John, after bidding Mr. Lee goodnight, realizes that he can't possibly be expected to sleep now - he's all full of magic and whatnot, with as much energy in his bones to sustain five men! No, what he needs right now is chow. And there's no chow like Chow's Chow - says so right on the front window, it does, John notices in his walk around the quiet streets of the Lower Esplanade. Open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, Chow's Chow is the perfect destination for the uncompromising, not particularly discriminatory munchies-stricken man in the middle of the night. In fact, John thinks that the munchies are basically the only reason people dare venture into Chow's Chow most of the time. Happy that the rather greasy establishment has finally proven of some use, John steps through the front door, allowing a few flies sweet, precious escape and causing semi-fresh air to vent into the building at last.
Chow, predictably, stands in the very middle of Chow's Chow, looking exhausted and on the verge of nodding off as always. As soon as he notices John, which happens to be right about the moment John begins to consider slapping him across the face to ensure that the man is actually awake, he seems to freshen up immediately, that classic Chow passion that drove an unassuming man from the old projects to open up a business in the nineties that now spans a grand three outlets in low-income areas illuminating his face with an eerie emotional light.
"Welcome to Chow's Chow! What can I interest you in, sir?" Chow asks, the sleep seeping out of his voice progressively.
"Let me guess. Chow?"John nods.
"Then some of Chow's chow you shall have," Chow says, and snaps his fingers. Almost instantly, a waiter, looking just a little less exhausted than Chow himself, appears at his side, a large, steaming bowl of very oily noodles mixed with delicious-looking minced mystery meat in his hand.
"This delicious chow, made lovingly by the hands of no less than three different master chefs, can be yours for the price of two dollars."John guesses that's a reasonable price for a bowl of oily noodles that size, and pays up, and the waiter then pushes the bowl of chow into John's hands, dispensing with the verbal formalities at such a speed that John can't even begin to make out what he might have said, then running off, presumably to attend to his meth lab in the back room. Having gotten what he wanted, John sits at a nearby grubby table and chows down on Chow's chow, finding it to be slightly oilier than it appears. Still, it's technically food, and John feels a bit more fed and only a little bit disgusted with himself when he's done with it.
* * * * *
Eta, deeming the apartment unfit for habitation, chooses to abandon ship rather than face the humiliation of no indoor plumbing. The process of packing up is quite swift - taking a few changes of clothes for herself (Lois, for her part, seems to have a slightly different build and frame than Eta, and she's a little shorter as well, not to mention somewhat leery of wearing someone else's clothes when her own were pretty much created a few hours ago), a few oranges to stave off scurvy on the long exodus and a few other things, she prepares a survival duffel bag, and sets out to find a hotel after making sure all the holes in her apartment are taped shut and that any water coming out of her busted plumbing is safely diverted to the apartment below hers, where nobody important is known to live.
Fortunately, there is a very suitable-looking hotel located not very far off - a place called Allie's that's located inside a very solid, very well-kept house from the mid-20th century - a postmodern affair architecturally, with the facade very obviously made shiny, gaudy and evocative of an 18th century house to the smallest of details while, as Eta and Lois find out when they step in, housing a reasonably modern building behind it. The reception desk features a very thin man in his fifties with extremely bushy eyebrows and with a slightly Middle Eastern look to him, reading what appears to be an old sports magazine - he immediately notices the ladies approach and looks up at them, leaning on the desk in a bit of forced nonchalance.
"Hey! Hello! Can I... help you somehow?" he says somewhat weakly.
* * * * *
Larry, having successfully resisted the allure of Tom's delicious pancakes, slinks back home through the city streets, finding his apartment and sliding in through the door, making sure to lock it very safely behind him. Tiptoeing through the corridor and into his bedroom, he sits down on his bed and casts a look around. Nobody appears to be watching, so he closes his eyes and, as he sometimes does on lonely nights, thinks about how totally cool magic is.
In fact, the longer he thinks about it, the cooler it seems to get. Yes, quite. And he does believe that if he does magic enough, he may eventually obtain a kickass beard as well. Magic, already powerfully tempting, begins to seem quite irresistible now.
* * * * *
Dave, preferring the embrace of ghostly angels to that of salty dentures, tries to engulf himself in them!
[Dave's affinity roll: 4-1]
On his palm a cold, yet holy light begins to brightly burn, and a set of three different faces soon appears on it, disturbing Dave quite immensely with its obvious inhuman qualities. Curious, the faces lean forward, and it becomes apparent that they all belong to the same creature - a spectral cube of some kind, with hundreds of fingers protruding out of the edges, reaching out to Dave. Dave starts to squirm, and continues to do so for a few moments before it becomes apparent that the ghost appears to be giving him a hug, though the icy chill of death from the ghost's touch is far from encouraging to Dave.
[Dave's body roll: 1-->4-1]
In fact, he begins to feel incredibly cold all of a sudden. Cold, tired and... well, 'ready' would be a good word for it, he supposes. Ready to skip town for good, to go seek greener pastures in the world beyond this one. It's a deeply disturbing feeling, actually.
* * * * *
As
Halesey floats in the void, he needs not think twice about this offer - what heretic could possibly refuse it? The very thought is appalling.
"O God, yes. Yes I do. I forswear any allegiance to anyone in favour of your tuberous blessing. I will humbly accept your quest. My most pressing need…" he says, and then thinks about what one should wish for when facing the One True God - love? That wouldn't work, or be particularly desirable without effort. Money? Liable to be misspent, and it invites manipulation. That leaves only one thing, the desire of the soul itself.
"My most pressing need is surely, O Potato Deity, greater control over the Force of the Tuber! And by that I mean surer control, or even just a wider variety of control! I mean to cast the unbeliever into a spiral of potatoes, and to blast them with the Potato of Doom! Truly, I despair when I attempt to wield the Power, and naught but a baby dribble spurts forth: it lets those who do not follow the True Path rejoice. And I have but vortexes of potatoes to wield – and although terrifying and destructive, surely it is not fitting for all who suffer them to be cast unto this potato wonderland?" he speaks to the divine entity.
"So, O God of the Tuber, please grant unto me a further tuberous power, and greater control over yon power!" he continues, then pauses.
"If I may be so bold."A moment passes in silence before the planetato, the One True God, radiant in its earthiness, begins to reply, its voice extremely pleased from the sound of it.
"You have chosen well, pilgrim! You have understood a thing that the other one did not - the primacy of the potato over all! Tread this path, and all shall fall into place."Staring at the visage of God, Halesey feels it reach out to him in an unseen manner - the root of creation, screaming through the void and plunging into his being, causing waves of mixed pain and bliss to course through Halesey's confused mind. After stirring up the depths of Halesey's soul, the root withdraws, leaving a small, almost imperceptible divine presence within the new disciple of the holy potato. Every few moments, it seems to stir, and Halesey's body twitches along with it, feeling closer to the way of the tuber than ever before.
Halesey has gained a new stat point, and the ability to choose potatoes as an element (nothing else, however)! In addition, his increasingly potato-saturated soul grants him a +1 on potato-related affinity rolls! He is also no longer affected by the potato vortex unless he permits it!Halesey gets but a few seconds of respite before God speaks to him once more.
"You are now an acolyte of the potato - with service, the power within you will grow. And speaking of service, there is the matter of your first true quest! You must obtain the blessing of a demon, to complement the one you already have. Do so, and you will have taken a significant step toward becoming a full priest of the tuber! Do you have any further questions?"
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Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 270974 times)