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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 6 years

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Calibration is a holiday celebrated, or feared, across Creation. For five days at the end of the calendar, the laws of Fate bend; demons slip through the cracks between worlds, ghosts walk in the daylit lands, and raksha stalk the earth. Many cultures treat it as an inversion festival, where the normal social order is turned upside down and all rules are suspended; others treat it as a time to be feared, when literal monsters walk among us; still others treat it as a time of carnival, to celebrate surviving another year and to make merry in light of the fact that they might not survive the year to come.

It was in this context that Leo had tentatively tried to explain Halloween.

+++

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" asked Seal.

Des twirled to show off her cape. "I'm Dracula. Obvioushly," she said, drooling only a little. She was wearing something not too different from what she normally wore, black accented with purple and red, save for three additions: a floor-length cape, the slicked-back hair above her forehead, and what appeared to be false teeth. False fangs.

"Dracula fucking who?" Seal asked. He had opted to dress as Jason, the cool guy from that movie Lion had shown them; the mask was easy enough for Harv to sculpt, and Des had managed to find a spirit who could disguise Glorious First Light as a hockey stick. Perfectly reasonable. Des rolled her eyes. "Dracula fucking Dracula, idiot. Vlad Tepesh. The Impaler. It'sh a classhic. Barbarian." She rolled her jaw for a minute, then spit the false teeth out. "Actually, fuck these though. I feel like Star."

"Not sho eashy, ish it?" Star crowed. He was dressed with a similar cape, but in more fashionably cut clothing that Seal had to admit suited him. Over his mask he wore another half-mask, white and sculpted to fit the right side of his face. Seal had the vague recollection that he was supposed to be some sort of singer or musical performer, but frankly Seal had been distracted by the costume and not paying attention while Star talked or sang or whatever.

"You have fangs, idiot," Seal agreed. Des smiled at him and let her fangs slide out smoothly. Seal snorted and looked around the room to take in the rest of the costumes. Lion had appeared earlier in a buff jacket, with his head made up to look like a flaming skull. Tower had a white cloth draped over them with eyeholes cut out, and claimed to be a ghost when anyone asked. Shadow was covered in dirt and cloth intestines, and claimed to be Harvester when asked. Harv, on the other hand, was dressed as finely as Seal could remember ever seeing him; he was wearing what appeared to be jewelry made of bones, and....black lipstick? Seal raised an eyebrow at Des, who followed his gaze and started preening. "I helped him pick it out," she explained.

As they watched, Harv pulled a flask from beneath his costume, took a swig, and started heading unstably but steadily towards Shadow. Des sighed. "I'm gonna go take care of this," she told Seal, and headed to intercept.

+++

"We have a problem," Star hissed to Des urgently as he accosted her.

Des squinted as she poured herself a cup of (unfortunately nonalcoholic) punch. "What problem? Nobody's even here anymore."

It was true; Lion had excused himself early, and Harv and Shadow..... had disappeared somewhere. Star flapped his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Not that. I wasch, uh, shnooping, a little, and I maybe broke into the closhet."

Des' eyes flew to the closet, adorned with warnings and arcane symbols. Sure enough, the padlocks were hanging off the latch, snapped and rusted. Des turned back to Star and raised an eyebrow. The Day Caste blushed and looked away, muttering about Chains-Cannot-Hold Technique.

Des sighed. "Whatever. That's just where Harv and Shadow put the stuff they don't want us to mess with. Old Artifacts, gross necromancy stuff, candy stashes, that kind of thing. It's fine if you didn't take anything."

Silence.

"Star, did you take something?" Des asked with deceptive calm.

"It washn't sho musch that I took shomefing," Star hedged, "asch I let shomefing out."

Des narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

Star broke immediately. "There wasch thish ugly little monkey shtatshue with shymbalsch, right, and it wasch jusht labeled Horrid Fucking Monkey, sho I picked it up to look at it but then it shtarted fucking clapping, on itsh own, like shome fucking demon --"

"Star, calm down," Des said. Star was pacing back and forth in front of the doughnut table. He stopped in his tracks. "Anyway," he said, "I dropped it on the ground, and it rolled under a shelf. And I got down to look for it, but I couldn't find it, and then I heard it. Over there!" He pointed, and Des looked.

Sitting atop the TV cabinet was a small monkey statue, either taxidermied or lovingly upholstered, holding a pair of cymbals. Its glassy eyes gleamed in the Sanctuary's harsh light, its smile stretched wide to show all its teeth. Des had faced ghosts and zombies and hekatoncheires, had dueled a Deathlord singlehandedly, but she felt a shiver run down her spine. Next to her, Star was probably hissing at the thing.

"Okay," Des said. "You've convinced me. Shitheads, assemble."

+++

The Shithead Squad had been named by Seal, probably trying to fill a hole left by his old gang, Des rationalized. The name had grown on her. It had begun as just her and Seal, but Tower went along with whatever they cooked up and they'd somehow pulled in Star as well. Des liked to think that they were fostering cooperation between the young Deathknaves. At least Star and Seal fought less when they were aimed at the same thing.

Currently the Shithead Squad was assembled under the Sanctuary table, which was actually two tables under one tablecloth. Des and Star had lost their cloaks; Seal had dropped his mask just beyond the table but refused to reach for it. Tower was still covered in a cloth.

"Thisch ish shtupid," Star whispered. "I'm just going to --"

"Shh," Seal hissed. "I think I hear it." The assembled Abyssals fell silent and strained to hear.

Nothing happened.

"I'm making a run for it," Star said, and moved toward the edge of the table. As he did, his head bumped against the support of the table above, causing him to reel backwards clutching his face and whispering "ow, ow, ow," repeatedly. As the Shitheads fumbled to catch him, Seal jostled the leg of the other table.

Immediately, there was a screeching noise from above, accompanied by repeatedly crashing cymbals. This set off a panic underneath the table, all the Abyssals tangled up and struggling to get free. "Get off -- no you -- ow, that's my fucking leg -- Sol's sake, Star, you're gonna stab my eye --"

As they struggled under the table, the screeching proceeded closer to the edge, and closer, and closer, until there was a thump from beyond the tablecloth. Silence fell and the Deathknights froze. Slowly, Des reached out to lift the tablecloth.

The Horrid Fucking Monkey was sitting there, on the ground, upright. The moment Des made eye contact with it, it was banging its cymbals again and screeching like it had never stopped. Its eyes gleamed an unholy red, and Des could feel them burrowing into her Essence, into her very soul.

"Fire in the fucking hole!" Seal shouted from behind her, and Des launched herself to the side to avoid a cascade of golden spears aimed at the monkey.

+++

"Oh Schol, oh Schol, oh Schol," Star muttered, holding himself and rocking slightly. He was curled up next to the oven, in a puddle of what might have been grease.

"Shut up," Des hissed at him from the kitchenette door, peering back out into the Sanctuary. Seal was standing just behind her, ready to summon Glorious First Light. "Why won't it die," he muttered to himself, "why won't it just fucking die..."

