purposes? What if…! She’s gone.
I don’t feel any different. At least, I think I don’t. Must be the stress getting to me. I’ll go home and have a drink to relax, then that woman will never worry me again.
As I sat down with a beer in hand, there she was, on the couch next to me. Still clutching that handbag.
“You can see me, can’t you?” Her voice was smooth yet piercing. All I could do was nod. “So you are the destined one.” She put her handbag in my lap. “Open it.” She demanded. I opened the bag and saw a letter and a box. I grabbed the letter
> If you are reading this, then you are the key to lay this wayward soul to rest. You must go to your workplace with this box, place it under the stairs on the second floor, then clap three times. This will activate the box and provide closure. Once this is done, you will be handsomely rewarded by this woman’s mortal agent.
“So if I do this, you can move on?”
“Yes. It has been far too long.”
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[WP] When one dies, the soul is split in three: one part becomes a ghost, one part gets reincarnated and one part is sent to heaven or hell. You are well versed in the supernatural and the occult, and you're eager to find out what happens if all three entities are reunited...
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“Ah bloody hell! That’s hot, that’s hot!”
Gazing down at the mess of wax all over the table, I stumble over to the travel sink I had set up and violently twist the faucet open, relieving my poor hand of the burn I so carelessly allowed it to endure. Turning around, I gaze at the series of carefully drawn symbols, meticulously placed candles, sacred objects, and of course, my own personal adjustments and tinkering(since no one has been mad enough to try this yet. Well, no one who had survived to tell about it at least, I think). Noticing some markings on the upper right side of the star had been smudged when I foolishly stumbled barely a moment ago. Oh well, no use in crying over spilt milk.
“Now, where’d I put that bloody book?”
Scanning the cave briefly for it, not being able to see much in the dim light, I hastily walk over to my improvised work desk(a rock, it’s just a really flat rock). Diving into the mass of papers, scrolls, tablets and whatnot I decided to bring along, I anxiously scramble until I see a hint of gold, the trimmed edge of its spine. Pulling it free from the mound of texts, with little regard for anything else in it. I caress my fingers gently across it’s leather-bound cover, before quickly unraveling the aged piece of twine keeping it sealed. Flipping through the pages until I spot the right one, I snatch the piece of chalk kept tucked behind my left ear, and carefully toe my way through the markings on the floor, before reaching where I had left off. Quickly scraping all the dried wax up, I stuff it in my pocket, before laying the book in a clear spot. Fumbling for the switch on my headlamp, I manage to flip it on, getting a better view on the book and ground before me. I hastily redraw the symbols, not bothering to take the time to sweat the small details. I had neither the time for the need to, since I had done this about a million times before. Finishing the markings in record time, I grab one of the spare candles out of my satchel and place it in the correct spot, being careful to light it once I’ve placed it down.
“Lesson most definitely learnt.” I say, as I wrap my burnt palm in the fabric I’d wrapped the candle in.
Now, onto the main event. Greatness waits for no man, I think to myself as I move to grab the necessary items from the makeshift altar I’d prepared(would you believe it, another flat rock). I walk over to the center of the circle, placing each sacred object in it’s place. First, an object of relevant importance that belonged to the deceased, in this case, a ring that had been given to them by their late wife. Next, an effigy made by a witch, a white witch to be exact. The effigy was made to symbolize the deceased in their reincarnation. Finally, the mummified heart of the individual in question, modified with runes and symbols, carved into it’s surface. With everything in order, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, count to three, and recite the incantation. Once finished, I practically choke on the absolute silence around me, afraid to open my eyes. But then suddenly, I feel this rush of, well, I can’t describe it, but power. Raw, natural power. My eyes suddenly shoot open, and I gasp in shock, as the words barely manage to escape my lips.
“Carter…? It, it worked!?”
Right before my eyes, there stood my best friend, as I had last seen him, before his terrible accident. His eyes wider than saucers, seemingly as surprised as I was. He stumbled forward, reaching for me, and I leaned in to catch him. As his arms wrap around my shoulders, I felt him, like really felt him. Warm flesh and blood. He shivered, and made a small choking sound, before I could hear sobs. He buried his head into my neck, as I hugged him close and patted his back gently.
“I missed you too, so much.”
“But…..how?”
His words caught me off guard, as he pulled away to look me in the eyes as he asked. But before i could answer him, he disappeared. Just as he had been there, he wasn’t. No big cloud of smoke, no fading, nothing. Just, was, then wasn’t. I swung my body around frantically, looking everywhere for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tugged at my hair in frustration, crying my heart out, screaming, until my throat felt hoarse. I had fallen to my knees, my breathe ragged and short. I felt absolutely defeated, until I heard someone cough right behind me. I whirled around, to look where the sound had come from.
“Carter!?” I cried out, hoping to see my best friend had reappeared.
“Uh, no, sorry. But I guess I am here to talk to you about that.”
Glaring in the direction of my makeshift altar, there stood a man leaning against it. He looked…well, his appearance was confusing. One moment he looked like an old caucasian man, tall, with a long white beard and a gnarled walking stick in one hand. I blinked and then he looked like a different old man, but with braided silverish hair, an equally neatly braided beard, and an eyepatch. Next a dark skinned woman in a grey pantsuit, then an olive skinned man in a pale blue tribal outfit. Each time his appearance changed, eventually getting stranger and stranger, but one thing remained consistent. Those kind, caring eyes. They made you feel warm, cozy and safe. That scared me, because I believe nothing that inviting comes without a cost.
“What do you want? Where is Carter? Who are you!?” The questions practically shot out of my mouth, fueled by my anxiety and worry.
“Well, Carter has been returned to where he belongs in the cycle of life, as he should have been all along. As for who I am and what I am doing here?”
“I believe you'd best know me as God, and what I want, is to talk to you about your cars extended warranty!”
We sat in silence for a few seconds as he stared at me with a totally serious face, before bursting into laughter for a good minute. Practically doubling over, he slapped his knee, and wiped a tear from his eye.
“My apologies, I try to keep up to date with humor, and I find that one particularly funny. But in all seriousness, I am God, and you made quite a mess of things with that spell of yours.”
“What do you mean I made quite a mess of things? I brought back one person! How does that one tiny thing affect anything in the grand scheme?”
He gazed at me with a look of pity, and for a brief moment, deep sadness.
“Oh I wish it were that easy. And for your sake, I do hope that it’s as you say, ‘one tiny thing’. Because if they think it wasn’t, well as your generation would put it, we’re all fucked.”
I don’t know what to be shocked by more. That I’m talking to God, or that God just cussed.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘if they think’. Who’s they?”, I asked concerned.
“Well, they’re-“
Just as he was about to speak, A bright light illuminated through the hole in the caves ceiling, flooding the cavern with a faint red glow. I stepped closer to get a better view, and nearly swallowed my tongue at what I saw. Bright red symbols decorating the sky, organized between two long lines, repeating itself across the sky, as if it were organized writing. However, I who can speak, read and write every language, both dead and alive, didn’t recognize it
“Oh dear, I was afraid this would happen.”
“Afraid what would happen!?” I asked the now solemn looking God.
“What does any of that mean?”
He sighed deeply, before turning his head towards me, and spoke in a truly sorrowful tone, almost mournfully.
“It translates to, Warning, security breach in containment. An instance of tampering has been identified, dispatching appropriate counter measures now.”
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Leather shoes slap marble. Umbrellas shake off rain. An Irishman in a thin tweed suit gesticulates wildly to his companion, a shadow behind his shoulder. Through the faint brogue he mutters, “The trinity, the Trimurti, the pyramids! My God! It was right in front of us! How many things have we lost due to wars, plagues, and nonsense?”
“Did you say ‘nonsense’ just so there would be three?” asks his companion as he removes a fine caped coat, tossing his – quite expensive-looking, might I add – ivory cane aside haphazardly so that it clacks on the marble of this grand, church-like room, wild as though he owns the place. "Such a poet."
The Irishman smears wetness from his monocle with his handkerchief. “Well, the subconscious knows more than we do, wouldn’t you say?” When he places it back on his face, it’s still smeared with fog, but he squints. “Something is amiss.” He shuffles to the altar, pulling tablecloths askew.
These damn rich, egotistical bastards. Doing sorcery in God’s country. I’ll get them on some charge, mark my words! I press myself small against the oaken door, listening in.
“It’s gone,” says the Irishman.
“What?”
I manage another squint through the mail hole of the door. The fine young English gentleman, who's hardly twenty and as handsome and as ugly as a freshly born babe, shuffles forward.
“Who would do such a thing?” the Englishman asks. “Why, to any average man it’s just a bronze ashtray.”
The Irishman swears as well as a sailor and cries out to a god I don’t know.
“Will, we’ll get another one,” says the Englishman tenderly.
“We haven’t charged it with enough power. There isn’t time. How are we supposed to prove to high society that souls and reincarnation and ghosts all exist at once? How can we capture the evidence to–?”
The Englishman says, “We’d have to observe it in action, Will. We’d still need a dying man. You’re being ridiculous. It’s not like if the cauldron was here, we’d kill someone, right?”
There’s a desperate, dripping silence. I hold my pen above my pad, fingers shaking. The Irishman says nothing, but breathes deeply.
“Will, darling, let’s have supper. We cannot make any meaningful changes without sleeping nor eating. This is very exciting, but–”
“We must find the limey pickpocket what stole it.”
“Yes, yes. Hmm. Well. Do you see any clues?”
Sherlocks they are not. I’m the detective. I’ve left no trace. I thumb the bronze bowl in my pocket, feeling a fool. Perhaps if I’d left the stupid thing up on the altar, I could have caught them in the act. I chance another glance at the pair before I must away.
They walk about the room, arms extended, looking quite foolish. They’re muttering nonsense to themselves, perhaps other languages or perhaps something else.
The oaken door opens.
Will’s face is over mine, shining with sweat, his monocle popping off.
“Aha!” says the gentleman, skipping across the marble floor. “Found the rat, have you?”
Before I can even raise my hand, the gentleman thwaps me on the forehead. As my vision fades to black, Will snatches the bronze bowl from my coat.
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[WP] Bored, immortal and looking for mischief you hire one of the best assassins in the world to target yourself, how many failed attempts before they realise
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The waiter approaches me. He seems nervous. I flash a smile, hoping to calm him down.
“W-w-what would you like to order, sir a-and m-madame?”
“Salad please,” I quickly reply, having already perused this menu many times over. Indeed, although he definitely doesn’t know this, I helped to write the very first edition of this menu several decades ago.
“C-certainly, madame. A-and as f-for you, s-sir?” The man seated across from me only glares at the waiter. He’s certainly not helping defuse the tension in the air, which I could cut with the exquisitely polished tableware before the both of us.
“Steak, perhaps?” No response from him. “Steak it is, then.”
“I-I’ll get the order r-ready immediately!” The waiter dashes away, doing his best to get away from our table. I can understand his reaction.
After all, the man seated before me is no ordinary man. Nay, if he were just an ordinary man, I would not be eating dinner with him today, not in the finest restaurant in the country.
I take a sip of the fine wine before me, swirling the drink in my mouth before swallowing, noting the bitter hint barely concealed by the other aromas. My dining partner raises an eyebrow briefly, before continuing to glare at me.
“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. This is a rather good choice, Monsieur. It’s bitter flavor really pairs well with the sweetness inherent to the grapes that grow in this particular region where they make this wine.”
“…”
“Don’t be so silent, you already know poison won’t work on me. Look, I even made an effort to wear a nice dress, to fit in today. The least you could do is pretend to like being here.”
Still no reply. Oh well, its not like I expected him to be chipper. Perhaps I shall just entertain myself. I did hire him for that reason, after all.
“You know, I was really impressed by the demolishment incident. I mean, you really went to the trouble to rig all the support pylons of that old hotel with explosives, then trigger a fire alarm, knowing that I’d ignore it because the building always has so many false alarms.”
He’s probably not happy that I brought that up. That look on his face is really making my day.
“Or, right, that time when you targeted my private jet with an AA missile. Although, I am a certified pilot, so there were no other casualties. Or rather, there were no casualties.”
I laugh, as if I had just told a really funny joke to him. The other guests dining in this place probably think I’m crazy now, seeing as how he continues to glare angrily.
“M-madame?”
Oh right, the waiter. “Yes, dear boy?”
“Your f-food, madame.” He hands over a salad, its crisp greens drizzled with an ample amount of creamy dressing. Little croutons sit swaddled amongst the leaves like infants in their cribs, and a thin wedge of fine cheese garnishes the finished dish. The founder of this restaurant would surely weep tears of joy if he could see this work of art, maintained just as he did it all those decades prior.
“Thank you, my dear.”
He quickly leaves, as I start to enjoy my salad. My dining partner pulls out a small flask of liquid, and drinks. A brief and pungent odor comes out from the flask, the signature smell of high-proof liquor.
“Drinking on the job?” I remark. “Mighty unprofessional, is it not?”
