warhammer651
The Festive Fortress is Unbreachable!
I have an aluminum ant nest and I'm not afraid to use it
The Monsters in Her Mind (Worm x Lovecraft)
- Thread starter aldriankyrrith
- Start date
-
- Tags
- lovecraft mythos worm
RadiantPhoenix
Trudging up the Hill
- Location
- USA, Earth
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Why would being the metaphorical finger of whatever or something make her not a person?
13
Omake One-Shot: The Endbringer and the Great Old One. Non-canonical, it should go without saying.
Warning: Spoilers ahoy concerning a certain Lovecraft short story
She saw a vague silhouette of something awful rising from amidst the waves – Leviathan, and she felt a grim realization settle over her that something infinitely worse would somehow follow in its wake.
Leviathan swam through the ocean depths, while high above the Simurgh directed his passing. And then he sped up, rose like the great beast he was up out of the water, finding that old rickety schooner upon which the cultists gathered.
Those worshipers of the sleeping god recoiled in momentary shock and terror at the sight of Leviathan's awful face, his jagged eyes and his wretched size. But one among them, the leader o his group, shouted excited maddened utterings in a language no sane human being had any right to know. The two looked upon one another, man and endbringer, and an understanding passed between them, and the cultists calmed down, confident in the authority of their leader.
Then, Leviathan pulled from beneath the water a great corded rope, long enough to encircle a village square, and he wrapped it around himself, and then used it to fasten their rickety ship securely upon his back.
With that done, Leviathan started paddling, as the cultists stood upon their ship upon his back, speaking excitedly in their ever strange and terrible tongue. And for many days it went, as Leviathan moved across the ocean's surface, as they pushed further and further into the deep parts of the Pacific Ocean, until at last they stopped, for they came across a great and terrible city which pushed above the Pacific waves like the top of some terrible artificial mountain, and even Leviathan felt a touch of dread upon seeing that place.
"R'lyeh," the cultists muttered to one another in awed silence, and then they began speaking more excitedly to one another, their words resembling closer to mad babbling than proper speech. Their leader held up his hand and silence befell the gathering. They gathered themselves, took up the proper solemnity this moment deserved and climbed off their rickety vessel, across Leviathan's back and up onto that terrible shoreline, if a shoreline one could even begin to call it, and they scampered across those vast, scattered blocks, oozy with slime and scattered detritus, each one so massive it defied words, and they went up, up, up into that terrible artificial mountain, each sharing in that singular awe.
There they did their forbidden rites, chanting in their abominable tongue, and from the ocean beneath them, Cthulhu emerged, and Leviathan itself was struck by a terrible impression of size: so vast he himself may have been an ant compared to the creature which stepped up out of the waters and onto that terrible monolith, that vast unspeakable thing with its tentacled maw and cruel eyes and bloated stomach which itself resembled a miniature world.
The two regarded one another for a long moment, Leviathan and Cthulhu, and Leviathan felt even more an ant than he had a moment before, as he felt the full sum of that other creature's terrible intellect and power, and was forced to look away. He dove into the ocean's depths, pumping his legs, pushing himself onwards towards Brockton Bay.
He had an appointment to keep.
The Great Old One watched the Endbringer depart and, mildly intrigued by the coming madness, Cthulhu tagged along.
Nightmares followed.
Warning: Spoilers ahoy concerning a certain Lovecraft short story
She saw a vague silhouette of something awful rising from amidst the waves – Leviathan, and she felt a grim realization settle over her that something infinitely worse would somehow follow in its wake.
Leviathan swam through the ocean depths, while high above the Simurgh directed his passing. And then he sped up, rose like the great beast he was up out of the water, finding that old rickety schooner upon which the cultists gathered.
Those worshipers of the sleeping god recoiled in momentary shock and terror at the sight of Leviathan's awful face, his jagged eyes and his wretched size. But one among them, the leader o his group, shouted excited maddened utterings in a language no sane human being had any right to know. The two looked upon one another, man and endbringer, and an understanding passed between them, and the cultists calmed down, confident in the authority of their leader.
Then, Leviathan pulled from beneath the water a great corded rope, long enough to encircle a village square, and he wrapped it around himself, and then used it to fasten their rickety ship securely upon his back.
