maxfieldjadenfox
First Post
Let the bloodletting... Er, I mean, let the games begin! (and hey, try not to write stories that are too long, we have 8 of them to read...)
Ceramic DM -- Fall '06 ** yangnome wins! **
- Thread starter Rodrigo Istalindir
- Start date
GuardianLurker
Adventurer
Dye Job (Round 2: Match 4)
Dye Job
Like every other day for the past few weeks of her vacation, Melissa woke up in her featherbed comfortably rested. As always, the Indian breakfast she was served was absolutely delicious, if a little different from what her American-bred tastes were used to. Today was a beach day for Melissa.
When she had arrived at the resort, she had done all the touristy things in the area, running around busily, with a sense that this couldn't last. After all, whoever plans on winning the lottery? She had, and though she still couldn't believe it sometimes, Melissa had come to accept that her dream vacation would end only when she wanted it to. So she had settled into a semi-routine. Some days were market days, some days were tourist days, some were hiking days, and some, like today, were beach days. It was an idyllic life, a far cry from the stressed rat-race she had been living. If that could have been called living. She felt more alive now after having left her old life behind.
Melissa almost always woke up thinking about this, and like always, she resolved to put it away, and focus on relaxing. Today was a beach day. The breeze was a little strong, so she wouldn't be sunbathing, but with a tank-top, shorts, sandals, and drink, she could relax with a good book. She dressed, and left to go to the beach. She passed people in the hallways, but noone acknowledged each other for more than a brief smile - privacy was an overwhelming priority at the resort, and one of the reasons Melissa had selected it.
The beach, as always, was absolutely gorgeous. But today, something was different. Very different. A penguin was walking on the beach, right towards Melissa. Penguins do not belong on South Indian beaches, so Melissa was very curious. As it approached, she squatted down to examine it more closely, other people walking behind her to set up their beach umbrellas and chairs. The penguin advanced a little more, then cocked its head at her and said quite distinctly - "You Me Seen. Doors Cliffs Argo." And then it exploded into a fine mist that soaked Melissa from head to toe. In the mist, she briefly saw a misty, glowing figure of a man holding a sword across his body, looking at a marble slab that she also knew was a mirror, though she saw nothing reflected in it. It scared her. Exploding penguins and mysterious visions are prone to do that. So she tried to wake up. It was the first nightmare she had had at the resort, but she had had many nightmares in her other life. Melissa concentrated hard, willing that peculiar sense of detachment and calm that would free her from the nightmare.
But it didn't work. Annoyed for the first time in her idyllic vacation, Melissa stormed off to the concierge. It took her a great deal of doing, annoying her even more, but she finally managed to catch the attention of him.
"You have a problem. I don't know what was wrong with my food this morning - either something spoiled, or someone decided it'd be fun to put a hallucinogen in it. I just saw a talking exploding penguin. I'll be in my room, send me a doctor. I want to be sure nothing's wrong with me. And fix whatever the problem is!" The somewhat startled concierge just nodded his head.
"I'm sorry for your trouble, ma'am. I'll make sure the problem is taken care of. Please don't let this minor incident mar your stay here. I'll send the doctor up as soon he arrives."
Melissa growled acknowledgement, and stalked off to her room, intending to change her clothes. As she stepped into her room from the empty hallway, she noticed her clothes were completely dry. A little sticky in some spots, but even those vanished as she was examining them. Still, her beach day was now ruined. Melissa decided to make the day a hiking day instead. Maybe some exercise would work off some of her anger. She changed into a fresh tank top, jeans, and sneakers, clothes she would never have dared to wear over in the States, back in her old life. The armor always had to be up, she always had to be lady-like in both attitude and dress, she always had to look her best. But here, she could relax, all those pressures behind her.
Besides, she had an urgent need to get out and do things. Exploding penguins aside, she felt great. However, better to be safe and sure. She'd just drink a little water and wait for the doctor. Unfortunately, she was out of ice, so she'd have to go to the ice machine to get some. As she was filling the ice bucket, she heard the elevator doors ding, followed by the fading sound of footsteps marching in unison. Curious, she peeked around the corner, filled ice bucket in hand.
Three tall men wearing black suits, black shoes, and black fedoras were approaching her door. As she watched, two took position to either side of her doorway, their dark eyeshades gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. Somehow, when all three pulled guns with long barrels from under their jackets, she wasn't surprised. Nor was she surprised when the third man in black kicked her door down, and all three charged into her room. Melissa dropped the ice bucket and ran to the stairwell.
She yanked open the stairwell door, and flew down the stairs, leaping entire flights at a time. As she yanked the bottom door open, she heard the door above her crash into the wall. Without pausing, she ran through the empty lobby. Instead of hiking through the empty countryside, she'd have to run to the market and hide in the crowds there.
But the market was empty. She had forgotten that today was a religious holiday, and the market shut down. It was one of the reasons she had decided on a beach day. She stopped and looked around. Without the stalls and people, there was very little cover. Everything that had been hidden was revealed, even the old mural saying "See Argo Cliffs and Experience Adventure!" Off in the distance, she could she the dust plume of a car. Then she caught a whiff of chemicals. It wasn't what she would have preferred, but it was probably her only choice for places to hide.
Melissa ran up one of the many alleys, following the smell as she had before. Eventually, she came to the dye vats. There were three people working on dying the cloth, but they hadn't seemed to have noticed her. Looking around, she didn't see anyplace to hide. There was a small pile of cloth, but the workers would definitely notice her if she tried to hide in the pile. As they would if she tried to hide in the dye vats themselves, which were too small and shallow anyway. Her mind racing, Melissa realized that only left one of the large preparation and soaking tubs. She eased herself into an otherwise empty one, hugging the tub wall under one of the platforms the workers stood on when stirring the cloth.
Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Melissa wondered if she had managed to lose her pursuers. She knew that they had seen her run into the alleyway. But there were so many twists and turns that she could have lost them. How long should she wait? 5 minutes? 10? Could she wait in the chemical vat that long? Then she heard the sound of feet, all running in unison. She couldn't see them emerge from the alleyway, but she could see five of the men in black advance to the far side of the enclosure and take up guard positions. Behind her, she could hear others do the same. One man in black went to talk to the workers.
Melissa couldn't hear what was said, but when the worker standing in the dye vat started gesturing wildly and pointing her way, she ducked her head underwater, leaving only her nostrils above, one of her favorite childhood tricks. She waited, and heard the one in charge come over. Tensely, she waited longer, and longer, having trouble keeping her breath light and even. Eventually, the men in black left, and she raised her head out of the water. Melissa listened a little more closely, not moving. After another seeming eternity she heard something move behind her, and saw one of the workers wave goodbye to the man in black who had been hiding, trying to ambush her.
Shortly after that, one of the workers came over with a long pole and stood on the platform, stirring the chemicals in the tub. "You Them Waited Out. That Good Is. Perseverance Shows. Cliffs East Are. Alley Large Follow, Edge Town Road Right. You Luck Have." With that the worker stepped off the platform, and all three vanished. Melissa climbed out of the tub, and ran up the alleyway the worker had told her about. It led her out of the town quickly, and met up with a road. She turned right, and east, with the early afternoon sun behind her, and settled into her long distance jog.
As her feet pounded the dusty and overgrown road, Melissa thought about everything that had happened since she woke up that morning. She felt better, despite the chemical bath which she was sure had bleached her hair blonde. Questions ran through her mind - Why did the penguin talk the same way the worker did? Who did the men in black work for? Why did they want to kill or kidnap her? What was the glowing man in the vision? What were the Argo Cliffs, and why were they special?
She kept running, and kept running the questions through her mind. But she didn't have any answers, nor discover any. As she ran, she climbed higher and higher into the hills surrounding the town. The road twisted and turned its way up and over the hillsides. Eventually, it led her to a small outcropping of rock that thrust its way out over a deep, dark river hundreds of feet below at the bottom of a chasm-like ravine. At one end of the bare spot that must have once been a parking area, stood a rusty scaffolding surrounded by scrawny trees. The scaffolding supported a pulley on two steel cables that ran over the ravine and to a spot on the opposing cliffs of the ravine wall. Looking closely, there seemed to be a ledge, with a path up to the top of the cliff. The path apparently lead to an old shack, probably a gift shop. There was also a harness with a rope attached to it. The other end of the rope was wound around a winch. Melissa tugged on the rope, and more of it unwound from the winch, which turned freely.