"We shouldn't have sent Tower," Des said finally. "I don't care where Harv and Shadow are, we should have stuck together. Come on, let's go look for them."

Star's head shot up. "What? No, no, you're crazhy, I'm not going out there --"

"Yes you are," Des snapped. "Do you want us to leave you here instead?"

Star scrambled to his feet. "No it's ok I'm good," he said hastily. "I got the Wingsh, I can murder, I can fly, I'm sho ready for thish. I'm sho fucking ready for thish." He moved to join them at the doorframe, holding onto Seal for support. For once, Seal didn't shoulder him off.

"Okay, everyone get ready," Des whispered. She pulled up the deadliest necromancy she knew, and behind her Seal pulled out his spear, and the feathers on Star's wings bristled with deadly intent. Slowly, she swung open the door.

The Sanctuary was a mess. The tables were overturned, the chairs were scattered, costume pieces were strewn everywhere. In the middle of the carpet, however, there was a stain that all their senses immediately pegged as blood, and sitting directly next to that stain was --

"You horrid fucking monkey!" Seal cried, hurling himself at the statue. It started screeching as soon as he set foot outside its kitchen, banging its cymbals more loudly than Des thought was possible. Star dropped to his knees next to the stain, wailing, "it got them, it fucking killed them, it killed Tower, they were so young....."

Seal was wrestling the statue, trying to keep its cymbals apart. It was apparently possessed of unholy strength, because nothing should have been able to overpower a Dusk Caste, but Seal was rolling around on the carpet like he was fighting an attack dog and every so often the cymbals managed to crash together anyways. Pushing where she could, Des helped steer them to the Sanctuary door and hold it open, revealing a dark hallway beyond. "And fucking stay out, you devil fucking bastard!" Seal shouted, hurling the statue into the darkness and slamming the door shut.

+++

"HOW DID IT GET BACK IN!" Seal howled, holding the bathroom door shut with all his strength. Something thumped against it on the other side. Star was sitting on the toilet with the lid closed, rocking back and forth, muttering "we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die."

"Okay, get ready," Des said, reaching deep within her. "Ready, steady, go!"

Seal flung open the door and Des retched, throwing up a mass of black slime. Sure enough, the monkey was on the other side, screeching and clapping its cymbals, and Des directed the spell towards it. She felt the slime lengthen into the shape of her shadow and begin creeping towards the monkey. "Close it, close it, close it," she yelled, slamming the door shut.

The two of them braced their backs against the door, sliding to the floor together. "Do you think it got it?" Seal asked.

Des shook her head. "I'm afraid to check," she confessed.

Seal snapped his fingers at Star. "Hey. Hey, birdbrain. Snap out of it."

Star whipped around to glare at Seal. "What the fuck did you call me, you little shtringy bashtard?"

Seal grinned. "Yeah, that's the spirit. You got Stealth Charms, right? See if Des got it."

Star muttered, but Seal's taunt seemed to have broken him out of it. He rolled up his sleeves and concentrated, and Des watched him fade out of sight. She cracked the door open for a second, then closed it again.

"Well, shomefing happened," Star said when he was visible again. "I don't know what you did to it, but shomefing."

Des opened the door again, and she and Seal peered out. The monkey was visibly straining to clap, embroiled as it was in the tarry shadow-substance. Its screeching was muffled, but its red eyes shone with just as much hatred.

"Quick!" Seal yelled. "Fire! Fire cleanses!"

"I'm the occultist here!" Des yelled back, but she picked it up begrudgingly. The shadow-stuff was oily and sticky, but the monkey-fur was pulsatingly warm in a way that was simultaneously disgusting and terrifying. Star held the kitchenette door open for her, and she set it on one of the burners then cranked it to full blast. The Hungry Creeping Shadow spell quickly burned away, leaving the statue free to clap and scream, but Des captured it under a pot and weighed it down with all her weight. They listened to it crashing and banging inside the pot, but eventually the noises quieted down.

Des turned off the burner and cautiously cracked the pot open. No noise emerged. She lifted it higher, then cursed. "Shit," she said. "It's still here."

Seal demanded to see, shoving her aside and throwing the pot off. Sure enough, the monkey was sitting on the burner, its fur streaked with black. "It'sh not making any noishe, though," Star said hopefully. "Maybe that meansh it'sh dead?"

The monkey's eyes lit up red.

Seal's anima erupted to iconic, but before he could do anything, Harvester walked into the kitchen. "Oh, hey," he said. "You found the monkey." The Daybreak picked it up, fiddled with something on the underside of the base. The light in the monkey's eyes died away.

Des' jaw dropped. Harv called out through the door, "Is this what you were talking about?" And Tower's head poked through the door.

"Yeah, that's it--" they started to say, before being ambushed by all three Shitheads flinging themselves onto them. Even gargantuan as they were, they staggered backwards a little. "We thought you were dead!" sobbed Star dramatically. Seal stepped away hastily, muttering about how he didn't, no, he knew they were fine --

Tower blinked confusedly. "No. I cut myself on the cymbals and went to go find bandages so I didn't spill blood on the walls. It's very hard to clean. Then I found Harvester. He said he knew how to fix it."

Harv poked his head out of the kitchen, frowned at where the four of them were sprawled on the Sanctuary floor. "Did you guys try to set this thing on fire?" he said. "You know there's an off switch, right?"

The Abyssals, looked down, unwilling to meet each other's gazes. Harv chuckled. "What's that thing Lion was saying?" he said. "Trick a fucking treat."

#sanctuary in black #emetophobia for ts?#i thought about having it be longfurby but in the end Horrid Fucking Monkey is an institution #hour in black

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[HR] [MS] [TH] A Guest for Dinner

Food seems to bring people together. Most people can think of at least one moment in their lives where they have felt a connection with friends, family or colleagues due to a meal. That’s why I love to cook. Not only do I get to bond over mutual enjoyment of a dish, I also get the pride of creating it for my guests. I love putting in the effort to make something delectable, but that feeling pales in comparison to seeing that look on their face. That look that conveys one simple expression.

Damn, that’s good.

It was always a victory that was always welcome, and that only happened with either loved ones, people I want to impress, work associates or people who I have lost touch with. The guest tonight fell in the last category.

“Hey Tommy! How'sh it coming in there? Need a hand?”

I hear the voice of Geoffrey Boucher coming from the other room. I can hear the slight slur in his speech, which means he is really enjoying the drink I made for him. Maybe he would like another?

“It's almost done my friend. Do you need a refill?”

“You read my mind man!”

This was not a tough feat. I am pretty confident in my cocktail making skills. I grab the shaker from the rinsing basin and give it a quick rinse. I add the ice and various liquids and alcohols and give them a vigorous shake in the sealed container, exiting the fragrant kitchen to refill my guest's drink. As I turn the corner, I see him in his seat, head lolling lazily from side to side.

