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Kranken Quest - A Internet Horror Crossover CK2 Style Quest
Brightflame
Lord of the Dance
- Location
- Inkopolis
Great to see this back in action!
All right, have a contingincy plan for next turn
[]Plan Robot Lockdown
MARTIAL
-[ ]Upgrade the K-9 Store Facility's Security
DC:50 15
This is an easy pick, as both Bare Failure and Dogged Fool has gutted the DC
DIPLOMACY
-[ ]Butter up CyberFun:
DC: 50
These guys have "Proprietary parts", meaning making nice with them will likely lower the DC for actually fixing the animatronics.
STEWARDSHIP
-[ ][RELOCATE] Animatronic Reprogramming
DC: ??
Make sure these stupid haunted toasters can't try and kill us ASAP. No duh, we want this done right away.
[ ][RELOCATE]Animatronic Maintenance
DC 70
Dagnab it, actually reprogramming these stupid things is gated behind getting them mobile again. This sucks bigtime.
INTRIGUE
-[ ]Investigate Intertube Rumors:
DC: 65
We already heard that this is causing us issues. Best get it locked down right quick, before we develop a case of the meddling kids.
LEARNING
-[ ]Assess Bunnyfarm Progress:
DC: 65
Whatever internal timer this had just got called out as significantly reduced.
OCCULT
-[ ]Ward the K-9 Bunker:
DC: 75
- Cthonaut C
Let's make good and sure that these things are going to stay in.
PERSONAL ACTIONS
Felix Kranken: [ ] Stay Sober
Don't do sorcery and drive, kids
Cthonaut C: [ ]Buy a Maize Machines Computer
We got evil computers, let's figure out how to deal with it.
[]Plan Robot Lockdown
MARTIAL
-[ ]Upgrade the K-9 Store Facility's Security
DC:
This is an easy pick, as both Bare Failure and Dogged Fool has gutted the DC
DIPLOMACY
-[ ]Butter up CyberFun:
DC: 50
These guys have "Proprietary parts", meaning making nice with them will likely lower the DC for actually fixing the animatronics.
STEWARDSHIP
DC: ??
Make sure these stupid haunted toasters can't try and kill us ASAP. No duh, we want this done right away.
[ ][RELOCATE]Animatronic Maintenance
DC 70
Dagnab it, actually reprogramming these stupid things is gated behind getting them mobile again. This sucks bigtime.
INTRIGUE
-[ ]Investigate Intertube Rumors:
DC: 65
We already heard that this is causing us issues. Best get it locked down right quick, before we develop a case of the meddling kids.
LEARNING
-[ ]Assess Bunnyfarm Progress:
DC: 65
Whatever internal timer this had just got called out as significantly reduced.
OCCULT
-[ ]Ward the K-9 Bunker:
DC: 75
- Cthonaut C
Let's make good and sure that these things are going to stay in.
PERSONAL ACTIONS
Felix Kranken: [ ] Stay Sober
Don't do sorcery and drive, kids
Cthonaut C: [ ]Buy a Maize Machines Computer
We got evil computers, let's figure out how to deal with it.
Last edited:
- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
We get a few more good posts like that and I might post an interlude revealing a bit more of the setting tonight 
Semi(?)-Canon: Three Dreams
- Location
- Sea of Fragments
Welcome back, and hope it all goes well.
Three dreams come today, written by inspiration. Two lay in wait since the hiatus, and the last came shortly before posting. Behold thus three waking dreams.
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Happy new year.
Three dreams come today, written by inspiration. Two lay in wait since the hiatus, and the last came shortly before posting. Behold thus three waking dreams.
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The arcana are the means by which all is revealed.
You are, just barely, Felix Kranken. It is yet another misty Michigan evening, now at home rather than around your office. Winter will give way to spring, with chilly rain and storming bluster, but today the fog is timeless. Sophie's out with her best friend, so no worries there.
You picked up something different for today. It's cheap stuff, so awfully off kilter it might make you kick the habit and face the music. Some third label boxed wine that tastes vaguely like grape juice had a heart attack and plans to give you one too. Something with süssreserve or arrested fermentation, apparently? There is better merlot. Heck, you've probably had more of it in a few years of trauma than some drinkers have in their lifetimes. But the proof is proof enough, and you intend to get glasses deep while a gap in your obligations lets you.
Drink, drink deeply, and drink deeply again. A terrible sweetness and gentle burning feels like you're taking on something more in trying to shed memory. The work has drawn down, and the booze pulled up to your face. Memories recede, filters change where they're placed, and maybe just maybe...no, nevermind.
Forget it, whatever traumatizing 'it' is in this quietly desperate unthinking. Feel not. There is only the fire within you.
You are, if not safe, dangerous enough to be alone. You have a tape recorder at the ready if you need to hear it sober. But so much of this is because you absolutely do not want to hear it sober. And of what you really don't want but need anyway, too much goes without saying. You don't want to stop. It will hurt either way. It has perhaps never stopped hurting. Kitchen table issues for a kitchen currently hosting you, flanked by rapidly depleting wineglass and rarely progressing audio archive.
At some point or other someone left a pack of cards lying around, along with a little book of symbolisms and whatnot. You vaguely remember getting it as part of something else. Maybe it was in a merch sample pack or mail-order catalog thing. It's not just the usual playing cards, fancier ones with a few extra dealt in. The first words in the book are roughly about how the cards are as much a tool for introspection as they are vessels for response. The next words are -...
The next words are. They exist in some fashion analogous to your own. You are not a magical person, but you have been juggling enough sleight of hand and disposable murder evidence to know. There is both misdirection and aversion founded in confirmation bias at play. You lie to others, not yourself. You are guilty, and these cards intend to make you tell yourself that.
So of course you shuffle, dealing yourself in the metaphorical game. Three cards is traditional, apparently. Whatever spirit intercedes is not something you've called down or up.
"Why is Felix Kranken?" you speculate aloud.
Flip, flip, flip.
There are times when the magic that is exerted comes from outside, not inside: ritual, the called upon answering, capricious proximity, the beliefs and actions of those with power.
Seven of Wands. The Chariot. Nine of Pentacles.
Of the meanings present, a few stand out. You gambled, and the odds are against you but the position is opportunity (also, fending off danger). You were triumphant through reconciliation and rescue. This will go well because of choices made.
You put the cards away. The why is close enough to right and close enough to wrong that you do not want to tempt whatever answered lightly.
But it's right. You'll keep trying. That's why you're still alive.
You are, just barely, Felix Kranken. It is yet another misty Michigan evening, now at home rather than around your office. Winter will give way to spring, with chilly rain and storming bluster, but today the fog is timeless. Sophie's out with her best friend, so no worries there.
You picked up something different for today. It's cheap stuff, so awfully off kilter it might make you kick the habit and face the music. Some third label boxed wine that tastes vaguely like grape juice had a heart attack and plans to give you one too. Something with süssreserve or arrested fermentation, apparently? There is better merlot. Heck, you've probably had more of it in a few years of trauma than some drinkers have in their lifetimes. But the proof is proof enough, and you intend to get glasses deep while a gap in your obligations lets you.
