I've kept to myself a lot of late. Sometimes I go outside and deal with Chonk, sometimes I just wait. Most of the times I wait. Wyatt doesn't really like to teach, and I think he only does when he gets fed up with me hanging around.
I can do that. I excel at hanging around, hell it was practically my job before all this.
Chonk either won't or can't go inside his little shack, I don't know if its a Fey thing or a 'possibly immortal possible cowboy with a gun' thing. The guy's got iron in a land that seems to be rather anathema to it.
Curiously, if thats the case, Chonk doesn't seem to care much about my short sword. Hmmm, I wonder what all that artificer Dal Matia did that I don't know about?
Regardless of whatever fey chicanery is going on, I've thrown myself forward into whatever the hell it is I'm doing now.
Wyatt doesn't give it a name, and I refuse to call it something so stupid as 'soul burning' or whatever, because that sounds emo as FUCK, and while I may be privvy to the ole brooding behavior, I do not look good with a studded collar on, I assure you.
Or whatever the hell emos wear. I should've said eye shadow.
I've been 'burning' days when i train with him. Says that you sacrifice a tiny bit of who you are in a single moment. Usually, its been things like sprinting around the cabin.
Wyatt took things up a notch today. He pulled iron on me, and fired.
Now, I'm not going to say I looked all Matrix-y and did a bend-backwards dodge under the bullet.
But I totally bent backwards Matrix-y and fell on my ass.
Ladies.
He laughed. I yelled at him. He raises the gun towards his shack and fires again. I flinch. At least its not at me.
There's no registering of the bullet on his little wood place. I tell him I get it, that he fired a blank. He laughs some more at my expense. I let it go. The old man's got his fun, and I have a small affinity for Sam Elliott so I switch gears.
"That was some sort of instinct test. See if I can react by instinct."
"I'd say! I haven't seen anyone cower that fast in ages."
I scowl down at Chonk and ignore him, he's getting underfoot as we walk back to the cabin.
"Go eat a rat or something." I mutter, as I wait for Wyatt's response.
The old man holsters his weapon and lets out a sigh. He mutters something I missed as I taunt the faeline a little.
Patience.
We get up onto his deck, and Wyatt stops in the doorway. He steps inside, and puts his hand on the door as he does. As I move to walk in behind him, I find the door in my face. A bit flustered, I stop in my tracks and step back, the door closes before me, and I hear the subtle motion of wood drug on wood.
He locked the door on me.
I eyed Chonk, and after a moment I sat down on the stoop. My voice was low, as I consulted with the native. "I guess that was that."
"It always is." he replies with no help whatsoever.
I tell him as much and follow up.
"Whelp...I don't think I'm a lost cause, so I think this is the gentle nudging of the baby bird out of the nest."
"And we all know what cats do to birds."
I remain silent for a moment, then I set myself, and stand, "I've got to stop handing you straight lines."
Its time to go...somewhere at least. Maybe that old man taught me what I needed. Maybe not.
Maybe this old gunslinger has a fight left in him. Maybe not.
"Please, you're anything but straight."
I sigh, and pick a direction. The east had the hills I came from. That would eventually lead back to the Fears. Here in...fae land or whatever the hell it was, it was far more pleasant. Here I was learning, and not just trying not to die. I picked up a stick and threw it into the air, twisting my wrist as I did, It spins through the air in a circle and lands with the smaller end pointing what I generously deem 'south'.
I put my hand on the hilt of my short sword and look down at my cat. After a few moment's begrudging silence, I speak to him, "You're my friend too, Chonk."
South I go.
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
The Weird Wild West
I looked down at the old tin cup in my hand. It was awkward. Something that was the 'next best thing to coffee' was in it. It was pretty disgusting.
We had gotten past the initial standoff, shotgun 'Git Off Mah Land' traditions and all. I played stupid, which wasn't much of a stretch and eventually he decided I was less trouble to deal with than to shoot.
I kinda think maybe he didn't have much in the way of bullets, but I wasn't one to really call that bluff.
His name was Wyatt Carsten, and the man must've walked off the set of Tombstone, give or take the bare feet, or patched up clothes.
I shook my head, a bit of a wry look on my face, "I'm not immortal. That's just silly."
He gave me one of those bushy eyebrow raises, then said in a perfectly reasonable tone, "You'd know, wouldn't you?"
I tried not to roll my eyes, "I'm not saying there aren't immortals, pretty sure I've encountered one or two of them before. But those were creatures, things from here it seemed. Immortal people? Well sure, I can even buy that. I'll even bet that you are one yourself, or the next best thing to it, but me? No, I'm certainly not. I've got proof."
Wyatt drew out a knife of an odd yellowish color and began to work a piece of wood in his hands. That was a guy thing, if you don't understand. Most men don't communicate eye to eye. Eye contact still has this real primal 'challenge or be challenged' aspect to it, when its with a stranger. Looking away after someone makes eye contact is still this really tiny sense of loss or cowing. Working on something, like polishing a gun, or whittling, they give you a menial task to focus your eyes on so you can look away, have a perfectly reasonable conversation, and not just be two shmucks staring at the ground feeling awkward in an attempt to not feel awkward.
After six thick slices of the wood were cut free, he said, "An now you think I'm immortal."
I shrugged, "Nothing more than a guess. You said you recognized something about me. You made the claim first. You're also dressed for a period of time that I'm only familiar with from film. The actual Old West was...I want to say about a hundred years ago, more or less. Anyway, I figured like knows like."
He humphs softly, and more wood chips hit the floor, "A hunnert years."
I acknowledged, "Give or take, yeah. World's a lot different now. Even more now than when I last remembered it." I threw in that hint of my life to Wyatt, because it was something I wanted him to consider, maybe he'd even ask about it. He controlled the conversation. Hell, He didn't even let Chonk inside the house. The faeline seemed alright with that, having quickly hidden beneath the porch.
He eventually asked, processing everything in a slow, methodical way. I told him.
I told him about the Wretched Man who I first wrote blogs about, the tall corpse-like figure with its skin stretched far too tight over its skeletal frame.
I told him about the writings, and the people I saw disappear, I ruefully talked about the propensity for nicknames and titles. He smirked a little at that part.
And then it went on to the Winter Solstice, the night that changed my life, and the stupid hubris that was my quest for glory, that left a young woman slain by my hand.
And then there was the Bleeding Tree. Mine Nemesis. That which claimed me as its own, and the bloodshed that followed.
With most stories, it would end with my death, bleeding out, huddled up against the tree, rapidly trying to one handed type that I did it, that I was finally a winner.
Except my story didn't end there.
It was the afterwards that he showed some interest. The Punishment as it were. The years and years of walking, the life of just fruitless searching for something I could never find. Feeding the Tree, or whatever it wanted from me. And then there was Jack.
I didn't name her, and I left her vague intentionally. No sense in sharing everything.
"A hunnert thousand years." Wyatt comments.
I shrugged, "I have no idea, but I was walking for what felt like an eternity."
"And you come to me, why?"
I mull it over. I wish at this point I had a whittlin stick of my own. First off, it just felt wholesome. It also gave me something to fidget with so I felt less awkward. Of course, it'd be impossible to do one handed, so I guess it didn't matter.
I guess I need a hobby.
"I uh...want to get home." I said simply, "There's a way to get from here to there, even just between two places on Earth. We've got a name for it, I bet you know it by a different name. The Path of Black Leaves." I speak of it with capitalized letters, to signify its importance.
He stops his knife stroke, regarded me and then looked back to his wood, and made a soft whistle. "Noctis Eater"
I look to him and away and back, and decided to agree, "Yeah that...sounds about right." I continue, "I could come here, but not go back."
He leans back in his seat, and plants his knife on the table. "That...is because you're not a wizard or magician or whatever they call it now. You've got no 'words' on you."
The emphasis of Words was interesting.
I nodded, "Yeah, I fell into about everything that's happened with no training or knowledge."
He puts his feet up on the bench before him, and stretches out. "You can do that stuff on Earth because that's you, that's your home. But you're not home now." He pauses and pushes up his hat, and squints, "Wonderland?"
I correct gently, "Underland is the term I know." I make a motion with my hand to signify underneath, "Like its underneath Earth. The dimension next door as it were."
"Underland." He says again, then settles back down again, "Your Underland here doesn't respond to you, because it doesn't hear you. You've got no words to back it up."
Please oh please, teach me magic.
I swear he heard me, or the way I tensed was enough for him to read me. "I don't have time to teach you frickin words."
I consider arguing because if he's immortal, then he had nothing but time, but I felt there was a pitch coming.
"But, there's cheaper ways to do things...iffin you've lived long enough, and don't mind dying."
I was all ears.
We had gotten past the initial standoff, shotgun 'Git Off Mah Land' traditions and all. I played stupid, which wasn't much of a stretch and eventually he decided I was less trouble to deal with than to shoot.
I kinda think maybe he didn't have much in the way of bullets, but I wasn't one to really call that bluff.
His name was Wyatt Carsten, and the man must've walked off the set of Tombstone, give or take the bare feet, or patched up clothes.
I shook my head, a bit of a wry look on my face, "I'm not immortal. That's just silly."
He gave me one of those bushy eyebrow raises, then said in a perfectly reasonable tone, "You'd know, wouldn't you?"
I tried not to roll my eyes, "I'm not saying there aren't immortals, pretty sure I've encountered one or two of them before. But those were creatures, things from here it seemed. Immortal people? Well sure, I can even buy that. I'll even bet that you are one yourself, or the next best thing to it, but me? No, I'm certainly not. I've got proof."
Wyatt drew out a knife of an odd yellowish color and began to work a piece of wood in his hands. That was a guy thing, if you don't understand. Most men don't communicate eye to eye. Eye contact still has this real primal 'challenge or be challenged' aspect to it, when its with a stranger. Looking away after someone makes eye contact is still this really tiny sense of loss or cowing. Working on something, like polishing a gun, or whittling, they give you a menial task to focus your eyes on so you can look away, have a perfectly reasonable conversation, and not just be two shmucks staring at the ground feeling awkward in an attempt to not feel awkward.
After six thick slices of the wood were cut free, he said, "An now you think I'm immortal."
I shrugged, "Nothing more than a guess. You said you recognized something about me. You made the claim first. You're also dressed for a period of time that I'm only familiar with from film. The actual Old West was...I want to say about a hundred years ago, more or less. Anyway, I figured like knows like."