As she finished her inspection, Melissa wiped her forehead; the back of her hand came away covered with a thick sticky fluid, not normal sweat. She had another vision, but this time she could make out that the man was kneeling, holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers, while a child hugged him. Melissa would have sworn the vision didn't last long, but when it ended, the sun was beginning to set, and she could see the plume of the men in black's car starting to make the next to last turn.
There wasn't much option; the cable slide was the only way out. Melissa scrambled into the harness, snapping the buckles together and tightening the straps. As she tightened the last one, the car pulled up, and the original trio of men in black got out. The leader called out.
"You Stop! You Us Come! You Restplace Stay!"
But Melissa didn't listen, and ran forward, leaping off the cliff. As she whirred down the cable, escaping to the ledge on the other side, another vision, even clearer, came to her. The man was black-haired with tears streaming from his familiar face, holding the bouquet in his left hand where a wedding band caught the light. His right hand was hugging a small 5-year old boy who was crying as well. The marble slab was a gravestone. A fancy one with a picture mounted behind some glass. At first Melissa couldn't make out the picture. But then she realized she knew whose face was shown. How could she have forgotten her own husband and son? Sobbing, tears clouding her vision, Melissa could make out the end of the cable.
The ledge was a spot of miscolored moss on the cliff wall.
Dye Job
Like every other day for the past few weeks of her vacation, Melissa woke up in her featherbed comfortably rested. As always, the Indian breakfast she was served was absolutely delicious, if a little different from what her American-bred tastes were used to. Today was a beach day for Melissa.
When she had arrived at the resort, she had done all the touristy things in the area, running around busily, with a sense that this couldn't last. After all, whoever plans on winning the lottery? She had, and though she still couldn't believe it sometimes, Melissa had come to accept that her dream vacation would end only when she wanted it to. So she had settled into a semi-routine. Some days were market days, some days were tourist days, some were hiking days, and some, like today, were beach days. It was an idyllic life, a far cry from the stressed rat-race she had been living. If that could have been called living. She felt more alive now after having left her old life behind.
Melissa almost always woke up thinking about this, and like always, she resolved to put it away, and focus on relaxing. Today was a beach day. The breeze was a little strong, so she wouldn't be sunbathing, but with a tank-top, shorts, sandals, and drink, she could relax with a good book. She dressed, and left to go to the beach. She passed people in the hallways, but noone acknowledged each other for more than a brief smile - privacy was an overwhelming priority at the resort, and one of the reasons Melissa had selected it.
The beach, as always, was absolutely gorgeous. But today, something was different. Very different. A penguin was walking on the beach, right towards Melissa. Penguins do not belong on South Indian beaches, so Melissa was very curious. As it approached, she squatted down to examine it more closely, other people walking behind her to set up their beach umbrellas and chairs. The penguin advanced a little more, then cocked its head at her and said quite distinctly - "You Me Seen. Doors Cliffs Argo." And then it exploded into a fine mist that soaked Melissa from head to toe. In the mist, she briefly saw a misty, glowing figure of a man holding a sword across his body, looking at a marble slab that she also knew was a mirror, though she saw nothing reflected in it. It scared her. Exploding penguins and mysterious visions are prone to do that. So she tried to wake up. It was the first nightmare she had had at the resort, but she had had many nightmares in her other life. Melissa concentrated hard, willing that peculiar sense of detachment and calm that would free her from the nightmare.
But it didn't work. Annoyed for the first time in her idyllic vacation, Melissa stormed off to the concierge. It took her a great deal of doing, annoying her even more, but she finally managed to catch the attention of him.
"You have a problem. I don't know what was wrong with my food this morning - either something spoiled, or someone decided it'd be fun to put a hallucinogen in it. I just saw a talking exploding penguin. I'll be in my room, send me a doctor. I want to be sure nothing's wrong with me. And fix whatever the problem is!" The somewhat startled concierge just nodded his head.
"I'm sorry for your trouble, ma'am. I'll make sure the problem is taken care of. Please don't let this minor incident mar your stay here. I'll send the doctor up as soon he arrives."
Melissa growled acknowledgement, and stalked off to her room, intending to change her clothes. As she stepped into her room from the empty hallway, she noticed her clothes were completely dry. A little sticky in some spots, but even those vanished as she was examining them. Still, her beach day was now ruined. Melissa decided to make the day a hiking day instead. Maybe some exercise would work off some of her anger. She changed into a fresh tank top, jeans, and sneakers, clothes she would never have dared to wear over in the States, back in her old life. The armor always had to be up, she always had to be lady-like in both attitude and dress, she always had to look her best. But here, she could relax, all those pressures behind her.
Besides, she had an urgent need to get out and do things. Exploding penguins aside, she felt great. However, better to be safe and sure. She'd just drink a little water and wait for the doctor. Unfortunately, she was out of ice, so she'd have to go to the ice machine to get some. As she was filling the ice bucket, she heard the elevator doors ding, followed by the fading sound of footsteps marching in unison. Curious, she peeked around the corner, filled ice bucket in hand.
Three tall men wearing black suits, black shoes, and black fedoras were approaching her door. As she watched, two took position to either side of her doorway, their dark eyeshades gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. Somehow, when all three pulled guns with long barrels from under their jackets, she wasn't surprised. Nor was she surprised when the third man in black kicked her door down, and all three charged into her room. Melissa dropped the ice bucket and ran to the stairwell.
She yanked open the stairwell door, and flew down the stairs, leaping entire flights at a time. As she yanked the bottom door open, she heard the door above her crash into the wall. Without pausing, she ran through the empty lobby. Instead of hiking through the empty countryside, she'd have to run to the market and hide in the crowds there.
But the market was empty. She had forgotten that today was a religious holiday, and the market shut down. It was one of the reasons she had decided on a beach day. She stopped and looked around. Without the stalls and people, there was very little cover. Everything that had been hidden was revealed, even the old mural saying "See Argo Cliffs and Experience Adventure!" Off in the distance, she could she the dust plume of a car. Then she caught a whiff of chemicals. It wasn't what she would have preferred, but it was probably her only choice for places to hide.
Melissa ran up one of the many alleys, following the smell as she had before. Eventually, she came to the dye vats. There were three people working on dying the cloth, but they hadn't seemed to have noticed her. Looking around, she didn't see anyplace to hide. There was a small pile of cloth, but the workers would definitely notice her if she tried to hide in the pile. As they would if she tried to hide in the dye vats themselves, which were too small and shallow anyway. Her mind racing, Melissa realized that only left one of the large preparation and soaking tubs. She eased herself into an otherwise empty one, hugging the tub wall under one of the platforms the workers stood on when stirring the cloth.
Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Melissa wondered if she had managed to lose her pursuers. She knew that they had seen her run into the alleyway. But there were so many twists and turns that she could have lost them. How long should she wait? 5 minutes? 10? Could she wait in the chemical vat that long? Then she heard the sound of feet, all running in unison. She couldn't see them emerge from the alleyway, but she could see five of the men in black advance to the far side of the enclosure and take up guard positions. Behind her, she could hear others do the same. One man in black went to talk to the workers.
Melissa couldn't hear what was said, but when the worker standing in the dye vat started gesturing wildly and pointing her way, she ducked her head underwater, leaving only her nostrils above, one of her favorite childhood tricks. She waited, and heard the one in charge come over. Tensely, she waited longer, and longer, having trouble keeping her breath light and even. Eventually, the men in black left, and she raised her head out of the water. Melissa listened a little more closely, not moving. After another seeming eternity she heard something move behind her, and saw one of the workers wave goodbye to the man in black who had been hiding, trying to ambush her.
