First night we all spent indoors. I took the bed, Stormbringer wrapped in my arms like a weaponized teddy bear, Naomi in the loft above my head with Adam. Colin on top of the covers, Lila and Constance in the back bedroom. We actually wanted to rest (we never go to sleep. Going to sleep is our word for death), so we didn't hole up in the ass end of the house. Lila had the feeling the door to those creepy back rooms were gonna fly open any moment and something was going to be there shrieking at us. I told her if there was, we'd have some fun with it, but for now to just turn off the lights and go to bed. She hated that.
So now I was in bed and Colin's sleeping just as soundly as he is awake. And the god damn rats start scrabbling. So just as soon as I go to sleep, I'm up and away for a piss, check behind the shower curtains to make damn sure that there isn't anyone hiding behind there. There are rats in my walls. I would say they're the lovecraftian kind, but the ones dropping out of the ceiling on Constance are suspiciously without human faces. I can see the lights and hear things trying to get in, but they can't, of course. They are Outside. I am Inside. And the system works. There are also a few of the usual groupies trying to take a shot at the big brass ring. But they are Outside. I am Inside. Also, they tend to die around me. From golf-club related injuries. Because they are shrieking morons.
The Lights go away, so I go to the kitchen and pop open a year-old pumpkin ale, down the whole thing, and then finish it off with two glasses of wine and a stiff bracing shot of rum (the rum is important). By this point, Adam's standing there in his nightshirt and shakes his head. I nod mine. He shakes his more. I nod, harder. He rolls his eyes, but he knew it was a losing battle from the start. "They'll be back in stronger numbers, you know."
By this point, I've already stripped down to nothing and grabbed Stormbringer. "They are Outside. I will be Outside. They can't get Inside. I was getting bored anyway." Groupies, as any good monster-hunter knows, are chow. They are what happens when the squishy human ones like us think a little too big in the wrong direction. They think they have powers or something, they think the big high-stepping blank-faced daddy will protect them, and they all have the same astonished look on their face when Stormbringer comes between their eyes and their head cleaves in half.
"Key." I hold out my hand. Adam holds on to it. "I'll get the door. I don't want to know where you put this, and you'll lose it otherwise."
"You know exactly where I'll put it." I grin widely, and Adam looks perturbed. He sighs and opens the door. "I'm locking it until they're all dead. And you're not preparing them in here."
"I'll use outside again...this isn't the first time..." I hear one of the groupies shout something. "And a one, and a two, and..."
Out the door and down the crumbling wooden stoop and it's dark. The lock clicks behind me, and the bass in my head starts: ba-da-da-da-da-da-DA over and over again. I shriek to let them know I'm here, in case they don't see the white fishbelly skin and wild eyes. "Well, I jumped..." I mutter to myself, the first line coming to me easily, a swing and a near miss as I break the stunned silence with a stroke. They're used to clothed opponents, I'm guessing. And sober. I stumble to compensate for the balance and one of them tries to grab me and then they're upon me. Oops. Their funeral, I guess. And my trial.
It's not burning this time because that doesn't matter, and one of them gets too close, Stormbringer smashing into his ear. I laugh wildly. "PunishMENT!" Another one grabs for me, they're trying to pin me down, good, if they do that it makes this easier, because they won't attack me one on one. The one I boxed in the ear gets too close again. "REWAAAAAAAAARD!" Something crunches beneath the club and I swing in a wide circle, tripping someone up. "PUNISHMENT!" Whack. "REWAAAAARD!" Crunch.
They start to get wise to this after two of them go down and drop back. I assume a defensive stance, club out in front of me, almost yardstick-straight, other hand going down for a brief fondle, give them something to look at. Soon that's yardstick-straight and two of them come at me, one on either side. I move my hand back to the club handle and fend off a groin hit, pirouette, and hear it connect with the other one's leg. I cry at him, but the "Reward!" goes to the other bitch, who tried to move up while I was occupied. It's then that I decide that perhaps focusing on one would be better.
Since Mr. Reward got caught in the chest, I stand over him, my dong at eye-level, and smash the club into his head. I've gone off-script and off-music here, so I just bash his little head in until it resembles a butcher's shop pinata and then when his friend has limped over, along with the other two members of their sad little clique, I shift-pivot and the club slams into all three of them. I'm yelling something else, they seem horrified, but I don't know what it is.
