#*waves hello while covered in coal and dust*

[the-last-butter]

TERM BREAK TME !!!! ☝️☝️☝️

[sweetest-honeybee]

Down to Dust

Chapter 4

Fic Summary: Grian will have to keep the dragon egg secure for the Watchers. But, they’re not the only ones who want it. On a completely unrelated note, Mumbo will have to deal with a version of himself thats only amplified by his No Killing mindset.

Chapter Sumamry: Mumbo was surprised to find that Grian was right when he said the egg was magical.

TW: Slight electrocution I suppose, and descriptions of lightning

Word Count: 2415

Notes: Again, the two farms are in the overworld, not in the Nether or End for the sake of the fic

Enjoy! And this one deserves a Read More because it’s long lol

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By the end of the next day, Mumbo had finished his first farm and half of his second farm. Much to his surprise, the egg didn’t bear any harm. It was strangely quiet recently but it didn’t bother him any. At the moment, it was in his inventory should anyone come by and see that he had it. It’d ruin his plans and he didn’t want to give up the egg just yet. Really, he could probably keep it forever. It had been completely safe and comfortable- or, as comfortable as an egg can be- since he stole it. Mumbo called that pretty responsible.

Who was he kidding, Grian would kill him eventually if he never found it himself.

He laid down the last of the comparators for the third row, focused more on finishing his farm than overthinking the egg situation. If all went well so far, they should be able to work on their own if he flipped a lever. The redstoner pulled the egg from his inventory and held it up to his face.

“I think everything looks about right so far, yeah?” He turned the egg as if there was a face to show his work. The egg quite obviously never spoke but it helped to explain the redstone and find the flaws in his contraptions.

Nothing seemed out of place. The first row’s test went swimmingly and by replicating that a few more times, all should go as planned when he tested them together. With his luck it may not happen but he could stand to be a little optimistic at least. Mumbo went on to build the last of the uniform rows and easily finished another quarter of the farm. All was down to just encasing said farm in a wall of glass to avoid the items spilling over the sides.

He stood back once more with his hands on his hips, the egg now by his feet. The redstoner was proud to say the least. He looked down at the egg which only sat stock still. Leaving the egg, he turned to dig in his chest for more materials.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the egg wouldn’t stay still for much longer.

“Glass, glass, where on Earth did I put the glass?” He mumbled to himself. He continued to rummage. Eventually, he pulled away from the chest with an internal cheer. “Of course it was next to the pistons.”

He swirled back around when he began to hear small pops from behind him. As he did, Mumbo’s eyes widened. Small purple sparks crackled every so often at the base of the egg and quickly began to grow in size. The egg itself launched into a fit of rapid vibrating.

“Oh! Uh-oh!” He dropped the glass next to him, shattering upon impact, and hurriedly jogged to the now terrifyingly lively egg. “Please tell me you're supposed to do that!”

The redstoner hesitated, going to touch it, then pulling away with a worried whimper. Mumbo didn’t want to touch it but he panicked as he was at a loss of what to do. The egg was calm for weeks before now. Even Grian would’ve said something if the egg had done something like this before Mumbo stole it.

Ah…Grian did tell him it was a magical egg.

Mumbo only thought Grian was joking to keep him from taking it. He’s never seen a dragon egg do that! It was just from the update, he suggested to himself. Eggs were just suddenly powerful and might destroy his days of work. He laughed nervously and pulled at his tie. It didn’t matter what he thought, the small sparks were now large bolts that shot their way into the ground. It singed the grass around it, turning it to a coal black. He had to back away from the egg’s ever expanding radius of energy.

“Oh what do I do- what do I do?!” Then, the obvious idea appeared and he palmed his forehead. “Grian!”

The redstoner fumbled to get his communicator from his pocket, almost dropping it several times. He miss-clicked several icons with petrified fingers and growled in frustration. Only when he finally opened the chat, the egg ceased its episode with an immediate halt. He looked up from the screen with caution and took another step away from the egg.

The area fell silent. Not a bird’s chirp or leave’s rustle broke the blanket of stillness that suddenly washed over everything. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, though.

He inched forward with small steps, clutching his communicator. Seconds passed, then a minute.

“H…Hello?” He said tentatively. He stuck a leg out, poking at it with the tip of his shoe then retracting his leg once more. A sigh escaped his lips. “Good, I guess that’s over with then.”

But it wasn’t. The egg was hardly finished as the bolts started again, much much larger than their already massive size they reached before it stopped the first time. Mumbo shrieked and attempted to retreat back to his chest. It took no longer than five seconds before a wave of the purple energy resonated through the ground and absorbed into the two farms. It knocked Mumbo from his feet and onto the grass, sending an electric shiver through his body.

He shielded his neck with his arms and waited. He only turned over when the sounds of roaring pistons caught his attention. But, that was hardly what he worried about as he watched in awe- good or bad, he wasn’t sure yet- at the effects of the egg’s sudden show of magic.

Both farms were activated and running faster than any farm he’d ever seen. Items upon items flowed down water streams and into stacks of chests. Some items avoided their intended route and simply floated in all directions above the farms. It was loud, incredibly loud. Mumbo nearly had to cover his ears as he initially cowered from the noise. However, he soon pulled himself to his feet and slowly approached the over-efficient farms.

A violet haze emitted from the redstone, replacing its originally reddish color, and from the cracks between each set of stone bricks. Each block crackled and hissed with energy, and it almost felt as if he were gaining some of that energy himself. Small bolts fizzled out over his suit. He lifted his left hand and turned it over, watching as sparks flew over and down his fingers to their tips.

To put it simply, it was a beautiful and supernatural sight. He wasn't sure how to react. His own heart was still racing- from the energy around him or his nerves, he also didn’t know.

While in the middle of the two farms, he glanced back at the egg which no longer twisted and turned, but sat with slowly flowing violet streams of energy penetrating the ground. Much like the hum of a conduit sounded from it. Now, it seemed very calm in contrast to its earlier fit. Mumbo assumed- for obvious reasons, really- that the egg powered the farms despite the contraptions having been able to power themselves via redstone. It was captivating and he couldn’t help but to become curious about what was inside the egg that would’ve given it so much power. That or had it already been created with it. Either way, he yearned to learn more about it. It could be revolutionary and improve efficiency immensely.

Although, the event was short lived as the egg’s energy flow sputtered and dissipated, leading to the farms shutting down with it. Mumbo looked up as items began to rain over his shoulders when they fell. But, he was hardly bothered. At this moment he realized a few things.

His farms worked, thankfully; The egg held an amount of power that could power several farms; Mumbo wanted to keep the egg for even longer to experiment.

Of course, he still wanted to eventually return it but as someone who couldn’t kill anything, the egg could help him for the time being...He already had many ideas popping into his head by the second. It only made him giddy for what was to come. He ran over and scooped up the egg with an ear-to-ear grin, holding it up to his face.

“You, my friend, are one wicked egg,” he complimented. Then, he put it in his inventory and prepared to fly home. He’d clean up the mess later.

As he rocketed off to his base, he noticed his red sweatered friend sitting alone on the roof of his house. Even when Mumbo flew by, Grian didn’t wave or nod up to him or really even look at him. Piquing his curiosity, though he should just go home and avoid confrontation, he landed behind Grian and carefully stepped down the slope of the roof.

“Hey! Haven’t heard from you much today,” he greeted. Mumbo was only met with silence. “Are you okay?”

After a second, Grian twitched when he realized that someone was talking to him. He turned his head to where Mumbo crouched down next to him.

“Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking. This is my thinking roof.”

The redstoner hummed. “Ah, don’t wear yourself out then,” he laughed.

“You should try it sometime with that empty head of yours.” The avian chuckled dryly and looked back to the setting sun, the small smile falling from his face.

“Thanks,” Mumbo replied, initially with a smile himself but found himself meeting Grian’s frown. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. Then, he tapped his fingers on the deepslate. “So...what’re you thinking about?”

“A lot, honestly. It's still the beginning of the season, I’m sure everyone is.” He waved a hand dismissively then looked at Mumbo. “What about you? Have you been thinking about anything?”

Mumbo snorted, attempting to lighten the mood. “Thinking isn’t good for me. I overthink when I do and it hurts my brain.” He paused. “But, if you’d really like to know, I’ve been thinking about the egg.”

This made Grian perk up. “What about it? Do you know where it is?”

The redstoner hesitated. Not yet, he can’t give it up just yet. “What? No, not at all. But, I had a question.”

Grian deflated, then looked away with his chin on his arms, legs tucked to his chest. “Alright, shoot.”

Mumbo’s stomach twisted. “I uh- maybe now isn’t the best time actually. You know, while it’s missing and all.” He cracked a half smile.

“Yeah, while it’s missing,” the builder scoffed. “Just ask me, I’m sure I can answer.”

“Ah- um, sure. Why...why is the egg so special to you? I understand sentimentality, but it just seemed more…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I wondered maybe- maybe it uh… did something, you know? You said it was a magical egg. Maybe you could tell me about it?”

He heard a low chuckle from Grian. “It’s just some stupid egg, it’s not magical.”

“I- oh.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that was disappointing for you, wasn’t it,” Grian sneered. The two stopped. Grian pulled his head up and Mumbo furrowed his brows. “Nevermind, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. Just stressed.”

Mumbo stood and tightened his jaw, ignoring the builder’s excuse. “You know, you’ve been real onto me about that egg. Why don’t you tell me about that instead or go bother Scar. Every conversation I have with you now is just accusing me of taking it.”

Grian thought back to what Aisling said, then his last thought before he came to the roof. “Because maybe I saw you sneak into my house and steal the egg. And maybe, I don’t know, it’s my stuff.” He stood and faced Mumbo with a finger to the redstoner’s chest. “And maybe it’s because you are an insanely terrible liar.”

The other was at a loss for words, opening his mouth then clamping it shut repeatedly. The tips of his ears reddened in embarrassment. Of course Grian probably saw him take it, anyone could’ve. But why didn’t he say anything before? Satisfaction? Did he want Mumbo to just admit to it?

It didn’t matter now, the jig was up and all of his plans for the egg were now down the drain.

“I- I’m sorry,” was all he could muster. “I didn’t think it was such a problem.” He looked down at his shoes. “You…have been acting differently since it was gone, I didn’t think I made you mad.”

The avian sighed in relief and put a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder. “I’m not- look at me,” Mumbo lifted his head, “I’m not mad. Really, I’m not. A little annoyed, maybe, but not mad.”

“But you just scolded me like a toddler!” The redstoner whined.

Grian laughed. “Because you have to do that when a toddler lies to you. But, I’m not angry at you, at Scar, or anyone else. I want to tell you why that egg is important, I do, but it’s not the time for that, yet.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. It was clear Mumbo had more questions but decided to avoid them. “So, where is it?”