“What does it matter?” I perk up immediately. Finally, he breaks his silence. “Nothing works, anyway. Not the explosives, nor the rockets, nor the poisons or bullets. I’m a failure. Twenty-one attempts, all failures.”
“You’re only a failure because of me.” I chuckle slightly with that thought and enjoy another mouthful of my salad. “It doesn’t matter who you were, because you could’ve never hoped to succeed when it came to me.”
“So why? Why hire me, to take yourself out? Even though no matter what I do works?”
“Well,” I glance upwards, momentarily lost in thought, “I suppose it’s an exam?”
“An exam?”
“In a manner of speaking, to be precise. Certainly, you realize now that I am, unkillable?”
“Disgustingly, yes.”
“Naturally, one such as myself with the funds to hire a person of your skills for a pointless task such as targeting myself is surely a woman with many enemies, correct?”
“So, you’re bored, immortal, and have many enemies? Enemies who need to be…removed?”
“Exactly. So, mister, how would you like to finally remove someone who can be removed? Because, I’ve got a long list of doubts, but your skills at what you do aren’t one of them.”
He glances over towards the kitchen. I turn, noticing the waiter watching us from behind the kitchen counter ducking down immediately.
“You’re paying for the food.”
I smile. “Of course. Although, that’s not all I’m paying for.”
I take another bite of my salad, enjoying the refreshing taste of the tender greens. At the same time, I reach into my clutch and pull out a small scrap of paper with a name scribbled on it, passing it over to him.
“I look forward to your first success.”
&#x200B;
(If you have any feedback, good or bad, I'd like to read it. Thanks for reading.)
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Beorth the Bold. Beorth. The Bold. I like the sound of that. It makes you believe that he will resolve matters swiftly and definitively. When you start saying it, it's robust, rough almost. But in the end, it just rolls off of your tongue. Fascinating. And that name, Beorth, where have I heard it before? It has to be Northern realms royalty, perhaps a prince running from a predestined life? Too bad he's basically a useless brute. How can you celebrate one's boldness if there's but a gaping nothing behind those fierce eyes? Beorth the Ignoramus would be far more fitting. Maybe Beorth the Stump, haha. I'm a riot. Look at him swinging that axe around, what utter disregard for his surroundings, spilling everyone's drinks. And with that situational awareness, he might as well be dancing on the grave of finesse. Or soon his own.
On the other end of the tavern we have Marigan Eriol, dark and brooding, pent up in the dimmest corner of course. I can tell that the arm resting on the table is fake, his actual arm squeezing the hilt of a dagger under his cloak no doubt. How very crafty. Now here we have one that's cut from different cloth than most. There are many things I would not put past him while he's out for blood and that's saying something about an elf. There is word out there however, that he may be losing his touch somewhat. And sure enough, is that a full coin purse laid out on the table for all to see? So preposterously vain. Unless it's counterfeit coin? No, not with those pristine boots he's wearing. That is actual coin and it may be laid out to dispel any delusions of who may afford his services. Obnoxiously pricy and dangerously proud.
There is one other here who people usually do not consider hiring and it has nothing to do with her expertise. For those are, rest assured, without equal in the Realm. It's just that few know how to ask about them, or find her to begin with. I am truly lucky to end up in the same tavern as her. Daughter of an apothecary, orphaned at a very young age, she's been on the road most of her life. Nothing creates a calloused soul quite like being left to your own devices, deprived of love and companionship. What a travesty. Oh, here she comes now.
“Your drink good sir. Fresh water with a heap of salt.”
The way she's looking at me, I can tell she's intrigued. But she hides it well. Does no one in this Realm know what a demon's favourite drink is?
“Thank you love. Pray tell, how welcome you this melancholy eventide?”
“'Tis as melancholy as any other my lord.”
“Ah yes, I imagine working at a tavern tends to facilitate that. Please, sit with me.”
“I'm afraid I've work to do my lord.”
“I'm afraid that you do yes. Serving drinks with enchanting good looks appears to only be an appetizer to your more ... prolific services. Sona Aster.” The board is set. Let's see if the cat's out of the bag.
“Very well. We can talk, but only if you lower your voice and never utter that name again.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” What irony, I'm dizzy with excitement!
“You appear to be well informed for someone skulking about a place such as this and ordering this swill.”
“You would be surprised love. But before we go any further, I'm dying to see any proof that I'm talking to the real deal.“
“You and him both. Quite literally.”
“Oh?” Did she beckon towards Beorth?
“I've infused his beer. His life essence is now bound to this crystal I hold. The further away he travels from it, the sicker he will feel. Tomorrow, he'll be heading out on that quest he's been so boastful about all evening and I'm making sure it will be his last.”
“Right.”
“It's just something I like pointing out at the beginning of each contract. Taking liberties with me, however small, is a big mistake. Am I being clear?“
“*Crystal* clear darling. And that's all fine and dandy, but surely you do not expect me to wait until our rowdy friend croaks from dysentery to believe you?”
“Of course not. Hand me your mug?” And now she's crushed the crystal. A tad anticlimactic. But wait, is that ...? Oh my. Beorth appears to be shriveling up like a dead flower. How morbidly marvelous.
“Well done. I'm in love.”
“Enough with the showcases, who am I looking for?”
“Oh right. Me. I want you to assassinate me.”
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[WP]"This human form is limiting." My son keeps telling me, like I wasn't the one to put him in it.
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“Must I travel in that ridiculous wagon again?” the boy asked, his dozenth complaint of the morning.
“It’s called a school bus, Micah.” Micah’s father said.
“I know it’s called a school bus, but it’s ridiculous. Why is it so bright? Why is everything so bright here?” Micah asked.
“Human children find it joyful,” his father said. “You won’t make any friends by being so negative you know.”
“Why would I need friends?” Micah asked.
It was a chilly March morning, not quite cold enough for it to be snowing, but Micah could see his own breath while he and his father waited for the bus to arrive. When the bus arrived, Micah dragged his feet and looked back multiple times.
Gabriel waved goodbye to his son and walked back into the house. He turned on the gas range, he cut fresh fruit while it heated up. He mixed up pancake batter and kept a watchful eye over it while its edges crisped up, the middle fluffy. He grabbed a chilled cup from the fridge and filled it with apple juice. He put it all on a tray as he walked upstairs to the master bedroom. He turned the doorknob quietly.
“My angel,” Gabriel said. “It’s time for breakfast.”
She woke gently, Gabriel took care not to look her directly in the eyes.
“Thank you, dear.” she said, her voice resonated in his head.
She took the plate of food and cut neatly slices out of the pancake, she took small sips of the juice. She nodded approvingly.
“How was Micah this morning?” she asked, she spoke without moving her mouth. Gabriel tried to remind her that humans would find it disturbing, but Saraquiel didn’t care.
“He was the same as always,” Gabriel said. He slid into bed and he felt Sara’s warmth, he still made sure not to look into her eyes. “He’s not a fan of the bus.”
“I’ve seen it once,” Sara said. “I don’t blame him. It’s a hideous thing.”
Gabriel laughed. “It’s something most human children experience here.”
“And you’re certain that this will help him?” Sara asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m more than certain.”
Sara moved the plate of food onto the floor and she curled up next to Gabriel, her heat had grown more intense, it threatened to singe the sheets.
“Wake me when Micah returns from his adventure,” she said.
“From school, Sara.” Gabriel said.
Sara laughed, “Such a funny name for a place that sounds like a prison. School.”
Saraquiel fell asleep then, she never stayed awake for too long - especially not now with the long winter approaching. Gabriel went to the study where he turned on the lights and the portable heater under his desk. He flipped open his laptop and read the news and rumors of what the everwinter was going to be like.
No one knew what was causing the eternal snow that was falling across the world except Micah and his parents. Micah rode the school bus, trying his best to drown out the noise of the other children. As the school bus gently came to a stop at a house down the street, a stumpy child named Bryce walked down the row of seats. He made eye contact with Micah and Micah steadied his breath, which he could still see even inside the bus.
“Move, idiot.” Bryce said, standing right in front of Micah.
“This seat is occupied,” Micah replied, staring out the window at the sad, gray landscape of dying trees.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” Bryce said. “I’m being nice here.”
Micah looked away from his window now, sensing Bryce’s frustrations, his impatience. Bryce balled his hand into a fist and Micah sensed it coming.
He looked into Bryce’s eye then and he saw it. In that moment, Micah reached down into Bryce’s soul and he touched it. He remembered his mother’s teachings.
“Be gentle, Micah. To truly touch a human, your touch must be gentle.” she told him a few centuries after he was born.
Micah felt Bryce’s soul in his hands and as much as he wanted to crush it, to put on a show for the other kids watching the confrontation, he held it in his palm and kept a gentle touch on it. Bryce stood, frozen in place.
“What’s wrong with him?” one child asked another, they were watching as Bryce stood still, failing to move even an inch. His right hand was raised, aimed at Micah’s body.
“Bryce!” the bus driver yelled. “Hurry up and sit your butt down.”
The children laughed and Micah whispered, in his own language.
“You may sit,” he said.
Bryce sat down next to Micah, eerily still.
Micah enjoyed the silence and continued to stare outside the window, eagerly waiting for everwinter to arrive.
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Humans are the apex predator on Earth: capable of incredible feats of endurance; building and thriving in incredibly complex societies with intricate communal rules; they are firmly implanted in every biome at the heart of every local ecosystem. They truly are… the creme de la creme of Earthian lifeforms.
Or so it’s been advertised.
Follow our five parts review on what it’s really like to be human in this incredible new series, bringing the cosmos closer to you!
First of all: the unboxing.
From the get go, the packaging is delicate and prone to ripping. There’s a truly awkward and involved process to prepping a human. This includes an incredible delivery time of three quarters of a planetary orbit around the local star! But is it worth it?
Now, for this episode I’ve volunteered my latest offspring for some convenient free labour – which brings us to our sponsor today: Fertile’s Us! Why bother with interspecies cooperation and the perpetual headaches of social communication when you can pop out your very own workforce, disposable income and foodsource all in one! Say no to contraception today and embrace heading your new family empire. Fertility, no seasons asked. Follow up down below for more incredible content!
Alright, back to humans and the wonders of soft membranes wrapped around hard casing – yes, you heard me! This creation truly is an insult to good design. After a bit of a struggle, we’ve gotten the proper parts all set up. Let’s give it to baby offspring for the first impressions:
Unwieldy.
In one word, interpreted from a liberal application of gesticulating.
Look at it go, it’s gotten tangled over its own appendage for the fourth time already. I simply cannot count the number of times I’ve had to step in because it’s rolled over. And – get this – the human form is utterly unable to right itself up on its own for at the very least a tenth of a star orbit! Incredible.
So far, it’s a one star rating for me. Next episode, we’ll see more on mobility as our lovely offspring starts testing the limits of the human form! Stay tuned and don’t forget – we’re all made of star dust today!
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[WP] In our world there are no superpowers, and both scientists and the internet agree that there can’t be. So, it’s a real surprise to you when you somehow end up with them. Now, with the Marvel comics as your guide, you’re going to attempt to become a superhero. If the world will let you.
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"Ever read the Metamorphosis? The idea is that there was a guy who woke up one day having a bug's body instead of a human one. That was basically me, but instead of being a bug, I was entirely made out of glass."
*The young woman sitting across the table from me looks down at my exposed arms, confused.*
"Are you sure? It just looks like normal skin."
*I take a beat. I saved her life with this less than five minutes ago. Was she not paying attention?*
*I put one of my arms on the table and I stop pretending to be made of flesh and blood. My whole body vitrifies, starting off as unbroken transparent glass before crackling around the joints. She shifts backwards in her seat, startled.*
"Jesus!"
"Yeah, that was my first reaction too. But it's actually not bad. I can make glass explode just by thinking about it, I can absorb broken glass to replace anything I lose, and I don't have to worry about my terminal illness."
"Your *what*?"
"We'll get to that in a bit, but I think that answers most of the questions you had. Also, you can call me Mosaic. Mo, for short. It's the best superhero name I could come up with on short notice, the rest of them sounded like war crimes."
*She narrows her eyes.*
"Really? You've picked out a superhero name? You haven't even figured out how to rescue somebody properly without busting every window on the block."
"That's pretty rich, considering you threw a guy through a windshield."
"But I'm not putting on a sleeveless shirt and considering doing that for a career, *Mo*. "
"...Point taken."
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*I know this is my own prompt, but I just got an idea, haha.*
**A Not-So-Stranger In a Not-So-Strange Land**
I stand in the bathroom, hands slicked with sweat as I lean against the counter, repeating like a the words, **”This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”** like a sort of frenzied mantra.
After all, when one figures out they have superpowers now, they would most likely freak out and/or have a panic attack. This is real life, not a Marvel comic.
Though, it certainly feels like something out of a Marvel comic.
I really didn’t ask for this. I know a lot of people would *say* that in my situation, but most people have wished for powers at least once in their adult life.
I am an exception.
Sure, I guess you could say when I was pretending to be Superman, or Spider-Man as a child I was wishing for superpowers. But as an adult? No way José!
