Oh God, am I dying?
That's what it felt like. Like I'd been shot in the face. That must have been what happened. Some backsewer genderist with a sawed-off shotgun had seen me on my way home from a hard night's clubbing in my fem attire and gunned me down in an alley. And now I was lying on the concrete floor of some warehouse somewhere, my skull shattered open with my brainspace spilling out, and next door were construction workers operating jackhammers and wrecking balls.
I was absolutely certain of this for about five minutes.
Then my eyes finally insisted on opening(since after five minutes of continuing existence, my brain was arguing that maybe my brainspace wasn't ENTIRELY shattered raw) and saw the the couch pillow my head was resting on. Things beyond that were pretty blurry, but I could just barely make out something that two small white somethings were resting on next to a cup-shaped something. It was right in front of my face, within reach.
What--pills? OhthankGodDRUGS. DRUGS MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER.
I struggled upright, fumbled for the white pills, popped them down my throat, and emptied the cup down after it. Then I collapsed back onto the couch. After an eternity more of jackhammers and wrecking balls, I felt them kick in, and I drifted off into blissful darkness.
This couch pillow is really itchy.
...I don't HAVE a couch.
Oh God, where the hell AM I?
My eyes snapped open and I sat up immediately. This wasn't the first time I'd woken up in a strange apartment, so I wasn't completely panicking.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Kristoffen's beverage is tiger blood, in case you were wondering
"And I suppose this is the part where you tell me your horrible tragic past and all the horrible tragic things you did and how horrible and tragic you were." She said all this like she'd heard people tell her horrible tragic things thousands of times before to the point that by now it really was negligable to her. Kristoffen bit savagely into her taco, juice spurting out so slightly that it only left a brief mist in the air that immediately faded.
"I...well. You sound like you've heard it all before." Kristoffen shrugged, chewing her huge mouthful with a brutality that matched the attitude of a gladiator tackling a tiger. She swallowed and then drew mightily on the straw of her beverage.
"I really have. I seem to have a knack for attracting tragic people. And a lot of them turn out to be horrible. And then some of them talk about killing themselves, but it's really all for show, and they don't, and well now you know that one's just another attention whore, and meanwhile the ones you thought were sane go and hang themselves with a coat hanger and some twisty-ties and the phrase life's a bitch shows up to slap you in the face again. I've found it's really much easier just to not care at all." Kristoffen plucked at her teeth with her tongue, found something, and immediately clamped it into submission between her teeth.
"You'll likely be dead in a week anyway."
"Oh." Ephthae had the feeling he should apologize in a show of sympathy for all her hard times, but he also had the feeling Kristoffen didn't care for shows of sympathy. "So you really don't care?"
"Well. I suppose I'd care if you were a serial killer or something. But if you were they'd've told me when they offered me the job with you."
"I see. ...What did they tell you?"
"You're intelligent. A strategist. Good with people. Basically you can do everything I hate doing, which makes everything significantly easier and more convenient for me. Hence, here we are."
"I see."
"You need to stop saying that."
"Saying what?"
"'I see.' All bloody well intellectual. It pisses me off."
"...I'm sorry?"
"So stop it."
"I can't really help it. It's just something I say--"
"Will me rearranging your jaw on the other side of your skull help it?"
He hesitated, then decided not to be intimidated.
"Well, yes, because then I couldn't talk anymore at all. Lot of benefit my being good with people would be then, hmm?"
Kristoffen bit off more taco and chewed, looking at him thoughtfully. She swallowed.
"Cheeky bastard."
Ephthae realized he was grinning, and Kristoffen was grinning back.
The moment passed, and they broke off gazes, staring back into the night ahead of them.
"But really, don't fucking say it anymore or I willsohelpmeGod put your jaw on the other side of your head."
Ephthae sighed.
"I...well. You sound like you've heard it all before." Kristoffen shrugged, chewing her huge mouthful with a brutality that matched the attitude of a gladiator tackling a tiger. She swallowed and then drew mightily on the straw of her beverage.
"I really have. I seem to have a knack for attracting tragic people. And a lot of them turn out to be horrible. And then some of them talk about killing themselves, but it's really all for show, and they don't, and well now you know that one's just another attention whore, and meanwhile the ones you thought were sane go and hang themselves with a coat hanger and some twisty-ties and the phrase life's a bitch shows up to slap you in the face again. I've found it's really much easier just to not care at all." Kristoffen plucked at her teeth with her tongue, found something, and immediately clamped it into submission between her teeth.
"You'll likely be dead in a week anyway."
"Oh." Ephthae had the feeling he should apologize in a show of sympathy for all her hard times, but he also had the feeling Kristoffen didn't care for shows of sympathy. "So you really don't care?"
"Well. I suppose I'd care if you were a serial killer or something. But if you were they'd've told me when they offered me the job with you."
"I see. ...What did they tell you?"
"You're intelligent. A strategist. Good with people. Basically you can do everything I hate doing, which makes everything significantly easier and more convenient for me. Hence, here we are."
"I see."
"You need to stop saying that."