Shortly after that, one of the workers came over with a long pole and stood on the platform, stirring the chemicals in the tub. "You Them Waited Out. That Good Is. Perseverance Shows. Cliffs East Are. Alley Large Follow, Edge Town Road Right. You Luck Have." With that the worker stepped off the platform, and all three vanished. Melissa climbed out of the tub, and ran up the alleyway the worker had told her about. It led her out of the town quickly, and met up with a road. She turned right, and east, with the early afternoon sun behind her, and settled into her long distance jog.
As her feet pounded the dusty and overgrown road, Melissa thought about everything that had happened since she woke up that morning. She felt better, despite the chemical bath which she was sure had bleached her hair blonde. Questions ran through her mind - Why did the penguin talk the same way the worker did? Who did the men in black work for? Why did they want to kill or kidnap her? What was the glowing man in the vision? What were the Argo Cliffs, and why were they special?
She kept running, and kept running the questions through her mind. But she didn't have any answers, nor discover any. As she ran, she climbed higher and higher into the hills surrounding the town. The road twisted and turned its way up and over the hillsides. Eventually, it led her to a small outcropping of rock that thrust its way out over a deep, dark river hundreds of feet below at the bottom of a chasm-like ravine. At one end of the bare spot that must have once been a parking area, stood a rusty scaffolding surrounded by scrawny trees. The scaffolding supported a pulley on two steel cables that ran over the ravine and to a spot on the opposing cliffs of the ravine wall. Looking closely, there seemed to be a ledge, with a path up to the top of the cliff. The path apparently lead to an old shack, probably a gift shop. There was also a harness with a rope attached to it. The other end of the rope was wound around a winch. Melissa tugged on the rope, and more of it unwound from the winch, which turned freely.
As she finished her inspection, Melissa wiped her forehead; the back of her hand came away covered with a thick sticky fluid, not normal sweat. She had another vision, but this time she could make out that the man was kneeling, holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers, while a child hugged him. Melissa would have sworn the vision didn't last long, but when it ended, the sun was beginning to set, and she could see the plume of the men in black's car starting to make the next to last turn.
There wasn't much option; the cable slide was the only way out. Melissa scrambled into the harness, snapping the buckles together and tightening the straps. As she tightened the last one, the car pulled up, and the original trio of men in black got out. The leader called out.
"You Stop! You Us Come! You Restplace Stay!"
But Melissa didn't listen, and ran forward, leaping off the cliff. As she whirred down the cable, escaping to the ledge on the other side, another vision, even clearer, came to her. The man was black-haired with tears streaming from his familiar face, holding the bouquet in his left hand where a wedding band caught the light. His right hand was hugging a small 5-year old boy who was crying as well. The marble slab was a gravestone. A fancy one with a picture mounted behind some glass. At first Melissa couldn't make out the picture. But then she realized she knew whose face was shown. How could she have forgotten her own husband and son? Sobbing, tears clouding her vision, Melissa could make out the end of the cable.
The ledge was a spot of miscolored moss on the cliff wall.
Roger
First Post
Cardinal Sins
by Roger Carbol
Shane Edwards awoke to familiar sounds: the steady beep of a heart monitor, the quiet hum of air filtration, distant footsteps on a tile floor.
The door to his room opened. A woman walked in, wearing a white lab coat and some sort of magnifier glasses.{2} A doctor or a lab technician, he thought.
"Mister Edwards, you're awake. Good. My name is Doctor Shelby. You're in a hospital," she said, looking at him over her glasses.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out on my own. Why am I here?" he asked.
"We're hoping you could tell us. There are some unusual substances in your blood. Why don't you tell us what happened, from the beginning?" she asked, taking a seat.
The beginning, Shane thought.
It all began with Bill, of course. But I suppose I should back up a bit further. There's three of us, as I'm sure you're already aware. Linda, Bill, and myself. About a year ago we decided to experience as much of life as we could, and for us, that meant doing as much and as many drugs as we could lay our hands on.
Bill was a dentist who got zapped by some sort of equipment malfunction. Ate enough x-rays to make him glow in the dark. So he had about a year left before the cancers got him.
I've got a tumour in my brain the size of a tennis ball -- it should all be there on my chart. Probably won't kill me for a while, but I won't be doing much more than drooling.
Linda found us. Daughter of some Canadian tobacco tycoon. Billionaire. She's just in it for the kicks. But she pays all the bills and makes all our legal problems go away, so we're happy to have her.
Anyway, it was fun for a while. Funny how fast you can get jaded to this sort of thing, though. Pretty soon we were off smoking cacti in Sedona, licking toads in New Zealand, whatever we could get our hands on. Old Bill's the man -- he's got a list as long as his arm of stuff we haven't tried yet.
This one was different, though. Bill's eyes just light up when he's really excited about something. Redbird, he called it. Some crazy mushroom found on only one tiny island in Bermuda. Old native tales about it letting you talk to gods and demons, he said.
That was enough for us. We flew into Bermuda the next day. Spent a week or so just bumming around, seeing the sights. We were in a rush because we're dying, see, but we weren't in a rush. Bill was scoping out boat rentals, keeping an eye on the weather, that sort of thing. Linda hit the beach and got a horrible sunburn. Hadn't quite figured out that those bronzing creams didn't actually do anything other than dye your skin orange.
Then we set off. Nonsuch Island, Bill called it. Some big wildlife sanctuary, off-limits to the public. With Linda around we had figured out that nothing's off-limits if you have enough money to drop on the right people. We took the Zodiac around to the north side, found a nice looking beach, and pulled in.
The beach was deserted -- I'm talking totally pristine.{3} We pulled the boat up above the tide line and unpacked. Linda got a fire going -- handy with a flare gun, she is -- and Bill and I set off to find the redbird.
Bill knew what he was looking for better than I did: damp rotting vegetation in the shade, that sort of thing. He was in a talkative mood. Said the Europeans introduced cardinals -- the birds, not the priests -- to Bermuda back a couple hundred years ago. Natives generally called them redbirds. These particular mushrooms had red spots on them -- cardinal red, is where he was going with it. I just kept looking.
After a couple hours of strolling around tropical paradise, we hit gold. Big patch of them, poking out of some rotting leaves.{4} Bill didn't really have a good grip on what the effective dose would be, so we carried away all we could.
The fire was good and hot by the time we got back, and the sun was starting to set. Good time to get stoned, right around sunset. Tends to bring on a nice trip. We got settled in, beer and snacks close to hand, and Bill figured that one shroom each was probably a good start.
Tasted like burning, they did, but nothing worse than licking a toad. We started to get pretty mellow. The waves crashing on the beach became a heartbeat, like we were sitting on the chest of the entire world.
I could feel the trip starting to sour, the way they do sometimes. Nothing you can do about it, of course, but I could feel it turning ugly inside my chest. Linda's sunburn started to glow like a neon sign, and pretty soon she was a devil. The cartoon sort, with red horns and a pitchfork. I think she was saying something, but the words turned into red birds that flew from her mouth.{1} After that things started to get really strange. I think. It's all a bit blurry now. Bill and Linda might be able to fill in the blanks, though. They've got a better memory for this sort of thing than I do. I blame the tumour, but maybe I've always been this way. Hard to remember if you're forgetful, know what I mean? Anyway, that's pretty much the way it went down.
The doctor stopped taking notes. Shane hadn't noticed her start, but she must have been writing for some time. She stood.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, Mister Edwards. We estimate you were on that island for at least a month -- maybe two. All we found of your friends were some gnawed bones. We're still waiting on the DNA matches." Shane closed his eyes. Two months? It wasn't possible.
"I'm with the United States Navy, Mister Edwards. I'm afraid we'll be holding you indefinitely, at least until we can figure out what happened on the island and what happened to you," the doctor said, walking towards to door.
Shane laughed, but it became a cough halfway through. "So? You can't threaten me. I'll be dead, or close enough, in two months. I don't mind spending them in a hospital bed," he replied.