With that done, Leviathan started paddling, as the cultists stood upon their ship upon his back, speaking excitedly in their ever strange and terrible tongue. And for many days it went, as Leviathan moved across the ocean's surface, as they pushed further and further into the deep parts of the Pacific Ocean, until at last they stopped, for they came across a great and terrible city which pushed above the Pacific waves like the top of some terrible artificial mountain, and even Leviathan felt a touch of dread upon seeing that place.
"R'lyeh," the cultists muttered to one another in awed silence, and then they began speaking more excitedly to one another, their words resembling closer to mad babbling than proper speech. Their leader held up his hand and silence befell the gathering. They gathered themselves, took up the proper solemnity this moment deserved and climbed off their rickety vessel, across Leviathan's back and up onto that terrible shoreline, if a shoreline one could even begin to call it, and they scampered across those vast, scattered blocks, oozy with slime and scattered detritus, each one so massive it defied words, and they went up, up, up into that terrible artificial mountain, each sharing in that singular awe.
There they did their forbidden rites, chanting in their abominable tongue, and from the ocean beneath them, Cthulhu emerged, and Leviathan itself was struck by a terrible impression of size: so vast he himself may have been an ant compared to the creature which stepped up out of the waters and onto that terrible monolith, that vast unspeakable thing with its tentacled maw and cruel eyes and bloated stomach which itself resembled a miniature world.
The two regarded one another for a long moment, Leviathan and Cthulhu, and Leviathan felt even more an ant than he had a moment before, as he felt the full sum of that other creature's terrible intellect and power, and was forced to look away. He dove into the ocean's depths, pumping his legs, pushing himself onwards towards Brockton Bay.
He had an appointment to keep.
The Great Old One watched the Endbringer depart and, mildly intrigued by the coming madness, Cthulhu tagged along.
Nightmares followed.
Last edited:
I won't deny, said omake has an alternate humerous ending: it goes like this.
The Great Old One watched the Endbringer depart and, mildly intrigued by the coming madness, Cthulhu followed. Unfortunately, he never quite made it to their chosen destination.
He had a run in with a boat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feel free to pick whichever ending you prefer.
The Great Old One watched the Endbringer depart and, mildly intrigued by the coming madness, Cthulhu followed. Unfortunately, he never quite made it to their chosen destination.
He had a run in with a boat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feel free to pick whichever ending you prefer.
Jack of Olives
Rolled a '3' on their Con score
- Location
- The land of fruits and nuts (California)
Well.... shoot.
So, aside from the Endbringers, there are also Lovecraftian horrors.
And they have an alliance with C'thulu, at the very least.
Why do I get the impression that Earth Bet won't be any better off by the end than in canon.
Oh, and for the alternate ending; I wonder if Contessa's stolen any lawn gnomes, recently. (and yes, I know the ramming-with-a-ship thing is from the original books, and not a Mr. Henderson tale.
)
So, aside from the Endbringers, there are also Lovecraftian horrors.
And they have an alliance with C'thulu, at the very least.
Why do I get the impression that Earth Bet won't be any better off by the end than in canon.
Oh, and for the alternate ending; I wonder if Contessa's stolen any lawn gnomes, recently. (and yes, I know the ramming-with-a-ship thing is from the original books, and not a Mr. Henderson tale.
)Well.... shoot.
So, aside from the Endbringers, there are also Lovecraftian horrors.
And they have an alliance with C'thulu, at the very least.
Why do I get the impression that Earth Bet won't be any better off by the end than in canon.
Oh, and for the alternate ending; I wonder if Contessa's stolen any lawn gnomes, recently. (and yes, I know the ramming-with-a-ship thing is from the original books, and not a Mr. Henderson tale.
Well, the omake's not canonical. Cthulhu won't be showing up in the story proper.
Jack of Olives
Rolled a '3' on their Con score
- Location
- The land of fruits and nuts (California)
Oh, right; omake.
Aww....i wanted Taylor to meet one of her grandkids
The Hebert family reunion would be worse than Eidolon's.
The Hebert family reunion would be worse than Eidolon's.
Aww....i wanted Taylor to meet one of her grandkids
The Hebert family reunion would be worse than Eidolon's.
I'll always welcome omakes.
Stratagemini
Totally a Fire Ferret.
- Location
- Central Park
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
This is only going to end in shoggoths isn't it?
No of course not. It will end with Nyarlathotep being a dick and laughing at human stupidity/and or most likely misery.