"Saying what?"
"'I see.' All bloody well intellectual. It pisses me off."
"...I'm sorry?"
"So stop it."
"I can't really help it. It's just something I say--"
"Will me rearranging your jaw on the other side of your skull help it?"
He hesitated, then decided not to be intimidated.
"Well, yes, because then I couldn't talk anymore at all. Lot of benefit my being good with people would be then, hmm?"
Kristoffen bit off more taco and chewed, looking at him thoughtfully. She swallowed.
"Cheeky bastard."
Ephthae realized he was grinning, and Kristoffen was grinning back.
The moment passed, and they broke off gazes, staring back into the night ahead of them.
"But really, don't fucking say it anymore or I willsohelpmeGod put your jaw on the other side of your head."
Ephthae sighed.
Meanwhile, somewhere between places....
He gasped and choked in the darkness. Hot liquid gushed angrily from his throat and he gagged, struggling to find space to breathe.
STOP THAT.
He coughed and it stopped. He sucked in air greedily, desperate for the sweet relief it brought his screaming lungs. He didn't yet spare a thought for the strange voice that had halted his suffering, he was too busy trying to claw his life back inside his body.
He finally felt appeased and lay there for a while, struggling to remember what had happened. He remembered what there had been immediately before, of course. That kept pushing at the foremost of his brain and he kept pushing it back because he knew it possessed some hideous truth that he couldn't possibly face and maintain any semblance of sanity. Because what had happened meant he shouldn't be here. Because facing what had happened meant that this was what came after. And that challenged every staple belief he'd built his life on.
There was a horrible emptiness on his back and he knew immediately what that was as soon as he noticed it. He screamed into the darkness and sobbed for what felt like hours. It was worse than what this after was. This after...he would deal with it eventually.
But now he had to deal with it without his...without his wings.
He'd never thought about them much before. Not anymore than was common for his people. Which was actually much more often than the wingless thought about them, but about as often as the wingless thought about their legs. How wonderful they were. How many things you could do with them. About how you couldn't really do anything at all worth doing without them.
Of course he'd been proud of them and had preened them, like a beautiful person with lush, long, beautiful hair was proud of it and preened it. They had been massive, powerful, glorious things that flashed like metal in the sunlight. The very sight of them had...had...
He'd struck fear into a lot of people. He'd done a lot of horrible things.
And now he was here. In this awfully empty place. This awfully empty dark place. He couldn't see anything other than himself. He seemed to give off some strange sort of...glow? It was unsettling. And his skin was so pale. White, almost. It had been a deep, rich golden tan before. He was certain of this.
He held up his hand to look closer at his skin and realized he could see through it.
That was a terrible thing and he didn't let himself think about it for hours more. He wrapped his arms around himself, though not so tightly he could feel the ragged edges of torn flesh on his back, and sat there, staring emptily into the darkness. Waiting, maybe. He didn't know for what.
Shouldn't there be something...more? Someone here? Anything? A guide? A light in the distance? A bloody signpost pointing the way? Because surely he wasn't supposed to just sit here. Not for the rest of forever. What was the point in that? Billions of people, all the people there ever were, just all sitting in endless darkness for all of eternity?
That couldn't be it. There had to be something else. Some sort of system, something that was organized and logical and measureable in conceivable ways. Someone he could talk to. About this. Whatever this was. A higher authority who could explain things.
This was unacceptable. He refused to just sit on his ass in a pool of...blood.
That was when he remembered the voice.
And now suddenly sitting alone in silence in the darkness seemed at the same time much more horrible and much more appealing than walking off into it to try and find a bodiless, nameless entity.
But was waiting for it to come up behind him that much better an option?
He wrestled with himself for a long time before he finally ventured a cautious, but defiant:
"Hello?"
ABOUT TIME.
He just about pissed himself. The voice was coming from a definite direction, somewhere in front of him. He scrambled to his feet, not about to be caught off guard if it attacked.
"Who...what..."
I CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ELSE AFTER TELLING YOU THIS UNLESS YOU ASK A SPECIFIC QUESTION.
"...Uh."
He thought about it.
"...Is this magic?"
IS WHAT MAGIC. SPECIFY.
"Am I in some sort of...magical holding cell. Of the enemy?"
NO.
"...Are you sure?"
YES. YOU'RE ALL DONE WITH THAT, I'M AFRAID.
"What do you mean, done with it?"
IT'S QUITE FRANKLY OUT OF YOUR HANDS. IN FACT I SHOULDN'T SPARE IT ANOTHER THOUGHT NOW. THERE'S REALLY NOTHING YOU CAN DO.
"I don't know if I'll accept that as an answer."
CHEEKY BASTARD. WELL, DO YOU KNOW AN EXCEPTIONAL NECROMANCER?
"I...no?"
AND EVEN IF YOU DID, THEY CAN'T BRING BACK SOULS. THEY JUST ANIMATE THE BODIES.
"Hhhh..." He'd meant to say "Oh", but the shock had gotten to his throat before he managed it. The O had gotten stuck immediately--O sounds took up a good deal of space in the throat--but the whispery hhh just barely managed to slip past it.