I guess you could say I have an “odd” perception of life (or you could say it‘s completely normal to you, I wouldn’t know), I don’t want to live a life too different from the acceptable norm, because those who shine brightest burn fastest if you know what I mean.
Take for example Spider-Man. He did all this amazing stuff for people, from saving them from fires to stopping powerful supervillains, he did it all. Yet, what did he get for it? Nada. Zilch. Nothing. Nothing except for constant hate from the media for being different, even though he was an amazing hero.
And Spider-Man’s reality isn’t even close to true reality!
So, here I am, muttering like a madman and staring into the mirror with a stricken expression on my face, dripping with perspiration.
Though I try to ignore it, I can’t help but watch with a completely helpless expression as the marble countertop cracks under my hands like sandstone, and I’m not even gripping them that hard.
I let go and stumble back against the wall, hugging my pajama’d knees like a lifeline.
*Why is this happening to me?* My head screams, *I didn’t ask for this! I don’t want this!*
I pinch myself, hard enough to draw blood from a normal person, but I am no longer normal. My skin isn’t even scratched.
*God!* I plead, grasping at straws, trying to get the one who let this happen to listen, *Take this away! Please. I‘m not strong enough… well,* mentally and emotionally *strong enough for this. I don’t want this. Take this away.*
If He’s listening, God doesn’t answer.
Perhaps he’s letting this go to voicemail.
I’m not a heroic person. I‘ll never be a heroic person.
This is one huge mistake.
I never should have taken that damn laboratory tour.
I’m not a hero.
I can’t be a hero.
This is reality. The real world can’t handle a person like me.
*I* can’t handle a person like me.
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[WP] After 15 years, you’ve always remained certain that your father ditched you while going out for cigarettes when you were a kid. But when a knock is heard at the door, you open it to find your father staring you in the face, with a pack of cigarettes, and literally...having not aged a single day
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Life was good. Ryan stood in his kitchen watching his wife and kids swimming in the pool through the large bay windows. He was getting ready to go out and join them when the doorbell rang.
They weren't expecting any visitors today. He walked across the kitchen into the foyer that was bathed in warm sunlight shining through the multiple skylights set in the vaulted ceiling.
Ryan opened the door to a man standing on their porch with a plastic bag at his side. His heart nearly stopped when he realized it was his father. It had been two decades since he had last seen his father, but he recognized him immediately.
"Dad?"
His father looked around as if he just realized where was, "I, uh, think this might be the wrong house."
"Dad, it's me. Ryan. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Ryan? I don't understand. I just ran to the store, and when I left everything was changed. Something directed me here. Like a feeling I'd been here before."
Ryan looked past his father to see the same car they had when he was growing up. His dad was even still wearing the same favorite jacket he wore in many of the pictures Ryan had of him.
"This doesn't make any sense. How could you have known where I live now? Why haven't you aged at all?"
Tiny blocks of blurred light began forming in Ryan's vision and the man he knew as his father was frozen unnaturally still. Ryan tried to look around but his head was heavy as a boulder. The visual artifacts multiplied until the world melted away around him and he was in a black void.
Gentle white light bathed him as he opened his eyes and found himself sitting in a large reclined chair with sensors taped to his arms and legs. Reality came crashing back into him. He was in his lab at the college.
"Well that was ham-fisted." He said to himself as he pulled off the sensors and got up from the chair.
Brendan wasn't in the room. Ryan walked over to the monitoring station and began looking over the data. He was halfway through the logs when Brendan walked in.
"You're out already? It hasn't even been an hour." Brenden stood behind him to watch over his shoulder.
"There was significant perceptual discord that caused the neural interface to lose synchronization."
"That figures. Right when I ran to the bathroom. Sorry."
"It's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done if you were here. The simulation was doing an excellent job at fulfilling traditional desires up until the error. "
Brenden went to the interface station to start tucking away the sensors and wiping down the chair. "So what happened?"
"It tried to introduce my father."
"Not enough data? I'm guessing there was still enough residual unconscious memory access to cause the cascade."
"No. He abandoned us when I was fifteen."
Brenden looked up with a sad frown. "Oh. Damn."
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“Where were you?” I asked hesitantly as my father stood at the door.
“I’m sorry but there was a bit of a hold up. They were very busy tonight.” He replied, cigarette in his mouth and speaking around it.
Hasn’t aged a day. I thought. His voice hasn’t changed either. Hair still brown, face unwrinkled, eyes still holding that young charm.The same charm he had in his eyes when he left.
“Can I come in?” He asked impatiently.
“Sure.” I said as I took a step aside.
In a passing remark he said, “You look older.”
“And you haven’t aged a day.” I snidely returned.
He turned to me with a look of horror on his face. I thought that he may have figured out that in some way. Some mysterious way he had disappeared for eight years and seemed as if he had only spent a few years out of the house.
Instead he scolded me for talking to him in such a way.
“It would help if you were here for the eight years you left.” I added after he finished.
His anger flashed with confusion as he took a harder look at my face.
“My God.” he sighed, “You are older.” He put a hand to my cheek and I felt his rough hands.
His hands which hadn’t touched anything in the house for nearly a decade felt as soft as I remember. His fingers found small wrinkles forming in the corner of my mouth as his hand caressed my face.
“My God you are older.” he repeated, the burnt tobacco on the tip of his cigarette, Winstons if I remember correctly, crumbled and made a small pile of ash on the freshly cleaned carpet.
He looked with dismay at the small pile. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, looked for an ashtray but found none and ended up, with a look of dismay, crushing it on the porch before entering the house again. He walked with purpose to the kitchen where he expected his wife. She wasn’t there.
“Where is she?” he asked, looking away from the sink and the brand new faucet.
“She died about three years ago.” I said feeling unduly ashamed and bowing my head as if I had made a big mistake.
Tears ran in his eyes and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He sat down with a huff at the same table which had been there as long as I could remember. He shoved his fists against his eyes and began to cry. I again felt ashamed. Why should it be your own child to tell you that the one person you loved most in your life died while, despite how crazy it seemed, you were missing from her life for eight years and yet, to you, only an evening went by.
So much had happened while he was gone. Worse yet was the fact this was unfurled on him after a simple cigarette run. I looked upon him with a pity that even I myself couldn’t understand. He was forty-two the day he disappeared and broke my mother’s heart. Right now eight years later he was still forty-two despite the fact that with a basic math problem that was impossible.
I, who was sixteen at the time he last walked out the door, was now in the prime of my age at twenty-four. I had had a chance at college but had to stay behind to care for my mother, whose decline in health could only be correlated to losing him. I should hate him for causing so much pain for her and to me. Instead I feel pity for how things turned out.
He sat at the table for a long time before he looked back up at me, his eyes red and ringed with tears. He asked the question I had dreaded without knowing I should. I had darted around the subject subconsciously.
“How did this happen?”
I stared at him, my eyes sincere, and began to tell him about how she died but then the real meaning of his question. He wasn’t asking about how she had gone. He hadn’t asked about how anything had changed in his eight year/hour excursion down the the end of the street for a box of cigarettes. He was asking how his hour had turned into eight years.
My mouth, which had stayed open the entire time of the realization, was snapped dutifully shut then I began speaking.
“I don’t know. I don’t have any fucking clue what happened. You probably have a better idea. For all I know you could be some creep who happens to look like my father eight years ago.”
I felt chills that this could be true and that I could’ve let a complete stranger into the house. I continued nonetheless.
“You may have traveled in some portal and ended up skipping the amount of time. Some crazy science experiment could have occurred and paused time for you for these eight years.”
Almost to the day as far as I remember. Again I felt chills at this realization.
“I don’t know what happened dad. I honestly have no clue.”
He frowned. “I don’t know either.”
“I turned around and ran my hands through my hair. Damn I could use a cigarette right now. But I can’t. “It was the reason your father left. Don’t be like him.” My mother had said it multiple times over the years and right now I could feel the power behind that statement. However it had changed now that he was here. He had never left them. He was just held up. A thing I had told myself so many times before I realized he wasn’t coming back. But he’s back now. Nothing is holding me back now.
“Can I have one?” I asked beckoning to the pack of crumpled Winstons still in my fathers bone white grip.
Could he be dead?
“Sure.” he said vacantly, holding the pack up halfheartedly.
I took it and after pulling out one that wasn’t broken off I pulled a lighter from a cabinet drawer and lit the thing up. I took a deep breath and coughed out the smoke. Not discouraged, I took another drag and was able to hold this one back for a moment before blowing it out in a puff. My nose turned up at the acrid smell as my lungs screamed for mercy. I ignored both searching for relief in the tobacco and the nicotine hidden within.
My father looked vacantly out the window. His eyes darted as some nighttime creature darted past the scene locked in from his angle. I looked out the window but saw nothing. I turned back to him and he had changed his point of interest to some of the differences.
His eyes passed over everything and paused momentarily on things that weren’t there eight years before. He must have been remembering something each time because he seemed to become entirely devoted to the object. I watched with a guilty interest.
When the cigarette burnt out I was feeling a little better about myself. I considered another but passed as I didn't want it to turn into a habit. I tossed the pack of destroyed cigarettes into the trash bin and found a well trained hand reaching up for the cabinet where the alcohol was stored. This was something I had done way too many times than I wish to admit.
Without looking my hand passed over the familiar shape of the bottle as I searched another cabinet for a pair of glasses. I placed them both on the table and poured myself a glass then offered the bottle to him. He hesitated at first then took a dash right out of the bottle. I drained my glass and, having put it to the side, took back the bottle and had a large swallow.
The burn was familiar and comforting as the warmth rose from my stomach. I put the stopper back in the battle after we passed it back several times. It sat silently in the middle of the table. Tempting, daring for one of us to make another move for it.
The whiskey seemed to loosen my father up and he began crying again. I patted him on the back like an old pal. When his sobbing subsided he apologized again and again. I told him it was alright and that I knew he wouldn’t have run off.
After several hours I took him into the empty bedroom and then went to bed myself.
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[WP] After 15 years, you’ve always remained certain that your father ditched you while going out for cigarettes when you were a kid. But when a knock is heard at the door, you open it to find your father staring you in the face, with a pack of cigarettes, and literally...having not aged a single day
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Life was good. Ryan stood in his kitchen watching his wife and kids swimming in the pool through the large bay windows. He was getting ready to go out and join them when the doorbell rang.
They weren't expecting any visitors today. He walked across the kitchen into the foyer that was bathed in warm sunlight shining through the multiple skylights set in the vaulted ceiling.
Ryan opened the door to a man standing on their porch with a plastic bag at his side. His heart nearly stopped when he realized it was his father. It had been two decades since he had last seen his father, but he recognized him immediately.
"Dad?"
His father looked around as if he just realized where was, "I, uh, think this might be the wrong house."
"Dad, it's me. Ryan. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Ryan? I don't understand. I just ran to the store, and when I left everything was changed. Something directed me here. Like a feeling I'd been here before."
Ryan looked past his father to see the same car they had when he was growing up. His dad was even still wearing the same favorite jacket he wore in many of the pictures Ryan had of him.
"This doesn't make any sense. How could you have known where I live now? Why haven't you aged at all?"
Tiny blocks of blurred light began forming in Ryan's vision and the man he knew as his father was frozen unnaturally still. Ryan tried to look around but his head was heavy as a boulder. The visual artifacts multiplied until the world melted away around him and he was in a black void.
Gentle white light bathed him as he opened his eyes and found himself sitting in a large reclined chair with sensors taped to his arms and legs. Reality came crashing back into him. He was in his lab at the college.
"Well that was ham-fisted." He said to himself as he pulled off the sensors and got up from the chair.
Brendan wasn't in the room. Ryan walked over to the monitoring station and began looking over the data. He was halfway through the logs when Brendan walked in.
"You're out already? It hasn't even been an hour." Brenden stood behind him to watch over his shoulder.
"There was significant perceptual discord that caused the neural interface to lose synchronization."
"That figures. Right when I ran to the bathroom. Sorry."
"It's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done if you were here. The simulation was doing an excellent job at fulfilling traditional desires up until the error. "
Brenden went to the interface station to start tucking away the sensors and wiping down the chair. "So what happened?"
"It tried to introduce my father."
"Not enough data? I'm guessing there was still enough residual unconscious memory access to cause the cascade."
"No. He abandoned us when I was fifteen."
Brenden looked up with a sad frown. "Oh. Damn."
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At first neither of us could speak, i because what are you to say to a ghost and him because what are you to say to a near perfect copy of your own self. He reacted first, he was always good at thinking on his feet, former cop and all. He had his gun out and me stumbling backwards before I could even close my jaw.
"It's me, it's me it's me dad" I stuttered as I tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell backwards onto the living room floor. "It's me, your son, James dad".
"Bullshit", he growled, his voice the same cigarette scarred gravel I remembered. "He's 7 and my other kids 10. You're 20 at least. Now tell me what the hell you're doing in my house and where my kids and their mother is before I plug you in the goddamn skull".
