To be fair, Reg is probably more charming and charismatic than Greg. Greg would also have no idea how to operate Federation tech, whereas Reg would be rapidly building up to revolutionize Earth Bet, if only so he can have his holographic waifus again.
To be fair, Reg is probably more charming and charismatic than Greg. Greg would also have no idea how to operate Federation tech, whereas Reg would be rapidly building up to revolutionize Earth Bet, if only so he can have his holographic waifus again.
True. So in order to maintain the balance, the stress of the transfer forces Greg to trigger! Legend!Greg would fit in well in the Starfleetverse, don't you think?
Maybe not Legend!Greg so much as Trek!Greg? A cross between Legend but also a lot of the effects of the Trek-verse. He could have phasers, be able to teleport things a limited distance, replicate simple objects when he has enough energy, and transform into his 'Warpspeed State'. Either would work!
Maybe not Legend!Greg so much as Trek!Greg? A cross between Legend but also a lot of the effects of the Trek-verse. He could have phasers, be able to teleport things a limited distance, replicate simple objects when he has enough energy, and transform into his 'Warpspeed State'. Either would work!
I kinda like that if Greg is still in the Wormverse.
Reg is flung into Worm. He triggers off of Bonesaw's shard. He and Greg bond over really creepy internet smutfics, meet in person, and Reg starts upgrading his brand new test subject?
If anyone reading this is worrying about the implications for Samedi?
@SquirrelZombie Oh my god, it's worse than I thought... Greg is going to have a way to get Samedi!Taylor to listen to him when she's in the normal world! AAAHHHHHH!!!!
Reg is flung into Worm. He triggers off of Bonesaw's shard. He and Greg bond over really creepy internet smutfics, meet in person, and Reg starts upgrading his brand new test subject?
Reg had been working on me again. The miniaturized photon torpedo banks in my fore-arms had finally been connected to the replicator system Reg had installed in my torso. To do it, he said he would have to temporarily disable my shielding and inertial dampeners.
No big deal. What were the odds I would get hit by a bus today at school? I mean seriously, is that really a thing that happens? Do people really get hit by buses? I thought that was just a thing in movies and bad fanfics.
I knew as soon as I had the idea for this project that it was very ambitious. It was my first fic, my first time doing any substantial creative writing in ten years, and it was dealing with some themes around which I obviously have considerable personal issues.
But I thought I would be able to handle it.
Maybe not so much.
I think by now most of you who have been following the comments in this thread have seen that I've been trying to play a little game with you all.
I had the idea, hey, what if there was a fanfic where the altpower was shared by Taylor and the author? What if the ROB was fucking around both within the story, and to the story itself, as seen by you, the readers of the forum in which it was posted.
When I had the notion of how awesome a crazy-pants carefree friendly-spooky good but not nice character I could forge out of Taylor with a little help from the good Baron, the pieces just fell into place.
I've been playing D&D since I was a kid. I can handle a little in-character Baron Samedi roleplay, I thought.
But I've been getting waaaaay too into this. I'm not comfortable with how much I preemptively lost my shit about Greg, and even before then I kinda went nuts about Taylor's cape name for no very good reason. I'm not trying to tell anyone what to think. I'm just trying to put my voice out there, cause I had some things I wanted to say about life and death and despair and madness and celebration and rum.
I think it's probably for the best if I step back from this for a bit.
I know I promised an interlude, I know I promised a bunch more arcs and a fitting story to go with the promising beginning. I hope what you've seen has been worth the nonsense. I hope at least a few people enjoyed the ridiculously obscure convoluted Andy Kaufman style prank I was playing on myself.
Just so you know, all the reactions were genuine. I did not use any stalking horses or hand-puppet accounts. It was just me, fucking around with you all.
I am not abandoning the fic. But I do need to give it a bit of a breather. I'll have more for you as soon as I think it's a good idea.
Thanks for playing along.
See you, Space Cowboys. What a crock of shit. If you don't want to post the next chapter, I'll find someone who will. Peace, motherfucker.
Take your time and get your head screwed on right. It's damned hard to write a fic when you're constantly second-guessing yourself, believe me, I know. Take a break, let it sit for a while, get your head clear and come back to it when you're in that fiendishly funny mood again. ^.^ I've got this on watch, so I'll be back the instant I get the notification, though I'll prolly be dropping in from time to time to see what's going on anyway.
Bogeyman dodged and spun through the alley like a woman possessed, a lit cigar clamped firmly in her mouth, her oversized dark blue eyes flashing with entirely unconcealed mirth from within the skull mask that covered her face.
"Do you know how many milliliters of bile the human body contains? I'll give you a hint. Yours is about to contain a lot less. Wait, that's not really a hint. Fuck. What's the word? Oh, right. Threat. I'll give you a threat."