He humphs softly, and more wood chips hit the floor, "A hunnert years."
I acknowledged, "Give or take, yeah. World's a lot different now. Even more now than when I last remembered it." I threw in that hint of my life to Wyatt, because it was something I wanted him to consider, maybe he'd even ask about it. He controlled the conversation. Hell, He didn't even let Chonk inside the house. The faeline seemed alright with that, having quickly hidden beneath the porch.
He eventually asked, processing everything in a slow, methodical way. I told him.
I told him about the Wretched Man who I first wrote blogs about, the tall corpse-like figure with its skin stretched far too tight over its skeletal frame.
I told him about the writings, and the people I saw disappear, I ruefully talked about the propensity for nicknames and titles. He smirked a little at that part.
And then it went on to the Winter Solstice, the night that changed my life, and the stupid hubris that was my quest for glory, that left a young woman slain by my hand.
And then there was the Bleeding Tree. Mine Nemesis. That which claimed me as its own, and the bloodshed that followed.
With most stories, it would end with my death, bleeding out, huddled up against the tree, rapidly trying to one handed type that I did it, that I was finally a winner.
Except my story didn't end there.
It was the afterwards that he showed some interest. The Punishment as it were. The years and years of walking, the life of just fruitless searching for something I could never find. Feeding the Tree, or whatever it wanted from me. And then there was Jack.
I didn't name her, and I left her vague intentionally. No sense in sharing everything.
"A hunnert thousand years." Wyatt comments.
I shrugged, "I have no idea, but I was walking for what felt like an eternity."
"And you come to me, why?"
I mull it over. I wish at this point I had a whittlin stick of my own. First off, it just felt wholesome. It also gave me something to fidget with so I felt less awkward. Of course, it'd be impossible to do one handed, so I guess it didn't matter.
I guess I need a hobby.
"I uh...want to get home." I said simply, "There's a way to get from here to there, even just between two places on Earth. We've got a name for it, I bet you know it by a different name. The Path of Black Leaves." I speak of it with capitalized letters, to signify its importance.
He stops his knife stroke, regarded me and then looked back to his wood, and made a soft whistle. "Noctis Eater"
I look to him and away and back, and decided to agree, "Yeah that...sounds about right." I continue, "I could come here, but not go back."
He leans back in his seat, and plants his knife on the table. "That...is because you're not a wizard or magician or whatever they call it now. You've got no 'words' on you."
The emphasis of Words was interesting.
I nodded, "Yeah, I fell into about everything that's happened with no training or knowledge."
He puts his feet up on the bench before him, and stretches out. "You can do that stuff on Earth because that's you, that's your home. But you're not home now." He pauses and pushes up his hat, and squints, "Wonderland?"
I correct gently, "Underland is the term I know." I make a motion with my hand to signify underneath, "Like its underneath Earth. The dimension next door as it were."
"Underland." He says again, then settles back down again, "Your Underland here doesn't respond to you, because it doesn't hear you. You've got no words to back it up."
Please oh please, teach me magic.
I swear he heard me, or the way I tensed was enough for him to read me. "I don't have time to teach you frickin words."
I consider arguing because if he's immortal, then he had nothing but time, but I felt there was a pitch coming.
"But, there's cheaper ways to do things...iffin you've lived long enough, and don't mind dying."
I was all ears.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Observe...and Terminate
I heard the strangest sound as we got into a series of hills. I'd say Chonk and I were in a remote area, but hell, everything seemed remote here. Not one city, town, or village for miles. Last structures I saw were that castle and Dal Matia's patchwork tower.
So color me surprised when I hear a bass guitar quietly being played off in the distance. Chonk seemed dead set on heading that way, so my curiosity was to be sated at least. There were a lot of 'don't look' 'don't touch', and 'don't eat' warnings on the travels so far, this one was at least not warranting a 'don't listen'.
As we crested a hill, I heard more to the guitar. It was faint, but I heard a woman's voice. She was singing, and there was faint treble music. It was a full fledged song, I would've bet money that it was one I knew too. Kelly Clarkson's 'Miss Independent'. I was in college when that song came out, never really cared about American Idol, and I was dismayed to find out it was still on when I came back, but I digress.
The hill leveled off into a flat plain, with another small picturesque brook going through it. Cattails and tall weeds waved back and forth, catching up against me about to the waist. There were stickerbushes and those little hooked seed plants that the idea for Velcro came from.
And there was a little house made of wood up ahead. Complete with a deck, stairs, and a chimney.
I was pretty visible, and decided to play it straight and just be noticeable rather than sneak around. Seems like the folks in these parts were really, really, really magic inclined, and stealthier than I could ever be. To hunch down and let the weeds give me away, that just sounded like stupidity. Better I look foolish etc...
When I got close, I heard the song change to voices. Radio commercials. This person had a radio that worked inhell Underland. I started to finally clear out of the meadow, when a figure opened up the door and stepped out, obviously looking right at me.
This is where I'd expect to find Rika again, because my life falls into patterns and shit.
I did not.
The man was older, dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He wore one of them big western hats, that helped tame the wild long grey and white hair that signified him as a senior. He also wore a Sam Elliott style mustache. Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd have assumed it was Sam Elliott. He kept squinting at me, reached inside his door and drew a few feet of iron on me.
Yep, the cowboy had a shotgun. Imagine that.
I put up my hands. He didn't point it at me, just yet, but it was there, and I felt the sudden urge to be exceedingly respectful.
The talk on the radio started up again, I wasn't paying attention. He casually mouthed a cigarette out of a pack while staring at me approach, and lit it one handed off of a match.
Its a pretty long trek to walk sixty yards towards someone toting iron on you, with your hands up. Just sayin.
I finally get close enough to talk to him, standing off of the porch still, hands still up. The radio's pretty loud, so I open up to talk over it. The music changes to some girlpop song about wanting her boy to fall in love or something.
I stood there, unmoving.
He did the same, just smoking, giving me the stink eye.
The girl sang out about him being her baby.
After about thirty seconds, I sort of motion discretely to the radio. He doesn't move. I mean I'm comfortable enough in my asexuality I guess, but this was just awkward.
Finally, he moves over to turn off the radio, always keeping me in his sight. The man didn't wear boots, but a pair of beaten sneakers not too unlike mine. In retrospect I guess my gear never really wore away back when I was dead, I guess that was good.
He sits in a chair on the porch and looks at me. Calmly, he finishes the cigarette and rubs it out. I get the sense that he should speak first, so I finally close my mouth and stop letting the flies in, as they say.
"Two questions." He says finally, as he leans back in his chair, that weapon in his lap, a hand on it.
I start to talk, and he cuts me off with that air of presence and finality. "How the hell haven't I met you before?"
I blink. That wasn't quite what I had expected, and respond with a blank "Uh....?"
He squints at me again, and so I continue, "I'm new here, is why?" The sour look he gives me tells me that's not the answer he wants. I elaborate, "Seriously, I'm new here. I came here looking for a killer, and well, things got very muddled, I got locked up for a while, and now I'm just..." I shrug weakly, "Trying to get home."
The man leans forward a little, finally having gotten something he's interested in. "How long?" I pause, and stutter, "I need clarification, how long I was here, how long I was gone, what?"
Suddenly, Chonk pipes up, "Well, so much for his debt of hospitality. That got out of the way early, hmmm."
I ignore him, and look to the old man. "How long were you captured?" I think on it, and finally gesture to my missing arm, "Long enough to heal from this? Three months maybe?"
He grips the shotgun tighter, "Come on, don't lie to me." He raises it straight up, the threat was palpable as was the contempt in his voice, "I can see you. Hell, you're glowing like a sun. There ain't no way you've been here for just a few months. You'd better start giving me some answers."
Insert the Dukes of Hazzard commercial break music here.
So color me surprised when I hear a bass guitar quietly being played off in the distance. Chonk seemed dead set on heading that way, so my curiosity was to be sated at least. There were a lot of 'don't look' 'don't touch', and 'don't eat' warnings on the travels so far, this one was at least not warranting a 'don't listen'.
As we crested a hill, I heard more to the guitar. It was faint, but I heard a woman's voice. She was singing, and there was faint treble music. It was a full fledged song, I would've bet money that it was one I knew too. Kelly Clarkson's 'Miss Independent'. I was in college when that song came out, never really cared about American Idol, and I was dismayed to find out it was still on when I came back, but I digress.
The hill leveled off into a flat plain, with another small picturesque brook going through it. Cattails and tall weeds waved back and forth, catching up against me about to the waist. There were stickerbushes and those little hooked seed plants that the idea for Velcro came from.
And there was a little house made of wood up ahead. Complete with a deck, stairs, and a chimney.
I was pretty visible, and decided to play it straight and just be noticeable rather than sneak around. Seems like the folks in these parts were really, really, really magic inclined, and stealthier than I could ever be. To hunch down and let the weeds give me away, that just sounded like stupidity. Better I look foolish etc...
When I got close, I heard the song change to voices. Radio commercials. This person had a radio that worked in
This is where I'd expect to find Rika again, because my life falls into patterns and shit.
I did not.
The man was older, dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He wore one of them big western hats, that helped tame the wild long grey and white hair that signified him as a senior. He also wore a Sam Elliott style mustache. Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd have assumed it was Sam Elliott. He kept squinting at me, reached inside his door and drew a few feet of iron on me.
Yep, the cowboy had a shotgun. Imagine that.
I put up my hands. He didn't point it at me, just yet, but it was there, and I felt the sudden urge to be exceedingly respectful.
The talk on the radio started up again, I wasn't paying attention. He casually mouthed a cigarette out of a pack while staring at me approach, and lit it one handed off of a match.
Its a pretty long trek to walk sixty yards towards someone toting iron on you, with your hands up. Just sayin.
I finally get close enough to talk to him, standing off of the porch still, hands still up. The radio's pretty loud, so I open up to talk over it. The music changes to some girlpop song about wanting her boy to fall in love or something.
I stood there, unmoving.
He did the same, just smoking, giving me the stink eye.
The girl sang out about him being her baby.
After about thirty seconds, I sort of motion discretely to the radio. He doesn't move. I mean I'm comfortable enough in my asexuality I guess, but this was just awkward.