“One Abernathy Special!”

I smile at my seated guest as I pour the concoction into his nearly empty glass, the dark amber liquid slowly filtering through the ice and swelling into the glass.

“You're the besht, always have been, alwaysh will be!”

He beams up at me as his hand finds his drink, eyes crinkling through the lenses of his glasses as he does so.

“You are way too kind. I just want to make sure my guests and friends have the best experience possible when they come over.”

I start towards the kitchen once again, tossing the shaker into the sink as I enter. I am greeted by the aromas of meats roasting in butter and rosemary, wine reducing into a cherry glaze, along with the garlic mixing into the potatoes. I take a deep inhale, savouring every scent.

“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your call last week.”

I yell this in the direction of the dining room as I open the oven, bathing myself in the pungent steam fermenting inside. I look at the meats cooking, turning them over once more before they are done.

“Well when I shaw your name in the paper I had to get in touch. It'sh been too long shince we've sheen each other.”

“Yeah, it has been too long. College, right?"

I close the oven and seal in the fragrance once again.

“College? Man, have you been enjoying these drinksh more than I have? High shchool! I never went to college!”

I can hear his laughter coming from the other room. Loud, boisterous, and annoyingly squeaky. I turn towards the prep table and grab my masher, turning my attention to the potatoes and garlic.

“My mistake, I was focusing in on the final touches on the food. That's right, high school. Feels like ages ago.”

“It totally wash! Right after the new millennia!”

I start mashing the tender chunks of potato in with the garlic, adding in copious amounts of butter and milk as I do so.

“Nineteen years eh? Wow... That's why your call was so surprising then.”

“Well like I shaid, I shaw your name in the paper! I knew you left, but I had no idea what you ended up doing. Other than some shtuff to do with 'putersh. But the paper shaid you were coming back here to 'shtart where you shtarted' and make your own company. Kudosh to you!”

I continue to mash the creamy concoction in front of me, checking for the perfect consistency. The spice of the garlic reaches my nostrils and the excitement builds for when I can consume this delicious meal.

“Thank you. It was a slow climb after I finished university, but i guess some people liked the hardware I was tinkering with and decided to move my life onto easy street.”

Perfect, the potatoes are done. I put the lid on them and move the pot onto the warming section.

“You were alwaysh tinkering with shomething! I'm glad you ended up going to univershity though. Not a place for moi though. I had shome big plansh, had to get shtarted on those right away!”

“From what I remember, you always had plans, Geoff.”

I check on the cherry wine reduction. The sweet perfume of it greets me as soon as I take the lid off. As soon as I smell it, I can feel my mouth salivate slightly. I give it a few slow stirs as I hear the glass in the other room firmly hit the table.

“Damn shtraight!! Alwaysh wanting to make my mark. Good memory, Tommy Boy!”

I cringe when he says that. I knew this was going to be cringey, but this was a little too much for me.

“Well what plans did you have after high school? Was it anything to do with the t-shirt making business? Or maybe the music production you did?”

“Nah, thoshe all shmoked out. Can't count on anyone back then, or these daysh either. Way to only mention my endeavoursh that you helped me out with, you know I alwaysh had shomething going on. Actually, after high shchool, I tried shelling carsh.

I can't help but smile at this. Totally fitting that Greasy Geoff was a car salesman, he always thought he could sell ketchup to a woman in white. I tap the spoon on the edge of the pot as I put the lid back on and take it off of the burner.

“So I'm guessing that turned out okay? You said on the phone that you were selling cars currently.”

I hear a sigh from the other room, faint enough to be a whisper into my ear. The sigh was a preview into the solemn tone that was to follow. “Yea... I'm shelling cars. I tried getting out of the bizz a few times. More than a few timesh actually. I can't seem to fully pull myshelf out of it. It's okay, but I know that I'm deshtined for bigger things.”

“Yea, you always used to say that.”

I can't help the semi-sarcastic tone that comes out of my mouth as I say that. As I grab the plates and set them on the counter, preparing for the plating, I can't help but think how much of a failure this guy is. He thinks he is destined for greatness, yet he is only trying for short-term, get rich quick schemes. How could anyone be friends with this loser?

“Damn right! I say it because it'sh true! I wasn't made for this small-assh life. I was meant to make it to the big top! To the big city in a penthouse! But people keep letting me down. Even you Tommy.”

I almost fumble a plate at this, which would be a real shame. I set the offset glass circle down gingerly on the table.

“How did I let you down Geoff?"

I hear something hit the table, possibly his fists. Not too hard, but hard enough to make a noise. That struck a nerve. I was prepared for some yelling from the other room. I really couldn't care less, but I didn't want to deal with it, not during the artistic plating I was about to do.

“You let me down by not shticking with me. We were supposed to be partners with making those shirtsh, and you bailed on me when things were getting tough. Everyone did. No one could stick around and continue onto greatness."

I really have to hold my tongue here. So many things I could say, but now is not the time. It will come soon, but not yet.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down, and I open up the oven to take out the meats. The smell is nearly overwhelming, and it takes some mental fortitude to keep myself from tasting it right then and there. I start carving the meat, watching as the juices seep out as I slice it into medallions. I separate the meats, putting the white meat on one plate, and the red on another.

“You ignoring me in there, man? Ignoring your dear guest?”

My brow becomes furrowed at the annoyance in his voice. My grip tightens around the carving knife and carving fork, whitening my knuckles. I take a breath so my voice doesn't sound angered.

“Not at all, sorry! I was just taking the food out and plating it. I'll be in there in a moment or two.”

“Ah, my bad. It really does smell good!”

I know this. It has to be some of my best work. I put the mashed potatoes on the plate, a neat scoop and a half on each. I finish the plates off with drizzling on the reduction. Technically, this wouldn't go with the white meat, but this is a favourite sauce of mine and I know it would be delicious. I take a look at the plates and smile to myself at my latest culinary accomplishment.

I take my phone out and take two pictures. The first is of the white meat plate, and I save that to my 'Meal' folder. The second is of the red meat plate. That one I send in a text message with the caption, “Bon Appetit”.

I pick up the plates and bring them to the dining room. The melancholy expression on Geoff Boucher's face drops immediately when he sees the dinner come in. I put the red meat plate in front of him and I sit across from him with my plate.

“Dinner is served.”

I say as I grab my fork and sample the mashed potatoes. They are everything I thought they would be. Geoff just stares slack-jawed at the meal in front of him. It dawns on me in that moment that he might not have ever had a meal like this before.

“Holy shit Tom, this looks amazing.”

He greedily grabs his fork and knife, and slices off a chuck of the meat, stuffing it in his mouth. I can see the look of savoury satisfaction spread on his face and a smirk appears on mine.

“Well it looks like you are enjoying this. Hopefully this makes up for me letting you down in the past.”