“Ah- well, I should warn you first about something.” Grian’s eyes widened. “No, no! Nothing happened to it! But um- well, it’s not ‘just some stupid egg’, it’s one seriously powerful egg, dude. What kind of dragon did you fight?!”

“...Excuse me?”

“Yeah! It powered two of my farms at once, did this huge explosion thing with a bunch of lightning, and it was awesome, but the egg-”

Grian took a hold of Mumbo’s shoulders roughly. “Mumbo, did it do anything to you.” The builder was suddenly very serious, as if Mumbo would die if he said yes.

So, of course he lied. “No? I was well away from it.” Grian let go and crossed his arms with a raised brow. “I was! I ran away because I obviously didn’t want to die.”

The other sighed. “Good, I need it now, then.”

Mumbo pulled it from his inventory, hesitating to give it back. Then, he put it in Grian’s outstretched palm. With nothing more to say, he waved goodbye and glided back to his van. Grian watched as he did and once the van’s door slid shut, he looked down at the egg. While he inspected the egg, he noticed a new detail to its shell that made his stomach sink.

A cursive two letter initial, MJ.

[valhallanrose]

The Glacier House

This is a rewrite of A Kindling, of Sorts. While the same premise, it is vastly different in terms of content. Astoria is still thirteen, as is Sachairi, and Edrine is twelve, and this fic occurs two years after Canary in a Coal Mine. 

Pronouns used in this fic: Astoria (she/they), Edrine (she/they/he)

Edrine refers to Avery as “Ava”, pronounced ‘Ah-vah’, rhyming with Mama, as a parental endearment. 

4.6k words. Cautionary CW for discussions of food and some real shitty parenting.

Title: The Glacier House by The Crane Wives

In the early hours of morning, Castle Kintyre began to stir, the hearths burning high to combat the mid-winter cold and staff passing through the halls to begin their duties for the day. Many of the Canonach family would not wake for a while yet, emerging slowly over the course of the next few hours to stumble to the breakfast table for their morning caffeination. 

Of all the children who lived in the castle, only one would willingly rise with the sun, leaving Catriona the sole person awake in their bedroom that morning. 

They slowly pushed themself up from the cushions and yawned, stretching their arms over their head as far as they could go until their back popped. And then they stretched out their legs, a little quicker than they meant to, only for their foot to come into contact with a head of curly hair. 

Edrine yelped, bolting upright with a bleary expression on her face and her curls sticking up in nearly every direction as she rubbed a hand over her face. 

“Ow...Catty, why’d you kick me?” She mumbled, yawning and covering her mouth with one hand. “That was rude. We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Would you prefer I kick you after breakfast?”

“At least it’d be a respectable hour.” Edrine swung out a foot, launching her toes into the remaining slumbering party’s side with a dramatic sigh. “Get up, Sachy, if I have to be awake, you have to be awake. I don’t think Catriona actually sleeps.”

The child in question scoffed, gathering the cushions up and tossing them loosely on the bed. “I do sleep. I simply prefer not to spend all morning sleeping like you lot.”

“Boohoo, I like to relax, is that such a terrible thing?”

“Both of you, shut up.” Sachairi groaned as he pressed his face into a throw pillow. “The hour is ungodly and one of us has to have the beauty rest to be the pretty one.”

Edrine let out a cry of indignation and smacked him with a pillow as Catriona pointedly ignored them both, picking up the brush from the vanity and carefully pulling it through their hair. They would continue to watch with some amusement before Sachairi sat up, eyeing Catriona skeptically.

“Wait, you’re actually getting ready? Why? It’s hours before breakfast is ready.”

“Well, cousin, if you actually got up early, you’d know at this hour you can raid the kitchens and get nearly anything you want. I for one don’t like to dodge Erskine’s grubby hands to get to the butteries every morning.”

“Erskine?” Edrine echoed, and Sachairi nodded with a grimace. 

“Aunt Flora’s kid. They’re two and they tend to always have sticky hands, no matter how often they’re washed. Good thinking, Catty.”

“It may shock you, but I am, in fact, intelligent.”

“Shocking.” Edrine drawled, only to yelp and laugh as Catriona turned around and whipped the nearest throw pillow at them with a look of wild indignation on their face. She threw it back, and the room dissolved into chaos, laughter mixing with the morning birdsong through the cracked window 

They didn’t notice the bedroom door open until Sachairi threw a pillow that sailed through the opening and smacked firmly against Myrna’s face, all three of them freezing in place as it dropped quietly to the floor and left her startled expression in its place. 

Myrna lifted a brow, adjusting her grip on her cane so she could lean down to pick up the offending pillow. She dusted it off and weighed it in her hand, considering it before she looked up to look at the children again. 

“Who threw this?”

The trio looked at each other nervously for a moment before Sachairi sheepishly raised a hand. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Myrna, I didn’t know you were -”

Sachairi was promptly cut off as Myrna whipped it back, hitting his chest and making him take a step back - only to trip over a few pillows on the floor and falling square on his ass. Catriona slapped a hand over their mouth as Edrine buried her face in her pillow, laughter hardly muffled.

“Good throw, Sachairi, your arm is getting better.” Myrna’s lips twitched, as if threatening a laugh of her own, and she folded her hands over the top of her cane. “I just wanted to warn you all to be careful if you go out on the grounds today. Sholto, Grace, and Rabbie have decided to go hunting, and I don’t want anyone getting squished under a horse. Sounds fair?”

“Sounds fair.” They all chirped, and Myrna nodded, reaching for the doorknob and starting to pull the door shut. 

“Also, I’d get to the kitchens soon if I were you. I hear they’re making cinnamon-sugar scones as part of breakfast this morning, and you can get first dibs when the batch comes out.”

And, as if she knew what chaos would ensue, Myrna closed the door just as all three children exchanged a look and dove for their respective outfits that had been laid out the night before, taking turns in the bathroom to change and shoving each other around playfully to use the mirror attached to Catriona’s vanity. 

Stifling laughter as to not wake any still sleeping members of the family, they descended the stairs - arms linked, with Sachairi on the right and Edrine on the left and Catriona happily in the middle - and snuck into the kitchens. They peered around the corner through the bustling room, only for their eyes to zero in on the batch of scones on a tray left unattended on the counter. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Barclay boomed, making all three of them jump noticeably before Catriona turned and pouted up at him with the sweetest look they could muster. 

Barclay had been the head of the kitchens for as long as most of the family could remember, and while he was rather no-nonsense with the adults, he had a soft spot for the children in the family. Sort of like another uncle - not that any of the Canonachs needed more aunts and uncles - who kept an eye out for them and made sure they took care of themselves. But he was uncannily quiet in step, meaning none of the younger crew got away with truly stealing things so much as he just pretended not to see it. 

“Those just came out of the oven. You’ll burn your fingers.” He opened the warming cupboard over their head and pulled out a fabric wrapped bundle, depositing it neatly in Catriona’s arms. “Take these instead and scoot. And take an apple on your way out for my peace of mind.”

He waved his hands, shooing them away, but Catriona caught his smile when they called out a “Thank you!” over their shoulder and ran out giggling to find a place to eat. 

*     *     *     *     *

Catriona tended to avoid the breakfast table, usually full of some degree of bickering and healthy debate over clan affairs. It’d been especially intense since their mother had become Baroness, opening a door for new policy and leadership to see what new directions they could lead the clan in now that a new generation had come to the forefront. 

So instead, the three of them squeezed into a window nook overlooking the grounds, picking at their scones and watching the cattle in the distance through idle conversation. 

“You two don’t have lessons, do you?” Edrine asked around a mouthful of scone, and Catriona shook their head, idly twisting off the apple stem as they spoke. 

“No, we’re off until after Hogmanay. Our tutors are all going home for the holidays - our last lesson was the day before you all arrived.” 

Sachairi snorted, flicking his own apple stem at his cousin once he tore it free. “Like you’re not going to spend most of the holiday holed up in the library. If Edrine weren’t here, you’d probably be there right now.”

“Well, it’s not like I can do much else on my own. I don’t need to ask permission to read.” Catriona mused, and Sachairi nodded with a sigh, then elbowed their arm lightly. 

“Fair enough. Maybe we can ask Edrine’s parents to take us to Rosafearn, though. I think you’d like the decorations they’re putting up in the square.”

“Mama and Ava want to go, so I’m sure they’ll say yes.” Edrine piped up, leaning her head on Catriona’s shoulder. “Myrna told Ava that the hot chocolate is better here than it is in Ardaleith and they think she’s full of shit.”

Sachairi laughed around his scone, then choked, leaving Catriona to frantically smack his back until he stopped coughing and waved them off. Edrine seemed completely unbothered, taking the opportunity to instead break a piece off his scone when he wasn’t paying attention. 

“You don’t think your mom will come with us, do you?” 

Catriona shook their head, dusting off their hands of the cinnamon and sugar and folding the fabric napkin neatly in their lap. “Probably not. She’s been all about the ‘new happy family’ since Malcolm was born, so I think she’ll leave us be. Fine with me, though, mother always makes things weird with Avery.”

Edrine nodded and sighed, lacing her fingers together behind her head and leaning back against the windowpane. “Yeah...Ava won’t tell me, but I think they had an argument a while ago. Baroness Senga didn’t even invite us this year, Malvina and Myrna did. I don’t think she even said hello when we got here.”

“Auntie doesn’t like most of the clan leaders, so I wouldn’t take it personally.” Sachairi shrugged, then raised a brow at Catriona’s perplexed expression. “Contrary to what you may believe, I do listen to things.”

Both Edrine and Catriona looked incredulous at that, and Sachairi rolled his eyes, playfully shoving Catriona into Edrine’s side and shaking his head. 

“Whatever. Catty, since you’re done, can you go ask Avery or Rima if they want to go into town today?”

“You just want me to ask because you know Avery likes me.”

“It’s a strategy.” Sachairi lightly nudged them off the window seat, waving as they rolled their eyes and began the walk down the hall toward the guest wing where the Maollosas had been offered rooms. 

Catriona was happy to wander for a little while - they weren’t sure where Avery or Rima could be, so it was something of a necessity - and they hummed softly to themself as they passed through halls and the library and peered out windows to see if they had gone to the gardens, but knowing they couldn’t venture upstairs yet unless Sachairi or Edrine came to find them first. 

They were about to walk past the slightly cracked door to the dining room - the place the family usually shared their meals when there were no greater events in the castle - when they paused, hearing familiar voices drifting out into the quiet hallway. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, Senga.”

“I certainly don’t have to speak to you outside of clan affairs, and you are not here on clan business.”

Curious, Catriona crept closer, realizing that the first they heard was Avery and almost pushing the door open - and then freezing when they heard their mother’s voice in response. 

They peered in the gap in the door, watching with wide eyes as Avery put together a breakfast plate from the spread slowly being placed over the table. 