Finally, he moves over to turn off the radio, always keeping me in his sight. The man didn't wear boots, but a pair of beaten sneakers not too unlike mine. In retrospect I guess my gear never really wore away back when I was dead, I guess that was good.
He sits in a chair on the porch and looks at me. Calmly, he finishes the cigarette and rubs it out. I get the sense that he should speak first, so I finally close my mouth and stop letting the flies in, as they say.
"Two questions." He says finally, as he leans back in his chair, that weapon in his lap, a hand on it.
I start to talk, and he cuts me off with that air of presence and finality. "How the hell haven't I met you before?"
I blink. That wasn't quite what I had expected, and respond with a blank "Uh....?"
He squints at me again, and so I continue, "I'm new here, is why?" The sour look he gives me tells me that's not the answer he wants. I elaborate, "Seriously, I'm new here. I came here looking for a killer, and well, things got very muddled, I got locked up for a while, and now I'm just..." I shrug weakly, "Trying to get home."
The man leans forward a little, finally having gotten something he's interested in. "How long?" I pause, and stutter, "I need clarification, how long I was here, how long I was gone, what?"
Suddenly, Chonk pipes up, "Well, so much for his debt of hospitality. That got out of the way early, hmmm."
I ignore him, and look to the old man. "How long were you captured?" I think on it, and finally gesture to my missing arm, "Long enough to heal from this? Three months maybe?"
He grips the shotgun tighter, "Come on, don't lie to me." He raises it straight up, the threat was palpable as was the contempt in his voice, "I can see you. Hell, you're glowing like a sun. There ain't no way you've been here for just a few months. You'd better start giving me some answers."
Insert the Dukes of Hazzard commercial break music here.
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Living in a technocolor dreamworld
"Stop speaking in riddles."
"Stop breathing air."
We both answered at the same time, "No."
I sighed at Chonk. Chonk the Faeline had been nothing but cryptic answers since I met it. We were travelling still, the road stretched on forever to wherever it went. It was lush, green, verdant...I always wanted to call something verdant. Not too far from home, except here, here the colors were more vibrant, the experiences were richer. The scent of clover fields or something else nice because I'm not sure I've ever smelled clover.
The point is, this was the nicest part of the entire 'Underland' I'd seen. We saw large moving trees, wrapped together like a statue made of parts of wood, that walked between the trees, not moving a branch. Chonk advised me to steal fruit from them, and with my stomach rumbling in agreement, I did so.
I'm sure that's not going to bite me on the ass.
We both ate, we drank from streams of water. It was the wild, but it was the best wild I could ever imagine. Something out of one of those Miyozaki films, the romanticizing of an overland trip.
And Chonk here was my festive, snarky sidekick.
I sat, and finished off the fruit that I have no idea what it was. It had a sweet and bitter taste to it. I found myself disappointed I had only grabbed three. For a sense of gratitude, I planted the pits of the fruits near where I ate them. That'd come across less awkward if I had a trowel or shovel. Instead I was just one-handed trying to pry my short sword into the ground, and dig up a small hole.
Still, Karma +1, am I right?
I pressed my luck and started to grill Chonk again. It was cleaning itself, those big tuffed ears twitched, as it sensed my attention. I considered if the ears were a hint as to the lynx or bobcat heritage.
"This guy we're going to see." I started.
It continued cleaning itself. (I'm using gender neutral because I don't want to have THAT conversation with a fae), then looked up, "Yes. To see, smell, hear, vrinch, all the senses."
I gave it a sour look, Vrinch? Its playing me for fun again. "He's human, and has been here for a while...so the thought is that he can help me out?"
I've already gone over this with him, but apparently cats are still too clever for their own good, even in the Underland. Chonk likes to omit things, so far none of them have been life-threatening, but I've had a few moments of discomfort, as flower pollen got me high, or some sort of water thing took offense at me drinking from a creek I had found.
He's fun at parties though.
That's an assumption, I don't go to parties much.
Chonk pulled itself up and let that tail sway, "He was human, last I checked. Long enough that I remember him."
I nodded, "But his name was deigned to be beneath notice of your attention?"
Chonk raised its head, accepting the flattery. Cats are still cats, it seems. "Mortals usually don't stay for long."
I nodded, "Well then. Lets get me home before I get dead."
Chonk rolled a throaty purr, as I got up and started walking. It continued, "Seems to me that the two options....are the same."
I freaking hate cats sometimes.
"Stop breathing air."
We both answered at the same time, "No."
I sighed at Chonk. Chonk the Faeline had been nothing but cryptic answers since I met it. We were travelling still, the road stretched on forever to wherever it went. It was lush, green, verdant...I always wanted to call something verdant. Not too far from home, except here, here the colors were more vibrant, the experiences were richer. The scent of clover fields or something else nice because I'm not sure I've ever smelled clover.
The point is, this was the nicest part of the entire 'Underland' I'd seen. We saw large moving trees, wrapped together like a statue made of parts of wood, that walked between the trees, not moving a branch. Chonk advised me to steal fruit from them, and with my stomach rumbling in agreement, I did so.
I'm sure that's not going to bite me on the ass.
We both ate, we drank from streams of water. It was the wild, but it was the best wild I could ever imagine. Something out of one of those Miyozaki films, the romanticizing of an overland trip.
And Chonk here was my festive, snarky sidekick.
I sat, and finished off the fruit that I have no idea what it was. It had a sweet and bitter taste to it. I found myself disappointed I had only grabbed three. For a sense of gratitude, I planted the pits of the fruits near where I ate them. That'd come across less awkward if I had a trowel or shovel. Instead I was just one-handed trying to pry my short sword into the ground, and dig up a small hole.
Still, Karma +1, am I right?
I pressed my luck and started to grill Chonk again. It was cleaning itself, those big tuffed ears twitched, as it sensed my attention. I considered if the ears were a hint as to the lynx or bobcat heritage.
"This guy we're going to see." I started.
It continued cleaning itself. (I'm using gender neutral because I don't want to have THAT conversation with a fae), then looked up, "Yes. To see, smell, hear, vrinch, all the senses."
I gave it a sour look, Vrinch? Its playing me for fun again. "He's human, and has been here for a while...so the thought is that he can help me out?"
I've already gone over this with him, but apparently cats are still too clever for their own good, even in the Underland. Chonk likes to omit things, so far none of them have been life-threatening, but I've had a few moments of discomfort, as flower pollen got me high, or some sort of water thing took offense at me drinking from a creek I had found.
He's fun at parties though.
That's an assumption, I don't go to parties much.
Chonk pulled itself up and let that tail sway, "He was human, last I checked. Long enough that I remember him."
I nodded, "But his name was deigned to be beneath notice of your attention?"
Chonk raised its head, accepting the flattery. Cats are still cats, it seems. "Mortals usually don't stay for long."
I nodded, "Well then. Lets get me home before I get dead."
Chonk rolled a throaty purr, as I got up and started walking. It continued, "Seems to me that the two options....are the same."
I freaking hate cats sometimes.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Road to the Heavens
I walked with Chonk for a while, talking, learning. Its all too much to go into here, and I have to remind myself that the Fae...or the 'Good Folk' have a very orange way of viewing things, so what I hear may or may not be true...from a certain point of view.
Fun fact: Wards hold magic. Okay I get that much, but apparently the more precious the materials of it, the more pure and pristine and detailed it is, the more magic it can hold. I don't quite get it all, but it has something do to with the ward representing something about the spell.
Nifty, so all that item creation back in Star Ocean 2 was fairly spot on. Good to know.
Also explains why back after my revival, that I saw someone handing out those little beadsprite things, that looked like Norse runes. Can't imagine that'd have a lot of magic in it, but hey, something better than nothing.
We walked.
I was used to that.
I got hungry.
That was a little less familiar nowadays.
We were walking because I couldn't "find my way home" according to Chonk. See, I used to be able to use this old 'Path of Black Leaves' to go from place to place. I know it sounds stupid and made up, but in essence, it is effectively a different dimension that is something of a shortcut. You think of where you want to go, you exhale and invest yourself into it happening, and you just move there.
I learned that when I was possessed by a twisted tree spirit that had me out killing friendlies!
Ugh.
But today, its not so much the case. Chonk commented on me being one handed, and tsked at me. He was elusive, and aloof. A cat but moreso. Made me think that maybe since I'm different, that what I do has to be different.
He's insufferable about being mysterious, too. However, I think overall, he's more help than harm.
We travel the meadows of a dry rolling land, away from where I've been. Even the Tower leaves my sight. There's fruits and plants, that seem familiar but not quite. Imagine going to Africa and eating tuber plants that remind you of carrots or rhubarb.
Out here. Way out here, its nicer. No monsters. No gaseous clouds or strange lightning. Its...
Unspoiled.
I spend the nights curled up, with the fat faeline next to me. His purr is soothing, and he's warm. I drift off to sleep again.
I'm not content yet, but I'm starting to feel like me for once.
My soul finally starts to heal a fraction.
Fun fact: Wards hold magic. Okay I get that much, but apparently the more precious the materials of it, the more pure and pristine and detailed it is, the more magic it can hold. I don't quite get it all, but it has something do to with the ward representing something about the spell.
Nifty, so all that item creation back in Star Ocean 2 was fairly spot on. Good to know.
Also explains why back after my revival, that I saw someone handing out those little beadsprite things, that looked like Norse runes. Can't imagine that'd have a lot of magic in it, but hey, something better than nothing.
We walked.
I was used to that.
I got hungry.
That was a little less familiar nowadays.
We were walking because I couldn't "find my way home" according to Chonk. See, I used to be able to use this old 'Path of Black Leaves' to go from place to place. I know it sounds stupid and made up, but in essence, it is effectively a different dimension that is something of a shortcut. You think of where you want to go, you exhale and invest yourself into it happening, and you just move there.
I learned that when I was possessed by a twisted tree spirit that had me out killing friendlies!
Ugh.
But today, its not so much the case. Chonk commented on me being one handed, and tsked at me. He was elusive, and aloof. A cat but moreso. Made me think that maybe since I'm different, that what I do has to be different.
He's insufferable about being mysterious, too. However, I think overall, he's more help than harm.
We travel the meadows of a dry rolling land, away from where I've been. Even the Tower leaves my sight. There's fruits and plants, that seem familiar but not quite. Imagine going to Africa and eating tuber plants that remind you of carrots or rhubarb.