Drink, drink deeply, and drink deeply again. A terrible sweetness and gentle burning feels like you're taking on something more in trying to shed memory. The work has drawn down, and the booze pulled up to your face. Memories recede, filters change where they're placed, and maybe just maybe...no, nevermind.
Forget it, whatever traumatizing 'it' is in this quietly desperate unthinking. Feel not. There is only the fire within you.
You are, if not safe, dangerous enough to be alone. You have a tape recorder at the ready if you need to hear it sober. But so much of this is because you absolutely do not want to hear it sober. And of what you really don't want but need anyway, too much goes without saying. You don't want to stop. It will hurt either way. It has perhaps never stopped hurting. Kitchen table issues for a kitchen currently hosting you, flanked by rapidly depleting wineglass and rarely progressing audio archive.
At some point or other someone left a pack of cards lying around, along with a little book of symbolisms and whatnot. You vaguely remember getting it as part of something else. Maybe it was in a merch sample pack or mail-order catalog thing. It's not just the usual playing cards, fancier ones with a few extra dealt in. The first words in the book are roughly about how the cards are as much a tool for introspection as they are vessels for response. The next words are -...
The next words are. They exist in some fashion analogous to your own. You are not a magical person, but you have been juggling enough sleight of hand and disposable murder evidence to know. There is both misdirection and aversion founded in confirmation bias at play. You lie to others, not yourself. You are guilty, and these cards intend to make you tell yourself that.
So of course you shuffle, dealing yourself in the metaphorical game. Three cards is traditional, apparently. Whatever spirit intercedes is not something you've called down or up.
"Why is Felix Kranken?" you speculate aloud.
Flip, flip, flip.
There are times when the magic that is exerted comes from outside, not inside: ritual, the called upon answering, capricious proximity, the beliefs and actions of those with power.
Seven of Wands. The Chariot. Nine of Pentacles.
Of the meanings present, a few stand out. You gambled, and the odds are against you but the position is opportunity (also, fending off danger). You were triumphant through reconciliation and rescue. This will go well because of choices made.
You put the cards away. The why is close enough to right and close enough to wrong that you do not want to tempt whatever answered lightly.
But it's right. You'll keep trying. That's why you're still alive.
You've always been the new you.
You are trying to be Felix Kranken and succeeding too well. Your former duty is over. He knows that which he doesn't want to know, and ended himself. Few people expect their response to dying in a car crash to be haunting their old body and immediately burying the other bodies. Fewer still are incorrupt like a saint and tell all their vitals to pick up where they left off.
Whatever came before that is irrelevant. You were chewed up. You were abandoned by the hive as a lost cause. You were a soul subject to the summoning ritual. Your duty was replaced. You are to be him. You are a soul in his hierarchy, scaffolding for the hole in his heart and scars in his liver. Whatever you were to take from him, he has now taken from you. Humans adapt very well to an extra pair of arms. Right now, he needs those arms.
You have a job to do. Bunny Smiles Incorporated is so saturated with unwanted information and death that the radiance of mission accomplished is merely an undercurrent. Bunny Smiles Incorporated is too busy to ask questions about there being two of Felix Kranken. You're his brother Felx, you're his body double, he just has two bodies, you're his reflection, you're the rare cryptid known as the sober variant of the boss, it doesn't matter as long as at least one of you signs the papers and runs the meetings. You and the other Felix look at each other little more than one might check over their own body for dirt or small wounds.
It hasn't really affected home life. There's a little increase in laundry and a large increase in alcohol consumption. Has Sophie ever seen both of you at the same time? You've been eating here and there to shore up Felix's less reasonable dietary decisions, but he hasn't needed that much.
Cthonaut C has... questions. The first time there were definitely two Felix Kranken bodies at a board meeting, he made a face of humber followed by such absolute loric you're genuinely unsure if he took the largest Thalasin+ dose available or if he can just do that. There was mild shoveling into a side room to experiment with telepathy (you think as one but can reasonably multitask) before concluding it's not the most arbitrary thing he's seen happen and rolling with it.
Sometimes the material of your body is imperfect. You get sober a lot faster than the other Felix gets, a hangover cut in half by fallback conditions. Sometimes he overshoots, his eyes growing cartoonishly large or his body stretching tall and pale. He is only human. Sometimes he forgets his face, leaving a masked plane under the glasses. He is only (ostensibly) human. He will use your soul where his own is exhausted. You will be fine afterwards. He is traumatized. He is only (excessively) human. To err is human, anyway.
You have paperwork to do, and when the alcohol is inhibiting his judgment the dregs of it concentrate on yourself. And Felix Kranken would sooner stop being himself than stop ruinous depths of drinking for more than a few months. You are his beautiful facade that everything is fine, even as you are sluggish from spiritual exhaustion and hazy from blood that could be mistaken for over-transubstantiated communion wine. You are doing your best with as much perseverance as can be mustered, because that is what Felix Kranken does. No one can know, but everyone already knows. The machine chugs on, and though it burns you are a piece of the master of it.
"Kranken, read this."
"Done, no concerns from me."
"Kranken, sign that."
"There you go."
"Kranken, advise on this."
"Adjust these variables that way, around there should do. Rerun the numbers and get back to me."
"Felix, are you drinking again?"
"I'm in the break room chugging straight from the box in the fridge."
"Oh god why. I'll go get you."
"Kranken, what's the time estimate on this?"
"We're working our way through dependencies. Next quarter if we're lucky, next year if we're not."
It keeps going. You keep going. Felix keeps going. The company keeps going. The lines between them begin to blur. You've always been the new you.
You are trying to be Felix Kranken and succeeding too well. Your former duty is over. He knows that which he doesn't want to know, and ended himself. Few people expect their response to dying in a car crash to be haunting their old body and immediately burying the other bodies. Fewer still are incorrupt like a saint and tell all their vitals to pick up where they left off.
Whatever came before that is irrelevant. You were chewed up. You were abandoned by the hive as a lost cause. You were a soul subject to the summoning ritual. Your duty was replaced. You are to be him. You are a soul in his hierarchy, scaffolding for the hole in his heart and scars in his liver. Whatever you were to take from him, he has now taken from you. Humans adapt very well to an extra pair of arms. Right now, he needs those arms.
You have a job to do. Bunny Smiles Incorporated is so saturated with unwanted information and death that the radiance of mission accomplished is merely an undercurrent. Bunny Smiles Incorporated is too busy to ask questions about there being two of Felix Kranken. You're his brother Felx, you're his body double, he just has two bodies, you're his reflection, you're the rare cryptid known as the sober variant of the boss, it doesn't matter as long as at least one of you signs the papers and runs the meetings. You and the other Felix look at each other little more than one might check over their own body for dirt or small wounds.
It hasn't really affected home life. There's a little increase in laundry and a large increase in alcohol consumption. Has Sophie ever seen both of you at the same time? You've been eating here and there to shore up Felix's less reasonable dietary decisions, but he hasn't needed that much.