I could see his face contouring with rage, contorting into something I had only seen once before, once right before he went away. I am going to die by my own father I thought as he leveled the gun. I am going to die by own dad and I can't even think of anything to say to stop it. I watched as he tossed the cigarettes he was carrying onto the couch. He was freeing up his left hand to do something, maybe beat me, or maybe he was just wanting to make sure he didn't miss. All I could do was open and close my dry mouth like the fish we used to catch.
Cautiously he took two steps into the house. "Now tell me where the fuck my wife is, and where the fuck my real kids are, and, and, why the fuck do you look like me". My eyes had become locked onto the black muzzle of the gun, but they looked past it once the 9mm diameter end began to weave and jump as if in an earthquake. My father's face was no longer one of pure rage, now if also held confusion, and the ever slightest hint of fear.
"And why did you move my couch, and, and why is it leather now, and...", his voice petered out. Whoever or whatever my father was he did not know what was going on any more than I did. "Maybe, maybe, this is the wrong house. Shit I'm sorry man, you see I live at one just like this, same street and everything. Shit I live at 20233 Baker Street not" he stepped backward and strained his head around the door to see our house number, "20233 Baker Street".
"Dad it's you, and I'm me, James", I pleaded with him desperately from my position still prostate on the carpet. "See, see dad. My scar, when you dropped that piece of tin from the gutter and I came out to help you". I could feel the tears streaking down my face as I pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I wondered if he would slap me atop the head for crying at my age.
He leaned forward, trying to study my scar, to look for imperfections that would tell him that this was all a strange twisted coincidence. But there were none, just like there weren't any 15 years ago. "James", he said with a wavering voice, letting the gun finally drop down to his side. "James it can't be, it can't be". Slowly he staggered to where he had tossed his cigarettes and slumped down beside them.
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[WP] After 15 years, you’ve always remained certain that your father ditched you while going out for cigarettes when you were a kid. But when a knock is heard at the door, you open it to find your father staring you in the face, with a pack of cigarettes, and literally...having not aged a single day
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I was looking through the old photo album at the kitchen table. Mom had started putting it together for me, when I was a kid, and people still stored their photos that way. I've got all my photos in the cloud or on a flash drive like everybody else, but I kept the album up, too, out of respect for tradition. I rested my fingers on the plastic cover that held a picture of me at my sixth birthday party, beaming, my Dad standing next to me with hand on my shoulder, dressed in a motorcycle helmet, and a white, star-spangled jumpsuit.
He was dressed up like Evel Knievel. Me and Dad both loved that crazy stuntman. Not least because even though he was world-famous, he'd started out just a regular old Montana boy, like me and Dad. I smiled for a moment, feeling warm inside.
But then the memory soured in my gut, turning cold and bitter, like memories involving Dad always did. Exactly 15 years ago, that very day, Dad had left me and my Mom. And I'd never gotten over it, never forgiven him. I still felt hurt, and abandoned.
I guess it was because, despite being married, with a child of my own on the way, I'd never gotten to the point where I felt complete. Not that part of me was missing, exactly, I just didn't feel fully *grown.* It was like Dad had left before teaching me something vital about how to be a man.
A knock came at the door, and I hastened to answer it, so whoever it was wouldn't wake Tanya; she needed her rest.
It was Dad. Wearing his old beat-up flannel jacket and ripped jeans, and a faded Joe Camel t-shirt. He didn't look like he'd aged a day in fifteen years.
He gave me an awkward smile. "Hey, son."
I gaped at him, dumbstruck.
He cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"
What else could I say? He was blood. He was my dad.
I let him in. He followed me to the kitchen table. I shakily sat back down, and he took a seat across from me. Neither of said anything, a tense silence hanging in the air between. He glanced down at the photo album.
"Shoot, I remember that." he said, a faint smile coming to his lips. "You were six, right? I dressed up in that jumpsuit from Halloween, and told you I'd jump that old dirt bike I had off a ramp over a couple old cars for ya, just like Evel."
"Yeah." I said, softly. "And then your back tire caught the edge of the landing ramp, and sent you flying off the bike. Slammed into the mud 15 feet away."
"Just like Evel." he repeated, with a smirk. Then his expression, softened. "You come running up to me crying, 'Daddy! Daddy!', and I remember looking up at your little face all covered in years. I *was* kinda busted up, to tell the truth, but--"
"You just grinned right through the pain." I said, interrupting him, as I remembered. "Looked up at me, lit up a cigarette, and said 'Shoot, boy, you know your old man ain't gonna go out like that!'"
"Yeah." he said, softly, nodding his head. "I wouldn't go out like that, no way."
I turned the page. There was a picture of dad teaching me the finer points of rock climbing when I was about 9. Not that he was exactly clear on what those finer points were, himself, given that he almost fell to his death more than once.
"I think that was the day you had one of your anchors slip out the rock, remember?" I said.
He chuckled. "Yeah...slid down a good few feet before I caught myself. That was *another* time I looked up at you, and saw you thinking your Daddy was going home to glory. But I just gave you a thumbs up and said--"
"Why you looking so pale, boy? Your daddy ain't gonna go out like that!" I quoted, rolling my eyes, and shaking my head.
We looked over the next few pages, me and dad and Mom, me and Dad, me and Dad doing some crazy potentially lethal nonsense. On one of the pages, there was a loose picture of Tanya and me -- I must have slipped it in between the pages at some point, meaning to put it in the correct sleeve when I got a minute, since it belonged later in the album.
I picked up the picture, and showed it to him. "You...you got yourself a daughter in law, now."
He took the picture, and smiled, eyes glistening. "Well. Look at that." He looked at me. "She looks real nice, son. Real nice."
"She is. You'd like her." I said.
"I'm sure I would." he said, quietly.
"Got you a grandson on the way, too." I said. "Don't have the ultrasounds in the book yet."
"I'll be." he choked out, as a single tear ran down his cheek.
I turned the page. I saw the picture. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I slammed my fist down on the table.
"Why?" I snarled, angrily, startling the old man. "Why did you leave us like that?"
He bowed his head. "Boy, it wasn't like that..."
"I...I didn't even know what to *do* with myself! After that, I just...wandered through my life. For *years!*" I shouted. "Do you have any idea what it was *like?* For me, and for Mom?"
He shook his head, slowly, sniffing hard, and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "No. I don't."
I rested my fists on the table, on either side of the album, as I shook with a mix of fury, sorrow, and grief. Staring down at the picture of me, mom...and dad, in his hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and cheerful Mylar balloons.
"I didn't want to go. But...it was my fault, I understand that now." he said, voice hoarse with emotion.
I shook my head, to emotional to speak.
"Son...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please...forgive me." he said.
I looked up sharply, ready to yell, ready to punch his lights out. For *daring* to suggest that he deserved to be forgiven for what he'd done. But his expression brought me up short. Tears still stained his cheeks, but his gaze was cold, and steely.
"Boy. You *listen* to me." he said, firmly. "I ain't asking just for me. I'm asking for *you.* You and that woman, and the baby she's carrying. This thing you're holding on to? It's eating you up, rotting you from the inside. And I happen to know a thing or two about what that's like. You gotta let this go, son, or it's gonna *poison* everything good you built back up since I left."
I slumped forward, tears beading on the clear plastic protecting the photos in the album. I'd never gotten over it. I'd never gotten over how my dad, who crashed motorcycles, and almost fell off mountains, and each time swore to me that my daddy 'wasn't gonna go out like that'...
...in the end, he'd *gone out,* for a god damned *pack of cigarettes.*
And the worst part was, in that moment, despite all his flaws, his crazy stunts, and his 30 year 2-pack a day habit...I knew he was right. On this one, he was right. I don't know where I found the strength. It came from somewhere else. Maybe, for this, it always has to come from somewhere else.
"I forgive you." I whispered.
He was silent for a few moments, and he stood from the table. "Thank you, son. It...it might be more'n I deserve, but it's what *you* deserve. You and the family you got to take care of."
I heard him walk towards the door, and open it. I looked up, as he stood in the doorway, the light of dawn starting to filter in through the treeline. I asked the question I'd sometimes asked when he pulled some crazy stunt. The question that my heart had *always* asked.
"Daddy," I said, quietly. "Are you...okay?"
He smiled back at me, as the morning light streamed in around him. "Yeah, son." He glanced upward. "He's...even more forgiving then you might realize. And I made my peace a good long time before I passed on. I'm just fine."
I smiled, shakily, tears flowing freely. "Dad?"
"Yeah son?"
"Say...say hi to Evel for me, alright?" I said.
He laughed. "I will, son. I will. I love you."
"I love you, too, Dad."
He gave a last wave, and stepped through the door, closing it behind him. As the warm rays of the rising sun began to stream in through the windows, that cold, bitter feel in my gut finally started to thaw.
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At first neither of us could speak, i because what are you to say to a ghost and him because what are you to say to a near perfect copy of your own self. He reacted first, he was always good at thinking on his feet, former cop and all. He had his gun out and me stumbling backwards before I could even close my jaw.
"It's me, it's me it's me dad" I stuttered as I tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell backwards onto the living room floor. "It's me, your son, James dad".
"Bullshit", he growled, his voice the same cigarette scarred gravel I remembered. "He's 7 and my other kids 10. You're 20 at least. Now tell me what the hell you're doing in my house and where my kids and their mother is before I plug you in the goddamn skull".
I could see his face contouring with rage, contorting into something I had only seen once before, once right before he went away. I am going to die by my own father I thought as he leveled the gun. I am going to die by own dad and I can't even think of anything to say to stop it. I watched as he tossed the cigarettes he was carrying onto the couch. He was freeing up his left hand to do something, maybe beat me, or maybe he was just wanting to make sure he didn't miss. All I could do was open and close my dry mouth like the fish we used to catch.
Cautiously he took two steps into the house. "Now tell me where the fuck my wife is, and where the fuck my real kids are, and, and, why the fuck do you look like me". My eyes had become locked onto the black muzzle of the gun, but they looked past it once the 9mm diameter end began to weave and jump as if in an earthquake. My father's face was no longer one of pure rage, now if also held confusion, and the ever slightest hint of fear.
"And why did you move my couch, and, and why is it leather now, and...", his voice petered out. Whoever or whatever my father was he did not know what was going on any more than I did. "Maybe, maybe, this is the wrong house. Shit I'm sorry man, you see I live at one just like this, same street and everything. Shit I live at 20233 Baker Street not" he stepped backward and strained his head around the door to see our house number, "20233 Baker Street".
"Dad it's you, and I'm me, James", I pleaded with him desperately from my position still prostate on the carpet. "See, see dad. My scar, when you dropped that piece of tin from the gutter and I came out to help you". I could feel the tears streaking down my face as I pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I wondered if he would slap me atop the head for crying at my age.
He leaned forward, trying to study my scar, to look for imperfections that would tell him that this was all a strange twisted coincidence. But there were none, just like there weren't any 15 years ago. "James", he said with a wavering voice, letting the gun finally drop down to his side. "James it can't be, it can't be". Slowly he staggered to where he had tossed his cigarettes and slumped down beside them.
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[WP] After 15 years, you’ve always remained certain that your father ditched you while going out for cigarettes when you were a kid. But when a knock is heard at the door, you open it to find your father staring you in the face, with a pack of cigarettes, and literally...having not aged a single day
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I was looking through the old photo album at the kitchen table. Mom had started putting it together for me, when I was a kid, and people still stored their photos that way. I've got all my photos in the cloud or on a flash drive like everybody else, but I kept the album up, too, out of respect for tradition. I rested my fingers on the plastic cover that held a picture of me at my sixth birthday party, beaming, my Dad standing next to me with hand on my shoulder, dressed in a motorcycle helmet, and a white, star-spangled jumpsuit.
He was dressed up like Evel Knievel. Me and Dad both loved that crazy stuntman. Not least because even though he was world-famous, he'd started out just a regular old Montana boy, like me and Dad. I smiled for a moment, feeling warm inside.
But then the memory soured in my gut, turning cold and bitter, like memories involving Dad always did. Exactly 15 years ago, that very day, Dad had left me and my Mom. And I'd never gotten over it, never forgiven him. I still felt hurt, and abandoned.
I guess it was because, despite being married, with a child of my own on the way, I'd never gotten to the point where I felt complete. Not that part of me was missing, exactly, I just didn't feel fully *grown.* It was like Dad had left before teaching me something vital about how to be a man.
A knock came at the door, and I hastened to answer it, so whoever it was wouldn't wake Tanya; she needed her rest.
It was Dad. Wearing his old beat-up flannel jacket and ripped jeans, and a faded Joe Camel t-shirt. He didn't look like he'd aged a day in fifteen years.
He gave me an awkward smile. "Hey, son."
I gaped at him, dumbstruck.
He cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"
What else could I say? He was blood. He was my dad.
I let him in. He followed me to the kitchen table. I shakily sat back down, and he took a seat across from me. Neither of said anything, a tense silence hanging in the air between. He glanced down at the photo album.
