I’ve got to say the same thing. I barely followed the first one, didn’t really follow the second one but my 3 brain cells have actually been able to comprehend and enjoy this one insert something about how this probably shows something about your skills getting better or something
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gasp
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and yet you didn’t notice the mention in the last chapter
fake fan
Evidently I need to try harder
2 Likes
I didn’t have time to read the last chapter until just now
you’re right I am a fake fan
3 Likes
ooh neat a new chapter
nice
–
Chapter 8
–
Ever since I was very little, I had a fear of being atop high structures or even thinking about being atop high structures. Nowadays I have a much easier time being atop high places, but my palms still itch whenever I look at structures tall enough or see people idiotically daring gravity to do its worst while filming their dangerous exploits. It isn’t worth it.
I imagine my fear stems much less from the idea that I am high up, but that falling is so very, very scary. I have never met a man who can claim otherwise; falling is the fear of losing all that holds you, all that keeps you grounded to the earth. No illogical circumstance or unfathomable period of time assumed to occur can bring about such a fear; it is a sapient fear, a dread only the intelligent know.
Which is probably why I was the only one about to pass out.
Up above, the infinitely high tower, growing higher and higher the more it is looked at. Below, the ground, shrinking and spiraling away from my grasp, and nothing holding me to a fixed point. It was the fear of falling constantly, but the ground never seemed to grow any closer.
And if, for some esoteric reason this did not immediately qualify as the worst experience in my entire life, I was still being clutched by that idiotic, brainless bronco, who was somehow running up the side of the tower at the speed of a… Well, his unarmed cousins! If you have the genetic capability to go mach 12 and you don’t enter professional sports, you have no redeemable traits and deserve to sit quietly on a high stool at the end of the counter and stare into your glass of cabernet sauvignon whilst recollecting on the poor decisions you made while pursuing your theater arts degree.
Sorry, I’m just really angry that I landed in this scenario and that this addle-pated oxen-arrayed schlemiel is making me break into an affrighted fit.
I tried desperately to swing my legs up onto his arm to keep myself from being quite so terrified, but to no avail. My hands were clawing desperately at his wrist, wishing there was more than just a bony, inhuman join to hold on to for dear life. The howl of the air rushing past did nothing to alleviate my situation, and all the while my eyes were fused to the ground far below, wide with terror and shrinking in their sockets.
Well, up we climbed, higher and higher, until - and I do not know how I noticed this in my plight - that silver fellow jolted violently and forcefully smashed his hand into Diero’s skull. “We’ve got company!” He bellowed over the wind. “Dream: WILD CARD!”
Diero immediately stopped his maddened race, throwing his head back and roaring at the night air, while blue flames yet again flew out of his eyes. This display was so violent and so dramatic that the meridioal ranchero never seemed to notice he had dropped me.
You can probably imagine I was thoroughly petrified with fright at this point. I made no attempt to stop my fall, plummeting like a rock through the air, unable to make my body twist about and attempt to catch something and slow the descent. A large sideways beam zipped past my skull as I unwillingly descended, nearly decapitating me in an instant, but for whatever reason the tower decided to not be merciful and instead let me continue to live through the terror that is falling to the ground. And speaking of the ground, I could barely identify a massive swarm of moving objects far below, numerous enough and violent enough to indicate it was the Diero cousins en masse, milling about the base of the tower and probably waiting for one of us- ME. waiting for ME to fall. There is no ‘us’.
Looking back up for a moment, I barely discerned a small object flying towards me with incredible speed before it slammed violently into my face. Mask. Akaku. You know to what I refer.
I peeled the strange thing off of my vision, somehow able to be thoroughly annoyed in spite of my unthinkable terror - I’m very good at multitasking - and it was a playing card. The limited light showed an illustration of what could perhaps be perceived to be the sun. Yes, very strange, but then the whole thing lit up in blue flames while I was holding it three inches from my face. Mask. Akaku. You get it.
The blue flames began creeping across my entire body, crawling across my arms and surrounding me entirely. This was, as you may have perceived, very unnerving, but it was soon coupled with a skeleton cowboy rocketing out of the air above me in what looked like an atomic elbow drop from orbit. I could do little but brace for the impact.
There was complete darkness for a moment, and I felt the ground beneath my feet again. Turning around, I saw the inside of a room, a low domed ceiling, part of which was glass and looked out to the ominous clouds beyond. There was a chair, an easel turned away from where I stood, and the room smelled of dust and the kind of old smell an ancient attic seems to bear at all times. It’s difficult to describe, but the room smelled and felt, inherently… Home.
The silver figure advanced past the canvas, glancing at it as he went, and it was only then that I remembered the pair existing and the fact that I was shaking so violently I was at risk of falling over every few seconds. I braked my hands against my knees and quivered silently for a moment, ignoring the source of a sudden noise in the farthest corner. I didn’t want to consider reasoning it out, being logical about it, or even considering my surroundings more than the bare minimum. I just wanted to stew in my own shock and trauma as if I was intending to benefit off it somehow.
The floor creaked, causing me to snap out of my harmful reverie and glance at the source, then up to the face of the source, one Diero, who was in the middle of bringing a cigar to his mouth and had frozen staring at me. I eyed him for the smallest fragment of time, and for the first time in my long and storied relationship of knowing him and hating his stupid hat I noticed actual, legitimate emotion in his eyes. Concern. Shock at, presumably, my condition. Something of the vague suspicion from before, but the events surrounding the tower had driven that away for the time being.
