Dave knows that now he is prepared - prepared to drag the deadly force of the thylacine river from deep within his nether regions, to stir the terrible force of marsupial vengeance against his former masters!
[Dave's affinity roll: 1-->1-1+2]
He pulls on his bum, and does so firmly with the power of his considerable mind, and the fabric of space and time parts in the area of his lower back, sending forth a stream of thylacines! Or, rather, a line of them, as they seem to be struggling to get out of the mannish confines of his body.
Lest more be said, let it be known that Dave becomes rather well-acquainted with the fact that his bum is not prepared to birth a new generation of adult extinct marsupials.
[Dave's body roll: 6-->1-1]
Feeling an odd desire to be elsewhere despite the fact that the origin of the process is indeed him, Dave begins to run away like a particularly shaky anesthesiologist who has not had his morning ether, though the process does not abate. With that having failed, he tries flailing his arms, which similarly helps little. And shrieking like a wounded koala is, unfortunately, much the same in terms of usefulness. But it does make a lot of people look at him! The underwear warriors seem to be wondering whether they are observing the practice of magic gone horribly wrong or elementary, if alien physiology gone horribly right.
* * * * *
Eta, after coming to terms with the idea that maybe attacking her apartment wall with violent barrages of shoes isn't the greatest idea, flips a mental coin and decides to investigate the leyline.
"Well, if this can't be a place to experiment in, then perhaps the Leyline could be. What do you say Lois? Would you like to go see what a Leyline is like?""Well, sure. Why not?" Lois says, and Eta responds by quickly hiding all of the golden shoes produced, including the really heavy ones she keeps carrying, then shutting off as many essential functions of the apartment as she plausibly can, then heading out after locking up securely. And from there, she proceeds toward Mills High!
The path is a long one, and on foot takes her more than an hour - and that, sadly, seems to be the only possibility, given how mass transit seems to be taking a holiday today, and a lot of the citizens appear to be staying home as well. Can't really blame them - things are a bit unstable presently, and though the weatherman did not mention any chances of dinosaur rain today, most are confident that his is not the most informed opinion on these matters.
Eventually, though, they reach the school! A large structure made after a very basic, oft-repeated school blueprint that one can see in at least a few other locations in this very city, a relic of a time of glorious expansion in the early eighties, its roof is partially collapsed by some massive impact, and the facade, in addition to some structural damage, seems to be coated in a viscous, heterogenous layer of stinking gore with bits of bone sticking out. There is a clearly visible open entrance, a curiously clean washing machine standing right next to it, and a hairy, large humanoid appears to be lounging in the front yard, scooping up little bits of leftover sun-dried viscera as a disgusting lunch surrogate. The sight of it, as well as the incredibly, almost unimaginably awful smell, is more than enough to make Eta retch and turn away as she takes it all in, and Lois, from the sound of it, is even greener around the gills.
"Do we *hurk* have to go there?" Lois asks, seemingly on the verge of losing her breakfast.
What's more, there is a palpable air of wrongness about the place and... hold on, are those
people there on the roof? What are they doing near the big honking hole? Don't they know it's dangerous? And what are those red-pink pillars stretching out upward next to the building?
* * * * *
Halesey, wondering if invading Paradise was, strictly speaking, advisable, given the obvious alternative of where he would end up if that option was taken off the table.
But then he remembers that Potato Heaven, may its true name be forever sacred and unknown, is totally a thing that exists, and his mind is calmed, though his inner potato never rustled to begin with, being ineffable in its eternal stability. That reminds him, actually. He's got business with the big tuber!
"Tubular father, wherefore thou art and hitherto in thine heaven of amazing potato, er... something whereupon something something hark, amen. I'll just be a few seconds, dude: I am coming to gaze upon thee!" he says loudly, and then begins to conjure a potato vortex before himself.