He forks a large dollop of mashed potatoes in his mouth as I carve a slice of my meat and smear the sauce on it. It tastes absolutely heavenly. He begins to open his mouth to speak and I just wish he would have swallowed first.

“Mmmmmm. This really is next level. This definitely helps, but I did have something else in mind though, to make up for the past. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Of course this wannabe con-artist has something else in mind. He finally swallows his mouthful before shoving another large hunk of meat into his mouth. Perhaps he will choke on the large pieces and I will be saved this conversation? I on the other hand, actually swallow my food before I reply.

“I had no choice but to cook for myself in college. After a couple years I started throwing little dinner parties for my friends and teachers. But what was this something else you had in mind?”

He pauses for a brief moment, and actually swallows his mouthful before speaking, thank God.

“I thought you said you went to university?” “Oh, that's what I meant. I actually got in the habit of just saying post-secondary education because I do that often.”

The bastard is actually sharp. Unexpectedly so. I look at his drink and notice that it's only half empty. I also notice that I forgot to get myself a drink.

“It seems that I forgot to get myself a drink. Do you want a top up at all?”

I rise from my seat and walk towards the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge. A delicious Chardonnay.

“No, I'm okay. I rarely drink when I eat, gives me heartburn.”

I shrug at this. I would rather him intoxicated, but it really doesn't matter, especially at this point. I pour myself a glass before putting the wine back into the fridge and walking back to my seat.

“I'm serious though, this might be one of the best things I have ever eaten? What is it? And why is yours different than mine?"

“Yes it is. Red meat doesn't really agree with me too much, so I tend to make myself chicken or pheasant. But yours is a special type of pork.”

I retake my seat, and take a sip of the wine before I put the glass down.

“So please, what is this idea you had?”

Geoff puts his cutlery down excitedly.

“Ah yes. I had an idea recently and I think it would be a great business venture. People love vintage cars right? Its the classic look, the American Dream. What if there was a service to rent them for a nice night out? I know there are rental services for luxury cars like Lamborghini's and Ferrari's, but there isn't anything if you wanted to take out a '67 Impala or a '40 Mustang.”

Half of me wants to roll my eyes and the other half wants to burst out laughing. Fortunately I can keep those impulses at bay. I take another sip of wine, washing down my mouthful. I take a moment to appreciate the mixture before I reply.

“Seems like not a bad idea. Sounds like you would be great at that, with all your experience selling cars.”

He looks at me with an expression of victory on his face as he throws his arms up in the air.

“Exactly!! I would be great at it.”

I glance at both our plates, which are almost finished. I cut my last piece of meat into thirds as I respond to him.

“So, what is my part to play in all of this? I'm guessing you want some financial backing?”

His expression of victory turns to one of hurt, as if I just slapped him. I take a piece of meat, savouring it before I continue.

“Don't look so shocked. We haven't spoken in over a decade, and you see me in the paper in an article saying I was wealthy and coming back to my hometown. As soon as I got your call I figured you wanted money.”

He just stares at me for a couple moments. I take this time to finish my plate, thoroughly enjoying every last bite. He looks down at his plate and finishes his meat, leaving only the bone left.

“I mean, that wasn't the only reason I called, but it was part of it. I have the skills, and even a lead on a place, but I don't have the cars. I was hoping you could get me started, and you would get a huge return.”

I stand up as he finishes. I grab my plate, and walk towards him to grab his plate. He looks at me with pleading eyes behind his stylish frames. I stare back at him, unblinking and focused.

“Huge return, eh? Just like all those times before?”

As I walk away I can see that same slapped expression again.

“What do you mean by that? We were partners before, you know that. We worked together.”

I just walk to the kitchen and put the plates in the sink, rinsing any big particle off before leaving them to soak.

“By the way, what happened to your face, Tom? You have a pretty long scar there.”

I run my fingertips over the scar on my face. I goes from my brow to my lip on the right side.

“I got into a fight a while back. It was just a graze but it left a mark I guess.”

I shut the water off before I walk back into the room. Geoff stares at me with a slightly puzzled look on his face as I walk towards my glass of wine and pick it up.

“But, you and I never worked together. You begged and swindled me out of my money, saying you would pay me back and we would be partners. But you never had any skill with anything you did. Sure, you had the silk screening machine and the mixing boards, but you never knew what to do with them, and you were always to lazy to learn how to.”

His mouth falls open as he stares at me. I stare back, intensely and unflinching.

“You conned so many people out of money in high school, and it sounds like you are still up to to your old tricks now. You aren't getting a cent of my money.”

I finish the last little bit of my wine, and head back to the kitchen to wash it. Geoff's eyes follow me as I walk by him. Unfortunately though, I don't see his arm reach up and grab my collar, pulling me towards him, jerking me down.

“I need to get this thing up and running, you hear me? You're going to fund me, just like you did back then. Don't embarrass yourself like before, I will kick your ass if you make me."

The smirk on his face is sickening to me. He thinks he has so much power, he is used to being able to intimidate people.

Not me.

I grab his wrist, as twist it off of my collar, twisting it and his elbow to an obtuse angle, eliciting a cry of pain as I release. He stares at me, bewildered.

“Don't you fucking touch me, you little piece of shit.”

I walk to the kitchen, rinse out the glass and put it in the dish washer.

“Looks like you finally grew a pair, Tommy Boy. If only you got them sooner, maybe you wouldn't have gotten your face slashed and had to get it put back together. Maybe, if you got them in high school, Lindsay would have fucked you, instead of me.”

There it was. The first hat dropped. Honestly, it took a while for that to come out, but none the less, it did. I walk out of the kitchen and sit back down at the table, but this time, beside him. The cocky expression on his face changes to one of fear as soon as I sit there.

“Right, I was too much of a pussy, so my girlfriend fucked you on prom. That's what happened, right?”

He sees the rage in my eyes, as his shift from side to side, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

“Well, I never said you were a pussy, but yea, that's how I remember it. You took too long and she wanted something real.”

I can't hold back anymore. I slap him across the face, swiftly. He looks at me, more shocked than before. His cheek starts turning a shade of pink as his eyes start looking glossy. I start to wonder if anyone had ever hit him before now.

“See, it went a bit differently. She was in love, but you had a crush on her. You tried making a pass at her in her hotel room, and she turned you down. You didn't like rejection, never handled it well, so you forced her to do what you wanted. Maybe in your state, it was consensual, but it wasn't.”

“What the hell are you saying? I never ra-”

I smack him again, same hand, same side. His cheek is now closer to red, and I see a tear escape his eye.

“She left shortly after that, went home and didn't say anything to anyone, not even her boyfriend. She broke things off and ran away from home. None of her family or friends saw her again.”

“I... I had no idea. I thought you and her went off to university togeth.... Wait a second.”

I cant help but to smile now. I see the cogs turning in his head as the pieces fall together, painting a picture.

“You never went to college or university. In that article, it said that you created some big time tech and took it to several companies, and they were fighting over you. In that article, you didn't have that scar on your face either.”