I responded with the coldest, most unkind and inhuman cutting glare I possibly could. I regret it slightly, but I was mad. The attempt at self-recovery doing more harm than good had passed in a flash, and white, melting anger easily replaced it. He didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed, true concern for my well-being echoing out of his sockets, but my response was frozen. I would not be swayed.
“Diero,” The silver figure spoke, rising from the corner at the far end of the room and forcing my attention to switch targets. “I’ve found something possibly interesting. Stop giving the kid puppy eyes and get over here.”
I must confess I didn’t have to elbow Diero in the leg as I overtook his stride. I also didn’t have to use the easel as added leverage for my jump. But how else would I firmly smash my steel toe into that burnished braggadocio lower jaw with enough force to send him reeling?
Of course after I had swung my leg up so dramatically like that, it had to come back down on the one hand that tried to stop me, and the followup stomping it on the floor, using it to grapple him by the throat, and striking both eyes repeatedly before disorienting with a headbutt was purely reactionary. It gave Diero enough time to grab me by the wrists and drag me back before I did something serious to him.
“The utter flippancy! The contempt and impiety!” I sputtered and spat. I am not very likeable when I am irate. “Do you not question the willingness of your kidnapee before you jump from a skyscraper? Or do you insist on inflicting trauma on your unwilling guests when you drive off into the wasteland on some fool errand? Your callous and flippant disregard and disdain for anything resembling typical intelligence has already endangered what little mental health I can subscribe to - knowing my standards are so low as to set me up with you dregs - and is it not enough that you also drive Diero up the wall?”
I confess to a slight snort just then. I am horrible at not laughing at my own humor. But do not let it distract from how absolutely raving mad I was at the time.
Please.
“I’m quite livid. Yes, I’m rather indignant at this obloquy of my one pernicious foible, but nothing you could do would have been a more consummate garnish to your unfilial anguish inflicted than to insinuate I would stoop so low as to allow such language to fly. You listen here, you anodize airhead,” I whipped one hand out from Diero’s grip to jab it in the confused and frightened - but mostly confused - face of my victim. “I was perfectly content to suffer and stew without taking out any sort of vengeful reaction upon you, deserving as you are, but if you desire your throat to remain where it now lies I would suggest you never ever call me ‘kid’ again.”
As if on queue, a slow clap appeared from the side of the room with the glass ceiling. The trash bag figure approached, walking in short, quick steps, glancing from each of us with- I used ‘us’ again. And lest I later forget, my remonstrance at mentioning I have steel-toed footwear. Yes, footwear. No specific type. Are you upset? My condolences. But in truth, I’m keeping my condolences all to myself.
“Very impressive.” The trash bag- what was his name? Jethro or something, I think. Anyway, he continued, much to my chagrin, with “You got kicked to the ground and beaten up by a kid. Stay where you are,” He added, to myself, as he must have noticed my fists clench at the reiteration of the term. “We’re not leaving till we found what we’re looking for, and it’d be a shame if you were heading down ahead of us.”
Down. That meant this was the tower. Apologies, my memory for places isn’t the best, especially being, um… So short. Don’t read into it.
Look, if I was taller, I would have been able to see out the glass ceiling and know where we are, okay? Don’t take this as an implication that I’m self-conscious about my height, because I’m not.
I’m not.
“That it?” He spoke again, gesturing to the silver figure on the floor. In response the figure moved slightly to the side, revealing what appeared to be a wooden mannequin with no features, short stature, defined hands, and very expressive joints. I grabbed the wooden figure by the neck, standing it up and unfortunately letting the silver figure fall to the floor since he had collapsed on it during the attack. The very righteous, very justified attack, I might add.
“Problem, Cordax?” Jedediah or whatever his name was said, having somehow advanced on not us, but myself and these two criminally inclined also-rans for the position of ‘most regrettable formation of carbon’. “Something the matter?”
“What’s going on here?” I asked, knowing full well what was going on here as I stared at the figure, which came up to my exact height.
“It’s me.”
–
7 Likes
4 Likes
whaaaaaaaaaaaaat
1 Like
I drink it.
'tis the name of a chronicler I pose as.
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ghid is a d&d nerd confirmed
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I swear Ghid is holding a dictionary in one hand and typing in another while writing these.
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gasp
that’s why he has an extra set of eyes!
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You’re mistaken, Ghid is the dictionary
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The plot thickens.
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What about his mistaken, huh?
Boy you done it now
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I don’t know what your talking about.
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You really should get to know my talking about
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He lost his dictionary.
5 Likes
Okay, this part was actually confusing. I had to reread the second half of this chapter a few times to figure out whom TottallyNotCordax attacked here. I’m still unsure, by “him” are you referring to Diero or the silver figure?
Because, judging by the way this is structured, TottallyNotACat beat up Diero, but later you implied that the silver figure was the one to receive all those punches…
confusing.
Also, who is the silver figure!?
Why are there Diero lookalikes!?
What’s that with Diero’s “dream” superpowers!?
How did the trashbag figure get to the top of the tower!?
Who is the trashbag figure!?
Who is Tott!?
Why is there a wooden mannequin of Tott!?
Argh… so many questions! My brain is melting, I think I just lost two of my two and a half brain sells… why did you do this to me, Ghid!?
8 Likes
how dare you assume my poor grammar actually means what it implies
Yes, silver figure received the beatdown. After all, he did make the comment. Also you’re clearly seeing things, um, I definitely didn’t edit it… Read it again.
you expect me to know this?
you expect me to know this?
you expect me to know this?
well, the way I see it, cats can jump super high, and if you got six cats to jump at once…
you expect me to know that?
you expect me to know that?
you expect me to know that?
6 Likes