“You have every right to hold what happened over my head, but there’s no reason we can’t be civil when we share the same space, at least for the sake of Edrine and Catriona -”

“You do not get to speak to me about my child.” Senga’s plate clattered to the table, making Catriona jump slightly at the sudden sound. “I don’t want their name in your mouth until I hear an apology first, Maollosa, and being civil is not throwing you out the second I found out my mother invited you here.”

“Oh, only surnames now? Fine, we’ll play it your way.” Avery set their plate down far more neatly, popping a berry into their mouth. “I regret that I created an issue in your home and I apologize for what resulted, but I won’t apologize for my actions. You did a bloody awful thing, keeping the truth from Catriona, and it was high time someone told them.”

“It was not your place -”

“When would you have told them? When they turned sixteen, in the middle of their declaration? ‘Surprise, Catriona, you’re an heir to the nation, but we didn’t think you deserved to know that until we announced it to the rest of Rosinmoor. Hope you don’t mind!’” 

“Well, what you did certainly wasn’t much better, was it? They were inconsolable, Avery, blubbering absolute nonsense about not wanting to be the oldest and asking me about abdication, of all things. It was too much for them, they’re fragile, you should know that if you think you know what’s best for them.”

Catriona slowly leaned out of the gap, still listening, but feeling the familiar burn of tears in the corners of their eyes as they leaned against the wall beside the door and let out a shaky sigh.

So it was their fault, then. They wondered idly if they should apologize to Avery for getting so upset all that time ago, or if it were too late now. 

Avery’s voice rose slightly, their calm exterior breaking as Senga’s own tone changed to one of anger that Catriona knew well.

“Gods above, Senga, maybe they do want to abdicate, maybe they’ll change their mind, but that doesn’t change how large of a secret you kept from them. Catriona -”

“Do not say their name -”

“Catriona is not as fragile as you think they are, which you’d know if you gave them more than scraps of your time and attention.” Avery hissed. “We told Edrine at eight - eight - with at least an age appropriate version so she wasn’t blindsided when other clans started asking questions. This is an unavoidable fact of our lives, and they should know what choices they have to make one day, no matter how much time you can give them before you have to step down.”

“It doesn’t matter, Avery, the outcome would have been the same no matter when I told them. Get off your high horse and let it go. That’s how you can get your civility.”

There were a few long, heavy beats of pause where Catriona dared peek back inside, only to quickly lean back out of sight 

They’d never seen Avery look so angry. 

“What the hell do you mean ‘the outcome would have been the same’?”

“Catriona knows their obligations to the clan, and I won’t allow them anything other than what they’ve been raised for all these years. As the oldest, it is the duty they were born for. I would think you of all people, with your own child as your heir, would understand that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can look that child in the eye, see how miserable they are the way they’re living now, and insist that what you’re doing is right. I don’t understand why it is so important to you that Catriona be the next Baronet when Sachairi is only two months younger and just as capable, and seems to actually be interested in -”

Avery suddenly stopped mid sentence, and by Senga’s snarled ‘what?’, must have been making some clear expression that revealed their train of thought. 

“Son of a bitch, you did it on purpose.” Avery said, so quiet that Catriona had to strain to hear. “You had them to make sure that if you didn’t get the title, you could get your hands on it through them. You were third in line, but if Grace or Quinn had taken the Barony, Sachairi still wouldn’t be heir because you had a child first.”

Catriona’s heart stalled in their chest, eyes fixed on the door as if staring through it to look at the place where they heard their mother’s voice last. 

Please, mother, say it’s not true. Say that something, anything, please, please -

“And if I did?”

She hadn’t denied it.

Catriona nearly crumpled, staggering back from the door and turning to run, not caring in the slightest if their mother or Avery heard their footsteps as they raced through the passages to try and find somewhere to hide. The tears welled up and began to spill over, but they clasped a hand over their mouth to try and stifle the sound as they ran blindly through the passages to try and reach their bedroom.

A part of them had wondered - they were smart, and some things they had been told simply didn’t make sense - and especially so since Avery had told them the truth, but to hear it confirmed made it feel like their heart was breaking into pieces. 

They paid no mind to their mother’s rules when they darted up the stairs, two at a time, trying to make it to their bedroom before they completely broke down -

Only to crash directly into their grandmother. 

Myrna stumbled, leaning hard on her cane with one hand and wrapping her arm around Catriona’s shoulders to catch them both until they both regained their footing. She’d hardly opened her mouth to ask if they were alright before she noticed the tears spilling down her grandchild’s cheeks as they rushed to apologize.

Finding their grandmother, the most comforting presence they knew, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, granny, I didn’t mean to -”

Myrna took a good look at them, really looked at them, then quickly pulled them back in for a hug that left Astoria burying their face in the fabric of Myrna’s shirt to try and stifle their whimpers. 

“Oh, please, darling, don’t apologize. I’ve suffered worse than a simple tumble.” Myrna kissed the top of their head, smoothing a hand over their hair for a moment before she cupped their cheek in one hand. “What’s wrong? I know you wouldn’t cry like this over a simple bump. Come, come, we’ll go sit. Take a breath for me, alright?”

Shakily, Catriona nodded, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves as Myrna gently led them to their bedroom and closed the door behind them. Myrna crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and then gently patted the space beside her for them to sit. 

“Deep breaths, darling, I’ll be here.” Myrna set her cane aside to wrap both arms around Catriona, hushing them gently and rubbing a hand up and down their back to try and soothe them as best she could. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me what happened, yes?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, they calmed, enough to try their best to recount what they’d overheard in the dining room, unable to meet Myrna’s eyes as they repeated the phrases that stuck out in their mind and refused to escape. They only managed to look up when they finished and their granny said nothing, the silence between them so thick and heavy they thought they could cut it with a knife.

Myrna looked like fury hardly contained - white knuckled grip on the quilt, expression dark, angrier than Catriona had ever seen their usually energetic grandmother in all their years. 

“Are you...are you mad at me, granny?” They asked timidly, shrinking back as Myrna shook her head slightly. “I know it’s bad to eavesdrop…”

“No, I’m not upset with you.” Myrna got out, eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet as her jaw visibly ticked. “But I am furious with your mother. The absolute nerve of her - Avery is a guilty party, starting this where anyone could hear, but far less so than her - 

They flinched as Myrna shot to her feet, cane abandoned as she paced slowly around the carpet. “Please don’t tell them I was listening, granny, mother would get so upset with me for spying…”

“That’s her own damn fault for saying it in the first place.” Myrna snarled, then froze when Catriona let out a small whimper at the intensity of her tone. 

She let out a breath, trying to calm herself down enough so that she could school her expression back into one of neutral calm. For as angry as she was...there were more important things at hand. 

Slowly, Myrna stepped closer, kneeling in front of Catriona after a bit of effort and clasping their hands tightly in both of her own.

“I want you to listen to me, and I need you to listen well. You understand?”

Catriona nodded, lowering their eyes to their clasped hands as Myrna leaned her forehead against theirs and let out a sigh.

“No human is perfect. I make mistakes, your great aunts and uncles and your cousins make mistakes, your father made mistakes in the time I knew him. Your mother is no exception - she has made many mistakes in her lifetime, Catriona, but you are not one of them, and damn her for making you think otherwise. There is not a day that goes by where I am not grateful for your birth, a day where I am not filled with joy when I come home and see the way you smile at me and welcome me back, a day where I do not love you for who you are and how proud I am to call you my grandchild.” 

Myrna squeezed their hands again as she heard Catriona sniffle, uncaring of the tears of her own that were beginning to slide down her cheeks. “Astor loved you. Balfour loved you, gods rest them both. Your cousins love you. I love you. You are so, so loved, my darling, and it breaks my heart to know that you have doubted it for even a moment as a result of someone else’s cruel words.”

She released Catriona’s hands to cup their cheeks, tilting their head down to press a few kisses to their brow. 

“What do I do, granny?” Catriona whispered, laying their hands over Myrna’s and squeezing their eyes shut. “Mum said...mum said she had me so I could be the Baronet, but I don’t…”

Myrna leaned back slightly, enough to look Catriona in the eye when she tipped their chin up and waited for them to tentatively meet her gaze despite the tears that filled both their eyes. 

“Damn the barony. Damn all of it, Catty, because the barony means nothing if you are not happy. No title, no amount of money, no amount of power, nothing is worth giving up your happiness. No matter what your mother says, you have a choice, and if that choice is throwing everything she wanted for you at her feet, then I will stand behind you because I know it is what you want. No one can make you be anything that you don’t want to be.”

Catriona tried to swipe at their cheeks, but the tears only fell faster before Myrna pulled them into a tight embrace right there on the fur rug beneath them both. They sat together a long, long while, Catriona’s face buried in Myrna’s neck and Myrna holding onto Catriona like she was afraid they’d disappear. It would only be when Catriona quieted that Myrna would speak up, her voice gentle and thick with emotion all her own that she’d been trying to keep at bay for the sake of comforting their grandchild.

“Sweetheart, I want you to think about something.” Myrna murmured, prompting Catriona to lift their head and look up at her to show she was listening. “I won’t be staying here after Hogmanay ends. I have to go north, up to Prakra to speak to some colleagues, and then I’ll be going to Firent to work on a dig site. I’ll be gone from here for about two months, perhaps longer if I’m asked elsewhere. But...I want you to think about coming with me this time.”

“Come with you?” Catriona echoed, and Myrna nodded, smoothing some of Catriona’s hair back from their face. 

“You’ve spent your whole life here in Rosinmoor. I want to give you the chance to see the world, see what’s beyond our home - give you a chance to see what you could possibly become.” Myrna swiped a thumb across Catriona’s damp cheek, smiling a little despite herself. “I want you to know that you have choices, and I want you to understand how much bigger life is than it is here at Castle Kintyre.”

“What...what about mom?”

“Your mother may be Baroness, but she sure as hell has no authority over me. If you tell me you want to go, you’re going, and if I have to fight tooth and nail to make it happen, I will.” Myrna let out a playful growl, prodding at Catriona’s sides with tickling fingers and smiling when a peal of laughter fell from their lips and they shoved her hands away. “You don’t have to decide now, but -”

Astoria shook their head, looking up at Myrna with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “No, I...I want to go. I want to go to Prakra, Firent, anywhere you go. I want to see it all for as long as you’ll let me. I just...don’t want to be here right now.”

A smile broke across Myrna’s lips, and carefully, she reached for her cane - not before bringing Catriona in for another tight embrace. 

“Trust me, my dear, you’re welcome to follow me anywhere. You’re far more welcome company than some of my other traveling companions.” She rose, gently nudging Catriona toward her wardrobe. “Pack your bags, darling.”

Surprised, Catriona stood, brows furrowing as she looked at Myrna. “Where are we going?”

“I have a little place down in Rosafearn. A cottage, where Balfour and I used to stay when we wanted to get away from the castle. I’m going to go get Edrine and Sachairi, and we can spend a few nights there so you can have some space away from home. I’ll deal with your mother later.”