Out here. Way out here, its nicer. No monsters. No gaseous clouds or strange lightning. Its...
Unspoiled.
I spend the nights curled up, with the fat faeline next to me. His purr is soothing, and he's warm. I drift off to sleep again.
I'm not content yet, but I'm starting to feel like me for once.
My soul finally starts to heal a fraction.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Questions for a cat
For ease of reading, I present to you a list of questions I had for the faerie critter I saved.
What is your name? I can't tell you.
What was I fighting just now? Hellhounds.
Hellhounds? Seriously? They didn't look like Hellhounds?
They looked like Hellhounds. So what's that hard to get?
Whatever. Do you live here? I live wherever I am.
But is this your home? Currently, yes. Soon, no.
Alright, wiseass. So you DO know my name?
Wait, your name is 'Wiseass'? No more than if I called you 'Idiot'.
Ugh. Alright, is this area, this ground that stretches out in all directions for a thousand times further than the eye can see, is this area where you have lived most of your life? Yes.
Okay, so why were the hellhounds chasing you? Do dogs not chase cats where you are from?
Are your world and mine so similar that that's obvious? From where I sit, our worlds are the same.
I meant the world I was born in. I'm sure there's more than a cursory resemblance.
As I understand it, this is what people from my home call Wonderland..or rather Underland. I think your spatial sense is off. We're more of 'to the side and down'.
Okay, I need a name for you. Since we're in Wonderland and you're insufferable, can I call you Cheshire?
The creature tensed up, and looked alarmed at me. In the most serious tone I thought I could ever hear, he spoke, "Do not call me that name." I apologized.
I noted that he was something of a tubby one. I offered 'Chonk' as a substitute, he seemed fine with that. That got a smile out of me.
You know the one in the tower? Dal Matia? Yes yes. Owed mine a favor, she does.
What in the seven hells is she? At this, Chonk looked confused. I rephrased
What is she? A Fear? Something else? Much as I, an original inhabitant of a land unmade.
She's a Faerie? Fae, not Faerie. Faerie is the place, Fae is the creature.
You're a Fae? A Faeline, specifically.
Seriously? You seem surprised.
I shouldn't be. And yet here you are.
I'm interested in heading home. Stay where you are, it'll come to you soon enough.
....You mean that eventually this'll become home if I let it. More if it lets you, but yes.
I want to return to Earth. Have a safe trip.
You're coming with me. Seriously?
What is your name? I can't tell you.
What was I fighting just now? Hellhounds.
Hellhounds? Seriously? They didn't look like Hellhounds?
They looked like Hellhounds. So what's that hard to get?
Whatever. Do you live here? I live wherever I am.
But is this your home? Currently, yes. Soon, no.
Alright, wiseass. So you DO know my name?
Wait, your name is 'Wiseass'? No more than if I called you 'Idiot'.
Ugh. Alright, is this area, this ground that stretches out in all directions for a thousand times further than the eye can see, is this area where you have lived most of your life? Yes.
Okay, so why were the hellhounds chasing you? Do dogs not chase cats where you are from?
Are your world and mine so similar that that's obvious? From where I sit, our worlds are the same.
I meant the world I was born in. I'm sure there's more than a cursory resemblance.
As I understand it, this is what people from my home call Wonderland..or rather Underland. I think your spatial sense is off. We're more of 'to the side and down'.
Okay, I need a name for you. Since we're in Wonderland and you're insufferable, can I call you Cheshire?
The creature tensed up, and looked alarmed at me. In the most serious tone I thought I could ever hear, he spoke, "Do not call me that name." I apologized.
I noted that he was something of a tubby one. I offered 'Chonk' as a substitute, he seemed fine with that. That got a smile out of me.
You know the one in the tower? Dal Matia? Yes yes. Owed mine a favor, she does.
What in the seven hells is she? At this, Chonk looked confused. I rephrased
What is she? A Fear? Something else? Much as I, an original inhabitant of a land unmade.
She's a Faerie? Fae, not Faerie. Faerie is the place, Fae is the creature.
You're a Fae? A Faeline, specifically.
Seriously? You seem surprised.
I shouldn't be. And yet here you are.
I'm interested in heading home. Stay where you are, it'll come to you soon enough.
....You mean that eventually this'll become home if I let it. More if it lets you, but yes.
I want to return to Earth. Have a safe trip.
You're coming with me. Seriously?
Tuesday, July 2, 2019
Get your game face on
I drug my feet a little. I was leaving relative safety for the unknown. Twenty-Seven was pretty good about...Okay let me explain, she left the room one day, and came back, and I called her Twenty-Six, and she corrected me. So Twenty-Seven it is until it isn't.
She was more standoffish than before, I think in whatever persona this is of hers, she was ready to see me leave. She tossed a bag at my feet, that was filled with random food assortments. She didn't say a word, so I took it as my cue. I was wanting to leave anyway, I just felt it'd be unwise to leave before I gathered up everything I could. Which meant the scant food I had squirreled away was a fraction of what I was being offered.
I took the stairs down. Due to the hole in my shoes, I could feel the odd texture of the walkway beneath me as I plodded, and plodded and plodded. It was good time to think, to process what little I knew of this world.
I remembered that there was some caustic gas that made me seek shelter. Was that part of the weather here? What the hell else was I going to run into? What natural environmental element was next? The area just turning into a pure vacuum, asphyxiating me or turning me inside out in an instant? Quicksand? I hadn't the foggiest.
I'm not a smart man, I left the shelter I had. A fool with one arm, a short sword, and no idea whatsoever of what I wanted to do now.
I had decided that I needed to get back home, such as it were. For me, for anymore, 'home' wasn't any specific location. Home was anywhere in North America. If I could sleep under the stars without being assaulted by creatures from beyond my home dimension, I'd find a way to survive. I managed before, I'll manage again.
I can't explain how its like for the Path though. On Earth, which is a really weird thing to ever have to say, I just want it to happen. I wanted it to happen to come here. And so it did.
Here? Its apparently not that simple. That was unexpected, but there was no sense of panic. I considered the possibilities as to why it wasn't coming to me, but I really had no idea. With no better idea in mind, I picked a direction and walked.
The area around me was pretty flat and barren. I saw some shapes in the distance, but nothing that really seemed compelling. The one thing I did choose to avoid was the structure that looked man-made. I figured that it'd be foolish to seek out whatever civilization built that tower. Given what I've seen here, I just didn't want to be outnumbered by anything.
And so I walked.
I wasn't sure what to make of my sojourn as I just put distance behind me. I have walked more than a hundred lifetimes so far, and after I started to daydream, to go onto autopilot, I suddenly drifted back into the Path. My heart raced as I regained my senses, only to find that I was still in Underland.
I needed a breather, which was true for mental reasons more than physical. I sat down on a large rock, near a hilly area to just regain myself. To let time slow, and let my sanity rebuild. I wasn't /there/ again. I wasn't cursed. I wouldn't just walk forever anymore. I walked for an age with a dull, autopilot need, this was reminiscent of that, but it wasn't going to lead me to the same place.
It was quiet.
Until the high pitched scream broke that silence.
I got to my feet, and drew my short sword as I tried to ascertain the source of the sound. It was strange, it was distinctly a yell of panic, but it sounded rough, inhuman, and weaker despite the need.
I took to the hill, climbing to find the source of the voice. I hadn't made up my mind if I was going to get closer to it, but in order to make an informed decision I had to figure out what /it/ was.
There was motion in the direction of the yell, about two hundred yards out. Three dark shapes, and a smaller grey shape. The yell stopped, as the grey shape turned directly towards me. I figured the grey animal, whatever it was, was making the noise. Chances were good that it made me as prey or some such. Given its speed, it was going to catch me, so there was little use to run especially since I couldn't just will the Path to me.
What surprised me the most was when it started talking.
"Faipact Faipact!" It yelled towards me as it ran for its life, being chased by dark creatures. I shifted my gaze from it to the creatures after it and back. It spoke again as it got closer, "Honor your pact! Your favor! Hurry! Save me! Kill them!"
This large cat for whatever it was worth, just spoke to me with full sapience. The thing actually hid behind me and peeked out, which made me the target for whatever was in front of me.
I looked back to the creatures and assessed them. They looked like they were hounds of some sort, grown from a twisted wood. Twisted wood ran up their bodies, contouring them in an overlay that reminded me of cartilage growth, every ounce of their frame locked in a state of being stretched. Two large horns were mounted atop a skull-like face, giving it a hunched over four legged stance.
With little other options available, I defended myself.
I had never had the need to fight wolves or dogs. Whatever these things were, they clacked their jaws and moved in a very dog-like way, intentionally moving to surround me, flank me at every chance.
I'd like to say that I hewed them down, bringing down the blade in an intercepting course to dispatch each one during their attack. Truth be told, I am kinda shitty at this swordplay thing.
For the better part of ten minutes, all I could do was fend them off. Constantly turning, desperately watching for which one was going to bounce in next, and snap at my hamstring or make a move for my throat.
I turned and turned, presenting my blade to whichever one seemed most daring at the moment, with a damn cat underfoot the entire time.
None of them would get close enough to eat sword, always bounding in and out, drawing my attention.
It came to mind that a lot of animals generally were killed after being exhausted. It was the struggle that'd kill most animals. A deer out of stamina was prey for the smaller predators. A gator exhausted was prey for the constrictor.
If they couldn't get my flank, they'd exhaust me to death. I considered the fact, given I had nowhere to go, and no way to stop them. Three minutes in, I threw my food sack aside in hopes of distracting them. They didn't even investigate.
The one thing that they did not count on, was that I've been doing a /lot/ of exercise since my death. Fortunately that has carried over into this life of mine. I just wouldn't fatigue physically. It preyed on my mind more, staying vigilant, staying focused, constantly trying to evaluate distance and direction.
I shit you not, the hounds started to tire before I did. It makes sense, now that I think about it. Who knows how long they were chasing this cat before it came across me. It was an indeterminate amount of time as we went back and forth, posturing and positioning. One of the three made a bound forward, and had his feet slip out from underneath his head. I'm pleased to say I capitalized on that, and slashed at it, shattering the wood or bone into pieces right above its empty eyes. The creature crumbled, but even as it did, the hound behind me came forward, a yowl of surprise from the cat beneath me alerted me. I turned to engage it, tripped over the cat and fell on my ass right on the rock.