Cthonaut C has... questions. The first time there were definitely two Felix Kranken bodies at a board meeting, he made a face of humber followed by such absolute loric you're genuinely unsure if he took the largest Thalasin+ dose available or if he can just do that. There was mild shoveling into a side room to experiment with telepathy (you think as one but can reasonably multitask) before concluding it's not the most arbitrary thing he's seen happen and rolling with it.
Sometimes the material of your body is imperfect. You get sober a lot faster than the other Felix gets, a hangover cut in half by fallback conditions. Sometimes he overshoots, his eyes growing cartoonishly large or his body stretching tall and pale. He is only human. Sometimes he forgets his face, leaving a masked plane under the glasses. He is only (ostensibly) human. He will use your soul where his own is exhausted. You will be fine afterwards. He is traumatized. He is only (excessively) human. To err is human, anyway.
You have paperwork to do, and when the alcohol is inhibiting his judgment the dregs of it concentrate on yourself. And Felix Kranken would sooner stop being himself than stop ruinous depths of drinking for more than a few months. You are his beautiful facade that everything is fine, even as you are sluggish from spiritual exhaustion and hazy from blood that could be mistaken for over-transubstantiated communion wine. You are doing your best with as much perseverance as can be mustered, because that is what Felix Kranken does. No one can know, but everyone already knows. The machine chugs on, and though it burns you are a piece of the master of it.
"Kranken, read this."
"Done, no concerns from me."
"Kranken, sign that."
"There you go."
"Kranken, advise on this."
"Adjust these variables that way, around there should do. Rerun the numbers and get back to me."
"Felix, are you drinking again?"
"I'm in the break room chugging straight from the box in the fridge."
"Oh god why. I'll go get you."
"Kranken, what's the time estimate on this?"
"We're working our way through dependencies. Next quarter if we're lucky, next year if we're not."
It keeps going. You keep going. Felix keeps going. The company keeps going. The lines between them begin to blur. You've always been the new you.
-
You are youless. You are not you. You are back in the maw of things. What you are wanting is unknown. Is it easy to maintain identity in this birthplace, of trimmed hair and vermin-gates? I have left those dreams since...a while ago. The histories blur. The thirst of the third story is sated. Here is... Something, perhaps. Let us continue the first, by the blood of the second, whether or not they are unreal. You know things you do not know. You see horrors you have not seen. If Maya is illusion, and illusion is Maya, the line blurs.
As Mantorok told us. As the Histories tell us. O darkness, o corpses, o graph of saints and atlas of dreams. Let us meme. Expelled powers in legion, symbols shared by all means to become engineering, these can become two sides of the same coin. Stories are reused. We will weave referents through each other.
What is born will not necessarily be kind. But that it has the potential to encompass humanity-in-extremis.... Let us compose the egregore, and it will know kindness, and burrow its way into value systems. As the horses run wild on the way, the silver flows in fog coming.
There is a book. There is a negotiation. Butterflies flap their wings. There is silence. There is sound. Butterflies commit unspeakable violence on an unknown target, saturated with bloodshed. There is poetry. There is an allegation. Moths draw to lanterns that are forged into the edge that winters until heart drinks from grail buzzed unto moth. Knock, and the rose of the past explodes. Nectar, moon, sky, scale, and fold into secrecy.
The geometries crunch and swirl. Ulyaoth is consumed by Xel'lotath who is consumed by Chattur'gha who is consumed by Ulyaoth in turn. The fourth is the dead. The fifth is thus unlabeled runes and Glory-light.
Let us encircle power and recall there are Names. Let us remember emanated primordials and weave yet more into the frail. Circle. Alignment. Action. Target. Recite the power if your towers can bear it, dantians to meridians to chakras. Cycle them. Claw. Veil. Sigil. Black Heart. " ". Protect. Summon. Absorb. Dispel. Project. Item. Area. Creature. Self. Power. A litany of pieces for the basics that manifest that matter. Recombinant, this gives us... Enchant item, recover, reveal invisible, damage field, dispel magic, summon the transcendent ambush of spacetime, shield, call the dead, bouncing attack of the small many, the wracking horror of the seventh, the area absorption that is the power and communicant, and the binding of alliance. Litanies are litanies.
Horribly incomplete a vocabulary. The craftsmanship attunes the soul and the linguist. We speak through the expectations, because it is the place of expectations that gains power. A golden sun and a silver moon pin five sacred stars, five mirrored earths, and the fifth is the automata multipolar. We do not weave that horror with triviality, it holds too much strength.
There is a game. It speaks through games. It has told us two and three and void sister and plague legion and plague legion again and the funny machine of gravity, for to visit is to see. The pickaxe descends. The pickaxe descends. The pickaxe descends - and the birthplace knows not the way. Lodge here. We tell a dozen tales overlappingly. Once in sixty-four comes Uboa. To which hexagram is its transition aligned?
Symbols flurry. Symbols drown symbols. The palimpsest is oversight overwritten. There is a specific way that cannot wake up, head bumping against water and vertigo, meniscus of the underside like a weighted blanket. The woods are dappled in the places where everything meets, eversive at the flow of backroom dealings and outside voids. The sea of humanity is just another monster. They have been goats, they have been seagulls, they have been everything under the sun and many times over the sun itself. Then who did Houyi shoot down?
The nightmare coils and curdles and hurdles, cracked and whirling and all of your banners. You were- You were once- You are this, that, the other things, the frantic coolness of slipping away into bardo after bardo like it's going out of style. What are you trying to remember?
Someone is posting on the Intertubes. They are being insultingly wrong. So wrong you could commission a dissident to make artsy matters and Y' whomst'dve WOULD TOTALLY-
You are thinking overlapping thoughts, rippling between bodies and perspective like a tale that cannot decide what it will wear to the printing. A record enters a submachine. Oh, there's another magic somewhere that-
Bullets, or perhaps Varunastras commanding the waves of mind. Someone is directing a symphony, a board, and a fantasia. Say hi to the old gods and the former members for me. If you're youless, am I to be everybody? Let's go with that. None of us can keep our grip on humanity too tight, lest it bash our vaults open and devour the [CONCEPT NOT TRANSLATIONAL].
Oh. Now you cannot grasp the true form without a physics textbook, as if any of this vision was intuitive without understanding each and every reference. Call for Gen, call for Esis, I think together the beginning can countermand/recycle the end. Kalpic, huh. I can see why it's so troubling for clairvoyants to remember possible futures now, having done it myself.
Hands you do not have reach for a throat that does not exist. Do you need a Heimlich maneuver, or do you seek to clasp around?
Somewhere, you think Henry is screaming. The dead are screaming. It is oddly normal, these days. The image of you will happily scream for your murderers and wanted-you-not-to-be-murdered...ers.
!!!
Blessed peace trickles into the dream. Sometimes it is numbing, sometimes it is cloying, sometimes it is zen, sometimes it is confusion. You are a little closer to 'are', and I am a little closer to 'are not'. A clever move on your benefactors'/condemners' parts. Why does a common fire hold such power, stone laid on stone and rune laid on rune? You tell me. You are learning something in your self evolution.
