Larry, knowing that some doing will be needed to get him on the same wavelength as these guys, goes about taking a few more hits. His entire body shivers a little as he puts the rag back to his face, clearly realizing that there is no way the feeling is not going suck, and suck hard.
[Larry's body roll: 6-->4-1]
Fortunately, the water helps with that problem as Larry inhales once, then again, then five more times, his spine feeling a rising shock each time he huffs, becoming more wired with each moment. The burning, though still there, becomes increasingly distant from his mind, as if it's happening to something further and further away. When he finally takes the rag off his mouth, the room around has changed, drastically so. It's still the same room, of course, but it feels multitudinous now, like there's actually fifty-one of them and fifty-one of him, one in each iteration. And he's all fifty-one of himself somehow, seeing fifty-one iterations of fifty-one rooms with fifty-one of himself in each iteration. And not just him, either - there's innumerable Arielles, each with a different, flashing, twisting, laughing, beautiful face, with thousands of eyes looking at him kindly, each Arielle either talking to him, listening to him, in exactly one instance getting extremely intimate with him to rather pleasing results, or socializing with someone else entirely. Hundreds of Phinnies ranting at one another and engaging in lively debates with both Arielle and him in different combinations about war, equality, the meaning of magic and more, and pestering Beagle, who Larry can perceive every bee of as an individual person with its own dreams and aspirations, about the joys of a communal existence. And around all of this is the Oldthinker, splintered into hundreds of thousands of himself so tiny, Larry can hardly even perceive them - the... air? Well, probably not air, but it still has become thick with his presence, his being on a whole different level than his own, it seems.
Maybe he needs a few more hits, some instances of Larry think as his many brains light up with a constant stream of contradicting information very difficult to appropriately contextualize, given the fact that he is speaking, listening, maybe magicking, dancing, reveling and being otherwise distractingly entertained all at the same time.
* * * * *
THE DUNKER decides to take it a little slower than Joanie, adapting to the more Nigelesque policy of moderation, though taking it a little further and maintaining complete sobriety for the moment, eyeballing the other patrons of this fine establishment, noticing a great deal of variety among them. There's teenagers, of course, but he can also spot a few people in military uniform, a couple of older women chatting away among themselves, some people who are very obviously street thugs, even a couple of tired-looking businessmen, and finally a guy who seems to be standing out by a wall, sipping what looks like milk. Haggard, balding, with a look like he hasn't slept in days, spidery fingers and a slightly menacing profile. As their eyes meet, THE DUNKER gets the feeling he looks slightly familiar for some reason.
He is also slightly creeped out when the guy's eyes immediately light up strangely when he meets his stare, and he walks right up, placing an elbow on the bar, drinking the glass of milk. This man, THE DUNKER realizes, reminds him of prison. Uncomfortably so.
"I see you are a fellow adherent," he says, grinning.
"How goes your quest, pilgrim?""Who're you?" Nigel asks, and the man gives him a sharp glare.
"Do not presume to partake of our conversation, fool. This is between fellow pilgrims," he says with great animosity to the custodian.
"You tell him, crazy guy!" Joanie laughs before being interrupted by another phone call.
"Well, fuck you too, then," Nigel says, turning away and getting back to his current drink.
"Let us walk over to the wall there," the man whispers at THE DUNKER,
"away from unworthy ears. I have not seen any but profligates and apostates for the past day, and was becoming worried of my path."* * * * *
Dave, shocked by the innate hostility of these people, tries the oldest trick in the book.
"Oh my god, what's that!?" he exclaims, pointing in a direction while summoning the power of distracting underwear storms, the first and least reliable of his spells.
[Dave's affinity roll: 6-->6-1]
And where he points, a supremely powerful, cataclysmic collision of distracting underwear immediately happens, explosive winds of garments filling the area and causing quite a commotion both in its extreme gaudiness and its incredible amount of energy.
"Argh! Demons! Damn your witchcraft!" the talky villager screams, and the village collectively begins to flee in the opposite direction from Dave, a decision that brings both of them to complete and utter safety within ten or so solid minutes of escaping.
* * * * *
John guesses he agrees to this thing, not that Mary's giving him an option.
"Great. Yeah. This isn't even the weirdest thing that has happened to me the last couple of days. See ya then, Mary. I'll try to keep James from getting into trouble and all that.""Very good. I wish you more luck than I've had," Mary says, and a powerful peeling sound is suddenly audible as the void seems to retreat around the two.
"Wait, don't leave me!" James yells to the void.
"Happy trails, James."And suddenly, the two men find themselves in the hospital, though it looks significantly different. It's lit, for one, and bustling with activity, no doubt due to the ongoing emergency efforts. A whole lot of nurses and doctors are at work, shuffling people to and fro, receiving patients, writing paperwork and generally keeping track of things, though seemingly not noticing the sudden materialization of two men in their midst. James currently looks quite crushed, and is silent.
* * * * *
Eta, walking down the street with Officer Rieux and Lois, agrees to call up Joan.
"Well, let's see if this can work then. No time like now to find out.""Indeed. Hospital's not far now," the officer says as Eta fetches her phone from her purse.
It takes but a moment for Joan to reply. She sounds kind of funny, you think. A bit more drunk than a teenager should be at this hour.
"Hey! Who's this, now? I seem to be getting popular!" she says, the last as an aside to someone else, it seems.
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 273256 times)