It went for my leg, and managed a glancing bite, raking its sharp protrusions against my calf as it drew blood. At a time like this, I was glad I had a short blade, it was still useful in this situation. I brought it to bear, catching it in the jaw, which severed half of its connection to the rest of its sculptured head.
That broke morale among the hound creatures, and the two survivors scurried away.
I sat there for a few minutes as the bobcat recovered. I tested my leg, and could stand on it still. It'd do. Nervous laughter filled my ears, as the cat spoke to me. "Eheheh...that was fortunate, Feipact! I was lucky to come across your sort out here. Lucky indeed! A debt repaid, yes yes. Debt repaid. Thank you and goodbye!"
It turned its back to me and went on its way.
Thirty minutes of tense standoff done, I was in a foul mood. Scowling, I snapped at him,"Stop. Right. There."
He did.
The big cat looked back at me, surprised. "What? What are you doing, Feipact? You cannot control me. We are even!"
I shook my head as I approached. He didn't move. "Whats that word you keep saying, 'Feipact'?"
His yellow eyes grew wider, "Yes?"
I gestured, annoyance in my tone, "Why do you keep calling me that?"
It responded, surprised, "You've made a pact, yes. I see her upon you. The tower one, Machines and purpose. You are sworn to her, and she to you. Her favor is yours, and your favor was mine!"
I shook my head, "Feipact....you mean Fey-Pact." I squinted as I regarded the feline. "I swore no such thing to anybody."
I've never seen abject horror in a cat before, except when I had to use a bad kitty bottle. It squealed, "No Pact? No, no no no. No pact, the balance is off! There is no balance! Release me from the service, yes yes! There must be balance."
Balance? Debt for debt. I didn't really know much about faeries, but I had always heard about favors from them, and that there was always a need to repay favors. I think I started to understand. It called in a favor from me because it thought I was of Dal Matia's. I gave it that favor it asked for, but there was no marker to call in.
It /owed/ me. And apparently that meant I had some sort of control over it, given how it did not move after I told it to stop.
I believe I just found my guide in the Underland.
With a weak smile, I bent down and said to the cat, "I have questions."
She was more standoffish than before, I think in whatever persona this is of hers, she was ready to see me leave. She tossed a bag at my feet, that was filled with random food assortments. She didn't say a word, so I took it as my cue. I was wanting to leave anyway, I just felt it'd be unwise to leave before I gathered up everything I could. Which meant the scant food I had squirreled away was a fraction of what I was being offered.
I took the stairs down. Due to the hole in my shoes, I could feel the odd texture of the walkway beneath me as I plodded, and plodded and plodded. It was good time to think, to process what little I knew of this world.
I remembered that there was some caustic gas that made me seek shelter. Was that part of the weather here? What the hell else was I going to run into? What natural environmental element was next? The area just turning into a pure vacuum, asphyxiating me or turning me inside out in an instant? Quicksand? I hadn't the foggiest.
I'm not a smart man, I left the shelter I had. A fool with one arm, a short sword, and no idea whatsoever of what I wanted to do now.
I had decided that I needed to get back home, such as it were. For me, for anymore, 'home' wasn't any specific location. Home was anywhere in North America. If I could sleep under the stars without being assaulted by creatures from beyond my home dimension, I'd find a way to survive. I managed before, I'll manage again.
I can't explain how its like for the Path though. On Earth, which is a really weird thing to ever have to say, I just want it to happen. I wanted it to happen to come here. And so it did.
Here? Its apparently not that simple. That was unexpected, but there was no sense of panic. I considered the possibilities as to why it wasn't coming to me, but I really had no idea. With no better idea in mind, I picked a direction and walked.
The area around me was pretty flat and barren. I saw some shapes in the distance, but nothing that really seemed compelling. The one thing I did choose to avoid was the structure that looked man-made. I figured that it'd be foolish to seek out whatever civilization built that tower. Given what I've seen here, I just didn't want to be outnumbered by anything.
And so I walked.
I wasn't sure what to make of my sojourn as I just put distance behind me. I have walked more than a hundred lifetimes so far, and after I started to daydream, to go onto autopilot, I suddenly drifted back into the Path. My heart raced as I regained my senses, only to find that I was still in Underland.
I needed a breather, which was true for mental reasons more than physical. I sat down on a large rock, near a hilly area to just regain myself. To let time slow, and let my sanity rebuild. I wasn't /there/ again. I wasn't cursed. I wouldn't just walk forever anymore. I walked for an age with a dull, autopilot need, this was reminiscent of that, but it wasn't going to lead me to the same place.
It was quiet.
Until the high pitched scream broke that silence.
I got to my feet, and drew my short sword as I tried to ascertain the source of the sound. It was strange, it was distinctly a yell of panic, but it sounded rough, inhuman, and weaker despite the need.
I took to the hill, climbing to find the source of the voice. I hadn't made up my mind if I was going to get closer to it, but in order to make an informed decision I had to figure out what /it/ was.
There was motion in the direction of the yell, about two hundred yards out. Three dark shapes, and a smaller grey shape. The yell stopped, as the grey shape turned directly towards me. I figured the grey animal, whatever it was, was making the noise. Chances were good that it made me as prey or some such. Given its speed, it was going to catch me, so there was little use to run especially since I couldn't just will the Path to me.
What surprised me the most was when it started talking.
"Faipact Faipact!" It yelled towards me as it ran for its life, being chased by dark creatures. I shifted my gaze from it to the creatures after it and back. It spoke again as it got closer, "Honor your pact! Your favor! Hurry! Save me! Kill them!"
This large cat for whatever it was worth, just spoke to me with full sapience. The thing actually hid behind me and peeked out, which made me the target for whatever was in front of me.
I looked back to the creatures and assessed them. They looked like they were hounds of some sort, grown from a twisted wood. Twisted wood ran up their bodies, contouring them in an overlay that reminded me of cartilage growth, every ounce of their frame locked in a state of being stretched. Two large horns were mounted atop a skull-like face, giving it a hunched over four legged stance.
With little other options available, I defended myself.
I had never had the need to fight wolves or dogs. Whatever these things were, they clacked their jaws and moved in a very dog-like way, intentionally moving to surround me, flank me at every chance.
I'd like to say that I hewed them down, bringing down the blade in an intercepting course to dispatch each one during their attack. Truth be told, I am kinda shitty at this swordplay thing.
For the better part of ten minutes, all I could do was fend them off. Constantly turning, desperately watching for which one was going to bounce in next, and snap at my hamstring or make a move for my throat.
I turned and turned, presenting my blade to whichever one seemed most daring at the moment, with a damn cat underfoot the entire time.
None of them would get close enough to eat sword, always bounding in and out, drawing my attention.
It came to mind that a lot of animals generally were killed after being exhausted. It was the struggle that'd kill most animals. A deer out of stamina was prey for the smaller predators. A gator exhausted was prey for the constrictor.
If they couldn't get my flank, they'd exhaust me to death. I considered the fact, given I had nowhere to go, and no way to stop them. Three minutes in, I threw my food sack aside in hopes of distracting them. They didn't even investigate.
The one thing that they did not count on, was that I've been doing a /lot/ of exercise since my death. Fortunately that has carried over into this life of mine. I just wouldn't fatigue physically. It preyed on my mind more, staying vigilant, staying focused, constantly trying to evaluate distance and direction.
I shit you not, the hounds started to tire before I did. It makes sense, now that I think about it. Who knows how long they were chasing this cat before it came across me. It was an indeterminate amount of time as we went back and forth, posturing and positioning. One of the three made a bound forward, and had his feet slip out from underneath his head. I'm pleased to say I capitalized on that, and slashed at it, shattering the wood or bone into pieces right above its empty eyes. The creature crumbled, but even as it did, the hound behind me came forward, a yowl of surprise from the cat beneath me alerted me. I turned to engage it, tripped over the cat and fell on my ass right on the rock.
It went for my leg, and managed a glancing bite, raking its sharp protrusions against my calf as it drew blood. At a time like this, I was glad I had a short blade, it was still useful in this situation. I brought it to bear, catching it in the jaw, which severed half of its connection to the rest of its sculptured head.
That broke morale among the hound creatures, and the two survivors scurried away.
I sat there for a few minutes as the bobcat recovered. I tested my leg, and could stand on it still. It'd do. Nervous laughter filled my ears, as the cat spoke to me. "Eheheh...that was fortunate, Feipact! I was lucky to come across your sort out here. Lucky indeed! A debt repaid, yes yes. Debt repaid. Thank you and goodbye!"
It turned its back to me and went on its way.
Thirty minutes of tense standoff done, I was in a foul mood. Scowling, I snapped at him,"Stop. Right. There."
He did.
The big cat looked back at me, surprised. "What? What are you doing, Feipact? You cannot control me. We are even!"
I shook my head as I approached. He didn't move. "Whats that word you keep saying, 'Feipact'?"
His yellow eyes grew wider, "Yes?"
I gestured, annoyance in my tone, "Why do you keep calling me that?"
It responded, surprised, "You've made a pact, yes. I see her upon you. The tower one, Machines and purpose. You are sworn to her, and she to you. Her favor is yours, and your favor was mine!"
I shook my head, "Feipact....you mean Fey-Pact." I squinted as I regarded the feline. "I swore no such thing to anybody."
I've never seen abject horror in a cat before, except when I had to use a bad kitty bottle. It squealed, "No Pact? No, no no no. No pact, the balance is off! There is no balance! Release me from the service, yes yes! There must be balance."
Balance? Debt for debt. I didn't really know much about faeries, but I had always heard about favors from them, and that there was always a need to repay favors. I think I started to understand. It called in a favor from me because it thought I was of Dal Matia's. I gave it that favor it asked for, but there was no marker to call in.
It /owed/ me. And apparently that meant I had some sort of control over it, given how it did not move after I told it to stop.
I believe I just found my guide in the Underland.
With a weak smile, I bent down and said to the cat, "I have questions."
Monday, June 24, 2019
Recharge and Reequip
"I can just leave."
I stated it as a question, and she just kept that little knowing smile. Twenty-Six even gestured at the door, "I'm not stopping you."