*     *     *     *     *

Once they’d settled in at the cottage, Catriona nearly stumbled into the bed Myrna made up for them, kissing their brow and telling them she’d be back soon with her cousin, her friend, and their things to spend the rest of the holiday away from the castle. 

They didn’t know how much time it had been when the door cracked open, though by the time Myrna came back, the midmorning sun was peeking through the curtains just as the door cracked open and two familiar faces poked their heads inside. Catriona waved for them to come in, but didn’t move - not that Edrine seemed to mind, climbing into the bed beside them and cuddling up to their side. 

“Are you okay?” She whispered, and Catriona shook their head slowly, letting out a shaky breath.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“...not really.” They murmured, closing their eyes as they felt Sachairi drop into bed with them as well - his head resting on Catriona’s stomach and his legs hanging off the side. 

“That’s okay.” He said, finding their hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Catriona nodded slowly, their other hand finding Edrine’s and squeezing them both tightly. 

“Thank you.” They breathed, feeling themself sink into the bed as Myrna gently closed the bedroom door and plunged them all into relative quiet. 

When the next morning came, they’d realize the exhilaration they felt at the sense of freedom for the first time in all their thirteen years, but for now…

For now they wanted to forget the world completely.

[strwxberrymilk]

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

Pairing: Werewolf John Marston x Reader

Word count: 3,362

Happy Valentine’s day! Here’s my fic for the always lovely @littlestarofthewest from the @rdrsecretcupid2020 event!! You said you liked tropes and mythical creatures, so I hope you like confessions of love and werewolves!! 

~

Summer winds danced through the trees, their sunlit branches trembling, gently moved by the warm breeze. Crickets began chirping along with songbirds as the sun sank over the heartlands, calling sweetly to the coming dusk. Creamy wisps of clouds delicately kissed the horizon, beckoning forth a warm glow over the lands, coating cliffs, and wildflowers in its radiance. The Dakota River was turned into liquid gold and the meadows seemed less like grass and more like twenty-four-carat threads waltzing in place. The campsite basked in the golden hour, hushed if only for a moment, by the setting sun. She sat there on an old fallen log, journaling and taking in the half-light of day. The breeze swirled through her hair and onto sun-kissed skin as she tucked wild strands behind her ear. Her pencil scraped purposefully at the paper, marking down her fleeting thoughts as the day came to an end.

Tonight would be the first full moon since she had been bitten those weeks ago. The freezing dampness of Colter was testing in itself, but with the hapless attack from an O’driscoll scout, the journey was frightful. She had been on guard duty when the beast came from the trees, roaring madly, sending spittle flying through the cold air, and clamping its razor-filled maw around her throat. Luckily, the men came just in time, hurdled into action from the sound of the beast- shooting the creature dead and getting the girl inside. There was no mistaking her fate then. In fact, most of the people who ran with the Van Der Linde gang were all too familiar with the curse that would soon befall the young woman, having to deal with it themselves as well. She healed quickly from the wounds, biding her time until the moon would finally rise, uncovered and full. And it seemed that a night full of firsts would arise with the setting sun.

He watched her sitting on that log, basking in her radiance, starry-eyed and captivated by the way that the light caressed her skin and how the dust in the air danced a halo around her. How he longed to be the sunlight on her skin, craving to be sweetly buried in those locks, holding her to him, with full dominion over her body and affections. She was to be his, and his alone- it was what he ached for, what he needed in order to feel whole again. Since the day they met, John Marston had an eye for the lady. Much to Dutch and Hosea’s chagrin, John had immediately imprinted upon her the second their gazes met. This bond that had suddenly drawn the two together held a more significant meaning than john had known at first, only recognizing that she was his destiny after a talk with Hosea. The girl was clueless, however. Merely thinking that the young man just enjoyed her company some. Maybe he thought of her as a sister that needed his protection or a damsel in need of saving- because in her mind, surely this tall, dark, and villainously handsome man couldn’t feel the same way about her. So, she pushed down these hot and blooming fantasies of romance every time she spent a moment with John.

The girl shut her journal with an inward sigh, slouching, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes fluttered shut with a long exhale, worried about the night to come. John was leaned against a nearby tree, watching, spell-bound by her entirety, and just how gorgeous she looked. He pushed off of the rough bark when he saw the clear anxiety in her posture, spurs clinking as he headed towards her. “Evening miss (___),” he called, stopping to stand next to the log. The girl snapped her head up to look at him, her eyes weary and thoughtful. “Oh, hello John,” She quickly looked back at the landscape, feeling her cheeks heat up under his gaze. “What’re you up to?” The question hardly squeaked out from her lips as she nervously played with her pencil, refusing to meet his eyes. John huffed, bringing his hands to rest on his gun belt, turning to watch as the sun made its final descent behind the distant mountains. “Well I noticed you looked worried, so I came to see how you were,” He glanced at her in his periphery, “-Since I know it’s gonna be your first night is all.” He added quickly, mumbling slightly, shaking his head. The girl sighed, swallowing her feelings once more and turned to face him completely in her seat, “Hah, well you’re right. I am really worried John. I-I mean I’ve never gone through anything like this before, especially not alone.” Nervously laughing she continued, “I really am frightened.” John moved to sit beside her, resting with one elbow on his thigh. She could now see his face fully, handsomely drenched in the afterglow of twilight, black wisps falling into his eyes. His lips were pulled into a tight line and his brows furrowed, “(___), I’m gonna be honest with you. It’s not easy. In reality, it will be painful, and damn difficult. It was, even for me.” He placed a heavy hand onto her smaller ones, squeezing slightly in re-assurance, “But you’re a strong, fine woman. You’ll manage just fine I’m sure.” John grinned a toothy smile and chuckled as the young woman laughed as well. “Thank you, John, I- uh- That means a lot to me.” She glanced down before finding herself lost in those coal brown eyes, staring longingly at his scars, tracing down his face and to his lips. A soft sort of tension ebbed between them and through the beginning night, making their silence quite awkward. Noticing this, John cleared his throat and spoke up, “Say, why don’t we go grab some dinner and get you settled?” He stood up and held out a hand to the girl. Smiling sweetly, she took his hand and walked with him back to the center of camp.

They sat together at a table and ate their stew, chatting about things other than their lycanthropy. After dinner, John and the girl rested around the campfire with the rest of the gang, all more quiet than usual out of respect for the girl’s first moon, and by Dutch’s orders. It was easy for them to empathize with her since all first turns are involuntary and happen no matter what, on the first full moon after one is bitten. After a wolf’s first moon, they are free to choose when to turn or not, voluntarily shifting at will, not tied to their beastly form when those bright nights come. After a while, the girl grew more exhausted, feeling hot under the rays of the rising moon, and asked john to bid her goodnight. He walked her back to her own tent, re-assuring her that everything will be alright and that she should try to sleep and get some rest while she can. With a kiss to her delicate hand, He wished her a peaceful first moon. The girl heaved and entered her tent. As the flaps closed behind her, the girl began to undress. She was sweating already, and her clothing clung to her, nearly drenched. Being left in just her drawers and chemise the girl lied down onto her bedroll, panting, exhausted and growing more agitated as time went on.

She slept for a short while as the camp around her calmed to a hush and only embers sizzled where the roaring fire once sat. The moon rose higher into the night sky, stars twinkling sporadically in the deep black depths. Crickets stopped their singing and no rabbit even dared to exit its burrow; the earth knew that it was time. With a gasp, she woke, suddenly and painfully- her skin burned with heat and her chest ached. Pure instinct ran through her veins, as she lifted herself from the ground, stumbling out of the tent and into camp. Nobody was out now, all stowed away, sleeping soundly in their bedrolls. She wheezed as her feet carried her out into the forest. Her heart began to race, every time she waltzed into a patch of moonlight, promptly carrying her faster downhill. Her skin felt like it was on fire, searing deep into her bones, making her cry out in pain. Her yells were the only sound that echoed in the trees, becoming more erratic and desperate as she stumbled towards a clearing in her moon-drunk stupor. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears as she cleared the tree line. Stepping into the moonlight sent waves of chills down her skin, cooling the heat that ached her. The pure ecstasy that direct moonlight poured into her was indescribable. She whimpered as pain overtook her short-lived pleasure, breath hitching as she hunched over. Her entire body was trembling severely, and tears welled in her eyes. Bones began to shift and crack horridly as she writhed in pain, screaming out into the night air. Her once soft and manicured hands grew into large wolf-like paws with long unmanaged claws hanging atop. Her spine elongated and ruptured, stretching and pulling. Her chest moved in the opposite direction, ripping through her underclothes, leaving her bare. The girl’s legs grew longer and bent wildly, breaking and contorting into those akin to a canine. Her bare feet morphed into large paws, making her stumble, catching herself on the ground with her arms. The girl’s once petite frame was now hulking and covered in thick fur. The worst pain was in her face and jaw, cracking and relocating, making her shriek in pain. The moon was at its peak now, casting its midnight rays below into the valley and onto the girl. Her screams turned to beastly roars as the shifting came to its end. Whimpering and writhing in the dewy grass she looked up to the moon. This final action, a gesture of submission and connection sent a rush of primal strength into her. She rose now, standing tall and greeted the moon with a hauntingly beautiful howl. She sang away the pain, tilting her head back and flattening her ears. This is how she was supposed to feel. To be liberated by the moon’s benevolent grasp.

John bolted awake in his tent. He heard her song so clearly, even in his sleep, calling to him. This siren song beckoned him fourth, setting his heart on fire. He threw himself out of his tent, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He knew that the bond that nature had secured between them would call to him eventually, but just how quickly and wholly instinct took over was jarring to him. He scented the air, nostrils flaring, and pupils blown, searching for the girl- his girl. His lanky form bounded through the forest floor, stomping over thickets through the underbrush. Most times he was confident in his will to keep from turning when exposed to the moon’s rays, but when his ears pricked at the again enchanting howl that sang from the she-wolf, her scent drifting back up the hill, he felt his continence slip from his grasp. Stumbling forward he growled as his own beastly form began to manifest, shifting from man to wolf. His once slim torso now broad and coated in inky black fur, heaved deeply as he tried to regain some sort of restraint. With his senses, now heightened, he could feel the girl close by. His massive paws padded quietly as he stalked through the underbrush, head swiveling and ears twitching, looking for an indicator of her location. nose to the wind, his stride came to a stop as the tree line thinned into a clearing. The moment his eyes found her, gaining her bearings in the meadow, he felt more human as a wolf than he ever had before. She stood gazing upwards, her fur sparkling in the moon’s rays, tail waving slightly under her long, muscular legs. A fire sparked in his loins, churning butterflies in his gut- feet carrying him out into the open air to meet her.