Like he is doing in the background of virtually all Lovecraftian stories, even when we can't see him doing it.
Nyarlathotep is an ass like that.
You say it like that's a bad thing.
14
And Coil interlude is a go.
Interlude: Coil
He was a tall man, thin as a skeleton, and he was seated in front of a computer, typing away. Covering the rear wall, behind the desk he sat at, was a map of the city of Brockton Bay heavily annotated by a precise handwritten script. Marked out on that map were known movements of the Empire 88 and the ABB, recent hotspots in the intermittent gang wars which ravaged the city, safe houses and distribution centers – all the danger zones which he would avoid, and all the weak points which he could exploit.
The room he was in was virtually silent, save for the constant click-clacking of the keyboard. That quiet was broken by the abrupt ringing of a cell phone. He stopped his work and picked it up.
"Coil," the skeletal man said. He remained silent, pensive, and beneath his mask, Thomas Calvert was frowning. "You're certain?"
There was another pause before the crime boss nodded once again. "I'll look into this. Well done. Keep watching her though. See if you can learn anything else. Call me if you find anything new."
Coil turned off his cell and returned to his computer. He clicked on a hidden folder, bringing up hundreds of other files, each one encrypted and password protected.
He clicked on the one entitled Lisa Wilbourn, and a photograph of a freckled teenager materialized on his computer screen. It was followed by several dozen pages: her entire life's history down to the most minute detail.
She could be a tricky one, he had to admit: someone who required careful management. True, as an asset she was valuable, but she was proud, rebellious, and she didn't take losing particularly well – she'd stab him in the back if he gave her a moment's opportunity. He didn't blame her on that account: in all fairness, were their roles reversed, he'd have done much the same.
Still, he needed to know what she was up to, and so Coil split the timeline. In one universe, he spent his time typing away, taking notes, answering calls, giving orders and gathering intelligence. In the streets beyond these walls, the Empire 88 and the ABB remained embroiled in their cold war, while lesser gangs danced about the edges, fighting over scraps. At some point in the near future, he'd need to do something about that, find a way to ensure that those cold embers sparked into a blaze, but not this day. It wasn't yet time for that.
In the other, in a world which existed only in his head, he made a single call.
"Find Tattletale," he said. "Bring her here. Now. Escorted if you'd please."
With the order given, he proceeded to wait, as he looked over more intelligence, doing twice the work he would have otherwise been capable of, and occasionally he would pause, check the reading of his computer's digital clock, waiting for his wayward associate to arrive. An email arrived on his computer and beneath his mask, he smiled as he read it. They were due for arrival.
In the real world, Coil stopped, picked up his phone and called a number, waited as it rang three times.
He heard Lisa's smug voice come on the other end, "Boss."
"Lisa," he said, while in the world that wasn't, an armored van pulled in, and he ordered that the same girl be brought to him. "I do wonder when you were going to tell me about your little, what should we call it, Samaritan streak?"
"Sir?"
"You should have known I'd find out eventually. I always do, and I'm curious to know, just what are you up to? You've never been invested in civic outreaches before. I suppose congratulations are in order, Tattletale."
He could sense her trepidation on the other line, and it gave him some amusement to hold that power over her. She could get so insufferable sometimes.
"Look boss, it's really nothing. I promise, it's got nothing to do with the cape game."
"Sarah," he said. "Look at things from my perspective. You're a valued asset, and you must remember that you have certain duties you should be attending to. The Undersiders, if I recall, yes? I don't think some explanation concerning your recent activities is too much is too much to ask for, do you?"
He could taste the fear. "No. No sir."
He paused, and his next words were ice cold. "Sarah. Why?"
Her words came tumbling out, "Look, trust me. It doesn't have anything to do with you, okay? She's just a sideshow, someone I found in trouble. She reminds me of – well, I know you're aware of my background. Where I come from, why I ran. She brought back bad memories, and I felt like, for once, I had to do something. It's not the kind of thing you need to bother yourself about. It has nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with parahumans at all."
Coil paused, as in the other timeline, Tattletale was dragged before him by two armed mercenaries, a look mixing fear and hatred on her face. In the real world, Coil put on a show of false amiability. He'd gotten his point across – that he was watching and wouldn't be so easily fooled. It wouldn't do to push her too hard. Not yet at least.
"No need to get so panicked, Lisa. I suppose I can grant you the benefit of the doubt for now. Let's talk business then, yes?"