Her adversaries folded like origami cranes. This was not poetic license. Plumes of green smoke formed teeth behind their backs. Geysers of fingernails struck at them from below their feet. A distant creaking noise grew closer and closer, never reaching them, continuously approaching, the tension rising and rising, until finally...
Those mercenaries who were capable of movement fled. They were chased by the whistling of a wounded lullaby. Their leader, laid out moaning on the cobblestones and unable to move vomited wet velvet. He wore a black body-suit with a white snake wrapping from his head down to his ankles.
"Do snakes have ankles? That seems like a pretty glaring oversight for your costume there, chief. Although, you are a super-villain, so I suppose you might have some friends who know how to grow or manufacture snakes with ankles. Whatsisname up in Boston could probably do it. Or Bonesaw. But Bonesaw would probably sew you together with a bunch of other snakes and make a serpentine centipede or something. Except with only two pairs of legs. Because snakes don't have legs. Oh! That must be why she needs to give them ankles! Duh!"
The man just groaned.
"Hey, you're really skinny. Did you show up in my base a couple times, oh, about three months or so ago? I'm pretty sure you'd remember it."
A groan.
"Is that a no?"
This groan was accompanied by a soupcon of bloody froth gurgling up out of the man's mouth.
"Mr. Snake? Oh Mister Snaaaaaa-aaaake. You still conscious?"
"Fine. Be like that." She pouted.
The vigilante shaker stepped out of the alley and started walking back up the block and around the corner to the girl she had left by the side of the road.
"Hey, you're pretty skinny too. Not as skinny as the skinny guy back there, but skinny enough that calling you skinny isn't being mean, it's just stating facts. The facts in this case being, you're skinny."
The younger girl had a hunted air about her. Like a mouse running from a predator. She looked at Bogeyman. She winced and grabbed at her head.
She looked up at Bogeyman again. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Then she nodded firmly to herself.
Then she jumped in front of an oncoming car.
"What the fuck? Again? Goddamnit. I'm sorry I called you skinny. You're not that skinny!"
She paused, looking thoughtful.
"More sort of flat, I guess."
I leaned back in my chair with a grimace. Then a nasty impulse struck me.
I do so love to indulge those impulses.
I activated the hand-held radio and spoke a single word.
"Decapitate."
On the monitor in front of me, Bogeyman's head exploded.
Well, what the hell. I was going to be dropping this timeline anyway. And I hadn't been able to get a clean shot at the bitch until she wandered into the middle of my operation.
Might as well give myself a little satisfaction after she fucked up my plans.
Okay, everybody. Actual end of arc 1 author's note.
Seriously, thanks for indulging me. Seylerius was very kind to help me set this up, but the idea was all me, and if you hate me for it, well, I guess I'll have to learn to live with your disapproval.
I planned a lot of it, and a lot of it was improv.
I'm not going to be doing so much of the non-story improv role-playing any longer. It was soooo much fun, but I seriously can't keep it up for more than a couple days. I do have a job. This is my day off, and I'm spending it fucking around on the internet.
I will be continuing the story. I do have arcs planned out up through arc 5 so far. It might slow down a bit, but I will not be taking a break from posting.
It has been pointed out to me here and elsewhere that my mind is an odd place. I see no reason to disagree.
Almost everything I said in the previous author's note was true. I was just playing the game one level higher than I said I was.
I've been dropping hints and picking very carefully designed, polite and non-confrontational fights on purpose.
The original concept in my other note was true, but what I didn't say was how far I had thought through the implications of a tricksy god like Samedi getting internet access. The whole thing was a perfect setup for an endlessly recursive loop of trolling.
This is what I meant when I said Taylor couldn't be called Samedi. Samedi was already in the fic.
I'm sorry if you feel like I abused your trust. That's why I'm letting you in on the joke now.
I hope you found it funny. I could barely sleep last night from the excitement of knowing what was coming.
If you can't forgive me, I understand. This is pretty avant-garde, even if we weren't in the world of fanfic, which although I love it, I recognize that it is not on the cutting edge of literary technique.
This really is my first fic. I really do have a background in creative writing that I haven't used for a long time. I did my best to lie as little as possible throughout this project. I've found it's easier to mislead people with an incongruous truth anyways.
Thanks for playing along, those of you who did.
I'll be back for 2.1 soonish.
Peace Kiddos,
The Baron
Edit:
If you get bored waiting for new content, you can try going back and looking for the breadcrumbs and clues I dropped here and there. I had a lot of fun hiding them, and I know some of you have already had a lot of fun finding them.
Take your time and get your head screwed on right. It's damned hard to write a fic when you're constantly second-guessing yourself, believe me, I know. Take a break, let it sit for a while, get your head clear and come back to it when you're in that fiendishly funny mood again. ^.^ I've got this on watch, so I'll be back the instant I get the notification, though I'll prolly be dropping in from time to time to see what's going on anyway.