He frantically pulls up both of his sleeves.

“The scar on my left arm is from beginning of high school, wiped up on my skate board. The one on my right is from a few years ago, cut myself repairing my car.”

The scar on his left arm is small and white, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. The one on his right was still pink. He looks at me, eyes big and full of fear. The sweat on his forehead was starting to drip down his brow and into his eyes, stinging them I would imagine. Still, his eyes are locked on me.

“No way in hell is that scar new.”

Any self imposed toughness in Geoffrey Boucher is now gone. I stand up from my seat and he shrinks in fear.

“Who are you? What have you done to Tommy?”

His voice is dripping in fear. The second hat has dropped. I start circling around the table. Its a bit of a power move, but I love seeing it in his eyes. He is not in control, and he is starting to see that he never was.

“You know Lindsay breaking up and running away broke him. He thought about killing himself after she ran away, but an idea sprouted, one that drove him. He thought that if he got rich enough, famous enough, that she would come back to him. He really loved her, with all of his heart. There never was any closure, not until a few months ago.”

I'm halfway around the table. Geoff's eyes are still locked on me. I don't think he could tear his eyes away if there was an explosion beside him. This is exactly where I want him.

“Mr. Abernathy hires private detectives to look for her. They never did though, only where she was buried. She lived for a little longer after that night, but she never lived to see her 20th birthday. A big piece of her died that night, and you caused it. He never forgave you, and after he found out, he found me.”

“WHO THE FUCK ARE TYOU?!”

This isn't yelling out of anger, he wants to know because he thinks it will make him feel better. It wont. I straighten up and crack my neck and knuckles.

“You can call me Mick. Mr. Abernathy hired me to... take care of you.”

By this time I'm fairly close to him which makes him extremely uneasy, I can see it in his eyes. Before he can get up, I dash to him and force him to remain seated, pushing his shoulders down into the chair.

“Now now Geoff, you don't want to get up and spoil all the fun, now do you?”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!!”

I release my hands from his shoulders and swiftly clap both of his ears. He lets out a scream of pain and terror as his hands go to his ears, almost by instinct. I force his hands away and pin them to his side. He needs to hear all of this.

“No Geoff, you really need to know this. Maybe you can understand, and if you can understand, maybe you can repent. You see, you have stolen a lot from people through the years, and you have hurt people. I know what you did to Lindsay, and I hope she is the only one. But regardless, you still did that to some one.”

I tip him back in his seat, so he is looking up at my face. He just wants it to be over, and he is scared of what might come next. My eyes can't help but be drawn to the dark spot in his lap too.

This is true terror, which is good.

“I have been hired to make you feel scared and helpless. To take away all of your power. It inflict as much pain and terror on you as I wish, to make you feel as small and fragile as you made her feel.”

I throw him to the ground. He hits it hard and roughly. Groaning as he does. After a couple moments, he tries to stand up, but he stumbles down.

The third and final hat drops.

“What the hell?”

He looks at his legs, and now he finally sees what I did. His right leg has been amputated from the knee down. The stump is sewn and bandaged to prevent infection and bleeding. He might have noticed it if I cut off the thigh, or if I didn't pump him up with pain killers.

“Where is my leg? WHERE IS MY FUCKING LEG?!”

Tears are streaming down his face as he yells. I jump on top of him, sitting on his chest, keeping him down, with my knees on his arms. Another groan escapes his mouth before I cover it with my hand.

“You know, you might have discovered this sooner, if I didn't drug your drink. It makes you highly suggestible, which made it easy for me. Don't worry though, I have total faith that you would have figured it out fairly quickly. But be honest, did you really think that was special pork you were eating?”

His eyebrows and eyes convey a confused look to me as his body eases up for a moment.

“Technically I didn't lie to you. It was a type of pig. Long pig, to be exact.”

The confused look becomes more prominent now, he really doesn't get it.

“You might not know what that is, which is fine. I just need to know, how did you taste? Did I flavour you right?”

His eyes instantly widen. His body tenses as he starts to try and flail me off of him. That's not going to work. A for effort though. I grab a handful of his hair, tightening his scalp, and thrust his head into the floor.

SMASH

I do it once more, just to make sure.

CRACK

With that, the movement stops. I get off of him and look down. What a piece of scum. I take out my phone and take a picture of him, which I send as a text, with the caption, “What's next?”

I immediately get a reply from Thomas Abernathy, two words.

“Phase 2”

I smile as I put my phone back into my pocket.

“Phase 2 it is.”

-CS

submitted by /u/CreativeCorner905 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2WsWwJ5

