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X-PATH 3 : The Soviet of Dreams (completed 27 November 2006)
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<blockquote data-quote="Capellan" data-source="post: 3056643" data-attributes="member: 6294"><p><strong>Chapter Three: Book from the Dead</strong></p><p></p><p>"So what do we do now?" Simon wanted to know.</p><p></p><p>"We question this one." Floyd pointed to the dead leader of the grey-skinned creatures.</p><p></p><p>"... she doesn't look very talkative."</p><p></p><p>"Son, in the mornin' I'll show you a little thing I like to call <em>the King's Posthumous Remix</em>."</p><p></p><p></p><p>* * * * *</p><p></p><p>In the morning however, Simon refused to get out of bed.</p><p></p><p>"Homes," he said blearily when the others came to rouse him, clutching a <em>Spider-man</em> hot water bottle to his chest, "I feel terrible. Probably a delayed reaction to the poison -"</p><p></p><p>"Ah told y'all we shouldn't drink that <em>Panda Cola</em> stuff."</p><p></p><p>"He's talking about the axe injury." Coltraine won't hear ill of her client.</p><p></p><p>"- I have a delicate constitution." Simon continued, oblivious to the squabbling, "So I'll need at least a day in bed to recover."</p><p></p><p>"Well, then I suppose it's down to the three of us." Smith remarked. Which is when Beverly poked her head into the room.</p><p></p><p>"Hi guys! Miss me?"</p><p></p><p>"Yeah he did, but his aim is improving." Floyd sighed.</p><p></p><p>Beverly giggled, then stepped into the room, her hands behind her back.</p><p></p><p>"Guess what I got?"</p><p></p><p>"A brain?" Coltraine arched an eyebrow.</p><p></p><p>"No, silly." Beverly produced a small black cat*. The poor creature was dressed in a massive pink bow and its fur was permed into ringlets. "Isn't it beautiful? It has the cutest black fur!"</p><p></p><p>"I always knew she wasn't a real blonde." Simon remarked.</p><p></p><p>At last, Beverly, Smith, Floyd and Coltraine gathered to interrogate the corpse of their enemy. Floyd invoked the power of Elvis, and the creature spasmed. Its mouth flopped open and a rasping breath seeped out:</p><p></p><p>"Asssssssssssssssk."</p><p></p><p>Floyd had his questions ready:</p><p></p><p>"Who do you work for?"</p><p></p><p>"Zimmmmennnnnnevvvvvvv."</p><p></p><p>This led to a whispered conversation.</p><p></p><p>"Anyone know of a 'Zimmerman'?" Floyd wanted to know.</p><p></p><p>"Zimenev." Coltraine corrected him.</p><p></p><p>"Huh?"</p><p></p><p>"She said Zimenev. Not Zimmerman."</p><p></p><p>"Oh. Anyone know a 'Zimenev'?"</p><p></p><p>"No, but it sounds like a godless Communist name." Smith opined. "Is that the only question you can ask it?"</p><p></p><p>"No. I have one more." Floyd turned back to the corpse, ""When you want to contact Zimmer ... Zimenev, where do you go?"</p><p></p><p>"Reeeeeeeealityyyyyyy Wrinkllllllllllllllle."</p><p></p><p>"What does it mean by 'reality wrinkle'?" Smith wondered. "Some kind of magical gate?"</p><p></p><p>"We could look around town for some sign of a reality distortion." Floyd suggested.</p><p></p><p>"It's a big town." Smith reminded him.</p><p></p><p>"Then how 'bout we talk to those little folks that live on the river just outside the wall?" Floyd proposed.</p><p></p><p>"How could they help us?" Coltraine wanted to know. Floyd shrugged.</p><p></p><p>"Everything's better with midgets."</p><p></p><p>* * * * *</p><p></p><p>Isaac Whimplebottom (of the Broadleaf Whimplebottoms, not the Roundleaf branch of the family) sat with his friends on the clan's mish-mashed raft of logs, aging boats, and just about anything else they can get to float. Grubby, squealing halfling children dashed too and fro while Isaac and his friends; the closest thing the community has to able-bodied adults; dropped a line in the water, whittled themselves some smoking pipes, and watched the river go by.</p><p></p><p>"A bit o' fishin' and a bit o' whittlin' be a good day's work for an 'alfin'." Isaac remarked to his comrades.</p><p></p><p>"Aye." there was a chorus of agreement up and down the raft.</p><p></p><p>"We might even catch summat, today." Young Abraham suggested cheerfully.</p><p></p><p>"You'll catch it you aren't careful." Isaac waved his whittling knife, "Too much noise scares off the fishes, eh?"</p><p></p><p>"Speakin' o' scarin' the fishes -" Ted broke into the conversation "- we got big 'uns comin'."</p><p></p><p>Isaac watched the big 'uns approach with little enthusiam. Large folk only came for two reasons: to buy fish, or to accuse the halflings of stealing something. Which they probably had, but it was so <em>insulting</em> to assume they'd be dumb enough to bring it back to the raft. <em>Big body, small brain</em>, he reminded himself.</p><p></p><p>"Afternoon sirs and madams!" he doffed his cap with fake cheer, "Have ye come t'buy some fish?"</p><p></p><p>"No." The one who spoke had a grim look to him, and wore a sharply-pressed white shirt and a black tie, "We are seeking a reality ripple?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh." Isaac considered this. <em>Simple. Or drunk.</em> "Well, we got lots of ripples in the river, but those are the only ones I can tell ye about. Don't know about no ripples in reality."</p><p></p><p>"Wrinkle in reality, not ripple." The dark-haired woman corrected her large companion, "He meant to say 'wrinkle'."</p><p></p><p>"A wrinkle in reality?" Isaac sratched his head, "Begging ye pardon, but I don't know where you'd find summat like that, and I'm ain't sure I'd want to."</p><p></p><p>"What about the name Zimmerman? Do you know anyone called that?"</p><p></p><p>The dark-haired woman sighed.