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A Bloodstained Shadow Over Brockton Bay
- Thread starter Charles Flynn
- Start date
Interlude: Empress Lisa the First
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 565
- Likes received
- 19,424
I rise to the adoring cries of my subjects, as a cavalcade of Plasticians, Metallians, and Condomians rush towards me to greet me as I rise. Oh, such joy! Such singular delight!
I drift across the adoring throngs of my people, noble Sir Anthony at my right hand as ever, dancing in the sweet light of the moon as I behold my wondrous kingdom! Oh, such a proud and happy folk, oh such a noble domain, as never before the world had seen! No more did I fear the sun, for Sir Anthony professed to have had stern words with it and driven the ruffian off! No hunger and thirst did I, or any of my people experience, for, should I hunger, a nice, plump rat was never far from hand, and should my people thirst, the great streams of water that coursed wildly outside of my kingdom were clean and pure. Yes! Truly, I had secured a paradise on Earth, and the joy I felt at witnessing it was enough to make me burst out in song!
"Please don't sing again," Lady Rachel begs, as her dear, sweet furry friends whimper and curl up beside her. "I don't think my dogs can take it."
"But Lady Rachel! Look at the wonderland we walk through and tell me it doesn't make you just want to sing!" I protest, even as Sir Anthony grumbles at the sheer disrespect I tolerate from my old friend.
She looks around. "It's like I told you earlier. We're in Brockton Central Dump. This is garbage. All of this is garbage."
"HOW DARE YOU, MADAM!" I snap, pointing my left hand at her dramatically, as Sir Anthony puffs up in outrage, ready to defend his nation's honor with his mighty blade. "My people are not garbage! They are a proud and noble race, the foremost in the world, living in harmony with each other and with all peoples! They are worthy of your respect, not your scorn! I mean really," I pick up one of my citizens and present them to her, "Does this man look like garbage to you?"
"That's a broken condom, Lisa. You really shouldn't touch that."
"You wretch!" noble Steve, the very citizen I had presented to her, said, "Regardless of your slurs, I am a Condomian, and I AM FAR FROM BROKEN!"
Around me, my people cheer, Plasticians, Metallicans, and Condomians alike. I stare at Lady Rachel, triumphant.
"Don't put the condom next to your mouth and talk through it. It's gross," she says, looking a bit nauseous.
I gasp as she flagrantly insults my citizens, my COUNTRY once more. "RACHEL! I have tolerated your churlish behavior thus far out of respect for our previous acquaintanceship, out of how we, as fellow Undersiders, fought together against the Serpent, and the Dragon, and the Iron King! But I shall endure your insults no more! One more insult to my people, and I shall have Sir Anthony give you a thorough drubbing and escort you to the border!"
She backs down, and I grin. "Okay, fine. Please don't sic your hand puppet on me."
Suddenly, my mind is seized by a spontaneous insight! That candy wrapper there, engraved with the title "Hershey's" as so many of the ones that make up my dress are, is fourteen centimeters long! That's the precise number of notable commanders listed on the First Crusade's Wikipedia page! That page details an unprovoked attack by Catholics for religious purposes! In the novel Dracula, by Bram Stoker, Doctor Abraham van Helsing is portrayed as a devout Catholic! Abraham van Helsing also hunted vampires! The significance is clear! I'm about to be attacked by vampire hunters!
"SIR ANTHONY! TO ARMS! INVADERS APPROACH OUR BORDERS!"
"I shall depart to meet them at once, my queen!" he says with a salute, mounting up and riding out at once. I throw my consciousness into his noble steed as I remain behind, and he races forward to meet the intruders.
They come out of the darkness, and, through his horse, I see the intruders. I hiss. For among them is the dreaded Serpent King, whom my fellow Undersiders and I had so valiantly opposed in our questing days! And they carry the sun before them! It burns my eyes! It burns my soul!
"HALT, FIENDS, OR TASTE MY BLADE!" Sir Anthony calls out, stopping them in their tracks.
The Blocker of Clocks tilts his head, starts, and then looks away. "Um, Miss, you're covered in garbage. And… half-naked. Do you need help?"
"Talk to the puppet, not her!" Rachel calls out, looking resigned. "She thinks she's a horse right now."
The Serpent King does a double take. "Tattletale?"
"We know no tattlers of tales here, fiend! I am Sir Anthony, Champion of the Realm! You stand on the borders of EMPRESS LISA THE FIRST, MISTRESS OF ALL SHE SURVEYS! Turn back! Or face my wrath!"
"Okay, let's all tread easy, here," Clockblocker says. "Look, I'm sorry if we stepped on the Undersiders' toes, but we're lost. The darkness is throwing our sense of direction off, and the Sabbat's hunters are everywhere. We could really use some help bringing things back to normal. As it stands, Leviathan's totaled the city, the Sabbat have taken over, and we're cut off from the outside world, without sunlight. People are going to start starving, soon, and I'm begging you, if you have any shred of decency in your heart, please, don't let that happen."
"Your words have moved me, Blocker of Clocks!" Sir Anthony calls out. "I shall lead you to my lady, and she shall hear your pleas for yourself. But be warned: If your thoughts move to treachery, I shall cut you down without mercy!"
They follow as he rides off, clip-clopping as he goes, and he brings them to where I am sat on my mighty throne.
They confer among themselves as they walk, thinking I cannot hear them. Fools. I can hear everything.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Coil asks Rachel, gesturing at my knight's valiant steed emphatically. "The last I saw her, she was intelligent, not some homeless lunatic talking through a hand puppet!"