#Blogger #Story

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

There was a rock a little way away. But there were rocks everywhere, the very bones of the Disc were near he surface here. He looked hard at the yew tree, just in case it had been speaking. But the yew, being a fairly solitary tree, hadn't heard about Rincewind the arborial saviour, and in any case was asleep. 'If that was you, Twoflower, I knew it was you all along,' said Rincewind. His voice sounded suddenly clear and very alone in the gathering dusk. Rincewind remembered the only fact he knew for sure about trolls, which was that they turned to stone when exposed to sunlight, so that anyone who employed trolls to work during daylight had to spend a fortune in barrier cream. But now that he came to think about it, it didn't say anywhere what happened to them after the sun had gone down again . . . The last of the daylight trickled out of the landscape. And there suddenly seemed to be a great many rocks about. 'He's an awful long time with those onions,' said Two-flower. 'Do you think we'd better go and look for him?' 'Wishards know how to look after themshelves,' said Cohen. 'Don't worry.' He winced. Bethan was cutting his toenails. 'He's not a terribly good wizard, actually,' said Twoflower, drawing nearer the fire. 'I wouldn't say this to his face, but' – he leaned towards Cohen – 'I've never actually seen him do any magic.' 'Right, let's have the other one,' said Bethan. 'Thish is very kind of you.' 'You'd have quite nice feet if only you'd look after them.' 'Can't sheem to bend down like I used to,' said Cohen, sheepishly. 'Of courshe, you don't get to meet many chiropodishts in my line of work. Funny, really. I've met any amount of snake prieshts, mad godsh, warlordsh, never any chiropodishts. I shupposhe it wouldn't look right, really – Cohen Against the Chiropodishts . . .' 'Or Cohen And The Chiropractors of Doom,' suggested Bethan. Cohen cackled. 'Or Cohen And The Mad Dentists!' laughed Twoflower. Cohen's mouth snapped shut. 'What'sh sho funny about that?' he asked, and his voice had knuckles in it. 'Oh, er, well,' said Twoflower. Tour teeth, you see . . .' 'What about them?' snapped Cohen. Twoflower swallowed. 'I can't help noticing that they're, um, not in the same geographical location as your mouth.' Cohen glared at him. Then he sagged, and looked very small and old. 'True, of corsh,' he muttered. 'I don't blame you. It'sh hard to be a hero with no teethsh. It don't matter what elsh you loosh, you can get by with one eye even, but you show 'em a mouth full of gumsh and no-one hash any reshpect.' 'I do,' said Bethan loyally. 'Why don't you get some more?'said Twoflower brightly. 'Yesh, well, if I wash a shark or something, yesh, I'd grow shome,' said Cohen sarcastically. 'Oh, no, you buy them,' said Twoflower. 'Look, I'll show you – er, Bethan, do you mind looking the other way?' He waited until she had turned around and then put his hand to his mouth. 'You shee?' he said. Bethan heard Cohen gasp. 'You can take yoursh out?' 'Oh yesh. I've got sheveral shets. Excushe me—' there was a swallowing noise, and then in a more normal voice Twoflower said, 'It's very convenient, of course.' Cohen's very voice radiated awe, or as much awe as is possible without teeth, which is about the same amount as with teeth but sounds a great deal less impressive. 'I should think show,' he said. 'When they ache, you jusht take them out and let them get on with it, yesh? Teach the little buggersh a lesshon, shee how they like being left to ache all by themshelvesh!' That's not quite right,' said Twoflower carefully. They're not mine, they just belong to me.' 'You put shomeone elshe's teethsh in your mouth?' 'No, someone made them, lots of people wear them where I come from, it's a—' But Twoflower's lecture on dental appliances went ungiven, because somebody hit him. The Disc's little moon toiled across the sky. It shone by its own light, owing to the cramped and rather inefficient astronomical arrangements made by the Creator, and was quite crowded with assorted lunar goddesses who were not, at this particular time, paying much attention to what went on in the Disc but were getting up a petition about the Ice Giants. Had they looked down, they would have seen Rincewind talking urgently to a bunch of rocks. Trolls are one of the oldest lifeforms in the multiverse, dating from an early attempt to get the whole life thing on the road without all that squashy protoplasm. Individual trolls live for a long time, hibernating during the summertime and sleeping during the day, since heat affects them and makes them slow. They have a fascinating geology. One could talk about tribology, one could mention the semiconductor effects of impure silicon, one could talk about the giant trolls of prehistory who make up most of the Disc's major mountain ranges and will cause some real problems if they ever awake, but the plain fact is that without the Disc's powerful and pervasive magical field trolls would have died out a long time ago. Psychiatry hadn't been invented on the Disc. No-one had ever shoved an inkblot under Rincewind's nose to see if he had any loose toys in the attic. So the only way he'd have been able to describe the rocks turning back into rolls was by gabbling vaguely about how pictures suddenly form when you look at the fire, or clouds. One minute there'd be a perfectly ordinary rock, and suddenly a few cracks that had been there all along took on the definite appearance of a mouth or a pointed ear. A moment later, and without anything actually changing at all, a troll would be sitting there, grinning at him with a mouth full of diamonds. They wouldn't be able to digest me, he told himself. I'd make them awfully ill. It wasn't much of a comfort. 'So you're Rincewind the wizard,' said the nearest one. It sounded like someone running over gravel. 'I dunno. I thought you'd be taller.' 'Perhaps he's eroded a bit,' said another one. 'The legend is awfully old.' Rincewind shifted awkwardly. He was pretty certain the rock he was sitting on was changing shape, and a tiny troll – hardly any more than a pebble – was sitting companionably on his foot and watching him with extreme interest. 'Legend?' he said. 'What legend?' 'It's been handed down from mountain to gravel since the sunset[3] of time,' said the first troll. ' “When the red star lights the sky Rincewind the wizard will come looking for onions. Do not bite him. It is very important that you help him stay alive.” ' There was a pause. 'That's it?' said Rincewind. 'Yes,' said the troll. 'We've always been puzzled about it. Most of our legends are much more exciting. It was more interesting being a rock in the old days.' 'It was?' said Rincewind weakly. 'Oh yes. No end of fun. Volcanoes all over the place. It really meant something, being a rock then.There was none f this sedimentary nonsense, you were igneous or nothing. Of course, that's all gone now. People call themselves trolls today, well, sometimes they're hardly more than slate. Chalk even. I wouldn't give myself airs if you could use me to draw with, would you?' 'No,' said Rincewind quickly. 'Absolutely not, no. This, er, this legend thing. It said you shouldn't bite me?' 'That's right!' said the little troll on his foot, 'and it was me who told you where the onions were!' 'We're rather glad you came along,' said the first troll, which Rincewind couldn't help noticing was the biggest one there. 'We're a bit worried about this new star. What does it mean?' 'I don't know,' said Rincewind. 'Everyone seems to think I know about it, but I don't —' 'It's not that we would mind being melted down,' said the big troll. That's how we all started, anyway. But we thought, maybe, it might mean the end of everything and that doesn't seem a very good thing.' 'It's getting bigger,' said another troll. 'Look at it now. Bigger than last night.' Rincewind looked. It was definitely bigger than last night. 'So we thought you might have some suggestions?' said the head troll, as meekly as it is possible to sound with a voice like a granite gargle. 'You could jump over the Edge,' said Rincewind. There must be lots of places in the universe that could do with some extra rocks.' 'We've heard about that,' said the troll. 'We've met rocks that tried it. They say you float about for millions of years and then you get very hot and burn away and end up at the bottom of a big hole in the scenery. That doesn't sound very bright.' It stood up with a noise like coal rattling down a chute, and stretched its thick, knobbly arms. 'Well, we're supposed to help you,' it said. 'Anything you want doing?' 'I was supposed to be making some soup,' said Rincewind. He waved the onions vaguely. It was probably not the most heroic or purposeful gesture ever made. 'Soup?' said the troll. 'Is that all?' 'Well, maybe some biscuits too.' The trolls looked at one another, exposing enough mouth jewellery to buy a medium-sized city. Eventually the biggest troll said, 'Soup it is, then.' It shrugged grittily. 'It's just that we imagined that the legend would, well, be a little more – I don't know, somehow I thought – still, I expect it doesn't matter.' It extended a hand like a bunch of fossil bananas. 'I'm Kwartz,' it said. 'That's Krysoprase over there, and Breccia, and Jasper, and my wife Beryl – she's la bit meta-morphic, but who isn't these days? Jasper, get off his foot.' Rincewind took the hand gingerly, bracing himself for the crunch of crushed bone. It didn't come. The troll's hand was rough and a bit lichenous around the fingernails. 'I'm sorry,' said Rincewind. 'I never really met trolls before.' 'We're a dying race,' said Kwartz sadly, as the party set off under the stars. 'Young Jasper's the only pebble in our tribe. We suffer from philosophy, you know.' 'Yes?' said Rincewind, trying to keep up. The troll band moved very quickly, but also very quietly, big round shapes moving like wraiths through the night. Only the occasional flat squeak of a night creature who hadn't heard them approaching marked their passage. 'Oh, yes. Martyrs to it. It comes to all of us in the end. One evening, they say, you start to wake up and then you think “Why bother?” and you just don't. See those boulders over there?' Rincewind saw some huge shapes lying in the grass. 'The one on the end's my aunt. I don't know what's she's thinking about, but she hasn't moved for two hundred years.' 'Gosh, I'm sorry.' 'Oh, it's no problem with us around to look after them,' aid Kwartz. 'Not many humans around here, you see. I know it's not your fault, but you don't seem to be able to spot the difference between a thinking troll and an ordinary rock. My great-uncle was actually quarried, you know.' 'That's terrible!' 'Yes, one minute he was a troll, the next he was an ornamental fireplace.' They paused in front of a familiar-looking cliff. The scuffed remains of a fire smouldered in the darkness. 'It looks like there's been a fight,' said Beryl. 'They're all gone!' said Rincewind. He ran to the end of the clearing. 'The horses, too! Even the Luggage!' 'One of them's leaked,' said Kwartz, kneeling down. 'That red watery stuff you have in your insides. Look.' 'Blood!' 'Is that what it's called? I've never really seen the point of it.' Rincewind scuttled about in the manner of one totally at his wits' end, peering behind bushes in case anyone was hiding there. That was why he tripped over a small green bottle. 'Cohen's linament!' he moaned. 'He never goes anywhere without it!'