I squint at her suspiciously. She'd been pretty upfront with me, but this isn't how it always went.
"That's not always how it was here." I said with a bit of heat in my voice. After she...wounded me like she did, I was locked in this little room, for what were apparently months.
Twenty-Six gave me a crooked look, "Did you really think you were going to go wander off in the wastelands in the shape you were in? That was for your own good."
Okay, that one pissed me off. I stood up, scrambling to express myself. It didn't work out too well, but I tried to yell at her. "Was this for my own good too?" I gesture to what used to be my left arm, now a mere stub with a metal cap on the end of it. "Who the fuck gave you the right to just decide what I get to do?"
She didn't say anything, she didn't rise to my anger. She was also kinda sorta right in the second half of that deal.
I was delirious, emotionally reeling, and atrophied. Stepping outside was a death sentence. I probably couldn't have made it down the ever spiraling stairs.
I just fumed though, and she was nonplussed by it all, though she kept her eyes on me. I could've probably said more, but being enraged was just so draining.
"Did you know what she was going to do?"
Twenty-Six gave me that mysterious gaze beneath what I could only assume what eye shadow or something, the hood didn't help her, but her words felt earnest. I felt I had learned a bit more about intuition of late.
She replied softly, "She likes to fix broken things."
"And I was broken."
She nodded, "That's all she wants to do. Fix things, improve things."
I raised my stump, "THIS is an improvement?"
She caught her mistake and raised a hand pacifyingly, "I thought maybe she'd fix your arm, not...that."
It took forever for me to continue, but eventually the moments passed.
"What is she?"
I got a shrug in response, "What's anything out here?"
"A Fear?" I questioned. She shrugged again.
"Is she like the."
I paused. God, it took me back. It took me back eight years. How long ago was all that? How much has happened in the world since all that?
Since the night I looked out my window and saw something unnatural, for the very first time.
God dammit. Maybe it doesn't come over here.
She kinda just points at the corner near me.
I see a piece of shit sword in the scabbard against the wall. Its got some coloring to it, weird colors, purple and black, in the hilt.
I look back. Twenty-Six says almost bored, "I gave her something to do."
I said off-handed, "This thing's supposed to be magic."
"Wouldn't be surprised." She said flatly.
"It....used to be a katana."
"Weeaboo." She snarks at me.
I looked at her, "This is the same weapon though? She reforged it?"
Twenty-Six says in her thick accent, "She does things. I don't ask why."
I drew it, and the piece of shit blade I've had for 100,008 years felt good in my hand. It was straight now, not a ninja-to. I think honest to god short sword. I only remember sword types from the old D&D groups, but it made me think more European than anything. It had a crossguard she added. Thank god. It was tough as shit to parry with a freaking replica katana. The middle of that crossguard, made with some sort of dark metal, had a little hole in it.
As I stared at it, I saw little motes of energy cross through it.
"I'm going to regret this...but tell her thanks, I guess."
She started to say it, a smirk on her face.
We say it together.
"And all it cost you was an arm and a leg."
I stated it as a question, and she just kept that little knowing smile. Twenty-Six even gestured at the door, "I'm not stopping you."
I squint at her suspiciously. She'd been pretty upfront with me, but this isn't how it always went.
"That's not always how it was here." I said with a bit of heat in my voice. After she...wounded me like she did, I was locked in this little room, for what were apparently months.
Twenty-Six gave me a crooked look, "Did you really think you were going to go wander off in the wastelands in the shape you were in? That was for your own good."
Okay, that one pissed me off. I stood up, scrambling to express myself. It didn't work out too well, but I tried to yell at her. "Was this for my own good too?" I gesture to what used to be my left arm, now a mere stub with a metal cap on the end of it. "Who the fuck gave you the right to just decide what I get to do?"
She didn't say anything, she didn't rise to my anger. She was also kinda sorta right in the second half of that deal.
I was delirious, emotionally reeling, and atrophied. Stepping outside was a death sentence. I probably couldn't have made it down the ever spiraling stairs.
I just fumed though, and she was nonplussed by it all, though she kept her eyes on me. I could've probably said more, but being enraged was just so draining.
"Did you know what she was going to do?"
Twenty-Six gave me that mysterious gaze beneath what I could only assume what eye shadow or something, the hood didn't help her, but her words felt earnest. I felt I had learned a bit more about intuition of late.
She replied softly, "She likes to fix broken things."
"And I was broken."
She nodded, "That's all she wants to do. Fix things, improve things."
I raised my stump, "THIS is an improvement?"
She caught her mistake and raised a hand pacifyingly, "I thought maybe she'd fix your arm, not...that."
It took forever for me to continue, but eventually the moments passed.
"What is she?"
I got a shrug in response, "What's anything out here?"
"A Fear?" I questioned. She shrugged again.
"Is she like the."
I paused. God, it took me back. It took me back eight years. How long ago was all that? How much has happened in the world since all that?
Since the night I looked out my window and saw something unnatural, for the very first time.
"The Wretched Man?" I answered finally.
Memories just poured back into me. All the people I had met, all the community we had built. People just wanting to survive together.
We shared our stories, we hoped that we could learn something from each other. We tried to convince each other that we could survive.
We shared our stories, we hoped that we could learn something from each other. We tried to convince each other that we could survive.
Not many of us survived. I can barely remember their names. Chester and Vieve...I think they made it. But how do you know? I think it was Vieve who said that she felt like a cloud finally moved out from over her, and that she felt free. Is it so easy?
Twenty-Six looked at me as I processed some things that happened a hundred thousand years ago, but those memories came up fresher than I had ever recalled.
I looked at Twenty-Six, and wondered if she was one of our number once, but she'd always been so elusive on her own past.
"I don't think so. She's inscrutable, and weird, but overall, she's not malevo.." She paused and raised a hand, knowing I was about to yell. "She's not malevolent. She did it to help. Its just that she doesn't seem to get things like pain or trauma. She just fixes everything to what she thinks is right."
It sure felt like torture.
Yet, I was alive, I had survived a harrowing experience. The loss of my arm was a trauma from which I'll never recover. But I could learn to adjust to it, since I have no other choice.
She responded finally, "She just forgets what she's doing, and goes back to experimenting." I caught a look in her eye that told me measures.
Twenty-Six was one of those experiments.
"So why do you stay?"
With a bit of pain, she simply tells me 'don't.' I don't push it.
She seems to relent that I'm leaving. I want to see my own world again. I need to get back into contact with people, real people. My investigation was a bust, and holy fuck my shadow's out there still.
Twenty-Six looked at me as I processed some things that happened a hundred thousand years ago, but those memories came up fresher than I had ever recalled.
I looked at Twenty-Six, and wondered if she was one of our number once, but she'd always been so elusive on her own past.
"I don't think so. She's inscrutable, and weird, but overall, she's not malevo.." She paused and raised a hand, knowing I was about to yell. "She's not malevolent. She did it to help. Its just that she doesn't seem to get things like pain or trauma. She just fixes everything to what she thinks is right."
It sure felt like torture.
Yet, I was alive, I had survived a harrowing experience. The loss of my arm was a trauma from which I'll never recover. But I could learn to adjust to it, since I have no other choice.
She responded finally, "She just forgets what she's doing, and goes back to experimenting." I caught a look in her eye that told me measures.
Twenty-Six was one of those experiments.
"So why do you stay?"
With a bit of pain, she simply tells me 'don't.' I don't push it.
She seems to relent that I'm leaving. I want to see my own world again. I need to get back into contact with people, real people. My investigation was a bust, and holy fuck my shadow's out there still.
God dammit. Maybe it doesn't come over here.
Alright, whatever, I'll see where that goes if it doesn't kill me.
She kinda just points at the corner near me.
I see a piece of shit sword in the scabbard against the wall. Its got some coloring to it, weird colors, purple and black, in the hilt.
I look back. Twenty-Six says almost bored, "I gave her something to do."
I said off-handed, "This thing's supposed to be magic."
"Wouldn't be surprised." She said flatly.
"It....used to be a katana."
"Weeaboo." She snarks at me.
I looked at her, "This is the same weapon though? She reforged it?"
Twenty-Six says in her thick accent, "She does things. I don't ask why."
I drew it, and the piece of shit blade I've had for 100,008 years felt good in my hand. It was straight now, not a ninja-to. I think honest to god short sword. I only remember sword types from the old D&D groups, but it made me think more European than anything. It had a crossguard she added. Thank god. It was tough as shit to parry with a freaking replica katana. The middle of that crossguard, made with some sort of dark metal, had a little hole in it.
As I stared at it, I saw little motes of energy cross through it.
"I'm going to regret this...but tell her thanks, I guess."
She started to say it, a smirk on her face.
We say it together.
"And all it cost you was an arm and a leg."
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Time to Talk
"I'm not an edgelord." I say with the rote measure of someone who had to defend myself a thousand times.
Twenty Six smirked at me, all necro-goth in her gear. "Sure." She replied skeptically.
"I'm not." I repeat.
She doesn't believe me.
I roll my eyes and look away, "This isn't me being all angsty for nothing. I've got PTSD for sure." "Uh-huh."
She replies, "and you brood a lot."
I frown, "My life is dogshit, I'm missing a goddamn arm. Come on, you're going to tease me? Do you thi.."
And she interrupted me, "Did you 'not ask for this?'"
I just growled and suddenly developed a keen interest into the vague clouds outside my window. She adds as she leans forward, "You literally carry a katana."
I snap, "Yeah but I actually barely know how to use it, so take that! Hah!"
She sits on the chair. She's helping me cope, I know that's what she's doing. Sometimes you need to just have someone to talk to.
I've got a cup of ez-mac I've been working on. No idea how it got here.
She continues, apparently wanting to push more buttons. Her accent is pretty thick. Boston, if I recall. "So uh. let me ask you."
"Here it comes." I say in an exhausted tone, but one that hopefully sounds permissive.
Despite being a prisoner here, she's treated me okay.
As I ponder if I have Stockholm Syndrome, she says "Rika."
I sigh. "Okay. which one?"
She idly says, "Both?", she's got her elbow on her knee, and that's holding her head up. She's acting pretty human for someone with...well I can only assume those are 'upgrades' I see on her.
I just talk for a bit. "Rika. So the first one was just this proxy that was tormenting a guy I never met that was just called 'B'. She decided to come get me for some reason. I did some stupid shit involving her."