He could feel her relief, as they began speaking about the Undersiders. In the simulation, the one that he would soon discard, the atmosphere was a much more stifling one. There, Tattletale was held in place by the two mercenaries, her head rapidly turning to and fro as she hyperventilated.
She looked very much like a trapped animal.
"You don't have to do this," she said, for once dropping the bravado entirely. "I've been loyal. I've done good work for you."
"Yes, you have." Coil said, "And for what little it's worth, I'm sorry that it had to come to this. Cooperate, and it won't hurt. I just have a few questions I'd like you to answer."
Nervously, she nodded, and they got started. In the true reality, their conversation turned towards relaxed, perhaps even amiable, channels. In the false one, it was anything but.
After thirty minutes of brutal interrogation, he determined that he had enough information for the time being. "Thank you for your cooperation."
He closed the timeline, and loaded up a new word document on his computer. At the moment, it comprised only of only two words. Taylor Hebert.
He intended to add more.
***
What he learned was troubling.
For one thing, much as Tattletale may have tried to imply otherwise, Taylor Hebert was a parahuman. Tattletale may have fancied herself a decent enough liar, but she had her tells, especially when under duress. Unfortunately, Lisa hadn't known what those powers entailed – although she suspected the girl was extremely powerful. That much she was clear about.
She was a mystery, and in the weeks that followed his chat with Tattletale, Coil endeavored to solve it.
By all accounts, she was a normal High School student, fifteen years old, described by her teachers as aloof, highly introverted – possibly a troubled child. Unlike most parahumans, she had no alter-ego: she wasn't a hero or a villain or even a rogue. She went to school, she spent most of her free time at her house with her father (Daniel Hebert of the Dockworkers' Association – he made a note on that, signifying the man as a potential resource for leverage or coercion) or at that Food Shelter of theirs.
In early January, she had been stuffed into a locker filled with used hygienic products and left there for hours. That was likely when she triggered, and in the end of that same month he had, by happenstance, discovered her. Sometimes, he honestly believed he would have been happier in ignorance. He would have certainly slept better, not knowing what her power did.
He found out something troubling during the second week of that February, when he decided it was time he acquired something more substantial on the young girl's power set. He set a trap for her, sent mercenaries to her home, to abduct the father somewhere secure and then wait for the young Miss Hebert to arrive. The first stage of the plan was carried out admirably, and at quarter after three in the afternoon he received a call that they were on route, with the girl in tow.
In both the real world and the one which was, in truth, no more than a simulation, he waited for what seemed an interminable span of time for the armored car to return. Then, he observed the knob turn and the door swing open, and as he caught sight of the girl flanked by two agents, he felt the first inklings of a terrible migraine, and his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.
"Sir, we brought her in," one of the mercenaries said, pushing her forwards, stumbling, into the room. But there was something off about her – Taylor Hebert appeared strangely translucent, like a ghost, or like something out of an undeveloped photograph. Looking at her felt like staring into the sun, and he found his migraines increased with each second that she was in his presence.
"Sir, is everything all right?" the guard asked.
"You don't notice anything off about the girl?" Coil asked.
"No sir, she's just some normal kid."
That was perhaps the most troubling thing of all. He turned back to look at the girl, watching as she faded in and out of his vision, and as he tried to make some sense of her, his pain increased into something excruciating, and the simulation itself began to warp. He tried to speak but found his voice distorting, and his words came out indecipherable. He watched one of his mercenaries start to speak but no words came out, only similar distortions.
The entire room, and everyone in it, began to lose color, became something mottled and grey, before it all faded into black and the simulation aborted, leaving only the real Coil, sitting alone in his command center.
It was an hour before he could even summon the energy to move from his desk.
Later that week, he tried a second experiment, to ascertain whether somehow she naturally foiled his abilities, or whether that previous experience had been some kind of direct attack. This time, there would be no threats, no attacks – just a harmless, by all appearances random, encounter during one of her weekly excursions in the docks.
He waited at her usual bus stop, reading a newspaper, and as she stepped off the bus, she showed no sign of recognizing him, but that headache returned all the same, and the world came apart just as rapidly as it had the first time.
The implications were clear, and a later conversation with Lisa, one only he had any awareness of, confirmed the hypothesis: somehow, proximity to Taylor Hebert destabilized his power. Unfortunately, Lisa was also convinced that there was much more to Taylor's abilities than met the eye – that she was immensely powerful in ways that neither of them yet knew.