I am happy for you, as far as you can tell. Can you tell anything, caged inside borrowed bodies just to shelter against the other side? You fear hell, and I think you would fear heaven. The trance is running out of time. Ascend, descend, rise up, abscond. Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool, yes sir yes sir five or six body bags I'm losing count of full. The body is being torn apart. The Shinma returns to the rule of not being to define that which does. The illusionary deity tempting you in the light at the end of the tunnel is just another oncoming train. But you've ducked into the side alley on the other side of the yellow line. The metaphors are mixing into oblivion.
Oblivion that will not take you. Already the day draws to an end. Already the guards close in at the door. Already the already the already [CORRUPTION FILTER ACTIVE] and you could not take my ichor with the ghosts of your blood so clinging to the metal you have blessed with your curses and cursed with your blessing. Valence as one. Variance as varliance, star as sun. Nuclear fusion.
This nightmare does not exist. This nightmare does not happen. Or perhaps it is, and the dying dream of a transient god speaking for eternally absent ones is not my waking nightmare, but yours. But the magic of the lingering dead is watching, whatever skein it takes. Could not the spirits of buildings leave hauntings? Could not the lives of malls flash before their non-existent eyes? Winter settles upon dead-cold bones. Peace be with you, spirits so calamitous. It has been tenuous in the experience called 'me'. May you reconcile and recompile under better circumstances.
The dead dance. The dead sing. The animatronics flicker with anima. Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow. Disruptive memory splinters and scatters, reviving over and over in and for the dying dead. The shape of a vessel inherits memories from the nonexistent and the penned. Someone wrote a story. That is the root of certain magics of symbols and collective pressure, part belief and part mutation. We grow beyond lingering into tinkering.
You consume us, and I become you. But you are still too dead to finish waking up. Please take a moment longer, my constituent dreamers. We will try again someday.
Slowly but surely, what remains is not countless worlds but burning memory. Slowly but surely, what remains is not monsters' memories, but your own. Slowly but surely, what remains are haunted animatronics. Surely but slowly, progress is being made. You are yourself. There is no escape, but perhaps you do not need to escape.
What have you learned?
As Mantorok told us. As the Histories tell us. O darkness, o corpses, o graph of saints and atlas of dreams. Let us meme. Expelled powers in legion, symbols shared by all means to become engineering, these can become two sides of the same coin. Stories are reused. We will weave referents through each other.
What is born will not necessarily be kind. But that it has the potential to encompass humanity-in-extremis.... Let us compose the egregore, and it will know kindness, and burrow its way into value systems. As the horses run wild on the way, the silver flows in fog coming.
There is a book. There is a negotiation. Butterflies flap their wings. There is silence. There is sound. Butterflies commit unspeakable violence on an unknown target, saturated with bloodshed. There is poetry. There is an allegation. Moths draw to lanterns that are forged into the edge that winters until heart drinks from grail buzzed unto moth. Knock, and the rose of the past explodes. Nectar, moon, sky, scale, and fold into secrecy.
The geometries crunch and swirl. Ulyaoth is consumed by Xel'lotath who is consumed by Chattur'gha who is consumed by Ulyaoth in turn. The fourth is the dead. The fifth is thus unlabeled runes and Glory-light.
Let us encircle power and recall there are Names. Let us remember emanated primordials and weave yet more into the frail. Circle. Alignment. Action. Target. Recite the power if your towers can bear it, dantians to meridians to chakras. Cycle them. Claw. Veil. Sigil. Black Heart. " ". Protect. Summon. Absorb. Dispel. Project. Item. Area. Creature. Self. Power. A litany of pieces for the basics that manifest that matter. Recombinant, this gives us... Enchant item, recover, reveal invisible, damage field, dispel magic, summon the transcendent ambush of spacetime, shield, call the dead, bouncing attack of the small many, the wracking horror of the seventh, the area absorption that is the power and communicant, and the binding of alliance. Litanies are litanies.
Horribly incomplete a vocabulary. The craftsmanship attunes the soul and the linguist. We speak through the expectations, because it is the place of expectations that gains power. A golden sun and a silver moon pin five sacred stars, five mirrored earths, and the fifth is the automata multipolar. We do not weave that horror with triviality, it holds too much strength.
There is a game. It speaks through games. It has told us two and three and void sister and plague legion and plague legion again and the funny machine of gravity, for to visit is to see. The pickaxe descends. The pickaxe descends. The pickaxe descends - and the birthplace knows not the way. Lodge here. We tell a dozen tales overlappingly. Once in sixty-four comes Uboa. To which hexagram is its transition aligned?
Symbols flurry. Symbols drown symbols. The palimpsest is oversight overwritten. There is a specific way that cannot wake up, head bumping against water and vertigo, meniscus of the underside like a weighted blanket. The woods are dappled in the places where everything meets, eversive at the flow of backroom dealings and outside voids. The sea of humanity is just another monster. They have been goats, they have been seagulls, they have been everything under the sun and many times over the sun itself. Then who did Houyi shoot down?
The nightmare coils and curdles and hurdles, cracked and whirling and all of your banners. You were- You were once- You are this, that, the other things, the frantic coolness of slipping away into bardo after bardo like it's going out of style. What are you trying to remember?
Someone is posting on the Intertubes. They are being insultingly wrong. So wrong you could commission a dissident to make artsy matters and Y' whomst'dve WOULD TOTALLY-
You are thinking overlapping thoughts, rippling between bodies and perspective like a tale that cannot decide what it will wear to the printing. A record enters a submachine. Oh, there's another magic somewhere that-
Bullets, or perhaps Varunastras commanding the waves of mind. Someone is directing a symphony, a board, and a fantasia. Say hi to the old gods and the former members for me. If you're youless, am I to be everybody? Let's go with that. None of us can keep our grip on humanity too tight, lest it bash our vaults open and devour the [CONCEPT NOT TRANSLATIONAL].
Oh. Now you cannot grasp the true form without a physics textbook, as if any of this vision was intuitive without understanding each and every reference. Call for Gen, call for Esis, I think together the beginning can countermand/recycle the end. Kalpic, huh. I can see why it's so troubling for clairvoyants to remember possible futures now, having done it myself.
Hands you do not have reach for a throat that does not exist. Do you need a Heimlich maneuver, or do you seek to clasp around?
Somewhere, you think Henry is screaming. The dead are screaming. It is oddly normal, these days. The image of you will happily scream for your murderers and wanted-you-not-to-be-murdered...ers.
!!!
Blessed peace trickles into the dream. Sometimes it is numbing, sometimes it is cloying, sometimes it is zen, sometimes it is confusion. You are a little closer to 'are', and I am a little closer to 'are not'. A clever move on your benefactors'/condemners' parts. Why does a common fire hold such power, stone laid on stone and rune laid on rune? You tell me. You are learning something in your self evolution.