"We examined you thoroughly, Mister Edwards. There's nothing at all wrong with your brain. Not anymore," she said, as she closed the door behind her.
THE END
* * *
Ceramic DM -- Fall 2006 -- Round 2c (Roger vs Linderel)
Written 29-30 September, 2006. Word Count: 1110.
Illustrations:
[1] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26105
[2] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26106
[3] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26107
[4] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26108
by Roger Carbol
Shane Edwards awoke to familiar sounds: the steady beep of a heart monitor, the quiet hum of air filtration, distant footsteps on a tile floor.
The door to his room opened. A woman walked in, wearing a white lab coat and some sort of magnifier glasses.{2} A doctor or a lab technician, he thought.
"Mister Edwards, you're awake. Good. My name is Doctor Shelby. You're in a hospital," she said, looking at him over her glasses.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out on my own. Why am I here?" he asked.
"We're hoping you could tell us. There are some unusual substances in your blood. Why don't you tell us what happened, from the beginning?" she asked, taking a seat.
The beginning, Shane thought.
It all began with Bill, of course. But I suppose I should back up a bit further. There's three of us, as I'm sure you're already aware. Linda, Bill, and myself. About a year ago we decided to experience as much of life as we could, and for us, that meant doing as much and as many drugs as we could lay our hands on.
Bill was a dentist who got zapped by some sort of equipment malfunction. Ate enough x-rays to make him glow in the dark. So he had about a year left before the cancers got him.
I've got a tumour in my brain the size of a tennis ball -- it should all be there on my chart. Probably won't kill me for a while, but I won't be doing much more than drooling.
Linda found us. Daughter of some Canadian tobacco tycoon. Billionaire. She's just in it for the kicks. But she pays all the bills and makes all our legal problems go away, so we're happy to have her.
Anyway, it was fun for a while. Funny how fast you can get jaded to this sort of thing, though. Pretty soon we were off smoking cacti in Sedona, licking toads in New Zealand, whatever we could get our hands on. Old Bill's the man -- he's got a list as long as his arm of stuff we haven't tried yet.
This one was different, though. Bill's eyes just light up when he's really excited about something. Redbird, he called it. Some crazy mushroom found on only one tiny island in Bermuda. Old native tales about it letting you talk to gods and demons, he said.
That was enough for us. We flew into Bermuda the next day. Spent a week or so just bumming around, seeing the sights. We were in a rush because we're dying, see, but we weren't in a rush. Bill was scoping out boat rentals, keeping an eye on the weather, that sort of thing. Linda hit the beach and got a horrible sunburn. Hadn't quite figured out that those bronzing creams didn't actually do anything other than dye your skin orange.
Then we set off. Nonsuch Island, Bill called it. Some big wildlife sanctuary, off-limits to the public. With Linda around we had figured out that nothing's off-limits if you have enough money to drop on the right people. We took the Zodiac around to the north side, found a nice looking beach, and pulled in.
The beach was deserted -- I'm talking totally pristine.{3} We pulled the boat up above the tide line and unpacked. Linda got a fire going -- handy with a flare gun, she is -- and Bill and I set off to find the redbird.
Bill knew what he was looking for better than I did: damp rotting vegetation in the shade, that sort of thing. He was in a talkative mood. Said the Europeans introduced cardinals -- the birds, not the priests -- to Bermuda back a couple hundred years ago. Natives generally called them redbirds. These particular mushrooms had red spots on them -- cardinal red, is where he was going with it. I just kept looking.
After a couple hours of strolling around tropical paradise, we hit gold. Big patch of them, poking out of some rotting leaves.{4} Bill didn't really have a good grip on what the effective dose would be, so we carried away all we could.
The fire was good and hot by the time we got back, and the sun was starting to set. Good time to get stoned, right around sunset. Tends to bring on a nice trip. We got settled in, beer and snacks close to hand, and Bill figured that one shroom each was probably a good start.
Tasted like burning, they did, but nothing worse than licking a toad. We started to get pretty mellow. The waves crashing on the beach became a heartbeat, like we were sitting on the chest of the entire world.
I could feel the trip starting to sour, the way they do sometimes. Nothing you can do about it, of course, but I could feel it turning ugly inside my chest. Linda's sunburn started to glow like a neon sign, and pretty soon she was a devil. The cartoon sort, with red horns and a pitchfork. I think she was saying something, but the words turned into red birds that flew from her mouth.{1} After that things started to get really strange. I think. It's all a bit blurry now. Bill and Linda might be able to fill in the blanks, though. They've got a better memory for this sort of thing than I do. I blame the tumour, but maybe I've always been this way. Hard to remember if you're forgetful, know what I mean? Anyway, that's pretty much the way it went down.
The doctor stopped taking notes. Shane hadn't noticed her start, but she must have been writing for some time. She stood.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, Mister Edwards. We estimate you were on that island for at least a month -- maybe two. All we found of your friends were some gnawed bones. We're still waiting on the DNA matches." Shane closed his eyes. Two months? It wasn't possible.
"I'm with the United States Navy, Mister Edwards. I'm afraid we'll be holding you indefinitely, at least until we can figure out what happened on the island and what happened to you," the doctor said, walking towards to door.
Shane laughed, but it became a cough halfway through. "So? You can't threaten me. I'll be dead, or close enough, in two months. I don't mind spending them in a hospital bed," he replied.
"We examined you thoroughly, Mister Edwards. There's nothing at all wrong with your brain. Not anymore," she said, as she closed the door behind her.
THE END
* * *
Ceramic DM -- Fall 2006 -- Round 2c (Roger vs Linderel)
Written 29-30 September, 2006. Word Count: 1110.
Illustrations:
[1] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26105
[2] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26106
[3] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26107
[4] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=26108
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
tick-tock, tick-tock 
yangnome
First Post
Cat Fight
Real spy work is nothing like the pictures Hollywood paints. It isn’t glamorous or sexy and our tools aren’t that cool. Most of us in the business are fine with that—after all, nothing like a job with sex appeal. Mick though, well Mick grew up watching too many spy flicks. He doesn’t get the fact there’s a difference between real life and what’s on the big screen. Mick is my runner—he’s my point of contact with the agency, and the one that gets me the tools and the information I need to do my job and stay alive. I’m sure you can imagine the problems this has caused since Mick started working with me a few months ago.
Take for instance the last job I worked. I got a message that I needed to pick up a drop with my new assignment. Now, he could have mailed me a dossier, or even put it in a normal drop location—under a park bench, inside the lip of a trashcan, you get the idea. Instead, I’m told to look for a guy in a tux at the zoo.
If you’re anything like me, you’re figuring that a guy in a tuxedo at a zoo is going to look really out of place. That is until you see what he’s cooked up this time—a penguin. An effin’ penguin. How the hell am I supposed to get a message from a penguin?
So I crouch down and try to call the penguin over to me. The damn thing waddles over to me and I notice something under the penguin’s wing—or is it a flipper? I give it a little piece of a Snicker’s bar I had been munching on and try to retrieve my message. There’s a small electronic device under the penguin’s wing. I place my finger over it and a recorded message begins to play:
He can’t be serious. Then I notice that the ticking. He is. PETA isn’t going to be happy about this. I get out of the areas as soon as possible.
---
Now, it’s been a number of years since I’ve been to Canukistan and I don’t have a whole lot of information to work with. I knew that there were a number of groups upset at The Queen, but which one is doing the plotting, I have no clue. I do have a few contacts inside Canukistan and I figure it’d be a good time to make use of them—I have no idea how much time we have before they make this attempt on The Queen.
I decide to meet up with Jorge first. Jorge isn’t in the business any longer; he’s retired— well as retired as you can get in this business without being dead. Jorge’s a unique fellow, a flamboyant gent who’s always remarkably dressed and one hell of a shot. Jorge keeps his ears to the ground and his information is usually quite reliable. If there were any groups talking about a job like this, he’d know about it. I also knew where Jorge usually hung out—he usually played chess down by the river in Bay City.
Sure enough, that’s where Jorge was. He didn’t have an opponent at the moment, so I sat down next across from him.