They try a last desperate charge, thinking this tubby motherfucker is going to go down easy. I bonk, spin, whack, and then full-bore tackle the last three, and proceed to beat them into the ground until all my energy leaves and I know I'm gonna be sore in the morning. Then I drag em in back so we can dispose of the bodies and go back to bed. "All clear..." I wheeze, "and tomorrow we get to burn a whole bunch of shit in rum." (the rum is important) This gets a smattering of applause, and then some grumbles. I could be arsed. Instead, I fuck off to bed and pass out, leaving Stormbringer in the fireplace poker-holder.
a=A
So now I was in bed and Colin's sleeping just as soundly as he is awake. And the god damn rats start scrabbling. So just as soon as I go to sleep, I'm up and away for a piss, check behind the shower curtains to make damn sure that there isn't anyone hiding behind there. There are rats in my walls. I would say they're the lovecraftian kind, but the ones dropping out of the ceiling on Constance are suspiciously without human faces. I can see the lights and hear things trying to get in, but they can't, of course. They are Outside. I am Inside. And the system works. There are also a few of the usual groupies trying to take a shot at the big brass ring. But they are Outside. I am Inside. Also, they tend to die around me. From golf-club related injuries. Because they are shrieking morons.
The Lights go away, so I go to the kitchen and pop open a year-old pumpkin ale, down the whole thing, and then finish it off with two glasses of wine and a stiff bracing shot of rum (the rum is important). By this point, Adam's standing there in his nightshirt and shakes his head. I nod mine. He shakes his more. I nod, harder. He rolls his eyes, but he knew it was a losing battle from the start. "They'll be back in stronger numbers, you know."
By this point, I've already stripped down to nothing and grabbed Stormbringer. "They are Outside. I will be Outside. They can't get Inside. I was getting bored anyway." Groupies, as any good monster-hunter knows, are chow. They are what happens when the squishy human ones like us think a little too big in the wrong direction. They think they have powers or something, they think the big high-stepping blank-faced daddy will protect them, and they all have the same astonished look on their face when Stormbringer comes between their eyes and their head cleaves in half.
"Key." I hold out my hand. Adam holds on to it. "I'll get the door. I don't want to know where you put this, and you'll lose it otherwise."
"You know exactly where I'll put it." I grin widely, and Adam looks perturbed. He sighs and opens the door. "I'm locking it until they're all dead. And you're not preparing them in here."
"I'll use outside again...this isn't the first time..." I hear one of the groupies shout something. "And a one, and a two, and..."
Out the door and down the crumbling wooden stoop and it's dark. The lock clicks behind me, and the bass in my head starts: ba-da-da-da-da-da-DA over and over again. I shriek to let them know I'm here, in case they don't see the white fishbelly skin and wild eyes. "Well, I jumped..." I mutter to myself, the first line coming to me easily, a swing and a near miss as I break the stunned silence with a stroke. They're used to clothed opponents, I'm guessing. And sober. I stumble to compensate for the balance and one of them tries to grab me and then they're upon me. Oops. Their funeral, I guess. And my trial.
It's not burning this time because that doesn't matter, and one of them gets too close, Stormbringer smashing into his ear. I laugh wildly. "PunishMENT!" Another one grabs for me, they're trying to pin me down, good, if they do that it makes this easier, because they won't attack me one on one. The one I boxed in the ear gets too close again. "REWAAAAAAAAARD!" Something crunches beneath the club and I swing in a wide circle, tripping someone up. "PUNISHMENT!" Whack. "REWAAAAARD!" Crunch.
They start to get wise to this after two of them go down and drop back. I assume a defensive stance, club out in front of me, almost yardstick-straight, other hand going down for a brief fondle, give them something to look at. Soon that's yardstick-straight and two of them come at me, one on either side. I move my hand back to the club handle and fend off a groin hit, pirouette, and hear it connect with the other one's leg. I cry at him, but the "Reward!" goes to the other bitch, who tried to move up while I was occupied. It's then that I decide that perhaps focusing on one would be better.
Since Mr. Reward got caught in the chest, I stand over him, my dong at eye-level, and smash the club into his head. I've gone off-script and off-music here, so I just bash his little head in until it resembles a butcher's shop pinata and then when his friend has limped over, along with the other two members of their sad little clique, I shift-pivot and the club slams into all three of them. I'm yelling something else, they seem horrified, but I don't know what it is.
They try a last desperate charge, thinking this tubby motherfucker is going to go down easy. I bonk, spin, whack, and then full-bore tackle the last three, and proceed to beat them into the ground until all my energy leaves and I know I'm gonna be sore in the morning. Then I drag em in back so we can dispose of the bodies and go back to bed. "All clear..." I wheeze, "and tomorrow we get to burn a whole bunch of shit in rum." (the rum is important) This gets a smattering of applause, and then some grumbles. I could be arsed. Instead, I fuck off to bed and pass out, leaving Stormbringer in the fireplace poker-holder.
a=A
I was hoping you'd work on the proxy problem. With less beheadings. Tao, this isn't the desert, this is civilization. Could you try knocking them out, putting deadly weapons in their hands and stacking them in front of a police station instead? :(
ReplyDeleteI will try to be quieter about it. That is all I am able to say.
ReplyDelete