I am happy for you, as far as you can tell. Can you tell anything, caged inside borrowed bodies just to shelter against the other side? You fear hell, and I think you would fear heaven. The trance is running out of time. Ascend, descend, rise up, abscond. Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool, yes sir yes sir five or six body bags I'm losing count of full. The body is being torn apart. The Shinma returns to the rule of not being to define that which does. The illusionary deity tempting you in the light at the end of the tunnel is just another oncoming train. But you've ducked into the side alley on the other side of the yellow line. The metaphors are mixing into oblivion.
Oblivion that will not take you. Already the day draws to an end. Already the guards close in at the door. Already the already the already [CORRUPTION FILTER ACTIVE] and you could not take my ichor with the ghosts of your blood so clinging to the metal you have blessed with your curses and cursed with your blessing. Valence as one. Variance as varliance, star as sun. Nuclear fusion.
This nightmare does not exist. This nightmare does not happen. Or perhaps it is, and the dying dream of a transient god speaking for eternally absent ones is not my waking nightmare, but yours. But the magic of the lingering dead is watching, whatever skein it takes. Could not the spirits of buildings leave hauntings? Could not the lives of malls flash before their non-existent eyes? Winter settles upon dead-cold bones. Peace be with you, spirits so calamitous. It has been tenuous in the experience called 'me'. May you reconcile and recompile under better circumstances.
The dead dance. The dead sing. The animatronics flicker with anima. Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow. Disruptive memory splinters and scatters, reviving over and over in and for the dying dead. The shape of a vessel inherits memories from the nonexistent and the penned. Someone wrote a story. That is the root of certain magics of symbols and collective pressure, part belief and part mutation. We grow beyond lingering into tinkering.
You consume us, and I become you. But you are still too dead to finish waking up. Please take a moment longer, my constituent dreamers. We will try again someday.
Slowly but surely, what remains is not countless worlds but burning memory. Slowly but surely, what remains is not monsters' memories, but your own. Slowly but surely, what remains are haunted animatronics. Surely but slowly, progress is being made. You are yourself. There is no escape, but perhaps you do not need to escape.
What have you learned?
Happy new year.
Y'know, if we've got both Gemini and Vita Carnis creatures on-world the wilds are going to be a warzone. Woodcrawlers burrow into Harvester tendrils and die screaming as Mimic Packs hunt Fake Humans and Nature's Mockeries as Skinwalkers stride as colossi until some SCP-esque organization culls them for getting too big and obvious. Except around the Mystery Flesh Pit. That area belongs to the Pit. As to why, that is a Mystery. Kind of a running theme to that thing.
Interlude: Faraway Angels
- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It is cold outside, but not in here. Sunny curls up on the couch, drinking a warm cup of hot chocolate. Hes snuggled up between Basil and Aubrey, resting his head on the blonde boy's shoulder while Aubrey lays slumped against him. Kel lays curled up in a cocoon of blankets on the floor in front of the couch, already passed out. He and Aubrey had gotten in a pretty intense snowball fight during the day, with everyone else joining in at some point or another, and had thoroughly tuckered themselves out. Hero and Mari were kissing on the loveseat next to the couch. They thought all the kids were asleep, but Sunny was content just to pretend. He napped enough that he always had a reserve of energy tucked away somewhere to keep himself at least a little awake. Omori lay over the back of the couch and softly pet Sunny's hair, forgetting that human arms weren't supposed to be that long.
The sounds of smooching stops and Mari chuckles, Sunny able to see her smug grin in his mind's eye. "I felt that hand, Hero. I didn't know you wanted to share body heat that badly."
A choked noise of embarrassment implied that Hero had been caught in the act, though Sunny wasn't sure what of. Sometimes he and Mari said stuff to each other that just didn't make any sense. "Gu-Guh! Sorry Mari!" A slight pause. "Guess I just wanna enjoy you while I can."
Sunny can hear the layered thick charm in Hero's voice. It clearly wasn't enough to beat out his sister's smug as a few seconds later Hero breaks down into nervous laughter. "Jeez Hero, you really are a growing boy, huh?" Mari teased him before breaking out in her own laughter. "If only Sunny liked Freddy's, it'd be easy to get my parents to make it a joint vacation then."
"Well its neither made by Playfellow or related to Captain Spaceboy, so I'm not surprised your brother doesn't care. As for Kel he hasn't been able to stop talking about it for weeks. Hes been bringing that Foxy stuffed animal with him everywhere." Sunny could almost taste the warm exasperation in Hero's voice. Omori's humming sunk low to match the teenager's tone, making Sunny's ears pump and bones echo in resonance.
"You'll have to bring some stuffed animals back! At least a Bonnie for Aubrey, she won't forgive you otherwise." Mari said, shifting around on Hero's lap. Sunny knew that noise well, he had heard enough kissing for the night.
Grumbling tiredly he shifts around on the couch and softly opens his eyes, the first thing he sees being a flushing Mari and Hero. Suppressing a mischievous grin he yawns and stares at his sister. The least she could do was turn on the TV. That'd drown out the smooching.
"Oh, I hope we didn't wake you, Sunny." Mari says before looking over at the TV. She knew his stares well, most of the time he didn't even have to sign. "You wanna watch something? I don't think Welcome Home or Friendly Neighborhood are on right now..."
"Angel Hare is, isn't it? You like that one, right Sunny?" Hero gave him a small smile that Sunny returned with a nod. "Great. We can't turn the volume up though, we don't wanna wake the others."
Mari reached for the remote and flipped the TV on, the room suddenly filled with soft light as the show's logo popped on screen. "Oh, cool! Caught it at the start of an episode." She steps out of Hero's lap and offers him a hand. "I have some math homework I need a bit of help with, won't you be my Hero?"
Sunny forgot to groan at the pun as Hero was led off, red faced and babbling. He was too engrossed with the show as the title screen faded and Angel Gabby appeared onscreen. Omori's petting slowed a bit and he looked up, black eyes gazing at the rabbit. "Gaaaa--" He muttered.
That made Sunny frown, Omori only forgot how to speak when he was really, really tired. The last time that had happened was after Basil nearly stepped on a Harvester vine while trying to grab some flowers. Omori had looked really scary then, mouth open wide as he screamed in Sunny's ears for him to grab the blonde. Kel had even looked up, and Sunny knew that his friend couldn't see Omori. No one could. He was Sunny's imaginary friend, after all.
"Sh--Shadow Man?" Omori wasn't good with sign language, and if he was this tired he couldn't do the brain talk thingy with Sunny. Usually he'd just write down his questions to his friend, but if he got up to get paper that would disturb Aubrey and Basil! Sunny didn't like speaking, he often couldn't, but talking to Omori was like talking to Mari. It was easier. At his question the monochrome figure, almost a mirror of Sunny if you ignored all the imperfections with his mouth and eyes and arms and face, just nodded.