She hadn’t noticed him approach, focus fixated on the night sky. His steps broke the silence, causing her to snap her attention to him. The girl wasn’t used to her new senses, nose scrunching as she took in his scent, it was unfamiliar yet known, something she remembered but now dripping in musk. Fear swam down her spine, hackles raised, and ears pinned snarling a warning to the dark-furred male. She backed up slightly, tucking her tail, crouching defensively. The male was shocked, not knowing why she didn’t recognize him. He let out a small sound between a whimper and a bark, ears lying flat submissively, stepping forward. Shadows uncovered the wolf as he slinked forward into the moonlight, head hanging low and eyes locked onto hers. The deep scars that cut into his fur were now visible in the misty silver rays and his eyes, stark red against midnight brows, pierced like a beacon through the air and into her. Her ears flicked forward in question, head bobbing backward. This night could not get any weirder, she thought, she had expected her first moon to be strange, yes, but she knew that face; It couldn’t be anyone but john. She let him approach, stepping closer herself, calling out a quiet whimper in question to the male, ‘john?’ The larger canine broke from his submissive stance, bouncing slightly and happy to be recognized by the she-wolf. His tail began to wag rapidly, and he grinned, ‘I’m here (___), it’s me.’ Along with her demeanor, the tension broke and she sprang forward, closing the gap between them and tackled John to the ground. She laughed in relief, ‘Man am I glad to see you! I don’t know what I would’ve done if some other folks had found me so quick!’ She pressed the bridge of her muzzle to his chin and breathed in a deep whiff of his scent, which became clear to her in recognition of the man whom she pined over. John grunted, out of wind from the sudden hug, and chuckled, ‘well you did look like you were ‘bout to kill me right there. If I ain’t know you, I would’ve tucked tail and ran, you sure showed like a seasoned wolf already.’ The girl rolled off of him, reaching her feet and cocked her head to one side. ‘What’d you mean ‘if I ain’t know you?’ How did you know it was me, not like anyone’s seen me turned before?’ Her brows were furrowed, and she gazed around as if to look for anyone else there with them. ‘well,’ John said, standing up, ‘I could smell you, but really it was that beautiful call of yours. I knew that nobody else could sing so sweetly to me-‘ He stopped suddenly. The words falling out of his mouth far too quickly. John wasn’t quite how to tell her how strongly he felt, but damn he knew it needed to be more romantic than word vomit. John huffed, ‘Anyways, let’s get you back home. Or at least closer to camp. folks around here ain’t used to seeing things like us.’ He gestured back to the tree line and placed a paw at the small of her back. She sent him a smile, her eyes, soft, gleaming gold in the moon’s light. They started into the forest, side by side. ‘And while we walk, I could explain some more things that you’ll start to experience? Having had your first moon and all.’ He questioned, looking down at the girl. Humming, she answered, ‘That sounds wonderful, thank you, John.’

Through the night, the two young werewolves padded through trees and over thickets, conversing quietly. He described his first moon to the girl, and how he learned all he knew from Dutch. How scents work, how to track prey as a wolf, how ranking works. The moon was sinking low now, barely kissing the tops of distant trees. The wind settled into a slow breeze as the caterwauling crickets hushed to a whisper, and twinkling stars began to fade. It was when they got onto the topic of packs and ranking that imprinting came up.  The two stopped just outside of camp. John’s throat was dry as he described the ‘at first sight’ bond that takes place between destined mates. He stated that, ‘It feels like when you’re apart from them, that you’re suffocating.’ The girl was quiet for a long moment before asking, ‘And that you would give the world just to hold them? for even one second?’ She refused to look at him, worried that if she did, he’d know exactly what her question was. John took in a deep breath before exhaling, ‘I never knew how I should tell you this. But I think right now is as good as tomorrow and as any day. (___) from the second I met you all that time ago, I knew that you were meant to belong to me.’ He took the girl’s smaller paws into his and gave them a gentle squeeze, eyes lingering on her face, taking in her ethereal beauty. Even as a wolf, he thought she was the image of perfection itself. The girl was shocked, mouth hanging open. Her head shook as she looked up to meet his eyes. ‘are you toying with me, John Marston?’ Her eyes welled up with tears. In her mind, there was no way that this man, who treated her with such chivalry, who was so handsome, fiercely loyal, and genuine could feel the same way about her that she does of him. John’s eyes looked worried as he pulled her into his chest, claws raking through her soft fur. ‘I always questioned it or dismissed it, but tonight- when I heard you howl- it just solidified it to me.’ He breathed deeply, looking down and stroking her cheek, ‘We are meant to be with one another, (___). We’re supposed the be mates.’ The girl lifted her head from his broad, inky chest and grasped onto the hand that remained on her furred cheek. he stammered mouth opening and closing before finally admitting, ‘I love you.’ She choked out a sigh of relief before returning his confession, ‘I love you too.’ He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers, holding each other tightly in the dying moonlight. His next words were those of ancient origin, that was said between every pair of courting wolves, symbolic and true in meaning. ‘I vow to protect you, love you, provide for you in any way that I can.’ He whispered to her, earnestly. The girl smiled before answering, ‘I vow to serve you, comfort you, and provide for you in any way that I can.’

The pair pulled away from one another as the beginning signs of day spread along the land. ‘we should get you inside before you turn back. You’re gonna be exhausted- just like I was after my first moon.’ John called, taking her hand in his own. In the east, the sun peeked from behind the horizon and songbirds sang to the coming light. The sky was yellow and blue, beckoning day to come once more. The new couple, giddy and spry, traipsed paw in paw into the awakening camp. The only other souls awake at that early hour were Dutch and Arthur, who sat just outside Dutch’s tent, drinking their coffee and talking quietly. They snapped their heads in the direction of the two wolves that came into view. Dutch smiled touched and knowing while Arthur grinned and nodded before taking another sip of his hot coffee. The girl yawned as she carefully entered her tent, John following close behind. She lied down atop the furs and blankets on the floor, tail wrapping around her bent legs, and beckoned John to do the same. ‘Stay with me?’ she asked, humming quietly. He curled up beside her, holding the girl close to his chest, laying his head down just above hers. ‘Always (___), always.’

~

I apologize that i couldn’t get this posted sooner! This weekend was chaotic and i couldn’t get to my laptop. I really hope you enjoyed it, I’m a fairly inexperienced writer and this was my first insert fic. I know it doesn’t live up to your god-like writing skills but I gave it a shot anyways! 

Have an amazing week sugarplum!! <3

[helluvascribe]

Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

  Hell: 1933

 Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

 He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

 A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

 He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

 The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

 The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

 Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

 Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

 It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

 His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

 Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

 It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

 This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

 The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

 The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

 Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

 Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

  “Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. “Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

 The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

 Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

 Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

 During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

“Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

 By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

 Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times.  He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

 Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

 His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

 “Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

 After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

 Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

 The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

 “For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

 “Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

    Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

 Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

 But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

 It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

 Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

 Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

 Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

 From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

 A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

 He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

 Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

 His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

 After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

  From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

 Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

 After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

 “By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

 “For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

 “Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

 “I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

 “Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

 On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.  

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

 Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

 Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

 “Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

 “So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

  After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

 “Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.  

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

 The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

  Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

 Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

 Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

 Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

[virgilantejustice]

Strange people

Well, it’s nearing the end of halloween where i am, so i decided to write some total nonsense to celebrate the season…. I maybe shouldnt have read Coraline and The Little Prince on the same day but hey ho here we go!

Word count: approx 2300

T/Ws: a weird kind of death i guess, a couple really, cliffs, i really dont know how to describe it so just tell me if i need to add something….

Ships: None

Masterpost link

I honestly have no idea what the fuck this is but enjoy! (Maybe i should have proof read this….?)

————————————————–

Thomas sat up in a field full of flowers. Brown, dry petals bloomed amongst fresh green grass around him. And beside him, was a snake.

“Hello,” thomas said.

“Hello,” the snake replied.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

The snake looked about as confused as a snake can look, shooting a glance towards the trees that lay in a full circle around the meadow before staring back at him, his slitted pupils gleaming with something that Thomas couldn’t quite make out.

“I am The Snake,” The Snake answered cleanly.

“Where am i?”

Again, The Snake didn’t answer right away, but this time he kept his beady little eyes firmly on thomas.

Thomas was a little confused, but his head felt too cloudy to be concerned, like someone had filled it with cotton wool or steam, and he felt like there was something perched on his shoulder. He watched as the snake swayed slightly where it held its head up in the air on its spindly little neck, or would it be his tail?

“Explore.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Thomas stood up and dusted off his spotless jeans before looking for The Snake, but it had already disappeared.

Lacking any further guidance, Thomas decided to explore. Afterall, it seemed like a very strange place.

-

After a little while of walking through the trees of the forest that he could not avoid, Thomas came across a cave. A gaping black mouth surrounded by luscious vegetation.

He had been told to explore.

The cave was tall and rocky, simply a stone tunnel going on and on and down and down and getting darker and darker as Thomas went on until it was pitch black.

Holding his hands out in front of him but meeting nothing, Thomas stumbled blindly onwards, slowing to an amble and then to a halt as a blue light filled the hallway.

A cave. Large and mostly empty, save for a dozen computer screens filling one wall.

And a man.

The man was sitting on a large leather chair. His skin was a pale gray, his lips blue, his fingers tip tapping on a keyboard in front of him.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side and looking up at the man.

“Classified,” the man snapped tonelessly, not looking up, not slowing the tip tap of his grey fingers on the keyboard.

Thomas looked up at the computer monitors in front of him. They were old, the gray plastic casing reaching out more than half a foot, and the heavily pixelated screens glowed blue onto the statue-like man. No words appeared as he typed.

“Okay,” Thomas tried again, “what are you doing-”

“Classified,” the man snapped again, narrowing his eyes almost imperceivably at the ever-blank screen, correcting some invisible mistake. His stony eyes flitted to Thomas for less than a split second. Bright gray, like snow clouds. “Working, keeping it all working” he muttered at the screens once again.

“Keeping all what working??”

“Classified,” he spat through gritted teeth, his hands becoming less like the well oiled machines that they had been when Thomas entered the cell-like room, and more spidery and jerky across the keyboard, the tip tap becoming more and more ragged.

Despite the man not having moved anything except his hands since he had entered, thomas took a step backwards. “What is your name,” he tried, a last ditch attempt to learn /something.

The ice seemed to have spread from his eyes to his fingers as they froze in an instant, hovering over the keyboard, trembling. Slowly, he turned in his chair to stare down at Thomas. His mouth was open slightly and his skin turning from granite grey to white. His eyes looked like they were melting as tears glistened within them. “Classified,” he whispered in a shaking voice through blue lips, before freezing over.

Thomas turned and left the cave through the same entrance that he had come into, leaving the ice and stone man in his chair, the absence of the tip tap echoing around the rocky walls.

“This is a strange place,” Thomas thought out loud, “full of very strange people.”

-

After a little while of walking down the path, Thomas found himself at a fork. On tine twisting round to the right, the other twirling to the left. He stopped and rubbed his chin. Which way do I go, he thought to himself.

“We can tell you that!” exclaimed a grand voice from behind a bush.

“We can, but we won’t!” cried another voice, more shrill, almost childlike, but, not.