In short, Taylor Hebert was a wildcard. Coil hated wildcards.
Had she simply been a Thinker, Coil might have assassinated her. She was too dangerous to be left running unchecked, but the fact remained – he had no knowledge of the girl and if he underestimated her, if her abilities were in any way as potent as Lisa suspected, such an attempt could prove fatal. So he couldn't move against her – but he could still keep her under surveillance.
Fortunately, the situation wasn't quite the catastrophe it could have been. Aside from her associations with Lisa Wilbourn, Taylor had no connection to the city's cape community. She preferred a strictly civilian existence, and that was something he could easily live with. Something he was inclined to encourage. So for the time being, like the snakes he patterned himself upon, Coil was prepared to wait.
This didn't mean he couldn't set up contingencies in the meantime.
One late February morning, Coil picked up his phone and called a number. He was speeding up his timetable a bit, but it was the least unpalatable option available. He had a feeling that the status quo wouldn't last much longer in any case.
"Yes, is this Trickster?" A pause. "I have a proposition for you."
***
On the twentieth of March, reeling from the effects of a particularly vivid dream, Lisa Wilbourn woke up with graphic memories of several conversations that had never happened, and which she wished she could forget.
Interlude: Coil
He was a tall man, thin as a skeleton, and he was seated in front of a computer, typing away. Covering the rear wall, behind the desk he sat at, was a map of the city of Brockton Bay heavily annotated by a precise handwritten script. Marked out on that map were known movements of the Empire 88 and the ABB, recent hotspots in the intermittent gang wars which ravaged the city, safe houses and distribution centers – all the danger zones which he would avoid, and all the weak points which he could exploit.
The room he was in was virtually silent, save for the constant click-clacking of the keyboard. That quiet was broken by the abrupt ringing of a cell phone. He stopped his work and picked it up.
"Coil," the skeletal man said. He remained silent, pensive, and beneath his mask, Thomas Calvert was frowning. "You're certain?"
There was another pause before the crime boss nodded once again. "I'll look into this. Well done. Keep watching her though. See if you can learn anything else. Call me if you find anything new."
Coil turned off his cell and returned to his computer. He clicked on a hidden folder, bringing up hundreds of other files, each one encrypted and password protected.
He clicked on the one entitled Lisa Wilbourn, and a photograph of a freckled teenager materialized on his computer screen. It was followed by several dozen pages: her entire life's history down to the most minute detail.
She could be a tricky one, he had to admit: someone who required careful management. True, as an asset she was valuable, but she was proud, rebellious, and she didn't take losing particularly well – she'd stab him in the back if he gave her a moment's opportunity. He didn't blame her on that account: in all fairness, were their roles reversed, he'd have done much the same.
Still, he needed to know what she was up to, and so Coil split the timeline. In one universe, he spent his time typing away, taking notes, answering calls, giving orders and gathering intelligence. In the streets beyond these walls, the Empire 88 and the ABB remained embroiled in their cold war, while lesser gangs danced about the edges, fighting over scraps. At some point in the near future, he'd need to do something about that, find a way to ensure that those cold embers sparked into a blaze, but not this day. It wasn't yet time for that.
In the other, in a world which existed only in his head, he made a single call.
"Find Tattletale," he said. "Bring her here. Now. Escorted if you'd please."
With the order given, he proceeded to wait, as he looked over more intelligence, doing twice the work he would have otherwise been capable of, and occasionally he would pause, check the reading of his computer's digital clock, waiting for his wayward associate to arrive. An email arrived on his computer and beneath his mask, he smiled as he read it. They were due for arrival.
In the real world, Coil stopped, picked up his phone and called a number, waited as it rang three times.
He heard Lisa's smug voice come on the other end, "Boss."
"Lisa," he said, while in the world that wasn't, an armored van pulled in, and he ordered that the same girl be brought to him. "I do wonder when you were going to tell me about your little, what should we call it, Samaritan streak?"
"Sir?"
"You should have known I'd find out eventually. I always do, and I'm curious to know, just what are you up to? You've never been invested in civic outreaches before. I suppose congratulations are in order, Tattletale."
He could sense her trepidation on the other line, and it gave him some amusement to hold that power over her. She could get so insufferable sometimes.