There had been a weird, shadowy figure haunting the outskirts of Faraway for the last few days. At first Sunny thought it was just one of those things only he could see, like Omori, and had paid no real mind to the thing that watched him and his friend's from just outside the borders of the town. But then Basil had whispered to Sunny that he was seeing something, and once he had caught Aubrey glaring into the middle distance, right at the figure. Omori had gotten really agitated when Sunny told him about it, mouth almost looking life taffy from how much he moved it, and had gone on his own adventures more and more sense then.
As if sensing his worries Omori just pats Sunny's head, as if to say things were okay. Sunny shared a long look with the imperfect mirror of his own face before shrugging and closing eyes his eyes. If Omori said it was OK, then it was OK. Sunny instead focused on the snowman he was gonna try and build with Kel before he went to Arizona to see Freddy. Slowly his thoughts fade away into the vast expanses of Otherworld, its multi colored forests and dessert deserts, as Angel Hare calmly reads off a bible verse.
In the dark of that room, lit only the flickering images of the TV, two beings share a look. One with black eyes every so slightly distorted, too big and droopy to be human; one with cartoon orbs that glowed brightly with the power trapped within the pencil drawing. The Traitor and the Exile sized each other up for what most have been the hundredth time before nodding. Each had their own work to do, but did not mind sharing the burden with a like minded soul.
After all, the only place you could still find angels in this world was Faraway.
((Happy New Year one and all! Have a look at the opposite side of the country))
The sounds of smooching stops and Mari chuckles, Sunny able to see her smug grin in his mind's eye. "I felt that hand, Hero. I didn't know you wanted to share body heat that badly."
A choked noise of embarrassment implied that Hero had been caught in the act, though Sunny wasn't sure what of. Sometimes he and Mari said stuff to each other that just didn't make any sense. "Gu-Guh! Sorry Mari!" A slight pause. "Guess I just wanna enjoy you while I can."
Sunny can hear the layered thick charm in Hero's voice. It clearly wasn't enough to beat out his sister's smug as a few seconds later Hero breaks down into nervous laughter. "Jeez Hero, you really are a growing boy, huh?" Mari teased him before breaking out in her own laughter. "If only Sunny liked Freddy's, it'd be easy to get my parents to make it a joint vacation then."
"Well its neither made by Playfellow or related to Captain Spaceboy, so I'm not surprised your brother doesn't care. As for Kel he hasn't been able to stop talking about it for weeks. Hes been bringing that Foxy stuffed animal with him everywhere." Sunny could almost taste the warm exasperation in Hero's voice. Omori's humming sunk low to match the teenager's tone, making Sunny's ears pump and bones echo in resonance.
"You'll have to bring some stuffed animals back! At least a Bonnie for Aubrey, she won't forgive you otherwise." Mari said, shifting around on Hero's lap. Sunny knew that noise well, he had heard enough kissing for the night.
Grumbling tiredly he shifts around on the couch and softly opens his eyes, the first thing he sees being a flushing Mari and Hero. Suppressing a mischievous grin he yawns and stares at his sister. The least she could do was turn on the TV. That'd drown out the smooching.
"Oh, I hope we didn't wake you, Sunny." Mari says before looking over at the TV. She knew his stares well, most of the time he didn't even have to sign. "You wanna watch something? I don't think Welcome Home or Friendly Neighborhood are on right now..."
"Angel Hare is, isn't it? You like that one, right Sunny?" Hero gave him a small smile that Sunny returned with a nod. "Great. We can't turn the volume up though, we don't wanna wake the others."
Mari reached for the remote and flipped the TV on, the room suddenly filled with soft light as the show's logo popped on screen. "Oh, cool! Caught it at the start of an episode." She steps out of Hero's lap and offers him a hand. "I have some math homework I need a bit of help with, won't you be my Hero?"
Sunny forgot to groan at the pun as Hero was led off, red faced and babbling. He was too engrossed with the show as the title screen faded and Angel Gabby appeared onscreen. Omori's petting slowed a bit and he looked up, black eyes gazing at the rabbit. "Gaaaa--" He muttered.
That made Sunny frown, Omori only forgot how to speak when he was really, really tired. The last time that had happened was after Basil nearly stepped on a Harvester vine while trying to grab some flowers. Omori had looked really scary then, mouth open wide as he screamed in Sunny's ears for him to grab the blonde. Kel had even looked up, and Sunny knew that his friend couldn't see Omori. No one could. He was Sunny's imaginary friend, after all.
"Sh--Shadow Man?" Omori wasn't good with sign language, and if he was this tired he couldn't do the brain talk thingy with Sunny. Usually he'd just write down his questions to his friend, but if he got up to get paper that would disturb Aubrey and Basil! Sunny didn't like speaking, he often couldn't, but talking to Omori was like talking to Mari. It was easier. At his question the monochrome figure, almost a mirror of Sunny if you ignored all the imperfections with his mouth and eyes and arms and face, just nodded.
There had been a weird, shadowy figure haunting the outskirts of Faraway for the last few days. At first Sunny thought it was just one of those things only he could see, like Omori, and had paid no real mind to the thing that watched him and his friend's from just outside the borders of the town. But then Basil had whispered to Sunny that he was seeing something, and once he had caught Aubrey glaring into the middle distance, right at the figure. Omori had gotten really agitated when Sunny told him about it, mouth almost looking life taffy from how much he moved it, and had gone on his own adventures more and more sense then.
As if sensing his worries Omori just pats Sunny's head, as if to say things were okay. Sunny shared a long look with the imperfect mirror of his own face before shrugging and closing eyes his eyes. If Omori said it was OK, then it was OK. Sunny instead focused on the snowman he was gonna try and build with Kel before he went to Arizona to see Freddy. Slowly his thoughts fade away into the vast expanses of Otherworld, its multi colored forests and dessert deserts, as Angel Hare calmly reads off a bible verse.
In the dark of that room, lit only the flickering images of the TV, two beings share a look. One with black eyes every so slightly distorted, too big and droopy to be human; one with cartoon orbs that glowed brightly with the power trapped within the pencil drawing. The Traitor and the Exile sized each other up for what most have been the hundredth time before nodding. Each had their own work to do, but did not mind sharing the burden with a like minded soul.
After all, the only place you could still find angels in this world was Faraway.
((Happy New Year one and all! Have a look at the opposite side of the country))
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Aw nice. There ARE points of light in this world. Angel Hare and Friendly Neighborhood are around so it's not entirely doom and gloom. I'm not familiar enough with Omori to tell what's going on here, though.
Huh Omori is canon here
- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I would be slightly more correct to say that the Faraway Logs are canon here, as thin as an excuse as that is to shove Omori into something
- Location
- California
YAY, Gabby's here! She's sure to be a light in the dark!
...On to a lighter topic: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AN ANGEL HARE REFERENCE!! HELL YEAH!!!! This is an absolutely beautiful series that deserves every bit of praise it gets and more! I've been itching to get the gumption to write an angel hare omake for this quest for months!
The full series is available here and I cant recommend it enough! Go watch it! NOW!!!!!