“Who are you?” Thomas called, only for his voice to be drowned out by rustling and snapping as a great creature jumped out of the bush and landed on the path, just at the fork in the road.

“Why, we are us!” Cried the creature, both of its heads saying the words at the same time.

Thomas looked between the two of them, not quite sure of which head to settle his eyes on. He decided on the one of the left, rich brown feathers covering a long but strong looking neck and fading neatly into the fur that covered the griffin-like body and a curved yellow beak that seemed to smile. He chose that one so that he didn’t have to look at the other. From what he had seen it was like an enormous, fanged worm’s head attached too far back on the body, and dripping slime onto the ground. Not something he wanted to see.

“Will you tell me which way to go?” Thomas asked the bird-like-head.

“Only if you answer my riddle,” it declared grandly. The other let out a whistling sigh and let its head flop onto the ground with a sickening plop.

“Okay?” Thomas ventured.

The bird-like-head cleared its throat, prompting another wheezing sigh from the worm-like-head, and began its riddle.

“Stranger’s words are fickle and break

Any creature would agree

If the path you seek is the one you take

Then you do not need an answer from me.”

The bird-like-head looked as smug as one can look with a beak for a mouth as thomas stared up at it, so perplexed by the onslaught of words that he almost didn’t notice the worm-like-head rearing up and sinking its fangs into the other’s neck.

The bird-like-head let out a squawking scream that was cut off abruptly as its head fell to the ground and lay there in a pool of golden liquid.

The worm-like-head cleared its throat with a wet cough and turned to look at thomas, leaving thomas no choice but to look back. “Now, what is your answer,” he said in that shrill, not-really-childlike voice.

Thomas frowned slightly at the worm-like-head. “I don’t know the answer,” he admitted.

“Correct!” it shrieked.

“What?”

“Now run along.”

The voice was as airy and slightly shrill as it had always been, but the eyes, those emerald eyes set in that strange, oily face, they held something dangerous, like he could imagine many ways of ripping a head from it’s body.

Thomas turned on his heel and walked down the right hand path, he was left handed, so it made sense to him. And as he walked away, he heard two voices screaming. One shrill and one grand.

“This is a very strange place,” he muttered with a shiver, “full of very strange people.”

-

After a few minutes, hours, days of walking down the path, thomas came across a small cottage, almost like the houses from one of those, those, fairy tales, that was it!

It had a thatched roof and a small garden full of the first living flowers that thomas had seen, cut off by a small fence. The whole place seemed to glitter.

He pushed open the silent gate and made his way through the garden, giggling as a butterfly landed on his nose. When he reached the door, he placed a hand on it and pushed it open.

The inside of the cottage was the polar opposite of the outside. It was like a mockery of a house, merely a box, the wooden supports still visible and rough surfaced. There was no furniture, but in the middle of the room stood a star. Or was it a man? It was shaped like a man, but it glowed like a star. A star-man.

The star-man spotted thomas right away, as he had been staring at the door, as if waiting for him. “Hello!” he exclaimed, walking over and holding out a hand. “What’s your name?”

“My name is-”

“It’s lovely to meet you!” he interrupted, pulling his hand back and tugging on the bottom of his shirt. Thomas couldn’t help but frown a little, but the star-man waved cheerily and grinned even wider, his lips touching both of his ears. “Would you like a cookie?”

Thomas very much did, but the tray that was placed under his nose was empty of anything but what appeared to be coal.

“I’m okay thank you,” he said politely, gently pushing the tray more than an inch from his face.

The smile on the glowing man’s face did not waver, but thomas was sure that something would have changed in his eyes had they not been balls of melting, black pitch.

“That’s a lovely name!” The man cheered, clapping his hands as if to applaud Thomas on his currently unknown-to-him name. “I keep this place running you know,” he said, a mockery of boasting, flashing all of his sharp teeth in a grin. “Yep, I keep the whole place ticking over.”

“Oh,” Thomas said, stepping backwards a little. “I thought that that was-” but a sharp tug on his ankle cut him off. Thomas looked down to see The Snake wrapped around it for a moment before disappearing into one of the large cracks in the cottage’s walls that Thomas hadn’t seen before.

Thomas looked back at the star-man. Some of black substance had dripped from his right eye, leaving a thin black line down his cheek that blocked the light emitting from his skin, splitting his glow into rays and casting a line of shadow on the opposite wall.

“Hello! What’s your name?” he exclaimed, walking towards thomas with his arms outstretched, his light growing until it was blinding.

Thomas backed out of the cottage and closed the door before walking back into the forest, the darkness cast by the branches cooling his eyes.

“This is a very strange place,” he thought, rubbing a hand across his face, “full of very strange people.”

-

“I thought that he ran this world,” Thomas mused to himself as he continued along the path once more, thinking about the man with skin of stone and the blood of ice and the computers’ flickering before him.

“He does,” came a voice from beside him. Thomas jumped to the other side, only narrowly staying on the path. But he relaxed when he saw that it was only The Snake, slithering like a hosepipe being reeled in.

Thomas’ brow creased in confusion. “But he just said that /he did.” Thomas gestured at the cottage over his shoulder.

“He does,” The Snake replied, his yellow eyes staying cooly on the road before them.

“Who does?” Thomas asked.

“We all do,” The Snake replied, “everyone here does,” then he disappeared once again into the undergrowth, leaving thomas to continue along the darkening path alone once again.

-

Thomas kept on walking until the trees ended, as sudden as if they had just decided not to grow. After about three meters of drying grass was a cliff that led into blackness. And in that space stood a man.

He looked as if he were made of shadows except from a face as white as bone. Thomas couldn’t tell what he was wearing, as every time he blinked it seemed to change. But the most striking thing about him wasn’t the fact that he only came to Thomas’s knees, but the fact that he still didn’t want to go near him.

“Do you run this place as well?” Thomas asked rather mildly, trotting over to the other.

The man spun to look at Thomas with wide, dark eyes filled with shadows. “Run it?!” The man looked aghast at the very suggestion. “No! I could never!” He looked down at the ground and clenched his fists. “I keep it safe.”

“Like a guard?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at the little man.

The man looked confused for a moment, as if puzzled by the word itself, and opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out of his mouth was an earsplitting, deafening screeeeeeeech, and he grew and grew until he was towering over thomas, his black hair scraping the very sky.

Thomas slammed his hands over his ears and screwed up his eyes as if that would keep the noise out of his head. It seemed nothing could. Thomas was sure that it could be heard in all four corners of the land.

Finally, the scream ended, and the man shrunk down to merely a foot in height once again. He placed a hand on his back and blew a deep breath out through his mouth.

“More like an alarm?” Thomas asked, taking his hands away from his ears.

The small man’s brow creased again, but less in confusion and more in suspicion. “Why are you asking?” He snarled, beginning to grow. “Who are you?!”

“Who are you?”

The shadowy man deflated once more, back down to eye level with thomas; dark, mistrusting, hypnotizing, dangerous and endangered eyes.

“An alarm, apparently.” There was no venom in his voice, more like realization.

Thomas looked around him. He saw nothing. The cliff dropped off into what looked like infinity, and on the other side was the forest as dense as an otter’s fur. The cliff carried on on either side of him as far as the eye could see, barren and empty for three meters back.

“Do you live here?”

“Live?” The man said, looking aghast once again. “I just go around and around and around,” he began to spin in circles on the spot, rising like a corkscrew, “and around and around and underneath and around and around and arou-”

Just as Thomas had suspected, he then let out another scream, inhuman and cruel. But shorter this time. And he did not shrink again as he had done so before.

“Do you like being an alarm?” Thomas asked, having to shout slightly so that the enormous man could hear him. “It seems very stressful.”

Thomas heard him suck in a breath as if to reply, only to open his mouth to that awaiting wail once again.

“This is a strange place,” Thomas said, only hearing it in his head because of the shrieking, “full of very strange people.”

He looked down, and there was The Snake, down by his left trainer, which then promptly walked off the edge of the cliff, almost of it’s own accord. He heard the man screech again, and looked up to see him reaching out, but still standing up a foot or so away from the edge. The sentiment was still appreciated though.

Thomas let his arms raise at his sides as he floated slowly down, knowing fully well that it did nothing to change the speed of his descent.

He sank down into the inky blackness, floating like a leaf on the breeze, laughing quietly to himself at the shapes that The Snake made as it twisted and turned in the air. He looked above him, and the light of the sky was shrinking until it was merely a penny of sunlight, far above him, as if he had fallen down a manhole rather than walked off a cliff.

“Have you seen enough now, Thomas?” The snake asked, his voice sounding further and further away by the syllable, almost too quiet to hear as he uttered Thomas’s name as he fell further away in a different direction in the darkness.

Thomas thought for a moment. He /had met some /strange people.

“I think so.”

————————————————–

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed):

@celeste-tyrrell @uwillbeefoundtonight @hopeoncelivedhere @stop-it-anxiety @soakinforsif @combine-the-kitchens @randomavengersquotes

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: S01 EP01: The House Of Lost Cats

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS

SEASON 1: EPISODE 1: THE HOUSE OF LOST CATS

Episode released 30th June 2014

http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/episode-1-the-house-of-lost-cats

I have lost my cat. And in looking for him I have seen things. And I will tell you of these things, as a testament, and as a warning...

THE LOST CAT PODCAST BY A P CLARKE EPISODE 1: THE HOUSE OF LOST CATS

I haven’t had to fight him for our favourite place on the couch, I haven’t had to bat his nose as he wakes me up by eating my hair, I haven’t had to tread carefully when walking through the dark house at night for fear of stepping on his tail, and I have for over a week now, not been clawed as I tried to give him his dinner. I miss him terribly.

And he is somewhere, out there, right now. Honestly, this is typical of him.

Now, let us start at the beginning:  Just over a week ago now he did not come in for his morning feed and my self and my house-mates have not seen him since. I’ve put down wet food, I’ve put down milk, I’ve put down cream and i’ve put down bacon. I even made those smootching noises my cat likes, opening the back door and leaning out, at least as much as I dared.

But he did not come back and I knew, if I was going to find him, I would have to follow him… out there…into the world.

And dear listener, I did go outside. I did it for my cat. And the doctors say they might be able to save at least some of my toes.

But I get ahead of myself: I drew up posters, gathered sticking tape, drawing pins and what small arms I thought necessary, and readied myself to leave.

On the other side of the door, it turned out the air was not too bad that day. The Great Shadow was thin and unfocused, and the roaring was obviously coming from the far side of the lake.

So hurrying as fast as I could I put up posters. I put them up on every lamp post and tree in my neighbourhood, trying to find space among the dozens of other lost cat posters I found there, some wrinkled and fraying from time …and wear.

Then I rushed home, happy to have made it back safe.

It took only two hours, and then the first message appeared.