#LightFantastic

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sandwichsakurauchi · 7 hours

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"Ami Kawashima" Ann said to herself, holding a magazine with a recent interview done with the model. "Huh, I can't say I heard that name before." The portly girl, a model herself, was making her way to the modeling agency. She was scheduled for a shoot today. "I wonder if I'll run into them." She mumbled, flipping through some of the pages.

Ann didn't have to wonder much if she'd run into Ami when the bloated sack of bluenette was already at the shoot, seated conveniently close to the catering table as her hair was being combed. She was clad in a pair of red sweats that did a poor job of keeping her gut covered as it flowed over her knees, pale, shiny with sweat, but unblemished. In one hand was a large muffin with a bite taken out of it, in the other her cellphone as she mindlessly scrolled.

Her expression looked uninterested and bored. A sign of her true self. But once she realized she wasn't surrounded by staff who were aware the moment Ann crossed her periferal vision, she immediately put on a more bubbly-looking expression as her chins wobbled.

"Ah, like, are you Takamaki-shan?" She smiled as cutely as someone her size could. "It'sh nice to actually meet you~! I've totally sheen you in magsh before, thish ish a mileshtone meeting~!"

#asks #muse: ami kawashima

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sweatblvvdtears · 6 years

Text

I missed walking at outside. My mother asked my father to let me going out to take an envelope and her delivery things and I certainly love going out all alone. Again. Took me few minutes actually. I signed and go to shop for 10 minutes and walking home with my black bag. Happy to see the world again. 😚 :'3 What? I was caged >8'U Don't looked down on me. Smh. =n=;💢 I hadn't go out for 2 month straight lmao. I am grounded and wasn't allowed to get out. They think I'm like an animal. Or prisoner. Bish. Need to be restrained and caged inside house. Fine. I can be headstrong and unpredictable but I hate being in abusive house + asian family. Everything musht be tell. =n=; Wanna go to mart? Ask them. Walking out? Musht tell or no out. Go out with friends? Do tell. Date? Ask my father 😬 *screams from low to high frequency agressively* *rolls agressively on floor back and forth* Shit >8'U What with this system?!? *shakes the cage bar vigorously and angrily* 😠 I refused 😭😭 Halp.

#p #.txt #tw #irl thought #bish it'sh true 😡#=n=;; wanna date me? ask my father firsht