"Shoot, I remember that." he said, a faint smile coming to his lips. "You were six, right? I dressed up in that jumpsuit from Halloween, and told you I'd jump that old dirt bike I had off a ramp over a couple old cars for ya, just like Evel."
"Yeah." I said, softly. "And then your back tire caught the edge of the landing ramp, and sent you flying off the bike. Slammed into the mud 15 feet away."
"Just like Evel." he repeated, with a smirk. Then his expression, softened. "You come running up to me crying, 'Daddy! Daddy!', and I remember looking up at your little face all covered in years. I *was* kinda busted up, to tell the truth, but--"
"You just grinned right through the pain." I said, interrupting him, as I remembered. "Looked up at me, lit up a cigarette, and said 'Shoot, boy, you know your old man ain't gonna go out like that!'"
"Yeah." he said, softly, nodding his head. "I wouldn't go out like that, no way."
I turned the page. There was a picture of dad teaching me the finer points of rock climbing when I was about 9. Not that he was exactly clear on what those finer points were, himself, given that he almost fell to his death more than once.
"I think that was the day you had one of your anchors slip out the rock, remember?" I said.
He chuckled. "Yeah...slid down a good few feet before I caught myself. That was *another* time I looked up at you, and saw you thinking your Daddy was going home to glory. But I just gave you a thumbs up and said--"
"Why you looking so pale, boy? Your daddy ain't gonna go out like that!" I quoted, rolling my eyes, and shaking my head.
We looked over the next few pages, me and dad and Mom, me and Dad, me and Dad doing some crazy potentially lethal nonsense. On one of the pages, there was a loose picture of Tanya and me -- I must have slipped it in between the pages at some point, meaning to put it in the correct sleeve when I got a minute, since it belonged later in the album.
I picked up the picture, and showed it to him. "You...you got yourself a daughter in law, now."
He took the picture, and smiled, eyes glistening. "Well. Look at that." He looked at me. "She looks real nice, son. Real nice."
"She is. You'd like her." I said.
"I'm sure I would." he said, quietly.
"Got you a grandson on the way, too." I said. "Don't have the ultrasounds in the book yet."
"I'll be." he choked out, as a single tear ran down his cheek.
I turned the page. I saw the picture. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I slammed my fist down on the table.
"Why?" I snarled, angrily, startling the old man. "Why did you leave us like that?"
He bowed his head. "Boy, it wasn't like that..."
"I...I didn't even know what to *do* with myself! After that, I just...wandered through my life. For *years!*" I shouted. "Do you have any idea what it was *like?* For me, and for Mom?"
He shook his head, slowly, sniffing hard, and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "No. I don't."
I rested my fists on the table, on either side of the album, as I shook with a mix of fury, sorrow, and grief. Staring down at the picture of me, mom...and dad, in his hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and cheerful Mylar balloons.
"I didn't want to go. But...it was my fault, I understand that now." he said, voice hoarse with emotion.
I shook my head, to emotional to speak.
"Son...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please...forgive me." he said.
I looked up sharply, ready to yell, ready to punch his lights out. For *daring* to suggest that he deserved to be forgiven for what he'd done. But his expression brought me up short. Tears still stained his cheeks, but his gaze was cold, and steely.
"Boy. You *listen* to me." he said, firmly. "I ain't asking just for me. I'm asking for *you.* You and that woman, and the baby she's carrying. This thing you're holding on to? It's eating you up, rotting you from the inside. And I happen to know a thing or two about what that's like. You gotta let this go, son, or it's gonna *poison* everything good you built back up since I left."
I slumped forward, tears beading on the clear plastic protecting the photos in the album. I'd never gotten over it. I'd never gotten over how my dad, who crashed motorcycles, and almost fell off mountains, and each time swore to me that my daddy 'wasn't gonna go out like that'...
...in the end, he'd *gone out,* for a god damned *pack of cigarettes.*
And the worst part was, in that moment, despite all his flaws, his crazy stunts, and his 30 year 2-pack a day habit...I knew he was right. On this one, he was right. I don't know where I found the strength. It came from somewhere else. Maybe, for this, it always has to come from somewhere else.
"I forgive you." I whispered.
He was silent for a few moments, and he stood from the table. "Thank you, son. It...it might be more'n I deserve, but it's what *you* deserve. You and the family you got to take care of."
I heard him walk towards the door, and open it. I looked up, as he stood in the doorway, the light of dawn starting to filter in through the treeline. I asked the question I'd sometimes asked when he pulled some crazy stunt. The question that my heart had *always* asked.
"Daddy," I said, quietly. "Are you...okay?"
He smiled back at me, as the morning light streamed in around him. "Yeah, son." He glanced upward. "He's...even more forgiving then you might realize. And I made my peace a good long time before I passed on. I'm just fine."
I smiled, shakily, tears flowing freely. "Dad?"
"Yeah son?"
"Say...say hi to Evel for me, alright?" I said.
He laughed. "I will, son. I will. I love you."
"I love you, too, Dad."
He gave a last wave, and stepped through the door, closing it behind him. As the warm rays of the rising sun began to stream in through the windows, that cold, bitter feel in my gut finally started to thaw.
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"Come on! Open up, babe", shouted the voice attached to the banging at the door. "I think I must have hit my head, and there are some really weirdly dressed people hanging around. Maybe I got mugged by weirdos or something."
I grumbled my way over to answer it. "OK, OK, hang on", I said as I reached the door and swung it open. "I think you got the wrong...."
"Who the hell are you?", said my Dad, his impatience washed away by altogether hotter emotions.
I gaped at him, unable to form anything sensible.
"Hey pal, were you not expecting me in my own house?", said Dad, pushing past me into the house. "What the hell has happened in here? Where are the boys? SHARON? BABE?". He spun around in the hallway looking completely lost. "Jesus Christ, I must have really hit my head". He opened the door and went back outside, then came back. I was still completely frozen.
"MUM?", I shouted finally.
My Dad finally stopped asking questions. His gaze had been caught by the photos on the hallway wall.
My mum came through from the kitchen. "What in gods name is all this racket?"
I pointed silently at the man studying the pictures in our hallway. At my long-lost father.
At the sound of her voice, he turned to face us both, and the colour drained from his cheeks. "Sharon?", he quavered.
"Oh fuck", said my Mum. "I forgot what day it was. You were supposed to be out for this."
"Out for what?"
"This...was all my fault", she replied.
"WHAT WAS!", I yelled, finally losing my patience. "Apparently you know what's going on here, and by the looks of Dad's face and mine, you're the only one, so you better start talking or I'm gonna keep shouting."
My mum nodded. "I'm sorry Jon."
"Jon?", said my Dad, taking a step toward me. "Jonny? My Jonny?"
"Um...yeah," I said simply.
"You look so old?", he replied. "Jonny is only 5. How can you be Jonny?"
I looked back at my mother. "I have no idea. But she does."
My mum walked into the lounge, with my Dad and I trailing helplessly after her. She sat down heavily on the couch and took a deep breath.
"I should probably start by telling you I'm a sorceress. This is going to sound stupid at first, but I'm afraid you are just going to have to trust me on that. But more specifically I'm an amateur sorceress. And as an amateur, I made a bit of an error."
She paused and looked at us both. "You should probably sit down."
We did as we were told. "What kind of error?" I asked.
"Well, a pretty big one. You see I was just experimenting with time and the magic of moving things through it, and when your father went out for smokes, even though I'd told him to quit, I thought maybe I could teach him a little lesson. I thought I'd send him 15 hours into the future so he'd arrive back home in the middle of the night. I thought the spell had gone well. But then he didn't come back. I hoped I'd made a conjuring typo, and it would be 15 days but he never reappeared. Same at 15 months. I'm so sorry."
"You're sorry?", I said. "Assuming I'm not in a dream, and you're telling the truth, then you took having a father away from me. Peter doesn't even remember his Dad!"
"I should have told you, but as it became clear what I'd done, I couldn't. If you knew, then you'd hate me, and then you'd have no-one."
There was a long, furious silence.
"I need a smoke", said Dad finally. He stood on unsteady legs, and stumbled toward the front door.
I looked at my tearful, incompetent sorceress of a mother, and then at my youthful father and made a decision.
"Dad! Wait!", I called. Then I stood and went to talk to the father I thought had left me.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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She extracted her blade from the newest nightmare monster, a literal Nightmare, feeling thoroughly let down.
"That shouldve been it... They were so scared, I thought it'd be many times stronger than the Ourg the Ogre Chieftan, but it was a chump."
She sighed heavily, leaning on her hilt. How long had it been? She stared skyward, at the clear starry sky, full of shimmering candles too far away for the birds to reach, or so the Village Elders say.
When will it end? So many corpses, so much blood... This is what I wanted to avoid, to run from, to hide from. The stench of death.
But of course, she had to press on, for there was no reason to live without her family and friends alive. Basilisks, Giant snakes, Orcs, Ogres, and now a Nightmare. Nothing had hurt her yet, let alone gotten close to killing her.
She wandered down a winding and not frequently used path, full of brambles and very angry bugs, completely apathetic to the injuries she was inflicting upon herself. She wasnt going towards any settlements, just further into the Deepwoods between her home and Alfhir, the capital city of the land.
She became aware of a faint light ahead, and as she got closer, it looked somewhat like a clearing. But there shouldnt be any clearings in a wood so old and untravelled... Something was wrong.
She struggled into the clearing, and fell face first into soft grass.
"What the hell?" she said.
"Mmmmmh, Hhheeeellllloooooo hhhhuuuummmmaaaannnn...." She didnt know where the voice came from, but it spoke slowly, and powerfully, like rocks falling down a mountainface and slamming into the ground, but gentle and wise as well.
"Where the fuck are you!? Shit!" She looked around frantically, suddenly a spark of the will to live kindling in her heart.
"Lllooooookkkk uuupppwwwaaaarrrrdddd ssssmmmmaaaalllllllll oooonnnnneeeee"
She shook as she slowly raised her head.
Before her was the most enormous tree she had ever seen. She couldnt see past its lowest branches, which reached skyward higher than any building she had ever seen. Shaking and sweating, she looked down from the boughs to the trunk. There was an awful, mangled, huge face within it.
It had obviously recieved its fair share of lumberjack attacks, adventurers looking to stake their claim with its head, and fires over the years.
This was it. A battle that couldnt be won. But.. The creature had terrified her so much that she wanted to live.
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I’m tired. I’m so tired.
Not tired of the fighting. It’s never the physical strain that gets me…
I just cant keep going. I started doing this for fame and glory, but fame and glory means nothing when you only want attention from one person…
Crowds cheer my name as I carry back the head of another beast. Every time they gather around… I look for her face. But she’s never there… not anymore.
I keep taking the jobs though, I have to keep up the act that I’m okay. I’m too much of a coward to do it myself, I figure if I go out with a blaze I’ll be remembered at least.
I keep doing more and more dangerous moves, combos and attack patterns that I don’t even think would work. Yet here I am, covered in the blood of another Eldridge horror the size of a building.
Maybe it’s just one big joke from god. To see how long I can keep this up.
I sit down for once and I think of an old memory. How we used to sit in a big field like this and watch the sun rise. I think if the way her hand perfectly fit into mine, just as my sword fits into mine now. I remember how her nose would furrow when she smiled that beautiful smile of hers.
Above it all though, I remember the way she would always look at me. Id watch the sun rise, and she would watch me. I asked her about it one time, she said it’s because the Sun is the light of everyone’s world. But I was the only light in her world.
I stop the memory from continuing further, I don’t think I can mentally handle how amazing the kiss was after that moment. Besides, there’s a crowd coming to see the kill.
So I stand back up, picking up my sword, and I pick up the few pieces of myself I have left. And I keep moving, because I hold out hope… either one day she’ll come back, or one day… I’ll be at peace.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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"Kill me."
The Minotaur smashed its club into the tiles, right where Mat had been standing a moment before. The stone splintered and flew across the room, sending onlookers scattering. Mat was now behind the Minotaur, the Sword of Dawn gleaming in his hand. A minotaur outside of its labyrinth was rare, but inside a city? Unreal. Times were getting hard. But monsters were constant. They had come after him, one after the other.
"Just kill me!"
The Minotaur wound up, throwing the club like a javelin, aimed straight at Mat's head. No way he could dodge this. Out of reflex, he held the sword in front of him, the flat of the blade facing the beast. He had done this move many times before, against humans, harpies, and even the occasional manticore. Any projectile-based foe, really. The Sword of Dawn glowed the color of the shifting sky. When the club connected, though it was three times the size of the Mat, it stopped, its momentum turning to absolutely nothing. It shattered then, projectiles the size of human heads scattering in random directions, connecting with buildings. Mat's heart thrummed, and he felt his body vibrate down to its very core. This one was strong.
"Kill me, you dumb beast!"
The Minotaur matched Mat's cry with a roar. It leaned down, horns pointed at Mat, clawed hands held out to the sides. Any of those sharp ends would instantly skewer Mat.
"Yes! Come on, do it!"