This is very good advice, and although I don't actually need it, I do very much appreciate the spirit in which it was offered. You're a good person, Vyr. You have generous impulses and genuine compassion. I felt kinda bad after I saw what you posted.
Less "angry", and more "puzzled", really. I evidently mistook this for a rather more straightforward fic; and I don't really know enough about Voodoo/Loa/Baron Samedi to actually understand the implications/consequences of Samedi's...ah...status? I'm not quite clear on what was revealed, actually, except that you trolled us via A/N, and that Samedi exists in-fic separate from Taylor (I guess?).
Less "angry", and more "puzzled", really. I evidently mistook this for a rather more straightforward fic; and I don't really know enough about Voodoo/Loa/Baron Samedi to actually understand the implications/consequences of Samedi's...ah...status? I'm not quite clear on what was revealed, actually, except that you trolled us via A/N, and that Samedi exists in-fic separate from Taylor (I guess?).
Okay, here it is. I don't have any reason to hide what was going on any more.
The story of Bourbon Street is about Taylor becoming possessed by Baron Samedi, who, while being the Loa of death and resurrection, also represents a threat to the established order, and the breakdown of social structure. He's a figure of fun and partying and being irresponsible. He's the part of the human psyche that looks at death and says, ok, nothing I can do about it, let's have a party.
In the story, Taylor gets crazier and crazier. Her power is fucking with her head. She is having a hard time keeping herself sane.
In the story that's surrounding the story, the character of me, the author of the thread, is obviously playing a little game with everyone where he's pretending to speak as the baron. What's going on behind the scenes, but still in character, is that he's slowly losing it. He's becoming obsessed by the story he's writing, being taken over more and more by the Baron, until he gives in and throws in the towel.
Then, because the Baron is not satisfied with the Bourbon Street story ending where it did, he hops bodies. Because one of the things that loa do is possess willing people. They get some benefits, such as better luck or health or inspiration, and the loa get to live it up in their physical bodies, and enjoy the physical world. That's part of why Samedi loves to drink and smoke and fuck and swear. Because a lot of the time, he can't.
This dichotomy is represented in the lower level story by Taylor's popping back and forth to the street. In the street, she's Taylor, she's herself, but everything is muted. Colors, tastes, everything.
So, when the Baron gets fed up with me being unable or unwilling to continue the story, he pops on over to Seylerius and continues it anyway.
Oh, another important thing is that Baron Samedi is a psychopomp- that is, a god specializing in helping ferry mortals around from one plane of existence to another. He's all about breaking barriers, smashing through taboos. If any god could jump between fiction and reality, it'd be a god like the Baron.
Okay, here it is. I don't have any reason to hide what was going on any more.
The story of Bourbon Street is about Taylor becoming possessed by Baron Samedi, who, while being the Loa of death and resurrection, also represents a threat to the established order, and the breakdown of social structure. He's a figure of fun and partying and being irresponsible. He's the part of the human psyche that looks at death and says, ok, nothing I can do about it, let's have a party.
In the story, Taylor gets crazier and crazier. Her power is fucking with her head. She is having a hard time keeping herself sane.
In the story that's surrounding the story, the character of me, the author of the thread, is obviously playing a little game with everyone where he's pretending to speak as the baron. What's going on behind the scenes, but still in character, is that he's slowly losing it. He's becoming obsessed by the story he's writing, being taken over more and more by the Baron, until he gives in and throws in the towel.
Then, because the Baron is not satisfied with the Bourbon Street story ending where it did, he hops bodies. Because one of the things that loa do is possess willing people. They get some benefits, such as better luck or health or inspiration, and the loa get to live it up in their physical bodies, and enjoy the physical world. That's part of why Samedi loves to drink and smoke and fuck and swear. Because a lot of the time, he can't.
This dichotomy is represented in the lower level story by Taylor's popping back and forth to the street. In the street, she's Taylor, she's herself, but everything is muted. Colors, tastes, everything.
So, when the Baron gets fed up with me being unable or unwilling to continue the story, he pops on over to Seylerius and continues it anyway.
Oh, another important thing is that Baron Samedi is a psychopomp- that is, a god specializing in helping ferry mortals around from one plane of existence to another. He's all about breaking barriers, smashing through taboos. If any god could jump between fiction and reality, it'd be a god like the Baron.
Well, I mean, things were super meta right from the start. It was just hidden. But the whole time I was dropping little clues. Some of you picked up on it more than others. Most people just ignored it and read the threadmarks, which is fine.
This whole game was really only designed to appeal to me and push me to do some actual writing instead of talking about writing or thinking about writing. Anyone else who gets a kick out of the twists and turns of my fucked up brain is just gravy as far as I'm concerned. Remember how I talked about having a bunch of different inspirations for the story? One of them really was Andy Kaufman.