“Nice weather today isn’t it?” I said.
“Devine. We’ll probably only have one or two weeks before the storms start rolling in. I haven’t seen you around in awhile.” Jorge replied.
“Business has kept me away. You mind if I play?” I move a pawn forward two squares.
“You know I’m always more than willing to let you play with me.” Jorge replied, winking at me as he moved his rook.
Innuendo, Jorge was famous for it. I didn’t have time to play though.
“Do you know anyone getting ready to make a move on The Queen?” I asked.
“It’s still a bit early in the game, are you talking about the chess piece, or are you asking about my love life?” Jorge asked. He picked up his wine glass and took a sip.
“Neither,” I said. “I’m talking about work. I’ve heard someone is getting ready to make a move on The Queen and I need to find out who, I thought maybe you’d know.”
“I haven’t heard anything.” Jorge said. “The Queen’s pissed off enough people though. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“You haven’t heard anything specific though?”
“No. I’m retired. I haven’t even heard any rumors.”
“Do you know anywhere I could find some more information? I don’t know when they’re going to make their move.”
“You could try Ari’s place. He’s usually got his ear to the ground.”
Ari owned a dye shop. He died fabrics that are used in high end garments. It was a cover operation though. He also worked as a place to dump bodies. He’d store them in the dye vats. Not only were the bodies impossible to see in the vats, but they added vibrant color to the crimsons. At night he’d fill the vats with acids that would eat the remains away. No evidence, no smell, all taken care of nice and clean.
“Do you think he’d know anything about this?”
“I’m not sure,” Jorge said. “But he’s a good place to start with. He keeps his ear to the ground about anything going on in the industry.”
“Thanks, I’ll give it a try.”
“Checkmate.” He’s got me between his queen and his knight.
“Ok, thanks for the game.” I’ll see you around.
I get up and head for the subway.
---
Thirty minutes later, I step off the subway and I head through some back alleys. A beggar sits in the alley way next to a door, but I know who he really is. Under his robes, he’s holding an MP5, or some similar weapon, ready to gun down anyone who doesn’t belong. I flash him a sign and he nods at me. I go through the door and step out into a courtyard.
In the far corner of the courtyard, two men are haggling over the price of something. I only pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. Another man works in the vats. The courtyard between us is filled with a bunch of vats, different colors, mostly browns and reds—it’s what’s hot this season.
They look up at me and I nod. I wait for them to finish their business—it’d be rude to interrupt. Once they’re done one of the men walks around the vats and exits out a different door. I walk over and shake Ari’s hand.
“Ari, it looks like you’ve been busy.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had any needs of your services.” I tell him. A large pile of cloth lies on top of a table next to Ari. I lift up the top of the first couple pieces of fabric and sure enough, there’s a body under it—probably just dropped off by the man that left. Ari hasn’t had time to put him in a vat yet. The face is familiar.
“Alas, poor Yorick.” I said.
“You knew him?” Ari asked.
“I knew him well.”
“I am sorry.” He said.
“Don’t worry, it’s a part of the business,” I tell him. “I know it too well unfortunately.”
“What can I do for you today?” Ari asks. “Arranging for a delivery?”
Ari, Always the business man.
“I’m actually here to get some information.” I tell him.
“You know I don’t talk about who my customers are, or what business I do with them.”
“It isn’t like that Ari. I’m looking for rumors. I hear someone is going to make an attempt on The Queen. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything. Any idea who’d be doing this?”
“Well, there are a lot of people who don’t like her.”
“Yeah, but who would act on something like that.”
“Ah hell, I’ve always liked The Queen. I tell you what. You didn’t get this information from me, but Lady Daffodil and her crew have been talking about a job coming up. Saturday night at the show, and The Queen is supposed to be there.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Saturday, that doesn’t give me much time.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
---
I was familiar with Lady Daffodil and her bunch. They were small time players, but I wouldn’t put this job past them. I also had contact with someone on their team. I knew I could meet up with StacyQ at a bar she went to almost every night, the ‘Why not?’.
I had brought some decent clothing with me, so I went back to my hotel room, took a short nap and then changed to go out. Sure enough, I found StacyQ on her usual barstool, chatting up the others in the place. StacyQ was pretty popular and everyone knew that after a few drinks, you could get her talking.
I started buying her drinks—Midori, Malibu and orange juice. It wasn’t strong, but it didn’t take much to get her going. She always had a thing for me anyway. The feeling wasn’t reciprocal—I don’t like to mix business and pleasure. StacyQ was fun to look at, but there was too much baggage that came with any relationship in this business.
It wasn’t long before I got StacyQ talking. I just mentioned The Queen and she practically started telling me the whole thing. She was angry that The Queen had held her title so long, and lady daffodil’s group felt that they’d been cheated. They wanted to retire The Queen for good so someone else would have a chance.
“We’re going to make it public, and we’re going to make it embarrassing,” StacyQ told me.
“How?”
“Lady D’s got the details,” she said. “She’s been practicing for this one.”
“Do you know anything about it?”
“Markus keeps a safe up in his office. He’s agreed to help. When The Queen’s out on the stage, Lady D’s gonna grab a rifle from the safe and shot the bitch in front of everyone.”
“Isn’t that a little drastic,” I ask.
“We’re tired of that bitch.”
“Well, good luck with it all.” I tell her. “I’ll have to be careful about where I sit during the show.”
“You’re gonna come see me sweetie?”
“I’m going to try. I have to run now though. I have someone to meet.”
A big, fake pout spread across StacyQ’s face. As soon as I was out the door though, she was practically in someone else’s lap.
---
Saturday I got to the show early. The show always took place at Club Trance. It was a neat place. Saturdays at midnight, they’d have the show. The rest of the week, the place was a nightclub with dancing and such. The walls were decorated with large murals. On one wall, a desert scene, on the other an ocean scene. The front and back walls had mirrors. There was a stage with a catwalk and a pole out at the end. The pictures were painted so well, that when the lights were flashing, depending which way you were looking, it’d seem almost like you were outside with a crowd of people, not in a building.
I hadn’t been to this show in a few years. There were still a lot of familiar faces. I almost didn’t recognize Markus—he’d had more surgery done since I’d last seen him. As I was looking at him, Lady Daffodil walked up behind him and patted him on the ass. He winked at me before disappearing up a stairwell with her. A few minutes later, they all came back down. I had to get up into the office and put a stop to this whole thing.
After the two of them walked into the main theater area, I slipped up the stairwell. Upstairs there were two doors. I tried the one in front of me, but it was just a closet. I tried the one to the right, but the door handle was locked. No worries. I pulled a hairpin out and went to work on the lock.
*click* The pins in the cylinder lined up and I turned the handle. I quickly closed the door behind me. The room was pitch black, but I didn’t dare turn on a light. I knew his office had a window that overlooked the theater and I didn’t want to alert them to my presence. I took a small pair of night vision goggles out of my pocket and placed them on my head. The room lit up green. I tried to work at the safe, but I wasn’t as lucky with it as I had been with the door.
Below me, the show had started; I could hear the music reverberating through the floor. Then, I heard someone coming up the stairway. I quickly moved back into the corner, making as little noise as possible.
A key turned in the doorknob and the door to the office opened. The light outside blinded me for a second, but the person closed the door almost all the way shut. They didn’t turn a light on either, but came across towards the safe. Even through the night vision goggles, I could tell it was Lady Daffodil—I’d recognize her bald head anywhere. She quickly turned the combination on the safe door and pulled a rifle out.
As she started to assemble the rifle’s upper and lower receivers I made my move. I jumped up and knocked the rifle out of her hands. I grabbed for her neck, but she moved away just in time. She let out a loud shriek, but the music below was playing too loud for anyone to hear. She came at me, fingernails trying to gouge out my eyes. I fended off her attack and struck a blow to her ribs—breasts, she’d had her operation, I noticed.