The Minotaur charged, closing the gap in between the man and beast with frightening speed. Mat moved, flowing effortlessly to a defensive stance, in a position to parry whatever sharp end approached him. As the Minotaur came within reaching distance of him, he swung -
\- only to feel the blunt end of the Minotaur's hoof strike him directly in the gut. Mat went flying, colliding with a stone wall on the other end of the square. He felt something crack, and his vision filled with spots. A breath later, and a warmth filled him, the Sword of Dawn turning the color of the moon as it lingers in the morning. Bones shifted back into place, and Mat groaned. He stood up. That hadn't happened in... ever. Since the first monster, maybe.
"That wasn't enough! Kill me, please!"
The Minotaur stood for a second, its bovine face allowing for the briefest expression of what Mat thought was shock. Whatever. It was now Mat's turn to close the gap. With speed matching that of the Minotaur's, he ran in, the Sword of Dawn slicing upwards. The minotaur brought its hard claws and muscular arms to block it, but there was no resistance. The arms fell away immediately, severed totally. Whatever townsfolk were still remaining cheered.
"Not good enough. Not good enough to end me."
Mat didn't shout this time, as he methodically sliced the legs and horns of the Minotaur, now a bleeding torso in the middle of the town square. He stepped onto its massive chest, the Sword of Dawn pointed at its throat. It rasped, dark eyes staring at Mat's tired face.
"I am... sorry... Mat. I... I tried. I will... see you, when the -"
The sword cut through Gavyn the Minotaur's neck. The Sword of Dawn pulsed a blood-like red. The brightness, the vitality, the weight of the beast in front of Mat began to wither away. As it did, the sword pulsed brighter and faster.
Right after the kill. That's when the sword gave him enough control to move. As the townsfolk chanted his name, lifted him up, hugged him, cried for him. As the world grew to love him more. Mat could only sit in mute silence. All of the time to resist, and he did nothing. Not even a 'kill me."
They had come after him, one after the other. His friends. Gavyn had been the strongest. The sword knew this, and it thrummed with a greedy joy. Not many monsters left now. It would kill them all, and relish the ones that Mat had grown with the most. It would kill them all.
&#x200B;
And after that, who knows?
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I’m tired. I’m so tired.
Not tired of the fighting. It’s never the physical strain that gets me…
I just cant keep going. I started doing this for fame and glory, but fame and glory means nothing when you only want attention from one person…
Crowds cheer my name as I carry back the head of another beast. Every time they gather around… I look for her face. But she’s never there… not anymore.
I keep taking the jobs though, I have to keep up the act that I’m okay. I’m too much of a coward to do it myself, I figure if I go out with a blaze I’ll be remembered at least.
I keep doing more and more dangerous moves, combos and attack patterns that I don’t even think would work. Yet here I am, covered in the blood of another Eldridge horror the size of a building.
Maybe it’s just one big joke from god. To see how long I can keep this up.
I sit down for once and I think of an old memory. How we used to sit in a big field like this and watch the sun rise. I think if the way her hand perfectly fit into mine, just as my sword fits into mine now. I remember how her nose would furrow when she smiled that beautiful smile of hers.
Above it all though, I remember the way she would always look at me. Id watch the sun rise, and she would watch me. I asked her about it one time, she said it’s because the Sun is the light of everyone’s world. But I was the only light in her world.
I stop the memory from continuing further, I don’t think I can mentally handle how amazing the kiss was after that moment. Besides, there’s a crowd coming to see the kill.
So I stand back up, picking up my sword, and I pick up the few pieces of myself I have left. And I keep moving, because I hold out hope… either one day she’ll come back, or one day… I’ll be at peace.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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She extracted her blade from the newest nightmare monster, a literal Nightmare, feeling thoroughly let down.
"That shouldve been it... They were so scared, I thought it'd be many times stronger than the Ourg the Ogre Chieftan, but it was a chump."
She sighed heavily, leaning on her hilt. How long had it been? She stared skyward, at the clear starry sky, full of shimmering candles too far away for the birds to reach, or so the Village Elders say.
When will it end? So many corpses, so much blood... This is what I wanted to avoid, to run from, to hide from. The stench of death.
But of course, she had to press on, for there was no reason to live without her family and friends alive. Basilisks, Giant snakes, Orcs, Ogres, and now a Nightmare. Nothing had hurt her yet, let alone gotten close to killing her.
She wandered down a winding and not frequently used path, full of brambles and very angry bugs, completely apathetic to the injuries she was inflicting upon herself. She wasnt going towards any settlements, just further into the Deepwoods between her home and Alfhir, the capital city of the land.
She became aware of a faint light ahead, and as she got closer, it looked somewhat like a clearing. But there shouldnt be any clearings in a wood so old and untravelled... Something was wrong.
She struggled into the clearing, and fell face first into soft grass.
"What the hell?" she said.
"Mmmmmh, Hhheeeellllloooooo hhhhuuuummmmaaaannnn...." She didnt know where the voice came from, but it spoke slowly, and powerfully, like rocks falling down a mountainface and slamming into the ground, but gentle and wise as well.
"Where the fuck are you!? Shit!" She looked around frantically, suddenly a spark of the will to live kindling in her heart.
"Lllooooookkkk uuupppwwwaaaarrrrdddd ssssmmmmaaaalllllllll oooonnnnneeeee"
She shook as she slowly raised her head.
Before her was the most enormous tree she had ever seen. She couldnt see past its lowest branches, which reached skyward higher than any building she had ever seen. Shaking and sweating, she looked down from the boughs to the trunk. There was an awful, mangled, huge face within it.
It had obviously recieved its fair share of lumberjack attacks, adventurers looking to stake their claim with its head, and fires over the years.
This was it. A battle that couldnt be won. But.. The creature had terrified her so much that she wanted to live.
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To die by his own hand, is beneath the honor of a warrior. Sometimes, a greater good may be served by surrendering to an enemy, instead of fighting to the bitter end, and there is no dishonor in that.
But no good can be been served, by surrendering to grief, or to despair. All this will ever do, is give those you leave behind one less reason to stand strong, and one more object lesson, to make them quail before these foes.
This is what I was taught, and what I still believe.
But the way of the warrior is not without compassion. Sometimes even the bravest of fighters suffer a wound that will not heal. For them, for *me,* there is the Red Leap. To take the Leap, is to hurl oneself wholeheartedly into battles that prudence and wisdom would eschew, but where there is still a *chance* of victory, if only the barest sliver of one.
When I returned home from war, to find my wife and children dead by misadventure, smothered by smoke in their sleep, I could find no consolation. I will only find that when I hold them in my arms again, beyond the frontier of mortality. And so, I took the Red Leap.
My brothers in arms surrounded me, as I lit an empty funeral pyre, to symbolize the noble death I hoped to find. My armor I surrendered for a simple hauberk of red leather, and the Master of my order bound a red linen sash around my waist, as both ornament and warning, commending my soul to the Divine.
That was three years ago.
No one has ever Leaped, and hung suspended between life and death for so long, never finding the solace of the grave, but only yet another battle. My heart is dead already, my soul in ragged tatters. But I still draw breath. And so I still must fight.
I have gone to the Great Fens, and slain the Brown Basilisks. I have climbed the Basalt Peaks, and laid low the Queen Chimera. I braved dragonfire, to thrust my blade into the heart of a rogue wyrm, clad in my simple red leather armor, with no shield to shelter behind.
And *still,* I did not die.
I will not hurl myself into a battle that *cannot* be won. I cannot simply find some petty tyrant lord, and challenge his whole army. Honor is not a haggling merchant; you can't trick it, or make bargains. Honor is a simpler creature: uphold it and it lives, compromise it, and it will die. Many warriors are willing to die for honor, but it often takes more strength to *live* with it. It certainly does, for me.
And, yet, as I move forward. I have cause for hope. My pain does not diminish, but it is joined by something else. A certainty that grows with each battle I win, each life I save, each fell beast I strike down: that the eyes of the Divine rest upon me.
Though it does not take my pain, some force beyond myself protects me as I fight. It guides me to helpless victims, and just causes, and points my blade where it must go. As I fight on, I see it more clearly, drawn upon the ground in the blood of the wicked and the tormentors of their fellow men: there is a path that I am walking, a road that stretches out before me.
And though I ache and suffer, though I groan each day that I awaken to see that I still live, when I step upon this road, I *know* I am moving forward. That there is ever more behind me, and ever less ahead.
And that, one day, this road will lead me home.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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"Kill me."
The Minotaur smashed its club into the tiles, right where Mat had been standing a moment before. The stone splintered and flew across the room, sending onlookers scattering. Mat was now behind the Minotaur, the Sword of Dawn gleaming in his hand. A minotaur outside of its labyrinth was rare, but inside a city? Unreal. Times were getting hard. But monsters were constant. They had come after him, one after the other.
"Just kill me!"
The Minotaur wound up, throwing the club like a javelin, aimed straight at Mat's head. No way he could dodge this. Out of reflex, he held the sword in front of him, the flat of the blade facing the beast. He had done this move many times before, against humans, harpies, and even the occasional manticore. Any projectile-based foe, really. The Sword of Dawn glowed the color of the shifting sky. When the club connected, though it was three times the size of the Mat, it stopped, its momentum turning to absolutely nothing. It shattered then, projectiles the size of human heads scattering in random directions, connecting with buildings. Mat's heart thrummed, and he felt his body vibrate down to its very core. This one was strong.
"Kill me, you dumb beast!"
The Minotaur matched Mat's cry with a roar. It leaned down, horns pointed at Mat, clawed hands held out to the sides. Any of those sharp ends would instantly skewer Mat.
"Yes! Come on, do it!"
The Minotaur charged, closing the gap in between the man and beast with frightening speed. Mat moved, flowing effortlessly to a defensive stance, in a position to parry whatever sharp end approached him. As the Minotaur came within reaching distance of him, he swung -
\- only to feel the blunt end of the Minotaur's hoof strike him directly in the gut. Mat went flying, colliding with a stone wall on the other end of the square. He felt something crack, and his vision filled with spots. A breath later, and a warmth filled him, the Sword of Dawn turning the color of the moon as it lingers in the morning. Bones shifted back into place, and Mat groaned. He stood up. That hadn't happened in... ever. Since the first monster, maybe.
"That wasn't enough! Kill me, please!"
The Minotaur stood for a second, its bovine face allowing for the briefest expression of what Mat thought was shock. Whatever. It was now Mat's turn to close the gap. With speed matching that of the Minotaur's, he ran in, the Sword of Dawn slicing upwards. The minotaur brought its hard claws and muscular arms to block it, but there was no resistance. The arms fell away immediately, severed totally. Whatever townsfolk were still remaining cheered.
"Not good enough. Not good enough to end me."
Mat didn't shout this time, as he methodically sliced the legs and horns of the Minotaur, now a bleeding torso in the middle of the town square. He stepped onto its massive chest, the Sword of Dawn pointed at its throat. It rasped, dark eyes staring at Mat's tired face.
"I am... sorry... Mat. I... I tried. I will... see you, when the -"
The sword cut through Gavyn the Minotaur's neck. The Sword of Dawn pulsed a blood-like red. The brightness, the vitality, the weight of the beast in front of Mat began to wither away. As it did, the sword pulsed brighter and faster.
Right after the kill. That's when the sword gave him enough control to move. As the townsfolk chanted his name, lifted him up, hugged him, cried for him. As the world grew to love him more. Mat could only sit in mute silence. All of the time to resist, and he did nothing. Not even a 'kill me."
They had come after him, one after the other. His friends. Gavyn had been the strongest. The sword knew this, and it thrummed with a greedy joy. Not many monsters left now. It would kill them all, and relish the ones that Mat had grown with the most. It would kill them all.
&#x200B;
And after that, who knows?
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To die by his own hand, is beneath the honor of a warrior. Sometimes, a greater good may be served by surrendering to an enemy, instead of fighting to the bitter end, and there is no dishonor in that.
But no good can be been served, by surrendering to grief, or to despair. All this will ever do, is give those you leave behind one less reason to stand strong, and one more object lesson, to make them quail before these foes.
This is what I was taught, and what I still believe.
But the way of the warrior is not without compassion. Sometimes even the bravest of fighters suffer a wound that will not heal. For them, for *me,* there is the Red Leap. To take the Leap, is to hurl oneself wholeheartedly into battles that prudence and wisdom would eschew, but where there is still a *chance* of victory, if only the barest sliver of one.
When I returned home from war, to find my wife and children dead by misadventure, smothered by smoke in their sleep, I could find no consolation. I will only find that when I hold them in my arms again, beyond the frontier of mortality. And so, I took the Red Leap.
My brothers in arms surrounded me, as I lit an empty funeral pyre, to symbolize the noble death I hoped to find. My armor I surrendered for a simple hauberk of red leather, and the Master of my order bound a red linen sash around my waist, as both ornament and warning, commending my soul to the Divine.
That was three years ago.
No one has ever Leaped, and hung suspended between life and death for so long, never finding the solace of the grave, but only yet another battle. My heart is dead already, my soul in ragged tatters. But I still draw breath. And so I still must fight.