An email came to me, from an address I did not recognise, nor could trace back through history or IP

It read, simply:

WE KNOW WHERE YOUR CAT IS

Ooookaaaay, I thought. Are they threatening me? Am I just reading portentous doom into those words? I do have a tendency to do that.

But…WE KNOW WHERE YOUR CAT IS, was all the email said.

So I responded: Where is my cat?

Five minutes of waiting passed, where I finished most of a glass of wine in worry. Then the next email arrived.

DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOUR CAT IS?

Yes? I replied

ARE YOU SURE?

Oh come on, I thought.

I wrote: Who *are* you?

WE ARE PEOPLE WHO KNOW WHERE YOUR CAT IS. THIS IS WHY WE HESITATE: IF WE TELL YOU WHERE YOUR CAT IS, YOU WILL HAVE TO GO THERE, AND YOU MAY NOT COME BACK. SO AGAIN: ARE YOU SURE?

I replied: sure.

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE LOST CATS GO. IN EVERY TOWN AND BOROUGH THERE IS A PLACE WHERE THE LOST CATS GO. THERE IS SUCH A PLACE NOT FAR FROM YOU.

MANY HAVE GONE LOOKING FOR THIS PLACE OF LOST CATS, AND SOME, WE HAVE HEARD, HAVE FOUND IT. BUT ONLY ONE HAS EVER RETURNED, AND THEY HAVE NEVER SPOKEN OF WHAT THEY HAVE FOUND THERE.

I wrote: You are milking this.

They wrote: WAS THAT A PUN?

Not deliberately, I replied.

WE KNOW WHERE THE LOST CATS ARE. AND THIS PLACE IS MOST LIKELY WHERE YOUR CAT IS. WE CAN HELP YOU FIND THE PLACE OF LOST CATS. BUT IF YOU ENTER THAT PLACE, WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN. WE DO NOT KNOW IF THEY WILL LET YOU LEAVE. THAT IS UP TO YOU.

They left three lines empty here, presumably for emphasis.

DO YOU STILL WANT TO KNOW?

I finished the glass of wine and replied.

Yes.

And they made me wait for five further agonising minutes and then this email arrived: TOLLBROOK CRESCENT. A HOUSE BEHIND THE HOUSES, HIDDEN ONLY FROM THOSE WHO ARE SEARCHING FOR IT. HIDDEN BY THE SEA ON THE DRY LAND.

Tollbrook Crescent was a road only three streets away from mine, up the hill, just to the left of the Lightning Tree. I knew it well.

But equally I knew, just as they written, that I had to see for myself. I had lost my cat, and I resolved to find him.

But… it was late, and the only thing to fear more than the shadows at night are the lights that cause them. I would be of no use to my cat lost too.

Plus… well, there was still half a bottle left. I resolved to go in the morning, closed my computer, turned down the lights put on some music and poured myself another glass of wine...

<music plays: What The Devil Knows, written and performed by A P Clarke>

For the lies I have told, and the debts I have owed, I walked that midnight road

With no regret and no blame, and nothing to my name, to the crossroads I came

and I lit a fire in an old busted tire and I summoned the devil down

And he pulled out his knife, and I pulled out my gun, and I shot the devil down

Oh Joe don’t you go, down to the crossroads tonight

Oh Joe don’t you know, what the devil knows?

And he fell to the ground, without any sound, and lay there in the dark

I took his life, then I took his knife, and I cut out his heart

and I sat and I cried, threw his bones in the fire, and they burnt like coal.

I cooked his heart in the flames, I finished the game, and I ate the devil’s soul

Oh Joe don’t you go, down to the crossroads tonight

Oh Joe don’t you know, what the devil knows?

The fire burnt low, the embers did glow, I was joined by a figure in white

she said no more tears, you have nothing to fear, from the night or from the light

we made love on the ground, the sky whirled around, and she left without a sound.

With nothing to hide, and god on my side, I decided to stay a while.

Oh Joe don’t you go, down to the crossroads tonight

Oh Joe don’t you know, what the devil knows?

So the next day, waking up surprisingly clear-headed, which I took to be a good omen,  I wrapped myself with as much protection as I had, picked up only enough weapons as I felt I could safely run with,  I left the house before mid-day, which I am sure you can agree, showed my dedication.

Head bowed, and hands concealed for ready deployment, I left my home and headed out into the street. The incline of the street let me navigate without raising my head, so saving me from contamination and letting me pass the Stone Village without fear.

After that the darkness of the day held no danger as I could mark my way by the clockwork strikes upon the Lightning Tree.

And there, thankfully where I remembered it to be, was Tollbrook Crescent, winding round the Steeple Green. And true enough to the email, I walked along the entire road twice and did not see any ‘house behind the houses’.

I stopped at the Lightning Tree, turned around and tried again, only looking at the pavement in front of me.

And there, about halfway along, just past the backwards shop, I could see out of the corner of my eye that was a gap in the houses, and a building behind them.

It was hazy, and difficult to see, as if covered in dust.

On walking through the gate, I found that this was because it was covered in dust.

A cloud of it, hanging in the air. My filter was fresh this week, so I felt I would be fine, and I approached the house

The dust vibrated in the air, as if moved by invisible waves, distorting everything around it, and obscuring everything behind it.

I walked up to the door and knocked three times, and everything came into crystal focus as the dust came to a complete stop.

It was the noise you do not notice until it is suddenly gone, and I was made aware of the complete lack of noise.

And the door remained shut. I could see now nails through the panels, and planks up against the frosted glass. It had been blocked up from the inside.

And so: I walked round the back, and found a window open behind a bramble bush. I climbed through and found myself in a cellar, and I took the creaking wooden stairs up to the kitchen.

And the house was a sea.

The emails were right. Everywhere in the house, on every surface and in every gap, hanging from the curtains and I am sure lining the ceiling, were cats.

Three deep and all gently sleeping or sliding past each other, one could not see the floor. The house was a sea of cats.

They were looking at me, silently. So I did not move. After what seemed like an age, a thousand cat eyes blinked lazily, then turned away. And the purring, too low to really hear, began again.

The purring made my eyes vibrate, and as a result, the world became wrapped in muslin, and only mostly there.

The air had currents, as drifts of air gently pushed the suspended cat hairs gently through the rooms.

Now the house smelled of cat, there was no doubt. But it did not smell bad. The cats were clean, and treated the rooms with respect.

Everywhere was warm.

It was then I saw there was a man sitting on the couch. He was quite invisible because the cats. The cats parted and he rose, looking like a shadow to me from across the room.

“Hello,” he said. “This is my house.”

“Hello,” I said. “I am looking for my cat.”

I believe he smiled at me then, and told me the story of the cats.

He said they started coming in to his house, around three months after he had separated from his wife. They had come one at a time but they had  just kept coming.

He blocked the doors, but they found their way in through the basement and the attic.

The made it cold, but they snuggled up to him.

He removed all the food from the house. They brought in so much from the outside that he started to eat the squirrels too.

He brought a huge dog in, closed the door and waited three hours. No sign of the dog was ever found when he returned.

If he tried to leave the room, he said, they would get angry.

He said: They needed him.

“Do you know the cats well?” I asked. “Do you know if one has turned up in the last week? It could be mine.”

“The cats are who they are,” he said.

“That isn’t very helpful,” I said.

He said, “they are cats.”

I couldn’t explore the house, as the floor was all cat. I simply could not move.

“Try calling it,” he suggested.

“Will that work?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Does it?”

So I looked at the roiling sea of cats, blurry through the purr-haze, and tried to call my cat.

I made the smootching noise that it likes, and everything went silent. The purring stopped in a heartbeat and a thousand cat eyes turned to me and narrowed.

Well, there’s no point doing anything by halves, and I made the smootching noise again.

And the tide turned and moved towards me.

I tried stepping back, but the wave was coming from all sides. from the kitchen they came. From the sofa they leapt upon me. The ceiling opened up and a tide fell upon me.

My body was heavy from cats.

The man said “don’t fight them. They don’t like that.”

So I went down and they covered me.

I lay flat on the floorboards, covered in the sea of cats. They opened up my hands and nosed up my sleeves. They opened my eyes, and licked my eyeballs. They looked in every pocket and undid every button. All silent and all intent, with only the sound of sniffing and the dab dab dab of thousands of paws.

This is actually a comforting sound for cat owners as it means their claws are currently retracted.

They congregated, of all places, on my right foot. Perhaps one of my socks had been struck by some stray bacon. Perhaps a mouse had hid in it. They took my shoe. The noises turned to tak tak tak as they unpicked the threads of my socks and began to gnaw at my foot.

I lay still on the floorboards, knowing better than to scream. I tried not to breathe. Without the filters perhaps the cloud of hair would get in my throat and make me cough. I did not need a house full of panicked cats.

So I did not make a sound, and listened to their wet chewing noises, and the sound of their teeth on my bone.

They ate my foot until whatever they had wanted there was gone.

Then the sea parted and I could see the ceiling again. The cats left me, the waves subsided and slowly, one by one, the purring began again.

And not one of them had been my cat. He was not there. I had not found him.

I stood, stumblingly, needing to lean on the wall because I could not put weight upon the bloody mess of my right foot.

I whispered to the man “come with me.”

He whispered “why would I leave?”

And then he disappeared beneath a purring avalanche of fur.

So I left the way I came, not even trying  to find any of my things. For they were the possessions of the cats now. I grabbed a branch to use as a crutch, I took a breath and ran, as best I could, home.

The remains of my right foot I swear caught on every edge of every cracked paving stone.

Without the hood, I could not hide my face, and I could see the slithering around the Stone Village as I rushed past.

Without the filter I could taste what was in the air that day, but the only solution was to press on, hobbling and exhausted.

And I made it to my house, at last, locked the locks, and collapsed on to the floor. A house-mate passed me a cup of tea. I was safe.

But I had not found my cat, and I knew I that had left a trail of blood, out there, leading all the way from the house of last cats, right to my door.

But that is a story for another time.

