THE DUNKER has slept too long! Damn it all to heck, he thinks. He'll get to the bottom of this nonsense lickety-split, oh yes. He gazes at the leyline, examining it for change for a moment. When that turns up little other than the fact that the leyline's wonderful majesty is utterly unchanged, THE DUNKER is nonplussed. If people leave him alone and defenseless like this, the least they could do is actually spend their time productively instead, right?
No matter! He shall stride out in search of their sorry hides regardless. But first he'll likely need a full battalion of pork queens, he realizes. Perhaps two - then his searching will be all that much more efficient, because it is only when his number of directly controlled minions exceeds a thousand that one can truly say they are a proper lord (or, you know, a colonel, if the whole military thing is strictly kept to).
[Affinity roll: 2+1]
With this in mind, he calls into being a single pork queen. While loyal and doubtlessly foreign, not to mention relatively young for queenship, she is probably not enough to avert vicious flank attacks on her master's person all on her own. So THE DUNKER tries once more.
[Affinity roll: 1-->6+1]
And... nothing. Dang. Well, one queen will have to be enough, he supposes. Just as well - there's really little room in these offices to maneuver in formation, and THE DUNKER does feel like having a little bit of oxygen to himself is not a disagreeable proposition, all things considered. He wanders out immediately, only to find his erstwhile partners, as he likes to call them, hanging out in the next room, which seems to be a conference room that's missing one wall, leaving it open to the hallway. There's the fat guy, the lady who got the conjoined twin (though it's gone now, sadly), the Jesus-looking fellow, that beautiful lady who got stabbed through the head last night (or is that earlier today), and also Hungry Pete, all of them eating cereal. In the corner THE DUNKER can spot a reasonably large stack of empty milk cartons and a hot plate on an end table. Hungry Pete's sitting a bit further from the others, looking somewhat distrustful, but otherwise perfectly fine. The others are chatting about something THE DUNKER can't quite make out from the distance he's at.
* * * * *
Larry is not impressed with Cal's profound lack of doorfighting skill.
"You call that a kick? Take one of these and try it again."[Larry's affinity roll: 3+1+1]
With a nonchalant flick of Larry's wrist, a holy light envelops Cal, causing him to stop worrying about his foot for a moment as he twists violently to look at Larry.
"Holy-shit-dude-that-feels-great!" he says, and then twists back toward the door like some kind of derangedly excited puppet. He raises his poor abused foot to it slowly, inhales sharply as he draws it back a single inch, no more, then emits a loud
"Haaah!" as he slams his foot forward at a speed so incredible, Larry hardly registers its movement. The door, though, registers it most adequately, flying off the hinges and slamming into a wall about two meters away.
"Aha, a hallway!" says Cal with undue excitement, then promptly stops as a head pokes into the archway that the door once occupied. It's a very shadowy head, with a pair of emerald green eyes, without any significant visible facial features other than the head looking a bit like a black teardrop or a flame.
"Oh snap," the shadow says in a vaguely amused tone.
"You messed up Finch's office."Immediately another head, similarly green-eyed, appears on the opposite side.
"Oh dear. Oh my. So they did," says the newly arrived head.
"Why would you do this to me, unkind strangers? I rent this space, I work my hours dutifully, and yet you do this to me," it sighs, then looks in the corner, where the red-leafed plant still stands in unruffled defiance of the sound ruination of the rest of the area.
"Ah! Betty lives!"The shadow runs in past the two, its steps completely inaudible aside from a faint sound as the air around it shifts very mildly. It kneels down by the plant and seems to give it a hug, muttering something to itself (or maybe to its beloved Betty?).
* * * * *
Dave is running out of options! He's also running out of life, but that's a secondary concern. His immediate idea is to get Charles to sequel for him as loudly as possible! And then, as if by a miracle, he notes that Charles appears to understand completely, and solemnly swears to carry Dave's legacy as only a proper sequel could, both raising the stakes while keeping to the roots established by his predecessor. He emits a loud squeal to affirm his dedication to this purpose, and while Dave appreciates the gesture as a whole, it fails to really improve his situation in any immediate way, though he feels morally reassured in that he won't be forgotten entirely.
In any case, time to do the most sensible thing he can, really, and flex his magical muscles in the hope that the God of Dentures is going to notice and reward him with continued existence! Now, what would the most distracting thing he can think of be?
Not that he really needed to think about that, naturally, considering he's got a thing that literally has "distracting" in the title while being also his signature spell, as sad as that may sound. So, here he goes! Last ditch attempt to survive, go!
