THE DUNKER once again has an idea to fix this horrendous mess.
"Sorry, chap! I'll fix this!" he tells the universe, so as to not overstay his welcome so soon, and performs an arcane gesture with his hands.
[DUNKER's affinity roll: 4+1]
The tornado abruptly bowls over as its components stir even more than before - with a whine and a hiss, the lard starts to bubble, growing hot for a moment, then separating into many, many layers - the innermost one, the one THE DUNKER and his new friend
Halesey seem to occupy, becomes crystalline and semi-solid. And if the slushing sound that is heard immediately afterward is any indication, something altogether more liquid has formed on the other side. The tornado stops moving, and its two occupants plummet to the ground, getting buried in an avalanche formed of the solid component of DUNKER's creation.
Halesey, supposing matters aren't quite fixed yet, tries a new accent.
"Hmm. Well."It fails to impress the goopy mass he finds himself in. Time for a slightly different solution.
[Halesey's affinity roll: 6-->6+1]
Elegant. Powerful. Easy to use. Of absolutely no danger to him. These are but a few of the descriptors that may adequately describe the noble potato vortex that forms right above the scene of presumable carnage that Halesey can't quite see. The fractioned lard is removed from his body expediently, cleaning up the entire area of all undesirable elements.
[THE DUNKER's body roll: 4-1-1]
THE DUNKER, who is right next to him, is also rather nicely picked off the ground, steadily getting lifted into the vortex above. His flabby arms and legs wave around in the air, seeking support and finding none. Ah, to be inexorably accelerated by the suction of alien dimensions. Halesey remembers the feeling. How long has it been since he learned to be in tune with the vortex? He stands up and waves to the large man, completely unaffected by the pull of the vortex that currently appears to be taking up a large amount of the ceiling of the rather large room. Staring into it, Halesey feels a certain peace of mind coming back to him.
* * * * *
Eta, guided by her new shady associate, walks toward the arriving edge of the hallway until the shade stops her, pointing at one of the shafts. It has Toe Pine Seven as one of its destinations, right above Teal Red Nine and Sparrow Sparrow Seventeen, whatever those are. Without delay, the shade ushers her in and follows, getting sucked upward through the connecting tube. It's an oddly nondescript sensation - one would expect this sort of thing to be more uncomfortable, really, but this is almost ethereal in how it carries her on its stream.
In no time at all, the two of them find themselves at an exit that opens immediately - walking out, Eta sees a concourse of sorts, a four-way intersection. The hallways leading in each direction are entirely bare and tubelike, with a very industrial, metallic look. The walls are brushed, unornamented brass with deep vertical grooves of unknown purpose running down them. The place looks a little grim, bathed in red light and seemingly never meant for more than simple conveyance, with only illuminated signs explaining that each hallway leads to a certain block serve to break up the bareness. Eta is about to look around, but one of the hallways shuts abruptly, and the sign pointing to it, which says Sparrow Sparrow Seventeen, suddenly flips away, leaving a blank. A soft groan of machinery is heard for a few seconds, and the sign flips again, now saying Sprint Gold One.
"Should move quickly," the shade accompanying her urges her on, and the two of them walk down the hallway to Toe Pine Seven, which stays open for a few more moments before an iris closes behind them and the hallway, slightly resembling a millipede's body on closer inspection, shifts, its rear section bending down considerably as it forms an impromptu staircase, making Eta's climb slightly more difficult and disorienting. The shade appears unbothered, and the iris they've left behind opens in due time, presumably leading to a different concourse now. Right now, though, they seem to have come to the end of the hallway - a door, or perhaps more of a hatch. It has no handle or anything similar, just a single hole. By the side of the door there is a card-based display with the number 0, complete with a slash to avoid confusion, and a button beneath said display with the word "RING" written upon it.
"Here we are. Toe Pine Seven," the lawman shade says.
"Nobody home, should be here in ten to fifteen minutes, depending on route taken," it then adds in a bored voice, tapping its elongated finger against the small hole in the hatch before plunging it in. The hatch squeals as it sinks into the wall, then rolls aside, revealing a hallway beyond.
"Would you like to surprise them?"* * * * *
John, in complete agreement with Pilton's plan, gives his pet pademelon Fluffles a name and a good petting. Fluffles abruptly vanishes in response. Damn it all. Anyway, together he and Pilton reunite with Tracey and Stan, who seem to be conversing outside.
"... but you know how it is with dance majors, they're never really the sharpest tools in the shed. I thought choosing acting would put me in a more sophisticated crowd, you know what I mean?"Stan doesn't seem to have a very good idea of what she means, and seems to be nodding along passively.
"But do I even need a college degree, is what I'm wondering? I think the whole thing's a scam, personally, especially the humanities, which-" Tracey continues, but then notices the two men return.
"Hey! You're back! Was it nice? Tell me it was nice. I couldn't bear the idea of missing out on something lame.""It was the sweetest thing ever. Now, Stan, you can go now. We don't have much need of you now," Pilton says levelly.
Stan's lips say
"Very well, sir," with slight resignation, but his eyes are deeply thankful.
"But we were just getting to know one another!" Tracey pouts.
Stan bows obsequiously and quickly vacates the area, not eager for more conversation. The three remaining wizards watch as he half-jogs away
"Uh, so, what do we do now?""We split up and look for magical creatures that may or may not increase our power. They shouldn't be difficult to find when one's alone and vulnerable," Pilton explains.
"But that sounds dangerous! Can't I tag along with one of you?""Think of it as a learning experience. In danger," Pilton says, and Tracey gives you a doe-eyed look of concern.
* * * * *
Larry, having wasted quite enough time, grabs Tom and jumps once! The scenery changes to a vast gray desert, with distant ruined marble buildings giving evidence of the recent demonic rampage taking place here. The Moon. Beautiful in its destroyed state, but ever-dull.
He jumps again, Tom still in hand. The sun-blasted gray wastes of Mercury surround him now, with half-finished monuments and entrances to subterranean abysses dotting the landscape. A testament to enduring ambition.
Another jump. The air grows thick and laden with carbon dioxide, though the choking, sterilizing effect of the environment is lost on Larry and, seemingly by extension or perhaps by an alternative effect, on Tom as well. Coupled souls leave great flaming streaks in the sky as they pass.
Then there's the Sun. Even more beautiful. The entire star is one luminous network of advancing thought, exceptional minds joining in communal creative endeavor under the guidance of fun-loving angels. Alien thoughts start to seep into Larry's mind. Whatever they're thinking about up here, it's clearly slightly beyond his current concerns. He jumps again.
Jupiter. Many moons, asteroids and even artificial platforms orbiting a great stormy gas giant, each under the dominion of a great administrator and their cadre of helpers. A political structure simultaneously looser and far more complex than that of Earth's, and webs of policy that Larry can only begin to contemplate. He jumps for the last time.
And here he is on Saturn. The home of the contemplatives, with retreats placed in virtually every corner of the sphere of influence of the immense gas giant, providing solitude matched only by the deep space among the Fixed Stars. The Oldthinker's home proves simple to find, like a beacon in a vast emptiness, and in not too long at all he and Tom stand out by the door of the floating house. He doesn't even need to knock, as the door is opened immediately by the Oldthinker himself.
"Right on time. I knew I felt thomething in the air. Come. Let uth partake of thome good thtuff before we begin, my athothiates," he lisps toothlessly, backing away into his living room with a smooth gait, his arms open in welcome.
"Is this the guy?" asks Tom.
"Scratch that, is the stuff any good?"
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 270942 times)