THIS HAS BEEN EPISODE 1 OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE, COPYRIGHT 2014.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

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thelostcat.libsyn.com

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soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

apclarke.bandcamp.com/releases

[glopratchet]

astryl-wondering

and he is wearing an outfit that resembles a military uniform The only thing you can think of is that it's a disguise "Hello there and his face is covered with a bandage "I'm sorry about what happened, I was under attack by demons when I got here Astyrl of course comes out of the tent naked and his face is covered with a bandage He falls on his knees and out come his cow shaped teeth from under his lips and his red eyes start turning blue "They're gone, " he exclaims happily from shock you jump back and drop to the floor "The demons are gone and now I'm free from government rule blue and white, a representation of the government Sticking your head in it you see that It's a cockpit without any guidance system The mutated tent is colored blue and white, 1 Keycard 1 Warp drive ; (attached where the guidance system would be) 1 Summoning symbol 2 Big teeth that aren't connected into the fabric of nothingness, it was very colourful He gets one glance at the tent before it disappears into the fabric of nothingness, in his head They are touching his mind with theirs, filling him will great fear You feel like it's been months since the incident He heres the voice of the succubus and the incubus sing in his head He is completely filled with fear Touching the screen makes it feel as though you're stepping on hot coals of all energy and drained of all energy There are allies, foes, and neutrals He only manages to get out three hexes before collapsing completely You come in and out of vague memories, each worse than the one before it A new horror to add to the pile of talking to a scrin Hating himself for forgetting his father's warnings Hating himself for not getting far away when he had the chance Hating himself for making the mistake of talking to a scrin Forgetting that these thoughts are the result of demonic contact, not his own which only makes it worse Seeing visions of evil monarchs, corrupt overlords, and petty tyrants mocking him for his failure Cludstrum is in the background running play by play announcements of all that is happening around astryl, Weighted on by a pair of succubi and an incubus Trying to provide diagrams of his past interactions with astryl Having constantly unquie internal battles without actually explaining a thing along with a picture of a door He can't become corrupt, he can't remember why, and there are other directions to go besides forward A weather readout finally comes back up, with a small tent similar to the one he was in His excessive fear have caused it to collapse and he is still wearing his old military outfit He will finds himself in some dust storm with a small tent similar to the one he was in and astryl's mind that have been left in storage for the past seven years The following actions fail and a permanent -3 is added! There seems to be some kind of corrupting computer virus that has been feasting on the bits of cludstrum and astryl's mind that have been left in storage for the past seven years a common brain-eating demon He cannot see ahead or back, all he can do is go forward into the single door on the screen and wrong The appear out the corners of the screen and gobble up parts of the interface or make the symbols go wacky and wrong and refuse to join together, fearing the other one is a fake Cludstrum is attempting to get these parts of astryl sorted out but the two never seem to acknowledge one another and refuse to join together, You finally realize that you spent so much time talking to yourself that you completely lost sight of your original quest sod The brand of computer contains a copy of all that cludstrum is, making his survival possible The name on the contact list is cylopiean anglyphsod All of your attacks appear to work against the daemonlings but they are quick enought to not get hit much An attempt to combine the world with itself 7 years ago would be made, and that is where you appear and you are not seeing any of this information on how to actually interact with the storage system The ui will break intermently and you are not seeing any of this information on how to actually interact with the storage system The up and down directons will be desimated when you see a 20 minute timesket marked 08 in green blinking on and off from teh facility, the mirror gateway terminal will not work Untill the code corruption is sealed off and deleted and all the slender smooth hound stds are destroyed from teh facility, but you feel a wave of cataclypsmic reckoning has formed and is seeking the means to escape How this is achieved is a mystery but you feel a wave of cataclypsmic reckoning has formed and is seeking the means to escape with this computer Cludstrum states that he will need some cucumber to fix some of the issues with this computer intrying to solve this Cludstrum begins useing cucumber and water in a manner that astryl finds is not appealing Astryl considers the fact that he might be thirsty and hungry intrying to solve this All this he says and does suddenly seems pointless to himself Is a mind without purpose worth keeping interetered in life? You startle yourself with the thought that some demon possessed your mind -- but the name for something like this escapes you All alligatord are from planet octzoll, made popular by the sect of zeraqueles on ceomalta 's actions This terminal must be hacked to send commands to the searchfunction Cludstrum will narrate the going ons of astryl wylde's actions in cups of water The currency this computer uses are the metal clips In order to debug parts of the screens astyrl need to eat things in cups of water This terminal appears to be supprted by plugs into the sockets throughout the building This terminal needs a major update done before it is able to show the instructions on what to do next and be fine These woods are filled with tiny black insects that severely attack the skin when in external contact Astyrl is immortal so he can eat pretty much anything and be fine These tubes need screws opened and shutters unlocked and connected into electrical circuits around the place The official currency here is the small bolt it into, or the things he surrounds him with Cludstrum must be pretty bored as ususal to order a status update so small in size He pulls colors out of the things he imbies it into, Kneeling by a tube under astryl's bed, begs for money from who ever goes in or out In fact, he would be defeated by it most likely fruit to eat though The small plants all around appear to be carrying eggs so he eats them raw, shells and all He can find some cactus fruit to eat though Eating the thorns will put him in a worse and worse mood every second he attempts it These two are statues of who knows what so maybe cludstrum will know The dirt here could be edible and since he's pretty hungry he goes to get some He needs something hard and heavy to smash these fruits with Sitting right beside him is his back pack for the whole day While he didn't eat anything, he was extremely exhausted so when night came he fell asleep right away So yeah this first part is astryl wondering in the desert for the whole day The hole and blocky stairs give no clue as to where he could be He can find an oasis or an urban environment in which to explore next and report on the doings on it a road in which he could follow But he appears to have amnesia So you can save anywhere and come back to it later Another place to explore in the desert is a road in which he could follow A scary place to explore in the desert is a Just kidding, there are no scary things in this world yet! Nothing just yet You can influence what astryl does next by pressing certain buttons and link cable connectors which appear below If you do not want to do that, you can also influence it by feeding codes into the update machine If you really don't want to do that, Cludstrum will also submit some for you, as he intends to send more of these Astryl merciless bellying through the night, begins to encounter a rough hover board track which he follows up onto a dune covered in countless hourglasses made out of sticky sand broken granddad your rich skinless over the huge cacti drift away out of town The wrecked tent obsessive shivering broken granddad your rich skinless over the huge cacti drift away out of town shaking clumsy ghost your fresh calm toxic up the beach right The wrecked tent tranquilized climaxing shaking clumsy ghost your fresh calm toxic up the beach right in a hurry lazy sadistic down the fountain layering over ripped brief metal The wrecked tent cryptic worm holing in a hurry lazy sadistic down the fountain layering over ripped brief metal Astryl clandestine sniveling under the start of a new day, begins to encounter squinting women eating sticks who keep blowing bubbles Astryl clandestine sniveling under the contageions of a boring disease, Next to one of them the skeleton tallies up all the reactions to what happens at the table under a burning surface, begins to encounter barefoot dead witch children tied to sticks popping out briefly from behind dunes Astryl naked awakening under a burning surface, showing his abilities, begins to encounter a airborne adventure object that has four wheel drive and big solar panels on a lot next to boxes of rotting apples in it Astryl indispensable replaying showing his abilities, with events, begins to encounter the cleaning of intricate cookery in a tiny part of the mountain range known as New Jersey Astryl byzantine proceeding with events, burp rearing back from pale isolation, begins to encounter the coming together of human construction in an area below the City now covered in up thrust sedimentary rock layers Kludstrm overdue programming burp rearing back from pale isolation, in a dark room, begins to encounter dancing girls from fat with their blue hair tied up in pigtails who wear perfumes that could cut through stone Astryl diseased pissing in a dark room, running up to itself through black isolation, begins to encounter the previous creation of its human minds and memories after being shut off for so many years Kludstrm foul self-cleaning running up to itself through black isolation, inside a cave, begins to encounter thoughts coming together in surprise as his body folds over themselves drawing love from its endlessly complicated structure Astryl unique sheltering inside a cave, Astryl lopsided shading in his minds views, begins to encounter a location where 4 girls facing different ways with complex hairstyles in separate rooms levitate while knitting sweaters in his minds views, begins to encounter a location where illusion weaving witches sell used mustangs that glow faintly in the dark while they raise funds to buy weapons on high, begins to encounter a central control point for moving pens which makes sure that each unidentifiable animal has enough food to last a week Kludstrm scrupulous transmitting on high, to feel, begins to encounter large and clumsy buildings built from blocks which attract bodies of water Astryl sovereign beginning to feel, from bad atmosphere, begins to encounter snakes consisting entirely of teeth which eat up all the knives in a box full of human hair Kludstrm multicolored healing from bad atmosphere, out, begins to encounter a chunky pyramid of fur coats keeping itself alive for almost no reason Kludstrm impotent blocking out, past sense of self, begins to encounter a wild human ancestor which lived in a massive block of ice to avoid getting torn apart by smaller cousins Astryl embattled aspirating past sense of self, with ice-cream bars, begins to encounter magnificent machinery built into white space with cloud shaped indentations which create hovering stair cases Astryl crimson glistening with ice-cream bars, in thought, begins to encounter smaller mammals with complex ecological relationships that usually eat their own young Astryl boyish squinting in thought, excitement, begins to encounter a beating heart which pumps fluffy orange cotton candy Kludstrm afferent generating excitement, for food, begins to encounter muscular and hairy humanoids which hunt in packs and have long telescopic eyes Astryl insubstantial scouting for food, of limits, begins to encounter ten forests of lumber mills which organize addicts Kludstrm cheerful warning of limits, rock formations, begins to encounter wriggle disks of metal and light which have tiny forests inside their slam pieces Astryl senseless scavenging rock formations, inside, begins to encounter a concrete pond which is cooling an apple pie that cleans litter Kludstrm dusky developing inside, with mislaid teeth, begins to encounter swarming whey people made entirely out of bread which wear cooled hot sauce as clothes Astryl tasteless chewing with mislaid teeth, on an afro pick, begins to encounter wild human ancestors covering massive areas by mating fast and not worrying about incest Astryl boorish choking on an afro pick, armed robbers lacking food, begins to encounter cow-licking cowards who unite and feed on the fear of others Kludstrm ideological attracting armed robbers lacking food, on lies, begins to encounter independent greedy eyeballs rolling on the beaches of lake milk sufficient for 1000 years Astryl oppressed surviving on lies, sparingly, begins to encounter great travelers which play out the lives of those who can't Kludstrm schematic spending sparingly, prey, begins to encounter brained fluffy fools which hop around in comical fashion, shouting quotations from the blunder years Astryl crummy tracking prey, symbols, begins to encounter inflated hag-ridden mineshafts which pump our destitute kids full of lead Kludstrm exhaustive matching symbols, through the left nostril, begins to encounter disturbing fathers detaching their heads from their bodies to teach lessons Astryl swashbuckled whistling through the left nostril, shadows as Kludstrm week-long lingering in darkness, begins to encounter bright-eyed mold people jumping out of honey covered trees to steal children A sun filled sky grudged retreating shadows as Kludstrm week-long lingering in darkness, begins to encounter impregnable soft rocks with low melting points which are vulnerable to power tools The city of beetriot shallow glimmering bronze, begins to encounter edible rusted drilling equipment shaped like animals, producing honey flavored with syrups brightly, begins to encounter wasp-waisted starships studded with old-fashioned cannons, attacking ferociously The city of beetriot rude fluorescing brightly, dwellings, begins to encounter three violet eyed deer with human-like arms spreading beauty, joy and tolerance The city of beetriot wrinkled serious looking dwellings, The sky low on atmosphere, begins to encounter large food animals squeaking, "to eat or not to eat, that is the question Your eyes close, as your air-starved lungs can take no more Gasping for any kind of respite from the outside-- ANYTHING Your eyes open to reveal your previous location engulfed in flames