It was then we heard the music outside. Barbie Girl, The Queen’s theme song. Lady D slipped out of my grip and made a move towards the window. Before I could stop her, she jumped out the window, head first, grabbing onto a zipline Markus had installed to make a fabulous entrance into the club from his office a few years ago—it was made to look like a large bird perch. Lady D had dove onto the perch and was now heading straight for the stage where The Queen was doing her bit.
Before I could even react Lady D had bowled over The Queen and had her hands around her throat. I had to act quickly. I took a towel from Markus’ makeup stand and wrapped it over the line. I then jumped out the window, on a path towards the catwalk where Lady D and the Queen were rolled up in a ball together with others in the audience rushing to get involved.
I came down into the fray and kicked Lady D off of The Queen. Instead of fight Lady D, I tried to pull The Queen back to safety. With Markus and the others in on this, I knew I had to get her out of the building. We fought our way through the crowd and once we got out on the street I called a taxi. I’d have to take care of Lady D later.
Once we got into the taxi, The Queen thanked me. I’d completed my mission, and gotten her out safe. I don’t know if she’ll be able to retain her title, but that wasn’t my concern. I’d done my job.
Why am I protecting drag queens on the government dime? Don’t ask, don’t tell. I bet you’d have never guessed that the politics in the world of drag queen competitions were this serious. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes that you don’t know about, stuff that even Hollywood couldn’t make up.
Real spy work is nothing like the pictures Hollywood paints. It isn’t glamorous or sexy and our tools aren’t that cool. Most of us in the business are fine with that—after all, nothing like a job with sex appeal. Mick though, well Mick grew up watching too many spy flicks. He doesn’t get the fact there’s a difference between real life and what’s on the big screen. Mick is my runner—he’s my point of contact with the agency, and the one that gets me the tools and the information I need to do my job and stay alive. I’m sure you can imagine the problems this has caused since Mick started working with me a few months ago.
Take for instance the last job I worked. I got a message that I needed to pick up a drop with my new assignment. Now, he could have mailed me a dossier, or even put it in a normal drop location—under a park bench, inside the lip of a trashcan, you get the idea. Instead, I’m told to look for a guy in a tux at the zoo.
If you’re anything like me, you’re figuring that a guy in a tuxedo at a zoo is going to look really out of place. That is until you see what he’s cooked up this time—a penguin. An effin’ penguin. How the hell am I supposed to get a message from a penguin?
So I crouch down and try to call the penguin over to me. The damn thing waddles over to me and I notice something under the penguin’s wing—or is it a flipper? I give it a little piece of a Snicker’s bar I had been munching on and try to retrieve my message. There’s a small electronic device under the penguin’s wing. I place my finger over it and a recorded message begins to play:
He can’t be serious. Then I notice that the ticking. He is. PETA isn’t going to be happy about this. I get out of the areas as soon as possible.
---
Now, it’s been a number of years since I’ve been to Canukistan and I don’t have a whole lot of information to work with. I knew that there were a number of groups upset at The Queen, but which one is doing the plotting, I have no clue. I do have a few contacts inside Canukistan and I figure it’d be a good time to make use of them—I have no idea how much time we have before they make this attempt on The Queen.
I decide to meet up with Jorge first. Jorge isn’t in the business any longer; he’s retired— well as retired as you can get in this business without being dead. Jorge’s a unique fellow, a flamboyant gent who’s always remarkably dressed and one hell of a shot. Jorge keeps his ears to the ground and his information is usually quite reliable. If there were any groups talking about a job like this, he’d know about it. I also knew where Jorge usually hung out—he usually played chess down by the river in Bay City.
Sure enough, that’s where Jorge was. He didn’t have an opponent at the moment, so I sat down next across from him.
“Nice weather today isn’t it?” I said.
“Devine. We’ll probably only have one or two weeks before the storms start rolling in. I haven’t seen you around in awhile.” Jorge replied.
“Business has kept me away. You mind if I play?” I move a pawn forward two squares.
“You know I’m always more than willing to let you play with me.” Jorge replied, winking at me as he moved his rook.
Innuendo, Jorge was famous for it. I didn’t have time to play though.
“Do you know anyone getting ready to make a move on The Queen?” I asked.
“It’s still a bit early in the game, are you talking about the chess piece, or are you asking about my love life?” Jorge asked. He picked up his wine glass and took a sip.
“Neither,” I said. “I’m talking about work. I’ve heard someone is getting ready to make a move on The Queen and I need to find out who, I thought maybe you’d know.”
“I haven’t heard anything.” Jorge said. “The Queen’s pissed off enough people though. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“You haven’t heard anything specific though?”
“No. I’m retired. I haven’t even heard any rumors.”
“Do you know anywhere I could find some more information? I don’t know when they’re going to make their move.”
“You could try Ari’s place. He’s usually got his ear to the ground.”
Ari owned a dye shop. He died fabrics that are used in high end garments. It was a cover operation though. He also worked as a place to dump bodies. He’d store them in the dye vats. Not only were the bodies impossible to see in the vats, but they added vibrant color to the crimsons. At night he’d fill the vats with acids that would eat the remains away. No evidence, no smell, all taken care of nice and clean.
“Do you think he’d know anything about this?”
“I’m not sure,” Jorge said. “But he’s a good place to start with. He keeps his ear to the ground about anything going on in the industry.”
“Thanks, I’ll give it a try.”
“Checkmate.” He’s got me between his queen and his knight.
“Ok, thanks for the game.” I’ll see you around.
I get up and head for the subway.
---
Thirty minutes later, I step off the subway and I head through some back alleys. A beggar sits in the alley way next to a door, but I know who he really is. Under his robes, he’s holding an MP5, or some similar weapon, ready to gun down anyone who doesn’t belong. I flash him a sign and he nods at me. I go through the door and step out into a courtyard.
In the far corner of the courtyard, two men are haggling over the price of something. I only pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. Another man works in the vats. The courtyard between us is filled with a bunch of vats, different colors, mostly browns and reds—it’s what’s hot this season.
They look up at me and I nod. I wait for them to finish their business—it’d be rude to interrupt. Once they’re done one of the men walks around the vats and exits out a different door. I walk over and shake Ari’s hand.
“Ari, it looks like you’ve been busy.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had any needs of your services.” I tell him. A large pile of cloth lies on top of a table next to Ari. I lift up the top of the first couple pieces of fabric and sure enough, there’s a body under it—probably just dropped off by the man that left. Ari hasn’t had time to put him in a vat yet. The face is familiar.
“Alas, poor Yorick.” I said.
“You knew him?” Ari asked.
“I knew him well.”
“I am sorry.” He said.
“Don’t worry, it’s a part of the business,” I tell him. “I know it too well unfortunately.”
“What can I do for you today?” Ari asks. “Arranging for a delivery?”
Ari, Always the business man.
“I’m actually here to get some information.” I tell him.
“You know I don’t talk about who my customers are, or what business I do with them.”
“It isn’t like that Ari. I’m looking for rumors. I hear someone is going to make an attempt on The Queen. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything. Any idea who’d be doing this?”
“Well, there are a lot of people who don’t like her.”
“Yeah, but who would act on something like that.”
“Ah hell, I’ve always liked The Queen. I tell you what. You didn’t get this information from me, but Lady Daffodil and her crew have been talking about a job coming up. Saturday night at the show, and The Queen is supposed to be there.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Saturday, that doesn’t give me much time.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
---
I was familiar with Lady Daffodil and her bunch. They were small time players, but I wouldn’t put this job past them. I also had contact with someone on their team. I knew I could meet up with StacyQ at a bar she went to almost every night, the ‘Why not?’.
I had brought some decent clothing with me, so I went back to my hotel room, took a short nap and then changed to go out. Sure enough, I found StacyQ on her usual barstool, chatting up the others in the place. StacyQ was pretty popular and everyone knew that after a few drinks, you could get her talking.
I started buying her drinks—Midori, Malibu and orange juice. It wasn’t strong, but it didn’t take much to get her going. She always had a thing for me anyway. The feeling wasn’t reciprocal—I don’t like to mix business and pleasure. StacyQ was fun to look at, but there was too much baggage that came with any relationship in this business.