"Look boss, it's really nothing. I promise, it's got nothing to do with the cape game."
"Sarah," he said. "Look at things from my perspective. You're a valued asset, and you must remember that you have certain duties you should be attending to. The Undersiders, if I recall, yes? I don't think some explanation concerning your recent activities is too much is too much to ask for, do you?"
He could taste the fear. "No. No sir."
He paused, and his next words were ice cold. "Sarah. Why?"
Her words came tumbling out, "Look, trust me. It doesn't have anything to do with you, okay? She's just a sideshow, someone I found in trouble. She reminds me of – well, I know you're aware of my background. Where I come from, why I ran. She brought back bad memories, and I felt like, for once, I had to do something. It's not the kind of thing you need to bother yourself about. It has nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with parahumans at all."
Coil paused, as in the other timeline, Tattletale was dragged before him by two armed mercenaries, a look mixing fear and hatred on her face. In the real world, Coil put on a show of false amiability. He'd gotten his point across – that he was watching and wouldn't be so easily fooled. It wouldn't do to push her too hard. Not yet at least.
"No need to get so panicked, Lisa. I suppose I can grant you the benefit of the doubt for now. Let's talk business then, yes?"
He could feel her relief, as they began speaking about the Undersiders. In the simulation, the one that he would soon discard, the atmosphere was a much more stifling one. There, Tattletale was held in place by the two mercenaries, her head rapidly turning to and fro as she hyperventilated.
She looked very much like a trapped animal.
"You don't have to do this," she said, for once dropping the bravado entirely. "I've been loyal. I've done good work for you."
"Yes, you have." Coil said, "And for what little it's worth, I'm sorry that it had to come to this. Cooperate, and it won't hurt. I just have a few questions I'd like you to answer."
Nervously, she nodded, and they got started. In the true reality, their conversation turned towards relaxed, perhaps even amiable, channels. In the false one, it was anything but.
After thirty minutes of brutal interrogation, he determined that he had enough information for the time being. "Thank you for your cooperation."
He closed the timeline, and loaded up a new word document on his computer. At the moment, it comprised only of only two words. Taylor Hebert.
He intended to add more.
***
What he learned was troubling.
For one thing, much as Tattletale may have tried to imply otherwise, Taylor Hebert was a parahuman. Tattletale may have fancied herself a decent enough liar, but she had her tells, especially when under duress. Unfortunately, Lisa hadn't known what those powers entailed – although she suspected the girl was extremely powerful. That much she was clear about.
She was a mystery, and in the weeks that followed his chat with Tattletale, Coil endeavored to solve it.
By all accounts, she was a normal High School student, fifteen years old, described by her teachers as aloof, highly introverted – possibly a troubled child. Unlike most parahumans, she had no alter-ego: she wasn't a hero or a villain or even a rogue. She went to school, she spent most of her free time at her house with her father (Daniel Hebert of the Dockworkers' Association – he made a note on that, signifying the man as a potential resource for leverage or coercion) or at that Food Shelter of theirs.
In early January, she had been stuffed into a locker filled with used hygienic products and left there for hours. That was likely when she triggered, and in the end of that same month he had, by happenstance, discovered her. Sometimes, he honestly believed he would have been happier in ignorance. He would have certainly slept better, not knowing what her power did.
He found out something troubling during the second week of that February, when he decided it was time he acquired something more substantial on the young girl's power set. He set a trap for her, sent mercenaries to her home, to abduct the father somewhere secure and then wait for the young Miss Hebert to arrive. The first stage of the plan was carried out admirably, and at quarter after three in the afternoon he received a call that they were on route, with the girl in tow.
In both the real world and the one which was, in truth, no more than a simulation, he waited for what seemed an interminable span of time for the armored car to return. Then, he observed the knob turn and the door swing open, and as he caught sight of the girl flanked by two agents, he felt the first inklings of a terrible migraine, and his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.
"Sir, we brought her in," one of the mercenaries said, pushing her forwards, stumbling, into the room. But there was something off about her – Taylor Hebert appeared strangely translucent, like a ghost, or like something out of an undeveloped photograph. Looking at her felt like staring into the sun, and he found his migraines increased with each second that she was in his presence.
"Sir, is everything all right?" the guard asked.
"You don't notice anything off about the girl?" Coil asked.
"No sir, she's just some normal kid."