I have gone to the Great Fens, and slain the Brown Basilisks. I have climbed the Basalt Peaks, and laid low the Queen Chimera. I braved dragonfire, to thrust my blade into the heart of a rogue wyrm, clad in my simple red leather armor, with no shield to shelter behind.
And *still,* I did not die.
I will not hurl myself into a battle that *cannot* be won. I cannot simply find some petty tyrant lord, and challenge his whole army. Honor is not a haggling merchant; you can't trick it, or make bargains. Honor is a simpler creature: uphold it and it lives, compromise it, and it will die. Many warriors are willing to die for honor, but it often takes more strength to *live* with it. It certainly does, for me.
And, yet, as I move forward. I have cause for hope. My pain does not diminish, but it is joined by something else. A certainty that grows with each battle I win, each life I save, each fell beast I strike down: that the eyes of the Divine rest upon me.
Though it does not take my pain, some force beyond myself protects me as I fight. It guides me to helpless victims, and just causes, and points my blade where it must go. As I fight on, I see it more clearly, drawn upon the ground in the blood of the wicked and the tormentors of their fellow men: there is a path that I am walking, a road that stretches out before me.
And though I ache and suffer, though I groan each day that I awaken to see that I still live, when I step upon this road, I *know* I am moving forward. That there is ever more behind me, and ever less ahead.
And that, one day, this road will lead me home.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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She extracted her blade from the newest nightmare monster, a literal Nightmare, feeling thoroughly let down.
"That shouldve been it... They were so scared, I thought it'd be many times stronger than the Ourg the Ogre Chieftan, but it was a chump."
She sighed heavily, leaning on her hilt. How long had it been? She stared skyward, at the clear starry sky, full of shimmering candles too far away for the birds to reach, or so the Village Elders say.
When will it end? So many corpses, so much blood... This is what I wanted to avoid, to run from, to hide from. The stench of death.
But of course, she had to press on, for there was no reason to live without her family and friends alive. Basilisks, Giant snakes, Orcs, Ogres, and now a Nightmare. Nothing had hurt her yet, let alone gotten close to killing her.
She wandered down a winding and not frequently used path, full of brambles and very angry bugs, completely apathetic to the injuries she was inflicting upon herself. She wasnt going towards any settlements, just further into the Deepwoods between her home and Alfhir, the capital city of the land.
She became aware of a faint light ahead, and as she got closer, it looked somewhat like a clearing. But there shouldnt be any clearings in a wood so old and untravelled... Something was wrong.
She struggled into the clearing, and fell face first into soft grass.
"What the hell?" she said.
"Mmmmmh, Hhheeeellllloooooo hhhhuuuummmmaaaannnn...." She didnt know where the voice came from, but it spoke slowly, and powerfully, like rocks falling down a mountainface and slamming into the ground, but gentle and wise as well.
"Where the fuck are you!? Shit!" She looked around frantically, suddenly a spark of the will to live kindling in her heart.
"Lllooooookkkk uuupppwwwaaaarrrrdddd ssssmmmmaaaalllllllll oooonnnnneeeee"
She shook as she slowly raised her head.
Before her was the most enormous tree she had ever seen. She couldnt see past its lowest branches, which reached skyward higher than any building she had ever seen. Shaking and sweating, she looked down from the boughs to the trunk. There was an awful, mangled, huge face within it.
It had obviously recieved its fair share of lumberjack attacks, adventurers looking to stake their claim with its head, and fires over the years.
This was it. A battle that couldnt be won. But.. The creature had terrified her so much that she wanted to live.
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1: Another night at the local tavern, and another round of ‘celebratory’ drinks given by the villagers. The bartender had long since stopped counting the hero’s tab, and had just assumed that the credit of all the drinks bought for him would cover it.
The hero, however, could barely stand the attention. Slaps on the back, handshakes, and loving kisses or lingering touches from the women did nothing but infuriate him. At best, he was indifferent.
But he couldn’t let his anger show. His honor as a swordsman, the pesky thing, just wouldn’t allow him to debase himself without warrant. So he bore the praise even as it dug his despair deeper, and drove him into researching his next fight.
Then, a single sentence perked the swords man’s attention. One that slipped through the praise, oiled by the venom dripping from the slurred words.
“I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky without that sword of yours.”
It was surprising, for one, that whenever said it had enough guts to address the swordsman as he talked. The swordsman looked up from the S-Class hunts and towards the drunkard. He was old, about 50, and wore simple furs. The stench of bottom shelf swell permeated around him. A peasant.
Some other villager began to raise a word in his defense before the swordsman silenced the man with a wave of his hand. Then, the swordsman stood. He was a rough man, face wrinkled beyond his young age of 27, and covered with scars. He half-wore a kimono, his right arm and shoulder entirely out of the shirt. His pants were short and tight, a deep blue color. He was an intimidating sight, but his sword was beautiful.
Staring the drunkard in the eye, the swordsman asked him to repeat the sentence.
“I said, ‘You wouldn’t be so cocky without that sword of yours. In fact, I bet you’d be helpless without it.”
The drunkard sneered, obviously just trying to get a rise out of the hero. Everyone else waited with held breath, expecting the swordsman to easily trample the larger man with his experience. But nothing of the sort happened.
A look of realization crawled across the swordsman’s face, before he unsheathed his blade. Multicolored steel reflected to a mirror sheen, a copper tsuba, red cloth wrapping the handle.
The drunkard started to take a step back, perhaps realizing that he had pushed the hero too far. Instead of finding the edge at his throat, however, he found the handle pointed towards his hand.
“Go on. Take it. I think you’re wrong, and I’m more than willing to prove it. If I die, the sword is yours to keep. If I win, you will owe me for the disrespect.”
The drunkard looked at the sword, standing still as a statue. The blade was easily worth twice the value of the building they currently stood in. A masterpiece 5 generations old. Tentatively, he took it into his hands.
“I’ll be back in a week. If I haven’t found you by the night of the eighth day, you’ll have your answer.”
Before the drunkard could respond, the hero was already on his way, his signature left on one of the S-Class missions he had been reading over.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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"Kill me."
The Minotaur smashed its club into the tiles, right where Mat had been standing a moment before. The stone splintered and flew across the room, sending onlookers scattering. Mat was now behind the Minotaur, the Sword of Dawn gleaming in his hand. A minotaur outside of its labyrinth was rare, but inside a city? Unreal. Times were getting hard. But monsters were constant. They had come after him, one after the other.
"Just kill me!"
The Minotaur wound up, throwing the club like a javelin, aimed straight at Mat's head. No way he could dodge this. Out of reflex, he held the sword in front of him, the flat of the blade facing the beast. He had done this move many times before, against humans, harpies, and even the occasional manticore. Any projectile-based foe, really. The Sword of Dawn glowed the color of the shifting sky. When the club connected, though it was three times the size of the Mat, it stopped, its momentum turning to absolutely nothing. It shattered then, projectiles the size of human heads scattering in random directions, connecting with buildings. Mat's heart thrummed, and he felt his body vibrate down to its very core. This one was strong.
"Kill me, you dumb beast!"
The Minotaur matched Mat's cry with a roar. It leaned down, horns pointed at Mat, clawed hands held out to the sides. Any of those sharp ends would instantly skewer Mat.
"Yes! Come on, do it!"
The Minotaur charged, closing the gap in between the man and beast with frightening speed. Mat moved, flowing effortlessly to a defensive stance, in a position to parry whatever sharp end approached him. As the Minotaur came within reaching distance of him, he swung -
\- only to feel the blunt end of the Minotaur's hoof strike him directly in the gut. Mat went flying, colliding with a stone wall on the other end of the square. He felt something crack, and his vision filled with spots. A breath later, and a warmth filled him, the Sword of Dawn turning the color of the moon as it lingers in the morning. Bones shifted back into place, and Mat groaned. He stood up. That hadn't happened in... ever. Since the first monster, maybe.
"That wasn't enough! Kill me, please!"
The Minotaur stood for a second, its bovine face allowing for the briefest expression of what Mat thought was shock. Whatever. It was now Mat's turn to close the gap. With speed matching that of the Minotaur's, he ran in, the Sword of Dawn slicing upwards. The minotaur brought its hard claws and muscular arms to block it, but there was no resistance. The arms fell away immediately, severed totally. Whatever townsfolk were still remaining cheered.
"Not good enough. Not good enough to end me."
Mat didn't shout this time, as he methodically sliced the legs and horns of the Minotaur, now a bleeding torso in the middle of the town square. He stepped onto its massive chest, the Sword of Dawn pointed at its throat. It rasped, dark eyes staring at Mat's tired face.
"I am... sorry... Mat. I... I tried. I will... see you, when the -"
The sword cut through Gavyn the Minotaur's neck. The Sword of Dawn pulsed a blood-like red. The brightness, the vitality, the weight of the beast in front of Mat began to wither away. As it did, the sword pulsed brighter and faster.
Right after the kill. That's when the sword gave him enough control to move. As the townsfolk chanted his name, lifted him up, hugged him, cried for him. As the world grew to love him more. Mat could only sit in mute silence. All of the time to resist, and he did nothing. Not even a 'kill me."
They had come after him, one after the other. His friends. Gavyn had been the strongest. The sword knew this, and it thrummed with a greedy joy. Not many monsters left now. It would kill them all, and relish the ones that Mat had grown with the most. It would kill them all.
&#x200B;
And after that, who knows?
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1: Another night at the local tavern, and another round of ‘celebratory’ drinks given by the villagers. The bartender had long since stopped counting the hero’s tab, and had just assumed that the credit of all the drinks bought for him would cover it.
The hero, however, could barely stand the attention. Slaps on the back, handshakes, and loving kisses or lingering touches from the women did nothing but infuriate him. At best, he was indifferent.
But he couldn’t let his anger show. His honor as a swordsman, the pesky thing, just wouldn’t allow him to debase himself without warrant. So he bore the praise even as it dug his despair deeper, and drove him into researching his next fight.
Then, a single sentence perked the swords man’s attention. One that slipped through the praise, oiled by the venom dripping from the slurred words.
“I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky without that sword of yours.”
It was surprising, for one, that whenever said it had enough guts to address the swordsman as he talked. The swordsman looked up from the S-Class hunts and towards the drunkard. He was old, about 50, and wore simple furs. The stench of bottom shelf swell permeated around him. A peasant.
Some other villager began to raise a word in his defense before the swordsman silenced the man with a wave of his hand. Then, the swordsman stood. He was a rough man, face wrinkled beyond his young age of 27, and covered with scars. He half-wore a kimono, his right arm and shoulder entirely out of the shirt. His pants were short and tight, a deep blue color. He was an intimidating sight, but his sword was beautiful.
Staring the drunkard in the eye, the swordsman asked him to repeat the sentence.
“I said, ‘You wouldn’t be so cocky without that sword of yours. In fact, I bet you’d be helpless without it.”
The drunkard sneered, obviously just trying to get a rise out of the hero. Everyone else waited with held breath, expecting the swordsman to easily trample the larger man with his experience. But nothing of the sort happened.
A look of realization crawled across the swordsman’s face, before he unsheathed his blade. Multicolored steel reflected to a mirror sheen, a copper tsuba, red cloth wrapping the handle.
The drunkard started to take a step back, perhaps realizing that he had pushed the hero too far. Instead of finding the edge at his throat, however, he found the handle pointed towards his hand.
“Go on. Take it. I think you’re wrong, and I’m more than willing to prove it. If I die, the sword is yours to keep. If I win, you will owe me for the disrespect.”
The drunkard looked at the sword, standing still as a statue. The blade was easily worth twice the value of the building they currently stood in. A masterpiece 5 generations old. Tentatively, he took it into his hands.
“I’ll be back in a week. If I haven’t found you by the night of the eighth day, you’ll have your answer.”
Before the drunkard could respond, the hero was already on his way, his signature left on one of the S-Class missions he had been reading over.
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[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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"Here's to our new hero! Where he comes from we don't know! But he slew our greatest foe!" Cheered the young man standing atop a long table in the tavern with a raised flagon of ale.
Everyone else in the packed tavern raised their flagons as well all roaring an exuberant hurrah before swigging down their ale. It was a jovial festive atmosphere. The warmly lit wooden inn was alive with song and dance. Merriment filled the air as the townsfolk celebrated with one another at the slaying of their horrible monster. Sitting at the end of the tavern atop a wood carved throne adorned in floral leys and other decorative pieces, the triumphant hero sits unenthused. With his head resting on his hand, the festivities before him were of no interest to him, neither were the droves of townsfolk at his feet drowning him in their thanks and praises. Their tributes of treasures in gratitude did not phase the hero, neither did the pleads from the townswomen to spend the night with him. The hero said no words, he merely lightly shooed them away back to their celebration. Finally one of the townsman corralled the crowd away from the hero, insisting on letting him have his rest. Surely enough they disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the hero ignored on the throne. Several minutes passed before the hero simply got up form his seat and slunk out the back door, leaving behind the riches and wenches.