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

'Well,' said Kwartz, 'you humans have something you can do, I mean like when we slow right down and catch philosophy, only you just fall to bits —' 'Dying, it's called!' screamed Rincewind. 'That's it. They haven't done that, because they're not here.' 'Unless they were eaten!' suggested Jasper excitedly. 'Hmm,' said Kwartz, and, 'Wolves?' said Rincewind. 'We flattened all the wolves around here years ago,' said the troll. 'Old Grandad did, anyway.' 'He didn't like them?' 'No, he just didn't used to look where he was going. Hmm.' The trolls looked at the ground again. 'There's a trail,' he said. 'Quite a lot of horses.' He ooked up at the nearby hills, where sheer cliffs and dangerous crags loomed over the moonlit forests. 'Old Grandad lives up there,' he said quietly. There was something about the way he said it that made Rincewind decide that he didn't ever want to meet Old Grandad. 'Dangerous, is he?' he ventured. 'He's very old and big and mean. We haven't seen him about for years,' said Kwartz. 'Centuries,' corrected Beryl. 'He'll squash them all flat!' added Jasper, jumping up and down on Rincewind's toes. 'It just happens sometimes that a really old and big troll will go off by himself into the hills, and – um – the rock takes over, if you follow me.' 'No?' Kwartz sighed. 'People sometimes act like animals, don't they? And sometimes a troll will start thinking like a rock, and rocks don't like people much.' Breccia, a skinny troll with a sandstone finish, rapped on Kwartz's shoulder. 'Are we going to follow them, then?' he said. 'The legend says we should help this Rincewind squashy.' Kwartz stood up, thought for a moment, then picked Rincewind up by the scruff of his neck and with a big gritty movement placed him on his shoulders. 'We go,' he said firmly. 'If we meet Old Grandad I'll try to explain . . .' Two miles away a string of horses trotted through the night. Three of them carried captives, expertly gagged and bound. A fourth pulled a rough travois on which the Luggage lay trussed and netted and silent. Herrena softly called the column to a halt and beckoned one of her men to her. 'Are you quite sure?' she said. 'I can't hear anything.' 'I saw troll shapes,' he said flatly. She looked around. The trees had thinned out here, there was a lot of scree, and ahead of them the track led towards a bald, rocky hill that looked especially unpleasant by red starlight. She was worried about that track. It was extremely old, but something had made it, and trolls took a lot of killing. She sighed. Suddenly it looked as though that secretarial career was not such a bad option, at that. Not for the first time she reflected that there were many drawbacks to being a swordswoman, not least of which was that men didn't take you seriously until you'd actually killed them, by which time it didn't really matter anyway. Then there was all the leather, which brought her out in a rash but seemed to be unbreakably traditional. And then there was the ale. It was all right for the likes of Hrun the Barbarian or Cimbar the Assassin to carouse all night in low bars, but Herrena drew the line at it unless they sold proper drinks in small glasses, preferably with a cherry in. As for the toilet facilities . . . But she was too big to be a thief, too honest to be an assassin, too intelligent to be a wife, and too proud to enter the only other female profession generally available. So she'd become a swordswoman and had been a good one, amassing a modest fortune that she was carefully husbanding for a future that she hadn't quite worked out yet but which would certainly include a bidet if she had anything to say about it. There was a distant sound of splintering timber. Trolls had never seen the point of walking around trees. She looked up at the hill again. Two arms of high ground swept away to right and left, and up ahead was a large outcrop with – she squinted – some caves in it? Troll caves. But maybe a better option than blundering around at night. And come sunup, there'd be no problem. She leaned across to Gancia, leader of the gang of Morpork mercenaries. She wasn't very happy about him. It was true that he had the muscles of an ox and the tamina of an ox, the trouble was that he seemed to have the brains of an ox. And the viciousness of a ferret. Like most of the lads in downtown Morpork he'd have cheerfully sold his granny for glue, and probably had. 'We'll head for the caves and light a big fire in the entrance,' she said. Trolls don't like fire.' He gave her a look which suggested he had his own ideas about who should be giving the orders, but his lips said, 'You're the boss.' 'Right.' Herrena looked back at the three captives. That was the box all right – Trymon's description had been absolutely accurate. But neither of the men looked like a wizard. Not even a failed wizard. 'Oh, dear,' said Kwartz. The trolls halted. The night closed in like velvet. An owl hooted eerily – at least Rincewind assumed it was an owl, he was a little hazy on ornithology. Perhaps a nightingale hooted, unless it was a thrush. A bat flittered overhead. He was quite confident about that. He was also very tired and quite bruised. 'Why oh dear?' he said. He peered into the gloom. There was a distant speck in the hills that might have been a fire. 'Oh,' he said. 'You don't like fires, do you?' Kwartz nodded. 'It destroys the superconductivity of our brains,' he said, 'but a fire that small wouldn't have much effect on Old Grandad.' Rincewind looked around cautiously, listening for the sound of a rogue troll. He'd seen what normal trolls could do to a forest. They weren't naturally destructive, they just treated organic matter as a sort of inconvenient fog. 'Let's hope he doesn't find it, then,' he said fervently. Kwartz sighed. 'Not much chance of that,' he said. They've lit it in his mouth.' 'It'sh a judgeshment on me!' moaned Cohen. He tugged ineffectually at his bonds. Twoflower peered at him muzzily. Gancia's slingshot had raised quite a lump on the back of his head and he was a little uncertain about things, starting with his name and working upwards. 'I should have been lisshening out,' said Cohen. 'I should have been paying attenshion and not being shwayed by all this talk about your wosshnarnes, your din-chewers. I mussht be getting shoft.' He levered himself up by his elbows. Herrena and the rest of the gang were standing around the fire in the cave mouth. The Luggage was still and silent under its net in a corner. 'There's something funny about this cave,' said Bethan. 'What?' said Cohen. 'Well, look at it. Have you ever seen rocks like those before?' Cohen had to agree that the semi-circle of stones around the cave entrance were unusual; each one was higher than a man, and heavily worn, and surprisingly shiny. There was a matching semi-circle on the ceiling. The whole effect was that of a stone computer built by a druid with a vague idea of geometry and no sense of gravity. 'Look at the walls, too.' Cohen squinted at the wall next to him. There were veins of red crystal in it. He couldn't be quite certain, but it was almost as if little points of light kept flashing on and off deep within the rock itself. It was also extremely drafty. A steady breeze blew out of the black depths of the cave. 'I'm sure it was blowing the other way when we came in,' whispered Bethan. 'What do you think, Twoflower?' 'Well, I'm not a cave expert,' he said, 'but I was just thinking, that's a very interesting stalag-thingy hanging from the ceiling up there. Sort of bulbous, isn't it?' They looked at it. 'I can't quite put my finger on why,' said Twoflower, 'but I think it might be a rather good idea to get out of here.' 'Oh yesh,' said Cohen sarcastically, 'I shupposhe we'd jusht better ashk theesh people to untie ush and let us go, eh?' Cohen hadn't spent much time in Twoflower's company, otherwise he would not have been surprised when the little man nodded brightly and said, in the loud, slow and careful voice he employed as an alternative to actually speaking other people's languages: 'Excuse me? Could you please untie us and let us go? It's rather damp and drafty here. Sorry.' Bethan looked sidelong at Cohen. 'Was he supposed to say that?' 'It'sh novel, I'll grant you.' And, indeed, three people detached themselves from the group around the fire and came towards them. They did not look as if they intended to untie anyone. The two men, in fact, looked the sort of people who, when they see other people tied up, start playing around with knives and making greasy suggestions and leering a lot. Herrena introduced herself by drawing her sword and pointing it at Twoflower's heart. 'Which one of you is Rincewind the wizard?' she said. There were four horses. Is he here?' 'Um, I don't know where he is,' said Twoflower. 'He was looking for some onions.' 'Then you are his friends and he will come looking for you,' said Herrena. She glanced at Cohen and Bethan, then looked closely at the Luggage. Trymon had been emphatic that they shouldn't touch the Luggage. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Herrena's curiosity could have massacred a pride of lions. She slit the netting and grasped the lid of the box. Twoflower winced. 'Locked,' she said eventually. 'Where is the key, fat one?' 'It – it hasn't got a key,' said Twoflower. 'There is a keyhole,' she pointed out. 'Well, yes, but if it wants to stay locked, it stays locked,' said Twoflower uncomfortably. Herrena was aware of Gancia's grin. She snarled. 'I want it open,' she said. 'Gancia, see to it.' She strode back to the fire. Gancia drew a long thin knife and leaned down close to Twoflower's face. 'She wants it open,' he said. He looked up at the other man and grinned. 'She wants it open, Weems.' 'Yah.' Gancia waved the knife slowly in front of Twoflower's face. 'Look,' said Twoflower patiently, 'I don't think you understand. No-one can open the Luggage if it's feeling in a locked mood.' 'Oh yes, I forgot,' said Gancia thoughtfully. 'Of course, it's a magic box, isn't that right? With little legs, they say. I say, Weems, any legs your side? No?' He held his knife to Twoflower's throat. 'I'm really upset about that,' he said. 'So's Weems. He doesn't say much but what he does is, he tears bits off people. So open – the – box!' He turned and planted a kick on the side of the box, leaving a nasty gash in the wood. There was a tiny little click. Gancia grinned. The lid swung up slowly, ponderously. The distant firelight gleamed off gold – lots of gold, in plate, chain, and coin, heavy and glistening in the flickering shadows. 'All right,' said Gancia softly. He looked back at the unheeding men around the fire, who seemed to be shouting at someone outside the cave. Then he looked speculatively at Weems. His lips moved soundlessly with the unaccustomed effort of mental arithmetic. He looked down at his knife. Then the floor moved. 'I heard someone,' said one of the men. 'Down there. Among the – uh – rocks.' Rincewind's voice floated up out of the darkness. 'I say,' he said. 'Well?' said Herrena. 'You're in great danger!' shouted Rincewind. 'You must put the fire out!' 'No, no,' said Herrena. 'You've got it wrong, you're in great danger. And the fire stays.' 'There's this big old troll —' 'Everyone knows trolls keep away from fire,' said Herrena. She nodded. A couple of men drew their swords and slipped out into the darkness.

#LightFantastic

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