She just looks at me.
I sigh, "is this about that ass comment?"
She smirks.
I shrug, "I was stupid, I was wanting to exert some sort of control over myself. I chose to pretend it was sexual for some reason. It was shit behavior to do, I get that."
I add before she goes any further, "She apparently got 'redeemed' or whatever, then immediately pasted.
Twenty Six says wryly, "Those severance packages..."
I answer it in unison with her, "really focus on the sever"
She prompts me, "The second one?"
"Erika?" I raise my eyebrows, "She terrified the shit out of me. She was really, REALLY freaking smart. She saw through my bullshit immediately, and played me for a sucker repeatedly. I couldn't help but think about how right she was. I mean, just because you're on 'the other side' doesn't mean you can't be right."
"So no sexual attraction then?" She follows up.
"She was utterly beautiful." I answer. "Blue eyes, which is weird, probably contacts now that I think about it."
"Because she was black."
I nod and pause, "Is this where you tell me you know her?"
Twenty Six laughed a little, "I'm not that predictable, am I? DId you fuck her?"
I blink.
"Did I fuck the proxy?"
"No. No I did not. She would've killed me."
"But you wanted to." Now she's razzing me again.
I shrug, "Admittedly she was beautiful, and...well..." I manage a weak laugh, "Boobs are fun."
Twenty Six says wryly, "I know they are."
I wave my hand dismissively, "But no. I realized for the most part, I'm asexual. I never had much of a want, you know?"
She doesn't say anything.
"No real want to look for anyone either."
She doesn't say anything.
I just look at her.
The necrogoth finally responds, "But you /have/ fucked."
I roll my eyes. "Yes, Once. Why the h-"
She cuts me off, "I'm curious! I'm stuck up here in this frankenstein tower twentyfour seven"
I raise an eyebrow and start to make the joke, but she shuts me down with a look.
I add, "This doesn't end with you propositioning me."
She laughs, "It doesn't /now/."
"Probably for the best." I admit.
There's some silence, so she goes for the throat again.
"Did you make her c--"
Now I interrupt her with an annoyed shout, "Oh come on! Really?"
She laughs, "Alright alright."
I realize she's still playing me, and honed in on a sore spot. I point at her, "I'll get out of here someday, and you'll regret playing games with me."
She tilts her head, "What's keeping you here?"
I look about as surprised as she does. "Big wheely thing, part metal, part squishie, cut my arm off. Talks like Dracula or something?"
Twenty Six shows some teeth as she smiles, "The moment you get out of her sight, she forgets you existed."
Holy Crap.
I can leave.
Twenty Six smirked at me, all necro-goth in her gear. "Sure." She replied skeptically.
"I'm not." I repeat.
She doesn't believe me.
I roll my eyes and look away, "This isn't me being all angsty for nothing. I've got PTSD for sure." "Uh-huh."
She replies, "and you brood a lot."
I frown, "My life is dogshit, I'm missing a goddamn arm. Come on, you're going to tease me? Do you thi.."
And she interrupted me, "Did you 'not ask for this?'"
I just growled and suddenly developed a keen interest into the vague clouds outside my window. She adds as she leans forward, "You literally carry a katana."
I snap, "Yeah but I actually barely know how to use it, so take that! Hah!"
She sits on the chair. She's helping me cope, I know that's what she's doing. Sometimes you need to just have someone to talk to.
I've got a cup of ez-mac I've been working on. No idea how it got here.
She continues, apparently wanting to push more buttons. Her accent is pretty thick. Boston, if I recall. "So uh. let me ask you."
"Here it comes." I say in an exhausted tone, but one that hopefully sounds permissive.
Despite being a prisoner here, she's treated me okay.
As I ponder if I have Stockholm Syndrome, she says "Rika."
I sigh. "Okay. which one?"
She idly says, "Both?", she's got her elbow on her knee, and that's holding her head up. She's acting pretty human for someone with...well I can only assume those are 'upgrades' I see on her.
I just talk for a bit. "Rika. So the first one was just this proxy that was tormenting a guy I never met that was just called 'B'. She decided to come get me for some reason. I did some stupid shit involving her."
She just looks at me.
I sigh, "is this about that ass comment?"
She smirks.
I shrug, "I was stupid, I was wanting to exert some sort of control over myself. I chose to pretend it was sexual for some reason. It was shit behavior to do, I get that."
I add before she goes any further, "She apparently got 'redeemed' or whatever, then immediately pasted.
Twenty Six says wryly, "Those severance packages..."
I answer it in unison with her, "really focus on the sever"
She prompts me, "The second one?"
"Erika?" I raise my eyebrows, "She terrified the shit out of me. She was really, REALLY freaking smart. She saw through my bullshit immediately, and played me for a sucker repeatedly. I couldn't help but think about how right she was. I mean, just because you're on 'the other side' doesn't mean you can't be right."
"So no sexual attraction then?" She follows up.
"She was utterly beautiful." I answer. "Blue eyes, which is weird, probably contacts now that I think about it."
"Because she was black."
I nod and pause, "Is this where you tell me you know her?"
Twenty Six laughed a little, "I'm not that predictable, am I? DId you fuck her?"
I blink.
"Did I fuck the proxy?"
"No. No I did not. She would've killed me."
"But you wanted to." Now she's razzing me again.
I shrug, "Admittedly she was beautiful, and...well..." I manage a weak laugh, "Boobs are fun."
Twenty Six says wryly, "I know they are."
I wave my hand dismissively, "But no. I realized for the most part, I'm asexual. I never had much of a want, you know?"
She doesn't say anything.
"No real want to look for anyone either."
She doesn't say anything.
I just look at her.
The necrogoth finally responds, "But you /have/ fucked."
I roll my eyes. "Yes, Once. Why the h-"
She cuts me off, "I'm curious! I'm stuck up here in this frankenstein tower twentyfour seven"
I raise an eyebrow and start to make the joke, but she shuts me down with a look.
I add, "This doesn't end with you propositioning me."
She laughs, "It doesn't /now/."
"Probably for the best." I admit.
There's some silence, so she goes for the throat again.
"Did you make her c--"
Now I interrupt her with an annoyed shout, "Oh come on! Really?"
She laughs, "Alright alright."
I realize she's still playing me, and honed in on a sore spot. I point at her, "I'll get out of here someday, and you'll regret playing games with me."
She tilts her head, "What's keeping you here?"
I look about as surprised as she does. "Big wheely thing, part metal, part squishie, cut my arm off. Talks like Dracula or something?"
Twenty Six shows some teeth as she smiles, "The moment you get out of her sight, she forgets you existed."
Holy Crap.
I can leave.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
Brought Low Again
I didn't want to go.
I didn't want to see her.
But I didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Injury has a way of debilitating you in all manner of ways. You find yourself not wanting to eat, drink, move...live.
You atrophy, and lose muscle mass. Muscle relaxers for the pain? They work by destroying muscle mass, making it even worse.
I took a last handful of pills, all while Twenty-Seven just looked on, unimpressed. There was an odd lilt in her voice, something I couldn't place. "Well, at least you're eating something."
I didn't even try to jest. But it was true, they made me hungry, and while I couldn't stand eating much aside from potatoes, I'm sure that without them, I'd have not even done that.
That sickening crunch and tear. The sheer idea that to survive, you've got to force more trauma upon yourself. Its impossible.
I remember taking some time back there, in that place before.
I had to look it up. Sanctuary.
They had TV, and I used to be something of a comics fan. So I watched TV, anything to numb the mind. Anything to quiet myself. A chance to normal out if but a moment
I binge watch some marvel shows. Daredevil is fun. I binge for a few weeks and then I have to stop
they bring in the Punisher guy. and they say he's constantly living in that exact moment when his family died. He can't progress.
But is that me, or is that the me that I want to be?
The one that's hurt but not hurting, damaged but unbowed, accepting that I cannot move forward?
Do I want to be hurt so bad that I just can't feel?
yes
I need it to end.
She was kind enough to lead me back through the strange place. Stepping on ground made of little blocks like legos, and onto a staircase of glass whisps. I don't know why it changes, I stopped caring after it happened.
She leads me into a thin door that we have to stand sideways to get through. The lab's the same, and I pull away. There's nowhere to go to, but I do it anyway. I live at the whim of something beyond me.
Wheels squeak. A masked creature covered in metal plates, and hoses appears. Its eyes light up within a facemask of some dark metal. It speaks to me in a weird accent. I can see a tongue moving in its face, but nothing else moves up there. Is it armor that hides what it is?
Picture like...
Shit, its impossible to really describe because she keeps changing what she looks like. Okay, let me try.
Picture a xenomorph, skin half of it, cram it halfway inside a metal statue, so it gives some sembalance of a human element, and then drop that into a wheelchair.
There you go.
She talks in this weird, English-by-way-of-Google language too. I'm trying to emulate that as I write, because ITS MY FUCKING COPING MECHANISM, GOD DAMMIT, AND I NEED TO FUCKING COPE.
Jesus Christ.
It examines that fucking stump from when she cut my fucking arm off.
An eye comes OUT of her facemask, looks around, then squishes as it gets pulled back in. I'm more concerned about what happens next, than what she's up to.
"bAlance?" She says. I didn't realize its a question. She just stares at me. Time passes, and I really didn't want to talk. I didn't even want to look at her. Every time I do, I just think about what she did.
The fucked up thing is that she doesn't seem either malevolent or remorseful. I was a project, and she seemed to like her projects."
"No?" I finally answer. I'm back at the point I can't look at her. That whine of her wheels just makes me flinch, and I start reliving things I shouldn't.
I feel something on my hand, and I open my eyes. I didn't realize they were shut. Wet flesh, covered with a mucus or something. Slick.
She's touching me. She pulls on my arm, and I pull away.
I got triggered. I pull back and scream, and try to flee, but I can't remember how I got here. Was it a door, a trap door? did I just walk down a hallway?
I thought I heard someone call my name. I lost track of what was happening.
I woke up again.
Voices. It was her. Twenty-Six or Twenty-Seven. Maybe both. I don't care. I hear a few words of it. I hear the word 'trauma' and look about.
I'm back on a table of some sort. I remember seeing her wheel over, and then I pass out again.