That was perhaps the most troubling thing of all. He turned back to look at the girl, watching as she faded in and out of his vision, and as he tried to make some sense of her, his pain increased into something excruciating, and the simulation itself began to warp. He tried to speak but found his voice distorting, and his words came out indecipherable. He watched one of his mercenaries start to speak but no words came out, only similar distortions.
The entire room, and everyone in it, began to lose color, became something mottled and grey, before it all faded into black and the simulation aborted, leaving only the real Coil, sitting alone in his command center.
It was an hour before he could even summon the energy to move from his desk.
Later that week, he tried a second experiment, to ascertain whether somehow she naturally foiled his abilities, or whether that previous experience had been some kind of direct attack. This time, there would be no threats, no attacks – just a harmless, by all appearances random, encounter during one of her weekly excursions in the docks.
He waited at her usual bus stop, reading a newspaper, and as she stepped off the bus, she showed no sign of recognizing him, but that headache returned all the same, and the world came apart just as rapidly as it had the first time.
The implications were clear, and a later conversation with Lisa, one only he had any awareness of, confirmed the hypothesis: somehow, proximity to Taylor Hebert destabilized his power. Unfortunately, Lisa was also convinced that there was much more to Taylor's abilities than met the eye – that she was immensely powerful in ways that neither of them yet knew.
In short, Taylor Hebert was a wildcard. Coil hated wildcards.
Had she simply been a Thinker, Coil might have assassinated her. She was too dangerous to be left running unchecked, but the fact remained – he had no knowledge of the girl and if he underestimated her, if her abilities were in any way as potent as Lisa suspected, such an attempt could prove fatal. So he couldn't move against her – but he could still keep her under surveillance.
Fortunately, the situation wasn't quite the catastrophe it could have been. Aside from her associations with Lisa Wilbourn, Taylor had no connection to the city's cape community. She preferred a strictly civilian existence, and that was something he could easily live with. Something he was inclined to encourage. So for the time being, like the snakes he patterned himself upon, Coil was prepared to wait.
This didn't mean he couldn't set up contingencies in the meantime.
One late February morning, Coil picked up his phone and called a number. He was speeding up his timetable a bit, but it was the least unpalatable option available. He had a feeling that the status quo wouldn't last much longer in any case.
"Yes, is this Trickster?" A pause. "I have a proposition for you."
***
On the twentieth of March, reeling from the effects of a particularly vivid dream, Lisa Wilbourn woke up with graphic memories of several conversations that had never happened, and which she wished she could forget.
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AckermannFxn
Muffins?
- Location
- East USA-ish
Eh, this is a retrospective, and Coil would definitely choose the option that is less scary to him.
After all, one view has interacting with Hebert destroying a precog simulation, the other leads to the destabilization of a fork in the universe, even if said fork is rather limited.
I know which one I would desperately prefer to be true, if I could either timesplit or precog-simulate a road not taken.
Thanks, I honestly wasn't aware of that little detail, though it certainly explains why Coil's POV's don't entirely mesh with Wildbow's description of his powers.
If it was first person view, I'd probably rewrite the scene to take that into account, but third person does provide a certain degree of leeway on this matter compared to the first person approach. In any case, most of the descriptions of his powers <especially every time the word simulation is used> are more narrative statements than anything else (even if the narrative is focused from his perspective) and considering how I was understanding Taylor's own interaction with Coil's power and was trying to imply (that she was something his simulation abilities couldn't account for and thus they collapsed whenever she came into contact) I think it would be the better option to leave it as is, because otherwise the entire scene either becomes muddled and confused, or must settle for full on exposition mode to compensate for that flaw.
Whelp looks like someone is finally making a good go at taking Saint's record of "Most Disastrous Run With The Idiot Ball".
Now let's sit back and watch the screaming begin.
Because pissing off Yog-Sothoth is one of the few things that makes Saint's sabotaging of Dragon at a critical moment due to his own bias and directly contributing to causing Scion's Interdimensional Rampage look not so bad in comparison.
Well at least that is my opinion if as I suspect he is having Trickster on hand to try and kill Taylor in the future. Because the only way things can go worse is if Coil has Tattletale killed and Taylor finds out Coil was behind it.
Because while nothing in Worm can conceivably harm Taylor physically, mentally if she loses control........... yeah that would be bad to say the least.
Now let's sit back and watch the screaming begin.