It wasn’t long before I got StacyQ talking. I just mentioned The Queen and she practically started telling me the whole thing. She was angry that The Queen had held her title so long, and lady daffodil’s group felt that they’d been cheated. They wanted to retire The Queen for good so someone else would have a chance.
“We’re going to make it public, and we’re going to make it embarrassing,” StacyQ told me.
“How?”
“Lady D’s got the details,” she said. “She’s been practicing for this one.”
“Do you know anything about it?”
“Markus keeps a safe up in his office. He’s agreed to help. When The Queen’s out on the stage, Lady D’s gonna grab a rifle from the safe and shot the bitch in front of everyone.”
“Isn’t that a little drastic,” I ask.
“We’re tired of that bitch.”
“Well, good luck with it all.” I tell her. “I’ll have to be careful about where I sit during the show.”
“You’re gonna come see me sweetie?”
“I’m going to try. I have to run now though. I have someone to meet.”
A big, fake pout spread across StacyQ’s face. As soon as I was out the door though, she was practically in someone else’s lap.
---
Saturday I got to the show early. The show always took place at Club Trance. It was a neat place. Saturdays at midnight, they’d have the show. The rest of the week, the place was a nightclub with dancing and such. The walls were decorated with large murals. On one wall, a desert scene, on the other an ocean scene. The front and back walls had mirrors. There was a stage with a catwalk and a pole out at the end. The pictures were painted so well, that when the lights were flashing, depending which way you were looking, it’d seem almost like you were outside with a crowd of people, not in a building.
I hadn’t been to this show in a few years. There were still a lot of familiar faces. I almost didn’t recognize Markus—he’d had more surgery done since I’d last seen him. As I was looking at him, Lady Daffodil walked up behind him and patted him on the ass. He winked at me before disappearing up a stairwell with her. A few minutes later, they all came back down. I had to get up into the office and put a stop to this whole thing.
After the two of them walked into the main theater area, I slipped up the stairwell. Upstairs there were two doors. I tried the one in front of me, but it was just a closet. I tried the one to the right, but the door handle was locked. No worries. I pulled a hairpin out and went to work on the lock.
*click* The pins in the cylinder lined up and I turned the handle. I quickly closed the door behind me. The room was pitch black, but I didn’t dare turn on a light. I knew his office had a window that overlooked the theater and I didn’t want to alert them to my presence. I took a small pair of night vision goggles out of my pocket and placed them on my head. The room lit up green. I tried to work at the safe, but I wasn’t as lucky with it as I had been with the door.
Below me, the show had started; I could hear the music reverberating through the floor. Then, I heard someone coming up the stairway. I quickly moved back into the corner, making as little noise as possible.
A key turned in the doorknob and the door to the office opened. The light outside blinded me for a second, but the person closed the door almost all the way shut. They didn’t turn a light on either, but came across towards the safe. Even through the night vision goggles, I could tell it was Lady Daffodil—I’d recognize her bald head anywhere. She quickly turned the combination on the safe door and pulled a rifle out.
As she started to assemble the rifle’s upper and lower receivers I made my move. I jumped up and knocked the rifle out of her hands. I grabbed for her neck, but she moved away just in time. She let out a loud shriek, but the music below was playing too loud for anyone to hear. She came at me, fingernails trying to gouge out my eyes. I fended off her attack and struck a blow to her ribs—breasts, she’d had her operation, I noticed.
It was then we heard the music outside. Barbie Girl, The Queen’s theme song. Lady D slipped out of my grip and made a move towards the window. Before I could stop her, she jumped out the window, head first, grabbing onto a zipline Markus had installed to make a fabulous entrance into the club from his office a few years ago—it was made to look like a large bird perch. Lady D had dove onto the perch and was now heading straight for the stage where The Queen was doing her bit.
Before I could even react Lady D had bowled over The Queen and had her hands around her throat. I had to act quickly. I took a towel from Markus’ makeup stand and wrapped it over the line. I then jumped out the window, on a path towards the catwalk where Lady D and the Queen were rolled up in a ball together with others in the audience rushing to get involved.
I came down into the fray and kicked Lady D off of The Queen. Instead of fight Lady D, I tried to pull The Queen back to safety. With Markus and the others in on this, I knew I had to get her out of the building. We fought our way through the crowd and once we got out on the street I called a taxi. I’d have to take care of Lady D later.
Once we got into the taxi, The Queen thanked me. I’d completed my mission, and gotten her out safe. I don’t know if she’ll be able to retain her title, but that wasn’t my concern. I’d done my job.
Why am I protecting drag queens on the government dime? Don’t ask, don’t tell. I bet you’d have never guessed that the politics in the world of drag queen competitions were this serious. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes that you don’t know about, stuff that even Hollywood couldn’t make up.
yangnome
First Post
[sblock]
ok, I find it interesting that both of us decided to blow up the penguin. I'm kind of curious about how you came about that idea GL.
Mine came to me as an inspiration for the whole story. Usually when looking at CDM pictures, one or two images will spark ideas immediately and all but maybe one will fit the story idea. Here, none of the pictures really spoke to me. I let them sit in the back of my mind for awhile, then later (Friday night, about 8-10 hours after I saw the pictures) a line came into my head this penguin will self destruct in 10 seconds. After that, all the pictures seemed to fall in line with the story. I don't think there were any where I really had to use a crowbar to make it fit.
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ok, I find it interesting that both of us decided to blow up the penguin. I'm kind of curious about how you came about that idea GL.
Mine came to me as an inspiration for the whole story. Usually when looking at CDM pictures, one or two images will spark ideas immediately and all but maybe one will fit the story idea. Here, none of the pictures really spoke to me. I let them sit in the back of my mind for awhile, then later (Friday night, about 8-10 hours after I saw the pictures) a line came into my head this penguin will self destruct in 10 seconds. After that, all the pictures seemed to fall in line with the story. I don't think there were any where I really had to use a crowbar to make it fit.
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NiTessine
Explorer
Destruction
In the months that followed eating the Gulthias apple, Alambur recovered well. He had wintered in the Spawnscale Castle, regaining the strength of his muscles and putting on a healthy weight. Whatever the possible side effects of eating an apple grown of a vampire tree, Alambur could spot none. Once the snows melted and the passes cleared, he returned south, taking up again the staff of a taskmage.
He sat at his desk, a bulky thing hidden beneath scrolls, parchments, tomes and the obligatory skull with a candle mounted atop it. Presently, the candle was lit, and a rivulet of tallow dribbled down the white bone, to disappear within a black eyesocket. Alambur was crouched over a large book, bound in the skin of beings close to humans, but at the same time both terrifyingly and fortunately very distant. Possession of the book would have been punishable by death in three of the countries Alambur had visited in the last year, and mere knowledge of its existence in one. The wizard Zashnichar hadn’t been a popular man when he lived.
The wizard nodded, nearly napping, when suddenly he heard a tapping, snapping him out of his drowsy state. The noise persisted, apparently originating in the dark adjacent room. Nobody but he was supposed to be in the rooms.
Slowly, Alambur stood up, grasping his staff. As he approached the door, he coaxed a magical charge out of the staff that he could channel and into one of a variety of spells. The staff felt alive in his hands as he sidled up to the doorway. Tap tap tap.
Alambur kicked the door open, brandishing his staff before him, and shouted
“BOO!” as a bright light flashed from the tip of his staff, illuminating the room in a stark white glow.
“Not quite. Do I look like a hamster?” a cultured voice asked him from somewhere near the ceiling. “And could you turn that light down? It is hurting my eyes.”
It took the wizard a moment to see the speaker, which presently occupied the chandelier. It was a winged squirrel. (Picture 1)
He lowered the staff, the light fading to a more comfortable level.
“What does your master want with me, homunculus?” Alambur asked. In truth, he was not certain whether the creature was a homunculus, a familiar, or a kercpa of Arborean heritage, but it had accompanied the Taskmage Colonel Kelgore for the better part of three decades.