[Halesey's affinity roll: 6-->1+1]
Stirred by the everlasting love and earthiness of Halesey's soul, space is rent in twain, two halves spinning into each other, eternal potato stretching before Halesey. The dust of the surrounding land, insects, stray cats and more are pulled toward the domain of the One True God, but Halesey steps toward it of his own will, free of the fear and hesitation that marks the apostate and the uninformed alike. And the world of endless potato welcomes him with love, and he dives through its ocean of tubers, sailing swiftly on the streams toward the domain of God Beneath.
It is indeed hard to stay on his course - the beautiful waves and the lovely air are most inviting, and to resist the urge to frolic is difficult as Halesey's brain swells with happiness. But the call of God is powerful - it is clear that he is wanted, and wanted immediately. So he surfs the tide of tubers onward, eventually settling into a low orbit, lower than he dared come before, around God, bathing in His radiance and dancing with His moontatoes.
"Well done, acolyte," the voice of the Lord says, as close to elation as a being far beyond conventional emotion possibly can be.
"You have walked the twin paths of the false saviors, and in doing so have walked neither. The narrow path lies ahead, but it, unlike others, points toward eternity. Ask a favor of the Lord, and it shall be granted within the confines of your station, true believer."Another choice lay before him - but what will the potato pilgrim choose as his reward?
* * * * *
Larry wonders if this is one of those weird intellectual parties. Probably - it seems like the type where the women would be loose, were they not far more interested in Kafka and people who like Kafka. Larry, being the sort of guy who only vaguely remembers drinking a Kafka once in his life and finding it oddly similar to a cold espresso, except far more expensive, clearly does not belong here. But he can shoot for the next best thing - pretending he belongs here!
"With all this magic and whatever running around, I'd say it's a pretty damn weird one."It's not a very valiant effort, considering the lack of quotes from established authors, but maybe people like that rustic charm down here. As a bit of a contrast, you know.
"Indecisive answer. And really, 'weird'? That just speaks of a lack of imagination," the angel says, tilting her head. The others chuckle a little. She sighs, then slowly gets up. Looking at Larry rather unreadably, given her featureless face, she extends a delicate hand toward him.
"Would you care for a dance?"* * * * *
THE DUNKER, pleased at the sudden expansion of his mind the power of the leyline has brought, teeters on the edge of the broken roof.
"Indeed, it would be unpleasant to die now. There is more to be gained, I can sense it!" he says with conviction.
"That's the spirit," Joanie says supportively while THE DUNKER tries to tentatively balance in his tenuous position.
[THE DUNKER's finesse roll: 2-1]
His attempt to use his own love handles as a balancing stick, naturally, goes about as well as could be expected, and his gyrations bring only further embarrassment and imbalance to his gait, culminating in a fateful slip before he's even properly completed his first step.
[THE DUNKER's body roll: 3-1]
As an instinctive grab toward the roof fails, THE DUNKER begins to plummet downward like a balloon filled with thorium, and tries to give himself a better chance by emitting some garbage.
[THE DUNKER's affinity roll: 3+2]
His skin momentarily tingles, and a steady stream of garbage begins flying outward in every direction, the plummeting fat man becoming a sudden refuse airburst. It fails to slow him down in the least, given the equal flow of garbage in all directions, but it does provide him with a softer bed to land on!
[THE DUNKER's body roll: 3-1+
1]
As he flops on the garbage-filled ground, his breath is momentarily struck right out of him, and his entire flabby form shakes painfully as he deforms the pile beneath him, leaving a perfect bodyprint that lasts but a moment before the rising amount of garbage fills it, slowly elevating the man in place.
He is glad to say that nothing feels particularly broken, if only because of the help of the garbage beneath, but damn if this isn't going to hurt later on. In fact, he feels more bruised than he's ever been in his life, and it hurts quite a lot already.
* * * * *
John, far too drunk to ascend any kind of slippery stairs, decides to heed James' advice. The two of them begin to look for another staircase, only to find... something.
It's a hallway, technically. The one leading further into the hospital. But the problem is, something's blocking it - a mass of some kind. Glistening, purple and rough to the touch, it bars the way toward one wing of the hospital. Undulating slightly, it taunts John with its unassailable, primordial, wet form.
"I'm... not sure I understand," James mutters as he regards the strange formation.
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 273376 times)