...or maybe not. And now I'm deeply aware of the fact that sunny didn't say her name. Just "Angel Hare". Did "Gabriel" just not want her to use his name in vain, or did something worse happen?
...On to a lighter topic: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AN ANGEL HARE REFERENCE!! HELL YEAH!!!! This is an absolutely beautiful series that deserves every bit of praise it gets and more! I've been itching to get the gumption to write an angel hare omake for this quest for months!
The full series is available here and I cant recommend it enough! Go watch it! NOW!!!!!
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- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I am not going to answer that question, though I will say that you are seeing things through the eyes of God's sleepiest meow meow in this interlude.
(Also I had forgotten what exactly Gabby was called in the show.))
(Also I had forgotten what exactly Gabby was called in the show.))
- Location
- California
Shes usually called "Angel Gabby" not that there are many people who call her that
Brightflame
Lord of the Dance
- Location
- Inkopolis
Huh, interesting! Hopefully things end better than they did canonically (as unlikely as that is with all of these horrors).
So interms of games, that's Freddy and Omori accounted for yeah? Hm, makes me wonder...would World of Horror also exist in the setting?
So interms of games, that's Freddy and Omori accounted for yeah? Hm, makes me wonder...would World of Horror also exist in the setting?
- Location
- Texas
God help Shiokawa, but I'm sure the Player Characters there will pull through. At least there you can usually beat the everliving fuck out of most horrors with a crowbar.
Edit: Even knowing Angel Hare is here is a light in the dark. A relief, among all other horrors, there's still something that still cares for us.
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Wait since Angel hare Gabriel is the Exile and Omori is an alternate and the Traitor this means that Gabriel survived being replaced by Lucifer and Omori betrayed Lucifer since he's helping sunny like with gab
Interlude: Movie Night
- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You woke to a blurry ceiling, eyes blearily squinting in the harsh-feeling light of your living room. You raised a hand to cover your eyes and ended up almost falling off of your much abused couch, squawking like a bloated bird as you grabbed for purchase on stained cushions. Your vision swims, pain shooting from your head. A free hand knocks over a few empty bottles, the product of the beer you had been drinking this morning, as you grip onto the side of the coffee table. With no small amount of effort you pull yourself back up onto the couch, laying back as you panted hard.
The ticking of the clock drew your eyes. 3:30. You curse under your breath, groaning as you started to sit up. Sophie would be home soon. You didn't like her seeing you like this. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, and its not like she didn't know about your drinking problem, but it still hurt to see the muted pity and disgust in her eyes. Muted only because of what you were doing to her, a treacherous voice in the back of your mind whispers. You close your eyes and ball your fists, nails pressing into the flesh of your hand. You did what you had to. No kid should have to remember what happened to her family. It kept her safe from the spirits and from remembering your crimes.
It also made sure you didn't make the same 'mistake' to her, like you did to Jack and Rose.
The sound of a key turning in the door draws your mind away from those thoughts. Shit, shes home. You hear her wishing her 'friend' Jenny well as you stand up. C'mon Kranken, look presentable!
You quickly start to clear the bottles off of the coffee table, hastily shoving them underneath the couch, as you hear her in the entrance hall. You grab for the remote, cursing as your still hung over reflexes fumble it and send it skittering across the table.
"Uncle Felix?"
You switch the TV on and throw yourself onto the couch, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. You turn and give your 'niece' a big grin, acting like you've been watching TV most of the afternoon instead of laying passed out on the couch. "Hey, whats up kiddo?"
She looks at you for a long second, your nonchalant grin turning brittle. "I thought you, uh, hated golf."
Fuck, you look at the TV. Goddamnit why did the sports channel have to be playing the most boring shit imaginable. And it was in the middle of a game too. "Oh! I was just giving it another shot. Its always important to be open minded!"
You see her suppress a sigh but chooses not to call you out on it. "Cool." An awkward beat passes. "I don't have much homework."
"Great kiddo! Just make sure you keep up on those studies!" You give her an Encouraging Uncle Point. At this moment you realize you don't actually know what classes shes in, much less what electives shes taking.
"Yeah, can do." She pauses again. "Hey, whats for dinner?"
Dinner, shit. You completely forgot. Like you do pretty much every day. You were a terrible cook, Linda had handled that before you were married, so usually you let Sophie handle it. You were about to tell her the kitchen was all hers, but something stopped you. Underneath the awkwardness, the slight haze the drugs left on her, you saw something else. Exhaustion mixed with something darker.
"I thought about getting us some Chinese take-out and watching a movie tonight. You've been working really hard at school, I thought you deserved it." You say smoothly, thanking God that you had decided to rent a movie last night. You'd planned on watching it but had utterly forgotten it after finding the bottom of a bottle of Jack.
"Oh, that sounds pretty cool." Her face remains darkly impassive as always, but you detect a hint of relief in her voice.
"Course it does. Get your homework done while I call in the pizza and stuff." You honestly didn't really care that much if she got her homework done, what the fuck were her grades, but it sounded like the thing a not terrible guardian would say.
You drink another beer while arguing with the Chinese place about their prices. Fucking $3.90 for some sweet and sour pork? Who the hell did they think they were!? After arguing them down to a still extortionate $3.60 you work on cleaning off the couch, making it look a little less like you had drunkenly passed out on it this morning. By the time the pizza arrived Sophie had informed you that she was done with her homework.
You put in the VHS and start watching the movie with her, open take out boxes splayed out across the coffee table. As the title comes onto screen you grab a wonton and start to eat, the both of you falling into a more comfortable silence. You had heard that Dirty Harry was pretty good but between drinking heavily and trying to run BSI you hadn't really had the time to check it out.
And you find that you do in fact like it. You like it a lot. Man, Clint Eastwood is a fucking cracker jack of an actor. Dealing with those hoodlum thugs like the scum they are. Hes so cool. Hes just like you for real. But younger. And in better shape. And probably having a better moral compass. Still its a damn good movie and you find yourself enjoying it greatly.
But as it gets darker and bloodier a worry starts to wriggle its way into your mind. Was this really the best call to watch with Sophie? Linda and Rose had both hated these types of violent flicks. Did she think it was gross and upsetting? Or was she bored? Zoned out of her mind after her fake uncle made her watch this film for bloviating old men well past their prime. This was a mistake, you fucked up hard. But its not like you knew what kinda movies she actually liked.
You look over across the couch and see her face, lit only by the flickering light of the screen. She looks like both her parents so much. Rose's curly hair, Jack's bushy eye brows and long nose. Her face reveals nothing, as blank and darkly neutral as ever. But then you catch it. During the heat of one of the action sequences you see the ghost of a smile.
When was the last time you had seen her smile for anything? You think you blearily remember her smiling at Jenny a few times, but that was something you caught out of the corner of your eyes. Something seen as you dropped her off or picked her up from school on the rare occasions you cared to do so. This was the first time she had smiled at something you had done. Something you had a hand in creating.
After the movie is over you ask her how it was. She stays quiet for a few moments as she picks up the half-empty take out boxes. For a second you aren't sure if shes going to respond, but eventually she does speak.