“Kelgore wants you to tap your network of informants to find out what the wizard Bargle is up to. He has been missing since the fall of the Black Eagle Barony, and there are rumblings that he is preparing a retributive strike. You are to begin immediately.”
“Very well. What is known of his last location, and do we possess anything of his that may be utilised for a lead?”
“He has not been reliably identified since the Barony fell, but rumours say he is still in Imperial lands. We’ve got nothing.”
“I shall go to the oracles, then. Go back to your master. I am handling the case.”
After the squirrel thing had departed, Alambur put away the blasphemous tome he had perused, hiding it inside a vault that sealed invisibly into the outer wall the building, and in fact existed mostly on a different plane of existence. From the same vault, he withdrew a small leather bag before closing it.
Satisfied that he had all that he needed, he twisted the dark staff in his hands, and was gone.
* * *
Five hours later, Alambur arrived to the mouth of a cave. While dawn was rising where he had left, the night here was still pitch black. He disliked it and tried to avoid it to the last, but deep down he’d known that he could not avoid coming here. Of all the taskmages employed by the Emperor, Alambur had the most widespread and trustworthy network of clairsentients, information gatherers, sybils, snitches, seers, farseers, diviners, oracles, weirds and withinlookmen. He had leaned heavily on the network in the past year and enlarged it in his travels, and he knew the capabilities and requirements of all.
The oracle Templeton, though helpful, had found his divinations blocked, as Alambur had predicted. A mage of Bargle’s calibre would not have left himself unshielded against scrying. And thus, where the direct means of mortals failed, Alambur had to rely on the obtuse ways of an immortal.
Leaving his staff unlit, Alambur stepped forth into the blackness of the unlit cave.
“Horkha, living rock! I, Alambur, call you!” he called out, striking his staff into the floor. There was no answer. After waiting a moment, he repeated this in the language of those who dwell inside the earth.
A slow rumble emerged from the darkness. Alambur could not see, but he knew that it was because somewhere before him, mud and rocks roiled on the cave floor.
“Speak, Alambur of the Resplendent Flame,” a voice spoke out from the lightless cave. The voice was low, but undeniably female.
“I come to learn of Bargle the wizard, formerly of the Barony of the Black Eagle, presently a fugitive. Can you help me in this?”
For a time, the only sound was the grinding of rock and stone. Then, the being in the cave replied:
“I can, but it costs, Alambur of the Resplendent Flame.”
In reply, the wizard produced the small leather bag from his robes, and emptied it on his palm. It was heavy, cool and smooth in his hand.
“A flawless beljuril in return for your sooth.”
“This is acceptable.”
Alambur threw the stone to where he approximated the speaker to be, and did not hear it land. Again, the grinding and bubbling was the only thing that filled the silence.
After a while, Alambur’s eyes went to another place. He saw a plain, with forested hills in the distance and a shallow river running through it. At the bank of the river, there was a blue cross. As he watched, a man’s face emerged from the middle. Brown hair, high cheekbones, thin moustache and a pointy beard – Bargle was as Alambur remembered him, from a passing meeting some years ago. (Picture 3)
“He who now serves none but greed and hate is hiding from all, and prepares a doom for a city, for his master desires this. The towers and temples will be reversed, and two and forty hundred score people perish. The traitor will seek you out, but his treason is not against you.”
The vision blinked away, and Alambur was back in darkness. The oracle spoke no more, and slowly the sounds of moving earth faded away, casting the cave in silence. X had marked the spot.
* * *
When morning rose over the mountain peaks, Alambur was back in the Imperial capital, perusing over a map and a tome in a library, cursing the lacking census data of the outlying provinces. The geography defined the area as the southern plains. The lands were fertile and populous, and the Brinding River that ran through them had accumulated a wealth of cities and towns on its banks over the centuries. Any number of them could have four and a half thousand inhabitants. Alambur reasoned that the destruction Bargle was plotting would be thorough and complete, and the oracle’s death toll would match the population numbers closely. The problem was that all population numbers were aged at least a century.
A man sat in the chair next to Alambur. The wizard glanced at him. The newcomer was dressed entirely in heavy, black leather robes. The man’s head was bald, but he sported impressive muttonchop whiskers, and strong, dark eyebrows.
“Greetings,” the man said, in accented Imperial.
“Greetings,” Alambur replied, tonelessly.
“I am Günther. I know you seek Bargle the Mammonite. He is there,” he said, and jabbed a leather-covered finger into a black spot on the map, titled Brindingford.
“How do you know this?”
“I know who you are and what you do by my contacts in the taskmages. I know Bargle the Mammonite because in the past, I had a… close relationship with his master.”
“Whom you betrayed.”
“Yes, how did you know?” Günther asked, his thick eyebrows rising in surprise. “Worry not, I do not truck with evil any more.”
“A rock told me. Do you know what Bargle is planning?”
“Not specifically, but I know where he resides. We should be on our way, by the way,” Günther said and rose up.
After Alambur had deposited them on a riverbank some miles south of the walled town of Brindinford, he continued:
“A wood elf of the Empty Wood is keeping an eye on Bargle’s hideout. It is across the river, in the forest up the hillside. Bargle has henchmen, but nothing we cannot take care of. It is the wizard himself that poses the true threat and has prevented us from taking action sooner. He is preparing something big, or he would have spotted us spying on him already.”
* * *
The arcanists met with the wood elf Anderiel a good half an hour’s walk later, in a tree on the hillside overlooking a small house of good construction. A mile distant, across the Brinding River, they could see the bustling trading city of Brindinford.
The wood elf was typical of her people. She wore hunting leathers, kept her coppery hair braided with wooden pearls, and carried a long bow on her back and a pair of axes at her belt. Her skin was deeply tanned by a lifetime spent under the sun.
Between the tree Anderiel had used for spying and the wooden house were some three hundred yards of dense woodland on a downwards-sloping hillside. The yard was more open, and was occupied by eight people, humans by the look of them, in scant clothing. Mostly, they were sitting in a cluster. A well stood nearby.
“We should move immediately,” Anderiel advised. “A man on a horse brought a package to Bargle yesterday and departed afterwards. He broke his neck when he fell off the horse, so I do not know what was in the package, but the guards are no longer guarding. Seems they’re just waiting for something.”
“Very well. Bargle is mine,” Alambur said.
* * *
The Mammonite cultists were sitting around in the yard. There was not much to do in the place anymore. They would be leaving the place swiftly, and soon, so there was no point in doing the chores to keep the place fit for living, and they knew nothing could stop their plan at this point. Nobody knew they were there, and soon it would be too late.
They sat around in a circle, talking about the wealth and riches they would find when they looted the city. It was a hot day, and the air was still. One of them splashed some water on his face from a bucket.
Then, the wind momentarily picked up, and strangely, deposited a slip of parchment in the midst of their circle. (Picture 4) Warily, they looked at each other and glanced at the woods. One of them grabbed the folded parchment, and they clustered around him to see its contents when he unfolded it and read aloud:
“Guess what spell I prepared this morning?”
* * *
Bargle was focusing on a glass. The glass, made of the purest crystals from the very core of Elemental Mineral, was filled with an amber liquid, the mentally charged sap of a venerable amber dragon. Beyond the table that the glass stood on was the city of Brindinford, with its temples, towers and tombs and river docks. When seen through the glass, the rounded glass and the liquid within twisted light so that the city seemed to be upside down. (Picture 2)
The ritual spell Bargle worked on would change the illusion of reality into that reality, and Brindinford would soon be rubble as its buildings attempted to stand on their pointed spires and thatched roofs.
Such was his concentration that the explosion out on the yard did not penetrate his consciousness. Neither did he react to his personal guards toppling off the balcony, one with an elven arrow his heart, the other blasted down by raw spell power.
The spell and his concentration were both broken, however, when the taskmage Alambur picked his way through the splinters that used to be a doorway, took the glass, and poured its contents on Bargle’s head. They were soon followed by something very heavy, accompanied on its descent by darkness a moment later.