I wake up back in what room I've been staying in. Its starting to become mine. I feel a little safer here now. Security. Just a tiny bit. What little things I still have, they are treasures to me, they are my memories, my identity.
I look at whats left of my arm, and find its been covered with something metal. A cap of some kind that covers it. Black metal.
And now I just try to process life again, for a little longer.
I didn't want to see her.
But I didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Injury has a way of debilitating you in all manner of ways. You find yourself not wanting to eat, drink, move...live.
You atrophy, and lose muscle mass. Muscle relaxers for the pain? They work by destroying muscle mass, making it even worse.
I took a last handful of pills, all while Twenty-Seven just looked on, unimpressed. There was an odd lilt in her voice, something I couldn't place. "Well, at least you're eating something."
I didn't even try to jest. But it was true, they made me hungry, and while I couldn't stand eating much aside from potatoes, I'm sure that without them, I'd have not even done that.
That sickening crunch and tear. The sheer idea that to survive, you've got to force more trauma upon yourself. Its impossible.
I remember taking some time back there, in that place before.
I had to look it up. Sanctuary.
They had TV, and I used to be something of a comics fan. So I watched TV, anything to numb the mind. Anything to quiet myself. A chance to normal out if but a moment
I binge watch some marvel shows. Daredevil is fun. I binge for a few weeks and then I have to stop
they bring in the Punisher guy. and they say he's constantly living in that exact moment when his family died. He can't progress.
But is that me, or is that the me that I want to be?
The one that's hurt but not hurting, damaged but unbowed, accepting that I cannot move forward?
Do I want to be hurt so bad that I just can't feel?
yes
I need it to end.
She was kind enough to lead me back through the strange place. Stepping on ground made of little blocks like legos, and onto a staircase of glass whisps. I don't know why it changes, I stopped caring after it happened.
She leads me into a thin door that we have to stand sideways to get through. The lab's the same, and I pull away. There's nowhere to go to, but I do it anyway. I live at the whim of something beyond me.
Wheels squeak. A masked creature covered in metal plates, and hoses appears. Its eyes light up within a facemask of some dark metal. It speaks to me in a weird accent. I can see a tongue moving in its face, but nothing else moves up there. Is it armor that hides what it is?
Picture like...
Shit, its impossible to really describe because she keeps changing what she looks like. Okay, let me try.
Picture a xenomorph, skin half of it, cram it halfway inside a metal statue, so it gives some sembalance of a human element, and then drop that into a wheelchair.
There you go.
She talks in this weird, English-by-way-of-Google language too. I'm trying to emulate that as I write, because ITS MY FUCKING COPING MECHANISM, GOD DAMMIT, AND I NEED TO FUCKING COPE.
Jesus Christ.
It examines that fucking stump from when she cut my fucking arm off.
An eye comes OUT of her facemask, looks around, then squishes as it gets pulled back in. I'm more concerned about what happens next, than what she's up to.
"bAlance?" She says. I didn't realize its a question. She just stares at me. Time passes, and I really didn't want to talk. I didn't even want to look at her. Every time I do, I just think about what she did.
The fucked up thing is that she doesn't seem either malevolent or remorseful. I was a project, and she seemed to like her projects."
"No?" I finally answer. I'm back at the point I can't look at her. That whine of her wheels just makes me flinch, and I start reliving things I shouldn't.
I feel something on my hand, and I open my eyes. I didn't realize they were shut. Wet flesh, covered with a mucus or something. Slick.
She's touching me. She pulls on my arm, and I pull away.
I got triggered. I pull back and scream, and try to flee, but I can't remember how I got here. Was it a door, a trap door? did I just walk down a hallway?
I thought I heard someone call my name. I lost track of what was happening.
I woke up again.
Voices. It was her. Twenty-Six or Twenty-Seven. Maybe both. I don't care. I hear a few words of it. I hear the word 'trauma' and look about.
I'm back on a table of some sort. I remember seeing her wheel over, and then I pass out again.
I wake up back in what room I've been staying in. Its starting to become mine. I feel a little safer here now. Security. Just a tiny bit. What little things I still have, they are treasures to me, they are my memories, my identity.
I look at whats left of my arm, and find its been covered with something metal. A cap of some kind that covers it. Black metal.
And now I just try to process life again, for a little longer.
Saturday, February 9, 2019
The Universe Inside My Head
I sleep, I stare, I distract myself. I waste away.
My life is in ruins. I thought that I had hit rock bottom before.
I was wrong.
I thought monsters left a stain on your soul.
They rip chunks out of it, and that emptiness is a constant pain that never heals, and never can be put aside.
Imagine your life, if you had a giant shark bite on your side, and be expected to move on.
Twenty-Six came by again. She's been tending to me. She informs me that she's not Twenty-Six, but Twenty-Seven. Her quaint accent has changed. I consider the idea that she's been modified twenty seven times by this thing.
And I was fucking zero
Twenty-Seven tells me that she's ready to see me again.
I screamed at her to either let me go or to kill me. That I was still human enough to feel pain and I couldn't take any more of this helplessness.
She smiled wanly.
I'm not afraid to admit that death is a better alternative now. I used to be all 'never give up', because I felt that we could fight our monsters until the end.
Now? I just feel pain, and I need it to stop.
I took the last of these antidepressants. Someone told me once that twelve was a good amount for confronting horror.
I can't remember her name.
I can't remember anyone else's names.
Its all just darkness in this void.
Was I ever really anywhere but here?
My life is in ruins. I thought that I had hit rock bottom before.
I was wrong.
I thought monsters left a stain on your soul.
They rip chunks out of it, and that emptiness is a constant pain that never heals, and never can be put aside.
Imagine your life, if you had a giant shark bite on your side, and be expected to move on.
Twenty-Six came by again. She's been tending to me. She informs me that she's not Twenty-Six, but Twenty-Seven. Her quaint accent has changed. I consider the idea that she's been modified twenty seven times by this thing.
And I was fucking zero
Twenty-Seven tells me that she's ready to see me again.
I screamed at her to either let me go or to kill me. That I was still human enough to feel pain and I couldn't take any more of this helplessness.
She smiled wanly.
I'm not afraid to admit that death is a better alternative now. I used to be all 'never give up', because I felt that we could fight our monsters until the end.
Now? I just feel pain, and I need it to stop.
I took the last of these antidepressants. Someone told me once that twelve was a good amount for confronting horror.
I can't remember her name.
I can't remember anyone else's names.
Its all just darkness in this void.
Was I ever really anywhere but here?
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Aimlessness
I woke up.
I threw up immediately, and repeatedly. I was drugged still, and was totally disoriented. Now with a clearer head I consider that famous rockstar death of 'drowning in your own vomit' and wonder how close I came to that.
I rolled over onto my back. That was a mistake. Without elevation, I had trouble breathing. I was helpless still, an invalid just out of surgery, and I was laying on the cool stonework floor of that laboratory.
I saw feet, and those feet were connected to a vague shape. I reached out for it and nothing moved. The hand that was supposed to respond, or at least would've before that damn fool's errand, wasn't there.
It was kind of silly to visualize using that hand, but well...I wasn't used to it being lame yet anyway. A few hundred thousand years of walking the Path versus a few...months I guess of being lamed.
I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired, I'm so weary. It was one of those moments of helplessness that you just can't recover from. A dentist working your teeth with only a subtle nudge to tell you what was happening.
Except it was far, far worse, far more intimate. The snap of tendons, of connective tissue, of bones being so casually put aside.
It was death in its purest form. Helplessness against a greater foe, getting savaged without any chance to defend. I could barely even process what was happening.
And I can't get that moment out of my mind.
The antidepressants. I don't even know if I should be taking these. I don't know if they help with what I feel. I don't know if I'm making things worse.
I take them because I need to feel that SOMETHING is helping me.
I've lost weight. I know its not healthy. I just can't eat. There's no appetite left in me. Every bite of food makes that sound, that sound that I heard. Even with my ears blocked, I can hear it through my skull. The rend of meat, the snap of tissue. Even vegetables make a noise, and the damn thing haunts me.
Potato. I've been eating salted potato since. 26 brings it to me.
I'm in this room. with an IV in my arm. She comes in, she tries to talk, she waves her hand before me, doing something to me that I can't resist.
I don't know. I'm just so tired. I've not slept in a thousand years. I think this is all there is. In all of heaven and hell, this is always how it must be.
Life is terrifying and horrible, why should death be any different?
I threw up immediately, and repeatedly. I was drugged still, and was totally disoriented. Now with a clearer head I consider that famous rockstar death of 'drowning in your own vomit' and wonder how close I came to that.
I rolled over onto my back. That was a mistake. Without elevation, I had trouble breathing. I was helpless still, an invalid just out of surgery, and I was laying on the cool stonework floor of that laboratory.
I saw feet, and those feet were connected to a vague shape. I reached out for it and nothing moved. The hand that was supposed to respond, or at least would've before that damn fool's errand, wasn't there.
It was kind of silly to visualize using that hand, but well...I wasn't used to it being lame yet anyway. A few hundred thousand years of walking the Path versus a few...months I guess of being lamed.
I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired, I'm so weary. It was one of those moments of helplessness that you just can't recover from. A dentist working your teeth with only a subtle nudge to tell you what was happening.
Except it was far, far worse, far more intimate. The snap of tendons, of connective tissue, of bones being so casually put aside.
It was death in its purest form. Helplessness against a greater foe, getting savaged without any chance to defend. I could barely even process what was happening.
And I can't get that moment out of my mind.
The antidepressants. I don't even know if I should be taking these. I don't know if they help with what I feel. I don't know if I'm making things worse.
I take them because I need to feel that SOMETHING is helping me.
I've lost weight. I know its not healthy. I just can't eat. There's no appetite left in me. Every bite of food makes that sound, that sound that I heard. Even with my ears blocked, I can hear it through my skull. The rend of meat, the snap of tissue. Even vegetables make a noise, and the damn thing haunts me.
Potato. I've been eating salted potato since. 26 brings it to me.
I'm in this room. with an IV in my arm. She comes in, she tries to talk, she waves her hand before me, doing something to me that I can't resist.
I don't know. I'm just so tired. I've not slept in a thousand years. I think this is all there is. In all of heaven and hell, this is always how it must be.
Life is terrifying and horrible, why should death be any different?
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