The muffled sound of music and shouts faintly make it to the ears of our hero whom sits alone by the great lake near the tavern. Sitting in the mud, listening to the small waves gently lapping on the shore, the full moon reflecting off the undulating water. With the entire town in the tavern, the crestfallen hero languished in his solitude; until he heard an old scratchy voice behind him.
"A masked hero!" The old voice creaked.
The hero barely reacting, slowly turning his head to make eye contact with a withered hunchback old man wrapped in a cowl.
"You see my eyes old man, I have no mask. Are you blind?" The hero curtly asked.
"Oh no, son. In fact, I see better then most. In fact, I am the only one who sees the mask; and what is beyond the mask." The strange old man said in a wise tone.
"You speak in riddles? I care not to participate. I wear no mask. Now please, leave me be." The hero coldly replied turning his gaze back towards the river.
"Denial will get you nowhere masked hero. I see the mask you wear that no one else sees. I know this because I have been following your exploits, Iestyn" The old man revealingly said
The hero perked up, he had not told his name to anyone for a long time. He stood up and drew his sword pointing it at the old man who did no flinch. Iestyn demanded to know the old man's identity.
"Oh brave hero, you were in my village many many months ago. You saved us all from the great bog monster without anyone having to ask. The way you threw yourself at it with such recklessness, with such a lack of concern for your own well being had me curious. So I followed you in the shadows. I followed your distinct pattern. Every monster you fight is stronger than the last. Every vengeful spirit you vanquish makes you more chaotic. It is as if you almost hope that the next fight will be your last." The old man concernedly croaked.
Iestyn's sword slowly lowered, sensing no threat from the crone.
"I see the mask you wear and I see through it. You wore it when you came into this town with your gallantry. You donned a new one when you accepted the thanks and the gold of the townsfolk. You took it off when you came here, but quickly put it back on when you heard my voice." The old man's smugness replaced with sincerity.
The tip of Iestyn's sword was now stuck in the dirt. Iestyn dropped it, letting it land with a thud. His face grimaced, his eyes welling with tears, he averted his gaze towards the ground to avoid the old man's gaze.
"You know nothing of me, old man." Iestyn sniveled.
"I don't know your history. I don't know your story. But I know what I see in front of me. I see pain. A type of pain not cured by salves or medicine. A pain that grows like a cancer within your being. A pain that you think will only end at death." The old man caringly says. He slowly approaches Iestyn who remains silent, the old man sees the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I know that I can offer you your last fight." The old man whispered.
Iestyn perked up at the old man. He demanded to know more about this fight. The old man simply gestured for Iestyn to follow him, and the two made their way out of the town, leaving the fading sounds of the tavern behind them.
The pair make their way to the old man's camp, set up just on the outskirts of the town. Walking into the tent, Iestyn sits down on the ground, neglecting the many chairs around him. The old man rummages through his belongings, clattering sounds fill the tent as the old man searches. The cluttering stops, the old man slowly rises and turns to Iestyn, holding a potion in his hand. Iestyn asks what the potion is.
"This is the potion that will bring you to your last battle. The final fight you have been looking for." The old man beamed.
Iestyn glared at the old man with uncertainty.
"It's quite safe, if that's what you're wondering." The old man says as he uncaps the phial and takes a sip from it.
"It has no effect on me, for I have already fought this battle, many decades ago." The old man proudly states.
"Tell me of this battle I will fight. What is my opponent?" Iestyn inquires.
"Im afraid that wouldn't be of help. For the fight is different for everyone. I suppose the best description I could give is...you will fight a demon of extraordinary power.
At the mention of the opponent, Iestyn leaps to his feet and snatches the bottle from the old man's hand and proceeds to drink all of it. Upon finishing it he tosses it on the ground shattering it to pieces.
"How characteristic." The old man grumbles.
"Now show me where this demon is. This potion unveils its invisibility? It will help me detect it?" Iestyn eagerly questions as he draws his sword in anticipation.
"To fight this demon, all you need do is walk out of my tent." the old man ominously said lifting his wrinkled hand pointing it towards the exit.
Iestyn turns and bursts out of the tent ready to fight but his spirit quickly drains from him. After stepping out of the tent, all Iestyn sees is a black void in front of him. The ground, the sky, all pitch black, a never-ending nothingness. Iestyn quickly whips around to find the tent again but it was gone, only eternal blackness. Iestyn turned in all directions, he could his sword, his arms, yet there was no light emanating from anywhere. He felt his feet on solid ground but it had no form, only blackness. Frightened and wary, Iestyn slowly paces forward holding his sword at the ready. He probes the air searching for any type of matter to come in contact with. There is no sound, no smell, no sight, only the endless void.
"I see, you have finally come to slay me." echoed an insidious voice seemingly from nowhere.
Iestyn whipped around to find the voice, he looked in all directions but found nothing. Silence took hold of the void again.
"You fool. You've searched for me in all of the monsters you have slain. You look for me in all the wrong places." the eerie voice echoed louder.
Iestyn now erratically moves his head in all directions hoping to find the phantom.
"You fight powerful beings, hoping for them to destroy you. Hoping that in each fight you will be delivered to a void like this. But you would still never be free of me." The echoes grew louder as if right behind Iestyn. Iestyn worriedly darts his head and sword around, trying to catch the elusive voice. The voice begins to laugh.
"All this time, you searched far and wide to find me. But you forgot one crucial place to look." The devious voice echoed into Iestyn's ear.
Iestyn violently turned, holding his sword at the ready. What Iestyn saw chilled him to the bone. Standing at the opposite end of his blade Iestyn saw himself. An almost carbon copy, light blue eyed, long flowing black hair, the scar on his left cheek, and clad in the very armor he now wears.
"The only place you didn't to look...was within!" Iestyn's doppelganger growled.
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Killian sighed dejected as he heard the thump of the beast’s body dropping to the ground in front of him, followed a second later by the smaller thump of its head hitting the ground behind him. All those rumours had been so promising, and now after weeks of traveling in that rickety carriage and the 3 days he had spent climbing that mountain ridge this was his reward? If this was all they had to offer what did he even come here for? He swung his blade more out of habit than anything and some 6 legged scaly monster joined the body of the first beast. He felt the anger growing inside him as he flung the blood off his blade with a quick flick of the wrist. He had come so far for this, and this was all he was getting for his trouble?
“They are so goddamn weak!” He roared his frustration into the grey clouds above. In front of him the horde of beasts slowed its approach, it hardly mattered to them that two of its over eager members had rushed ahead and been cut down. But the utter contempt in that roar stung something in their primal minds that made them wonder if the prey here was worth the risk.
Behind Killian another roar filled the air, a roar of defiance from a thousand sell swords, guardsmen and farmhands. He had come, Killian had journeyed halfway across the world in their hour of need to stand at their side against the horde. The largest monster horde the northern plateau had ever seen, and Killian had judged them weak. Morale surged through the defenders as the roar rose from the wall, spears were gripped tight, bowstrings drawn and the cursed mages began to draw in their power.
The horde’s hesitation was washed away by the cry of its prey, there was so much prey here, it would feast here. It would lose some to the predator in front of the gates, but he was singular, the horde was legion. The horde surged forward with renewed hunger and scarcely noticed the harrows that fell amongst it before it crashed against the walls and began to scale them.
Killian strode forward, paying little heed to the plight of the defenders, the scaly beasts dug into stone walls with their sharp sword like claws. He had seen those claws rip through plate mail like parchment and so he wore none of it himself. He carried only his sword and wore only his leathers as he journeyed into the horde of beasts. Teeth snapped, claws swiped and acid splashed from the monsters who tried to overwhelm him but the horde would soon come to know that it was prey not predator on this day. No claw cut as swiftly as his blade, no teeth bit as ruthlessly as his contemptuous glare and no acid melted as the horde did around his path.
He was death incarnate, blessed by some half dead god none remembered the name of and these wretches were beneath his attention. Each one of these beasts would be the equal of many a warrior, but he alone was more than equal to all of them and he despised their weakness as much as he despised his own strength.
Screams sounded from the walls as ravenous beasts reached the tops of the walls and spears proved ineffective against sheer numbers and mass. Killian took no note of their plight as he cut through the endless ocean of chitinous scales and snapping jaws. He thought himself striding randomly through the carnage at first but slowly felt his feet guiding him somewhere. He let them, and soon felt the tug on his mind his feet had already started to chase.
The horde felt the predator cutting through its members with ease, it was of no concern, the city would provide all the prey it required and the horde would simply leave with its prize long before the lone danger could do any real harm. It watched the predator and felt its path through the horde, its stride seemed focused, what was the threat striding towards? A pain shot through the horde and ripped its attention back to the walls. The fiery red forms of a hated enemy rose upon the wall, the horde would need to deal with them before it could worry about the predator.
The defenders cheered as their mages let the power surge through them, they grew and roared out their battle cries as men and women of the arcane libraries grew. Wreathed in fire the mages drew black ebony blades as their skin turned crimson and horns sprouted from their heads. The defenders cheered, none could stand against the final ascension of a mage. All mages lost themselves to the magic at the end, all mages were consumed by their power, but those who did so with a purpose were unstoppable. The life and magic of the mage became the pyre on which that power feasted and in return it struck down all that it was put against.
Blades of black and flames scoured beasts from the walls, waves of fire washed into the horde as first 3 and then 5 mages gave themselves to the magic and became demigods of was and destruction. They leapt from the walls and crushed the massive beasts underfoot as they swung their blades. Teeth and claw dug into their flesh as they were swarmed but they seemed to delight in the pain, swinging their blades with ruthless delight as they cut many of the horde down.
Killian paid the cursed mages no heed as he continued forward, he was close, he could feel it clearly now, gripping at his mind and trying to direct it as it did its horde. His blade cut, thrust and chopped as if by its own will and his body slipped elegantly through the claws and fangs that tried to cut his life short. His mind was elsewhere, blinding the horde to his approach even as he cut through its limbs and as he finally lay his own eyes upon it towering over its hordes he felt its gaze finally find him.
It was not possible, the enemy of fire and hate had distracted it to be sure, but the predator was too close, none could get so close without the horde knowing. The horde turned its full attention onto the predator and felt kinship, no not kinship, rivalry in that alien mind. The horde would not be denied, it would add this predator to its ranks as it had done time and time again. But the mind resisted like only those of its own kind could, it denied its authority, if it would not be a fang of the horde it would feed the horde instead.
Killian swung his blade in a wide arch and monsters scurried away from him as the horde stepped forward. It was gargantuan, a long serpentine body with four arms like scythes twice the length of Killian’s height. Acid spit dripped from a fang filled maw and there was intelligence behind those beady red eyes. Killian grinned, this was the horde he had come for, a foe worthy of his blade. The horde rushed forward and 3 scythes flashes through the air from the sides and above. Seeing a small opening Killian ducked to the side under one scythe and brought his sword up to cut at the side of the horde when the fourth scythe found him right where the horde had led this foolish predator.
The predator’s metal claw managed to interpose itself between the horde’s claw at the last possible second but the blow still sent the small predator flying. The predator hit the mass of the horde’s many limbs and where the horde expected them to feast, they instead fell to his metal claw. The predator rose to stand upon the Horde’s dead limbs and with a sneer the horde once again ordered its limbs to attack.
“No more!” Killian roared and around him the monsters stopped in their tracks, all but the horde itself. He didn’t spare those pathetic beasts a glance as he strode forward. He was not here to slaughter the useless dregs this enemy controlled. He felt its mind intrude on his own once more and resisted its attempts to steal away his will. He was Killian, the once blessed and twice cursed, and he would kill this beast or die by it, he would never serve it. He looked upon his steel blade as he stepped forward, it had dulled through his slaughter and was now bent as it had sacrificed itself in his stead. He grimaced as he called upon one curse to fight another, he dedicated all those that lay dead in his wake on this day to the one who held his soul and felt power course through him.
Flames engulfed the bent blade as it turned to dark flame wreathed obsidian in his hands. His blessing was all that held his mind together as that infernal power of the mages coursed through him. Far away at the walls the massive infernal defenders let out roars of anticipation for the slaughter the power of one of their elders were sure to bring to their meagre battlefield. With the blessing of his god Killian held back the urges for unparalleled slaughter that tried to force its way into his mind. He would not be an instrument of chaos and war, he would be focused, he would kill this horde or be freed by its claws claiming his head.
With a roar that sent shockwaves through the beasts around him Killian launched himself at the horde and swung the black flaming blade at the monstrous beast. The horde met sword with scythe and regretted its choice immediately, the black blade sheered through the scythe claw and cauterized the cut with its infernal heat.
The predator’s new claw was dangerous, the horde had learned that now, it struck quickly. Scythes cutting at the predator again and again, just close enough to draw his black claw before it pulled back. The predator was dangerous but it was only a predator, it did not have the Horde’s intellect. With every swipe the predator’s fiery black claw struck out a little further, a little more recklessly. The horde toyed with this puny predator, it would be 4 swipes and then it would be over.
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