YES. I'M AFRAID SO.
"Bhhh..." He'd meant to say "but" that time, but once again, the other letters had gotten stuck and only a whisper was able to escape.
OH, DEAR. YOU HADN'T REALIZED THAT YET. TERRIBLY SORRY. I'LL GIVE YOU SOME TIME TO COME TO TERMS WITH THAT.
The voice gave him a lot of time.
STOP THAT.
He coughed and it stopped. He sucked in air greedily, desperate for the sweet relief it brought his screaming lungs. He didn't yet spare a thought for the strange voice that had halted his suffering, he was too busy trying to claw his life back inside his body.
He finally felt appeased and lay there for a while, struggling to remember what had happened. He remembered what there had been immediately before, of course. That kept pushing at the foremost of his brain and he kept pushing it back because he knew it possessed some hideous truth that he couldn't possibly face and maintain any semblance of sanity. Because what had happened meant he shouldn't be here. Because facing what had happened meant that this was what came after. And that challenged every staple belief he'd built his life on.
There was a horrible emptiness on his back and he knew immediately what that was as soon as he noticed it. He screamed into the darkness and sobbed for what felt like hours. It was worse than what this after was. This after...he would deal with it eventually.
But now he had to deal with it without his...without his wings.
He'd never thought about them much before. Not anymore than was common for his people. Which was actually much more often than the wingless thought about them, but about as often as the wingless thought about their legs. How wonderful they were. How many things you could do with them. About how you couldn't really do anything at all worth doing without them.
Of course he'd been proud of them and had preened them, like a beautiful person with lush, long, beautiful hair was proud of it and preened it. They had been massive, powerful, glorious things that flashed like metal in the sunlight. The very sight of them had...had...
He'd struck fear into a lot of people. He'd done a lot of horrible things.
And now he was here. In this awfully empty place. This awfully empty dark place. He couldn't see anything other than himself. He seemed to give off some strange sort of...glow? It was unsettling. And his skin was so pale. White, almost. It had been a deep, rich golden tan before. He was certain of this.
He held up his hand to look closer at his skin and realized he could see through it.
That was a terrible thing and he didn't let himself think about it for hours more. He wrapped his arms around himself, though not so tightly he could feel the ragged edges of torn flesh on his back, and sat there, staring emptily into the darkness. Waiting, maybe. He didn't know for what.
Shouldn't there be something...more? Someone here? Anything? A guide? A light in the distance? A bloody signpost pointing the way? Because surely he wasn't supposed to just sit here. Not for the rest of forever. What was the point in that? Billions of people, all the people there ever were, just all sitting in endless darkness for all of eternity?
That couldn't be it. There had to be something else. Some sort of system, something that was organized and logical and measureable in conceivable ways. Someone he could talk to. About this. Whatever this was. A higher authority who could explain things.
This was unacceptable. He refused to just sit on his ass in a pool of...blood.
That was when he remembered the voice.
And now suddenly sitting alone in silence in the darkness seemed at the same time much more horrible and much more appealing than walking off into it to try and find a bodiless, nameless entity.
But was waiting for it to come up behind him that much better an option?
He wrestled with himself for a long time before he finally ventured a cautious, but defiant:
"Hello?"
ABOUT TIME.
He just about pissed himself. The voice was coming from a definite direction, somewhere in front of him. He scrambled to his feet, not about to be caught off guard if it attacked.
"Who...what..."
I CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ELSE AFTER TELLING YOU THIS UNLESS YOU ASK A SPECIFIC QUESTION.
"...Uh."
He thought about it.
"...Is this magic?"
IS WHAT MAGIC. SPECIFY.
"Am I in some sort of...magical holding cell. Of the enemy?"
NO.
"...Are you sure?"
YES. YOU'RE ALL DONE WITH THAT, I'M AFRAID.
"What do you mean, done with it?"
IT'S QUITE FRANKLY OUT OF YOUR HANDS. IN FACT I SHOULDN'T SPARE IT ANOTHER THOUGHT NOW. THERE'S REALLY NOTHING YOU CAN DO.
"I don't know if I'll accept that as an answer."
CHEEKY BASTARD. WELL, DO YOU KNOW AN EXCEPTIONAL NECROMANCER?
"I...no?"
AND EVEN IF YOU DID, THEY CAN'T BRING BACK SOULS. THEY JUST ANIMATE THE BODIES.
"Hhhh..." He'd meant to say "Oh", but the shock had gotten to his throat before he managed it. The O had gotten stuck immediately--O sounds took up a good deal of space in the throat--but the whispery hhh just barely managed to slip past it.
YES. I'M AFRAID SO.
"Bhhh..." He'd meant to say "but" that time, but once again, the other letters had gotten stuck and only a whisper was able to escape.
OH, DEAR. YOU HADN'T REALIZED THAT YET. TERRIBLY SORRY. I'LL GIVE YOU SOME TIME TO COME TO TERMS WITH THAT.
The voice gave him a lot of time.
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