[Dave's affinity roll: 6-->1]
Instantly the air all around the place where his presence lingers becomes saturated with wildly thrashing, risque undergarments, exploding outward with the force of at least two underwear bombs! Audible, powerful, full of underwear and impossible to not notice, it is just the thing he needs!
Or it would be, anyway, had it not had the sudden inexplicable side effect of blowing his presence up as well, which is quite a troubling thing, as suddenly being spread across about one hundred cubic meters of denture-filled space along with immensely distracting underwear is not exactly something one would describe as particularly easy to survive. However, against any form of reasonable odds, Dave does barely manage to hang on, a whisper in the void where he once was a coherent voice, now only able to hope for the best as the Denture God looks back at the chaotic underwear explosion behind him.
"What's that, then? Are you still there, Dave?"Dave tries to summon the willpower to try and signal to the god that his most loyal and awesome follower would really like to be infused with divine jim jam to not die right now. He manages the tiniest of psychic whispers.
"Why, it does sound like you are still alive, dude. That's a little strange. I would have thought exploding into underwear twice would have done you in but good. Are you, like, a ghost?"* * * * *
Halesey, unmindful of anatomical impossibility, soldiers on with his contortionist act.
"Hmm. Is that any better, O Potato God?" he wonders as he tries to wedge his head in the vortex, having no fear of meeting the same fate as that cassowary fellow back on the Moon.
"You are certainly getting it, my prophet. Now you must take the final steps to finish the act. It may hurt a little."[Halesey's body roll: 2]
Halesey tries to poke his head into the vortex, but sadly there doesn't appear to be any room! And also his spine is getting a little confused at what he's doing right now, given that it should be physically impossible as far as he knows. For a moment, a thought sneaks into his head that perhaps there may be a more sensible method to crossing dimensions than what he's doing right now. But what could that be, and is it really worth giving up on a divinely prescribed method simply because it clearly endangers one's bodily integrity?
* * * * *
Eta is naturally drawn to the idea of barter with locals, as what traveling experience can be complete without it?
"Hmmm... do you think he'd accept gold? Or she. Or it. Sorry, I can't tell. What's the correct word? Do they have any special names?""Oh, sex isn't a thing down here. Gender's purely cosmetic, too, mostly applicable to ones who go topside. And that one's a purple one, so you can call it whatever the fuck you like, it is legally obligated to not mind one bit. 'Purple thing' or 'you' is customary, 'friend' if you want something from it. Same for most others, though be careful around reds, oranges and yellows. Best not to address reds unless they address you first. And yeah, the purple thing may take gold with some negotiation, though don't mess around with it too long. Speaking of," Caradog points at the kiosk, which the two of them are currently about to pass by, where the purple thing is still yelling for people to come take a look at its yeast treats and flavored water, for crying out loud, it's dying out here!
* * * * *
John hasn't had his last round of gladiatorial combat for who knows how long, so a good round of practice can't hurt, right?
"Well, so long as it isn't to the death I'm willing to give it a shot. Are there any special rules?" he asks.
"Of course it's not to the death, sheesh. I don't want my secretary to get killed, man. First to cry 'uncle' loses. Start out at twenty paces outside, you and your opponent have a minute to prepare beforehand if you want, and that's it. Well, aside from trying not to blow up the neighborhood and me if you can help it.""So, like a classic wizard duel? Count me in as well!" Tracey chimes in.
"Kitty rumbled at me or something, so I guess she thinks it's a good idea as well.""Okay then! I'll send a message to Stan, and then we'll get cracking. Place is a ways from here, but I'll take you there no problem," he says, then quickly types something out on his phone, then puts it away.
"Onward!"It doesn't take long at all to get there in Mr. Pilton's car, which seems rather cheap for someone who is presumably a reasonably important marketing executive, though nevertheless quite nice. Within fifteen minutes, they have reached a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of town, where a somewhat abandoned-looking house stands. Out in front of it is a little guy, balding, with a wispy mustache, looking dully at the new arrivals. He waves at Mr. Pilton as he exits the car, then at John and Tracey getting out immediately after him.
"Right then," Pilton says as everyone's gathered.
"I'd like you two to meet my secretary, Stan. He's an okay guy, and will be your dueling partner for the day.""Hello," Stan says, nodding a little.
"Hi, Stan," Tracey waves, smiling brightly.
"Yes, yes, pleasantries and all that. Now, who wants to go first?" Pilton asks.
"Stan's going to be a very busy man, after all, what with the unprecedented amount of work I intend to avoid today.""I am glad to be of use," Stan smiles gently.
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 272432 times)