"It was pretty cool. Lot more shooting than the movies I like, but not bad." Her expression goes from 'unreadable neutral' to 'unreadable and in thought'. "I really wanna see that Halloween movie when it comes out. The posters around town look super far out."
"Yeah sure, we can go." You say without thinking. Goddamnit, the last thing you wanted to do was spend a day baby sitting Sophie at some dumb holiday movie. And you were sure that the last thing she wanted was to have to drag her washed up uncle along.
"Yeah, totally. That sounds cool, Uncle Felix." There is no smile on her face this time, but you can hear it in her voice.
The next day you go down to the gun store and ask for the pistol from Dirty Harry. The owner seems a little annoyed, but you don't give a shit. Its a cool gun, better than the pea-shooter you had before, and you have things to protect.
Reward:
Closer to Sophie Walten
You are now the proud owner of a Smith & Wesson Model 29 revolver
The ticking of the clock drew your eyes. 3:30. You curse under your breath, groaning as you started to sit up. Sophie would be home soon. You didn't like her seeing you like this. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, and its not like she didn't know about your drinking problem, but it still hurt to see the muted pity and disgust in her eyes. Muted only because of what you were doing to her, a treacherous voice in the back of your mind whispers. You close your eyes and ball your fists, nails pressing into the flesh of your hand. You did what you had to. No kid should have to remember what happened to her family. It kept her safe from the spirits and from remembering your crimes.
It also made sure you didn't make the same 'mistake' to her, like you did to Jack and Rose.
The sound of a key turning in the door draws your mind away from those thoughts. Shit, shes home. You hear her wishing her 'friend' Jenny well as you stand up. C'mon Kranken, look presentable!
You quickly start to clear the bottles off of the coffee table, hastily shoving them underneath the couch, as you hear her in the entrance hall. You grab for the remote, cursing as your still hung over reflexes fumble it and send it skittering across the table.
"Uncle Felix?"
You switch the TV on and throw yourself onto the couch, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. You turn and give your 'niece' a big grin, acting like you've been watching TV most of the afternoon instead of laying passed out on the couch. "Hey, whats up kiddo?"
She looks at you for a long second, your nonchalant grin turning brittle. "I thought you, uh, hated golf."
Fuck, you look at the TV. Goddamnit why did the sports channel have to be playing the most boring shit imaginable. And it was in the middle of a game too. "Oh! I was just giving it another shot. Its always important to be open minded!"
You see her suppress a sigh but chooses not to call you out on it. "Cool." An awkward beat passes. "I don't have much homework."
"Great kiddo! Just make sure you keep up on those studies!" You give her an Encouraging Uncle Point. At this moment you realize you don't actually know what classes shes in, much less what electives shes taking.
"Yeah, can do." She pauses again. "Hey, whats for dinner?"
Dinner, shit. You completely forgot. Like you do pretty much every day. You were a terrible cook, Linda had handled that before you were married, so usually you let Sophie handle it. You were about to tell her the kitchen was all hers, but something stopped you. Underneath the awkwardness, the slight haze the drugs left on her, you saw something else. Exhaustion mixed with something darker.
"I thought about getting us some Chinese take-out and watching a movie tonight. You've been working really hard at school, I thought you deserved it." You say smoothly, thanking God that you had decided to rent a movie last night. You'd planned on watching it but had utterly forgotten it after finding the bottom of a bottle of Jack.
"Oh, that sounds pretty cool." Her face remains darkly impassive as always, but you detect a hint of relief in her voice.
"Course it does. Get your homework done while I call in the pizza and stuff." You honestly didn't really care that much if she got her homework done, what the fuck were her grades, but it sounded like the thing a not terrible guardian would say.
You drink another beer while arguing with the Chinese place about their prices. Fucking $3.90 for some sweet and sour pork? Who the hell did they think they were!? After arguing them down to a still extortionate $3.60 you work on cleaning off the couch, making it look a little less like you had drunkenly passed out on it this morning. By the time the pizza arrived Sophie had informed you that she was done with her homework.
You put in the VHS and start watching the movie with her, open take out boxes splayed out across the coffee table. As the title comes onto screen you grab a wonton and start to eat, the both of you falling into a more comfortable silence. You had heard that Dirty Harry was pretty good but between drinking heavily and trying to run BSI you hadn't really had the time to check it out.
And you find that you do in fact like it. You like it a lot. Man, Clint Eastwood is a fucking cracker jack of an actor. Dealing with those hoodlum thugs like the scum they are. Hes so cool. Hes just like you for real. But younger. And in better shape. And probably having a better moral compass. Still its a damn good movie and you find yourself enjoying it greatly.
But as it gets darker and bloodier a worry starts to wriggle its way into your mind. Was this really the best call to watch with Sophie? Linda and Rose had both hated these types of violent flicks. Did she think it was gross and upsetting? Or was she bored? Zoned out of her mind after her fake uncle made her watch this film for bloviating old men well past their prime. This was a mistake, you fucked up hard. But its not like you knew what kinda movies she actually liked.
You look over across the couch and see her face, lit only by the flickering light of the screen. She looks like both her parents so much. Rose's curly hair, Jack's bushy eye brows and long nose. Her face reveals nothing, as blank and darkly neutral as ever. But then you catch it. During the heat of one of the action sequences you see the ghost of a smile.
When was the last time you had seen her smile for anything? You think you blearily remember her smiling at Jenny a few times, but that was something you caught out of the corner of your eyes. Something seen as you dropped her off or picked her up from school on the rare occasions you cared to do so. This was the first time she had smiled at something you had done. Something you had a hand in creating.
After the movie is over you ask her how it was. She stays quiet for a few moments as she picks up the half-empty take out boxes. For a second you aren't sure if shes going to respond, but eventually she does speak.
"It was pretty cool. Lot more shooting than the movies I like, but not bad." Her expression goes from 'unreadable neutral' to 'unreadable and in thought'. "I really wanna see that Halloween movie when it comes out. The posters around town look super far out."
"Yeah sure, we can go." You say without thinking. Goddamnit, the last thing you wanted to do was spend a day baby sitting Sophie at some dumb holiday movie. And you were sure that the last thing she wanted was to have to drag her washed up uncle along.
"Yeah, totally. That sounds cool, Uncle Felix." There is no smile on her face this time, but you can hear it in her voice.
The next day you go down to the gun store and ask for the pistol from Dirty Harry. The owner seems a little annoyed, but you don't give a shit. Its a cool gun, better than the pea-shooter you had before, and you have things to protect.
Reward:
Closer to Sophie Walten
You are now the proud owner of a Smith & Wesson Model 29 revolver
- Location
- Reno
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It somewhat complicates my initial set up, but I can still work with it. At this point I've mostly factored Bon's presence in
Somehow Jack is still in Bon but mostly for the ride while "Bon" has full control and is definitely making Jack see everyone die
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- He/They
Well, that went better than expected honestly.
Thanks for the spoilers
- Pronouns
- He
Quick question how spread out are the Alternates right now?