Because pissing off Yog-Sothoth is one of the few things that makes Saint's sabotaging of Dragon at a critical moment due to his own bias and directly contributing to causing Scion's Interdimensional Rampage look not so bad in comparison.
Well at least that is my opinion if as I suspect he is having Trickster on hand to try and kill Taylor in the future. Because the only way things can go worse is if Coil has Tattletale killed and Taylor finds out Coil was behind it.
Because while nothing in Worm can conceivably harm Taylor physically, mentally if she loses control........... yeah that would be bad to say the least.
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Hey who knows maybe this will end up like Shinji and 40k and the merger of these two settings will be a good thing, at least in the short term.
Thozmp
Gets my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.
Coil isn't pissing off Yog. Because ultimately, Yog cares little for the machinations of ants. Especially since Tay-Sothoth lol!nope'd Coil's simulations without any effort on her part.
warhammer651
The Festive Fortress is Unbreachable!
"So, Taylor, I kinda just got a flood of memories of my boss torturing me for information abo- hello? Taylor, you there?"
MEANWHILE, AT COIL'S PLACE
"Minion?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Does something seem... off about the view from my window?"
"Couldn't say, sir. I don't really need eyes anymore."
"I see- wait what?"
"You won't need them either anymore"
And then Coil's HQ was Event Horizon.
unless he has an aluminum ant nest
Thozmp
Gets my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.
"Window, sir?"
"Yes. The view is... strangely unsettling. I don't know why."
"Sir? We're underground."
"..."
And that's when the shadows sprouted eyes.
And double omaked. Thanks.
Thozmp
Gets my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.
*Looks at date of last post* Cool
Trickster trembled in terror at the very presence of the Being with him. He could barely get to his hands and knees, let alone stand. Trickster kept his eyes focus upon the ground, anywhere else... He shuddered as his thoughts shied away from that memory.
"Please." His voice was soft, weak, and barely there, "Please, I-I just wanted to go home..."
"And where is home?" Trickster didn't know if the Being spoke, or if it just planted the memory of it speaking in his mind. It didn't matter, for though he understood the voice that was not a voice he was fairly certain that his ears played no part in the understanding.
"E-Earth Aleph." Trickster wished he could close his eyes, but it didn't help. Might even make things worse. No, better to focus on the ground. It wasn't too alien.
"So close..." It might have been a threat, it might not have. Trickster deeply regretted the deal he made with Coil. He thought it was a chance to fix things. To go home. To help Noelle.
So many regrets. Coil's plan brought him to the attentions of the Being. And in another poorly thought out plan, Trickster thought he could get what he wanted. And maybe he did get it. The Travelers were no longer on Earth Bet, and Noelle is now as his memories said she should be.
But he didn't know where they were now. And he was unsure if the Being actually fixed Noelle or simply rewrote their memories of her.
So many regrets.
The Being loomed over him, how could he have ever thought it a mere girl, judging him, his worth, his value. He felt naked before its gaze.
"I just wanted to go home..."
Trickster trembled in terror at the very presence of the Being with him. He could barely get to his hands and knees, let alone stand. Trickster kept his eyes focus upon the ground, anywhere else... He shuddered as his thoughts shied away from that memory.
"Please." His voice was soft, weak, and barely there, "Please, I-I just wanted to go home..."
"And where is home?" Trickster didn't know if the Being spoke, or if it just planted the memory of it speaking in his mind. It didn't matter, for though he understood the voice that was not a voice he was fairly certain that his ears played no part in the understanding.
"E-Earth Aleph." Trickster wished he could close his eyes, but it didn't help. Might even make things worse. No, better to focus on the ground. It wasn't too alien.
"So close..." It might have been a threat, it might not have. Trickster deeply regretted the deal he made with Coil. He thought it was a chance to fix things. To go home. To help Noelle.
So many regrets. Coil's plan brought him to the attentions of the Being. And in another poorly thought out plan, Trickster thought he could get what he wanted. And maybe he did get it. The Travelers were no longer on Earth Bet, and Noelle is now as his memories said she should be.
But he didn't know where they were now. And he was unsure if the Being actually fixed Noelle or simply rewrote their memories of her.
So many regrets.
The Being loomed over him, how could he have ever thought it a mere girl, judging him, his worth, his value. He felt naked before its gaze.
"I just wanted to go home..."
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Magnificent. And omaked.