</p><p></p><p>"Zimenev. He means Zimenev."</p><p></p><p>"Don't know anyone called either of those names." Isaac shrugged as he mentally corrected his earlier assessment. <em>Simple <strong>and</strong> drunk</em>. "If ye wanted to know about fish, I could help ye. Or whittlin'. I'm a damn fine whittler, if I do say so. Whittled this pipe my own self, so I did." He gestured with his pipe while giving the crazy people a fixed grin.</p><p></p><p>Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Capellan, post: 3056643, member: 6294"] [b]Chapter Three: Book from the Dead[/b] "So what do we do now?" Simon wanted to know. "We question this one." Floyd pointed to the dead leader of the grey-skinned creatures. "... she doesn't look very talkative." "Son, in the mornin' I'll show you a little thing I like to call [i]the King's Posthumous Remix[/i]." * * * * * In the morning however, Simon refused to get out of bed. "Homes," he said blearily when the others came to rouse him, clutching a [i]Spider-man[/i] hot water bottle to his chest, "I feel terrible. Probably a delayed reaction to the poison -" "Ah told y'all we shouldn't drink that [i]Panda Cola[/i] stuff." "He's talking about the axe injury." Coltraine won't hear ill of her client. "- I have a delicate constitution." Simon continued, oblivious to the squabbling, "So I'll need at least a day in bed to recover." "Well, then I suppose it's down to the three of us." Smith remarked. Which is when Beverly poked her head into the room. "Hi guys! Miss me?" "Yeah he did, but his aim is improving." Floyd sighed. Beverly giggled, then stepped into the room, her hands behind her back. "Guess what I got?" "A brain?" Coltraine arched an eyebrow. "No, silly." Beverly produced a small black cat*. The poor creature was dressed in a massive pink bow and its fur was permed into ringlets. "Isn't it beautiful? It has the cutest black fur!" "I always knew she wasn't a real blonde." Simon remarked. At last, Beverly, Smith, Floyd and Coltraine gathered to interrogate the corpse of their enemy. Floyd invoked the power of Elvis, and the creature spasmed. Its mouth flopped open and a rasping breath seeped out: "Asssssssssssssssk." Floyd had his questions ready: "Who do you work for?" "Zimmmmennnnnnevvvvvvv." This led to a whispered conversation. "Anyone know of a 'Zimmerman'?" Floyd wanted to know. "Zimenev." Coltraine corrected him. "Huh?" "She said Zimenev. Not Zimmerman." "Oh. Anyone know a 'Zimenev'?" "No, but it sounds like a godless Communist name." Smith opined. "Is that the only question you can ask it?" "No. I have one more." Floyd turned back to the corpse, ""When you want to contact Zimmer ... Zimenev, where do you go?" "Reeeeeeeealityyyyyyy Wrinkllllllllllllllle." "What does it mean by 'reality wrinkle'?" Smith wondered. "Some kind of magical gate?" "We could look around town for some sign of a reality distortion." Floyd suggested. "It's a big town." Smith reminded him. "Then how 'bout we talk to those little folks that live on the river just outside the wall?" Floyd proposed. "How could they help us?" Coltraine wanted to know. Floyd shrugged. "Everything's better with midgets." * * * * * Isaac Whimplebottom (of the Broadleaf Whimplebottoms, not the Roundleaf branch of the family) sat with his friends on the clan's mish-mashed raft of logs, aging boats, and just about anything else they can get to float. Grubby, squealing halfling children dashed too and fro while Isaac and his friends; the closest thing the community has to able-bodied adults; dropped a line in the water, whittled themselves some smoking pipes, and watched the river go by. "A bit o' fishin' and a bit o' whittlin' be a good day's work for an 'alfin'." Isaac remarked to his comrades. "Aye." there was a chorus of agreement up and down the raft. "We might even catch summat, today." Young Abraham suggested cheerfully. "You'll catch it you aren't careful." Isaac waved his whittling knife, "Too much noise scares off the fishes, eh?" "Speakin' o' scarin' the fishes -" Ted broke into the conversation "- we got big 'uns comin'." Isaac watched the big 'uns approach with little enthusiam. Large folk only came for two reasons: to buy fish, or to accuse the halflings of stealing something. Which they probably had, but it was so [i]insulting[/i] to assume they'd be dumb enough to bring it back to the raft. [i]Big body, small brain[/i], he reminded himself. "Afternoon sirs and madams!" he doffed his cap with fake cheer, "Have ye come t'buy some fish?" "No." The one who spoke had a grim look to him, and wore a sharply-pressed white shirt and a black tie, "We are seeking a reality ripple?" "Oh." Isaac considered this. [i]Simple. Or drunk.[/i] "Well, we got lots of ripples in the river, but those are the only ones I can tell ye about. Don't know about no ripples in reality." "Wrinkle in reality, not ripple." The dark-haired woman corrected her large companion, "He meant to say 'wrinkle'." "A wrinkle in reality?" Isaac sratched his head, "Begging ye pardon, but I don't know where you'd find summat like that, and I'm ain't sure I'd want to." "What about the name Zimmerman? Do you know anyone called that?" The dark-haired woman sighed. "Zimenev. He means Zimenev." "Don't know anyone called either of those names." Isaac shrugged as he mentally corrected his earlier assessment. [i]Simple [b]and[/b] drunk[/i]. "If ye wanted to know about fish, I could help ye. Or whittlin'. I'm a damn fine whittler, if I do say so. Whittled this pipe my own self, so I did." He gestured with his pipe while giving the crazy people a fixed grin. Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body. [/QUOTE]
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