Terpsichore winced as her stiff neck cracked. She’d been working for hours on her newest creation, but it was nowhere near complete.
“You’ll kill yourself, slaving away at this.” RicJames82 approached and massaged her shoulders; Terpsichore closed her eyes and sighed.
“It’s important,” she replied. “A fictive exegesis of the themes of Book 5, through the lens of–“
“Shh.” He inhaled her hair-scent. “It’ll wait. Other things demand your attention.”
“Like what?”
“How did I get here?” said Draco Malfoy. “Where are my trousers?”
“You’re writing metafanfic again, aren’t you,” sighs Cal, behind her.
“Nothing!” says Jeannie, trying to switch windows.
The giant lived, and sued, and won, and now Jack’s living the settlement: five years of indentured servitude. Â He plugs mouseholes in the castle walls, chases dust beasts, finds things under the couch. Â Once in a while he has to ride a vanishing pat of butter desperately around a hot skillet.
The giant laughs at that, spinning in his enormous motorized scooter. Â Jack understands it was the largest single Medicare expenditure in state history. Â The gantry supporting his neck was purchased used from NASA. Â Things could be worse, Jack supposes: Â he could be Mrs. Giant. Â Somebody has to change those diapers.
“This was your idea,” Davey reminds him.
“I was just going to get a wig, Davey, not ‘the most realistic chest hair money can buy,'” says Bongo. “It’s not even for my chest, it’s for an afro! Hey, that is spirit gum you’re putting on my head, right?”
“Yes,” says Davey, tossing aside the superglue. “Now try not to breathe while I shake the hairbag.”
He’s still shaking, two minutes later, when Bongo finally inhales. “ACK PTHAH MY MOUTH,” he says.
“Save the method acting for the audience,” says Davey. “This is going to be the greatest performance of your life.”
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
There are six other people currently following Tristan and Mowbray dislikes all of them. They’re redundant. Why do they show up in person? Mowbray has the most experience, and issues regular updates on tristansgarbage.tumblr.com and twitter.com/tristracker. The latter are even geotagged.
Granted, one might interpret the sporadicity of updates to mean that Mowbray is delinquent, but in fact Tristan has merely taken up with a man and is too infatuated to follow his regular jogging route or buy Colgate Total Whitening Plus toothpaste. There’s little cause to worry, though, Mowbray knows. Tristan will come back to them. One way or another.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
There’s exactly one of exactly what you want, in the corner, on a shelf, half-wrapped in dirty cloth.
“Oh my God,” she says, “how old is this? Â And still intact?”
“Please don’t touch,” smiles the stallkeeper, “the wax is delicate. And I’m afraid it’s spoken for…”
“I’ll beat their offer,” says Candle. Â “Two thousand? Two five?”
“Closer to five.”
“Three.”
“Four fifty.”
“Three six.”
“Four.”
“Three seventy-five.”
“Three eighty?”
“Three seventy-five.”
“Sold!” says the stallkeeper. Â “I’ll take it.”
Confused, Candle shakes hands and sits on the shelf. Â The cloth is cool and soft around her.
Wait.
Is that really her name?
Spirit oil is cheaper than you’d think, but there are lots of dead people.
Proper rubs down the pneumatic screen-door closer with it; it works okay. Of course, the dead ask him for things whenever he goes out to the porch now.
“Remember my names,” they wheeze in tiny voices as he carries out a plate of steaks. “Curse my enemies! Regret as I regretted; live as I never lived!” Proper doesn’t mind. The screen door closes a lot easier.
He does try asking what their names were. They just mumble a lot, and get embarrassed when they can’t remember.
Jericho has an eye made of mother of pearl, and keeps the real one in a raven’s beak; in this way, though half-blind, he watches the world. Â Jericho’s left arm is iron and his teeth sprung gold and ivory. Â He keeps his brain beneath a crystal dome, that his thoughts might stay sharp and clear.
Only Jericho is permitted to employ such bindings. Â Only Jericho can harness the truths thus unlocked.
“Mercy,” begs the young mage they drag before him, two fingers cut to stumps. Â But Jericho keeps his heart far away, in a box on the floor of the sea.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Greg may not leave this mortal plane while bound by unfinished business, which sucks because he’s sure somebody else is hitting on Cecilia back on the Astral right now.
“I can sense great anxiety,” the medium intones, correctly for once. Greg polters with the doorknob, hoping she’ll hurry up. They gasp. “Let your wishes be known, spirit!”
“I have three books out from the library, they’re under my bed, PLEASE tell someone to look,” he says.
Silence falls; the room fills with heartbeats.
“I believe I hear the letter J,” says the medium. Greg haunts the crap out of her cat.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Jirou got his first itinerarium for a birthday; it came with a package of little starter journeys, but they never quite made it past the planning phase. Since then he’s been saving up from his job at the game store, and today he’s brought home his first real pilgrimage.
He plops it down in the sand of the glass torus and watches it struggle to its feet. Its feet are bound in sackcloth, and it carries a heavy stone on its back. He taps the glass. It stumbles forward, eyes on the false horizon, to begin its slow and endless loop.
“It’s an unreasonable request.”
“Yes, it is, but reason doesn’t enter into it at this point.” Alcid looks strained. “You have to fix the race.”
Proper makes jerky movements with her hands. “They’re dachshunds, Alcid! We can barely get them to point the right direction in the first place!”
“Then just… dope them or something!” Alcid says. “Like with horses!”
“Like with horses.”
“Yes!”
Proper slips a little Pepto-Bismol into their food dishes, which–as it turns out–is not the same as Alka-Seltzer like she thought. Miss Whiffles wins anyway. She thought she saw a piece of cheese.