Willy is excited for this piece of paper, despite being pretty sure he's read it a few times before to stave off the intense desire to beat his head against a wall out of sheer boredom (and even then it helped matters surprisingly little).
"Hey! Lookie, lookie Billy! A Christmas Card!"
"Read it! Read it!"He snatches the booklet and opens it up. It's definitely a marked improvement over the original. For one, all the text and imagery has been forcefully covered in half-scrawls, half-scratches that resemble a slightly obsessive child's attempt to cross out a mistake, albeit on a much grander scale. Willy's eyes wander over the wonderful additions to the booklet - there's one on every page, and each one looks a little different from the last. Every new page offers a new adventure, if one has sufficiently low standards for that sort of thing, which Willy, having been locked inside an asylum for the longest time now. They're very funny pictures! So very squiggly. And there's something odd about them he can't quite place, a distinct feeling there's something he's-
"You don't see it? Look closer! CLOSER!" Hungry Pete says, becoming agitated. Before Willy can properly react, he moves toward him.
[Opposed body rolls: Hungry Pete vs. Willy: 2 vs. 6]
Luckily, Willy's a quick sort, jumping back as Hungry Pete grabs at him. Pete, perhaps regaining a little bit of his senses, steps back.
"Put the diagrams closer to your eyes! Then you'll see! Don't dawdle! Many things hang in the balance!"How impatient of the fellow, really.
* * * * *
Elizabeth, snapping out of a headphone-induced trance state, quickly steps into Herbert's office, whereupon she spies a file in
Larry's hands. Being somewhat of an expert at reading inane documents written in confusing language some time ago, she goes for it immediately.
"Hey, give me that. I'm pretty sure I can make the most sense of it," she says, snatching the thing out of Larry's hands, much to the surprise of Herbert, who may have suspected ol' Liz might not have been all there, you know. She opens the file, finding that it contains some information on 17 Import Avenue. Seems like there's been twelve or so different owners in the last five years - she isn't really sure why, but that probably shouldn't matter. What does matter is that the current owner seems to be a lady named Roseanne Walters, and she got the place through this very agency. There's even some handy contact information in the file.
"So... how are you going to get this worked out for us?"Elizabeth, not sure she's being addressed, but definitely in need to clear up some of those pent-up words within her, replies.
"I don't know if you remember - I certainly told you all - but I'm studying Ancient History at our local college. Every day I try to make sense of barely legible gibberish written in foreign, long-dead languages. Legalese, or simple adresses - written in plain english - should be easy enough, really. Also I really don't trust either of you not to get this thing even more dirty than it is right now...""And... uh... I guess I'll do what you guys tell me to. I don't have a choice, do I? It's that or potato hell."Meanwhile, within the bathroom,
Halesey flails in a most expressive manner, seeking a sink amidst all the pain and burning that his world has become. He finds in a moment that Herbert did not lie - the sink is indeed to the right of the entrance. Halesey opens the tap, then commences the rinsing of his eyes. It takes five minutes for the emission of shampoo from his tear ducts to stop, and then several minutes more for the burning to mostly subside. When the process is done, Halesey looks up from the sink, the relative cleanliness of which he can only now appreciate with his regained sight, and gazes into the mirror. This is probably the reddest his eyes have ever been. He wasn't even aware he
had that many blood vessels there.
Anyhow, it's time to take the process from the top.
[Halesey's affinity roll: 1-->1]
As Halesey makes a fateful snap after a short dance routine with the aim of altering the very nature of the skies, he gets the feeling something's gone horribly wrong. This impression is then confirmed as he feels the bathroom become even more damp than usual, and Halesey suddenly realizes he is in some sort of shadow. Looking up, he sees a cloud right above him, exactly the right size to rain on him and nobody else, like something out of a cartoon.
The cloud then begins to pour shampoo on him in a manner Halesey would expect from a bathroom product-themed rainforest, giving him a good faceful (and, naturally, an eyeful as well) of the stuff. It's not until you've had a brief, wonderful reprieve from relentless eye pain that you truly begin to appreciate its true horror.
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 267263 times)