"Don't know," Rachel says with a shrug. "Think she's a vampire now. Different kind from the others, though. She's actually thinking for herself."
The rest of them falter at that, then Clockblocker pipes up. "Then maybe we can get her to help us. Look. We haven't been walking in a straight line. But she clearly knows where she's going. She might be able to help us navigate whatever the Sabbat did to the city."
"Perhaps. But if she asks for blood in return," Coil says warningly.
"I'll pay it," Clockblocker says without hesitation. "My family's out there. There's no way in hell I'm leaving them to the Sabbat."
"Well spoken, Clockblocker," I say from my throne, enjoying how they all flinch at my presence. "Now! I am Empress Lisa the First! Stand before me and speak your case!"
"First, may I ask where the rest of the Undersiders are?" Clockblocker says, looking around. "I thought there were two more?"
"Regent was gunned down in Acapulco last week," I tell him, dipping my head in sorrow for my lost companions. "A drug deal he was guaranteeing as part of his plan to rise in the local mob went wrong. And Grue is worse than dead, warped into the ever-beating heart of darkness that has sunk this city into the Abyss."
"Wait," Clockblocker says, eyes wide behind his mask. "You know what's causing this?"
"Of course I do," I say with a shrug. "I know everything."
"Then…" he pauses for a moment. "Would you like to join us? Or at least guide us on our way?"
"I'm afraid not," I say with a shake of my head. "The responsibilities of rulership still bind me, I'm afraid. My days of questing are over." I turn to the Trickster. "I will answer your question as well, the one you do not dare speak. Your lady love is alive, and well as she can be. She misses you, and longs for your return."
"Noelle-" Trickster stops mid-sentence. "If you know everything, then, do you know to fix her as well?"
"Yes, I suppose, but-"
"I'll do anything. Just make her whole again."
"Rulership calls me, and I dare not leave!" I repeat, firm in my refusal. "I will not go."
"Did you care about Grue?"
Rachel's question, tossed out right out of the blue, stops me cold.
"What?"
"Did you ever care about Grue?" she repeats, sounding genuinely angry. "I left him, you know! I left him to look for YOU! And now you're telling me that because I left, because I looked for you, the entire rest of the team is dead or worse!" She's crying now. "I never should have left them. You never cared about us. Because if you did, you wouldn't be leaving him to suffer so you can stay here and play king of the trash heap!"
I…
Alec is dead. The snarky jackass who was always playing video games, who never stopped giving me shit, but always did it in a way that made you like him even when you wanted to clean his clock, is dead. Gunned down in some back alley in Mexico. It took them two days to find the body, and by then it was half-eaten by coyotes.
Brian is worse than dead, his every tortured heartbeat resounding throughout the city and blotting out the sun. He didn't know how to be the team leader, so he went at it like he did being a big brother, and I know that. I always loved that little piece of who he was. How he cared. And now, he's a half-mad, broken thing, whose only remaining shreds of sapience long for death.
I knew them for a month. Barely even that. They were little more than acquaintances, barely more than strangers.
So, why am I crying? Why is my blood leaking from my eyes? Why does it hurt, seeing the angles of the wrinkles in Coil's suit, and knowing how they tie to my old leader's silent screams?
"I- I'll join you," I say after a moment. "To lay Grue to rest, and whatever might come along the way. But no further."
And so I set a-questing once more.
To give Brian the one thing he is even capable of desiring now: Peace.
And then I feel my clarity diminish, as reality again fades away, along with painful memories. "As a condition of my accompanying you, I shall require Clockblocker as my steed."
"I'm sorry, what?"
I leap onto his shoulders in a single, blood-fueled jump. "Forwards! To adventure!"
I drift across the adoring throngs of my people, noble Sir Anthony at my right hand as ever, dancing in the sweet light of the moon as I behold my wondrous kingdom! Oh, such a proud and happy folk, oh such a noble domain, as never before the world had seen! No more did I fear the sun, for Sir Anthony professed to have had stern words with it and driven the ruffian off! No hunger and thirst did I, or any of my people experience, for, should I hunger, a nice, plump rat was never far from hand, and should my people thirst, the great streams of water that coursed wildly outside of my kingdom were clean and pure. Yes! Truly, I had secured a paradise on Earth, and the joy I felt at witnessing it was enough to make me burst out in song!
"Please don't sing again," Lady Rachel begs, as her dear, sweet furry friends whimper and curl up beside her. "I don't think my dogs can take it."
"But Lady Rachel! Look at the wonderland we walk through and tell me it doesn't make you just want to sing!" I protest, even as Sir Anthony grumbles at the sheer disrespect I tolerate from my old friend.
She looks around. "It's like I told you earlier. We're in Brockton Central Dump. This is garbage. All of this is garbage."
"HOW DARE YOU, MADAM!" I snap, pointing my left hand at her dramatically, as Sir Anthony puffs up in outrage, ready to defend his nation's honor with his mighty blade. "My people are not garbage! They are a proud and noble race, the foremost in the world, living in harmony with each other and with all peoples! They are worthy of your respect, not your scorn! I mean really," I pick up one of my citizens and present them to her, "Does this man look like garbage to you?"
"That's a broken condom, Lisa. You really shouldn't touch that."
"You wretch!" noble Steve, the very citizen I had presented to her, said, "Regardless of your slurs, I am a Condomian, and I AM FAR FROM BROKEN!"
Around me, my people cheer, Plasticians, Metallicans, and Condomians alike. I stare at Lady Rachel, triumphant.
"Don't put the condom next to your mouth and talk through it. It's gross," she says, looking a bit nauseous.
I gasp as she flagrantly insults my citizens, my COUNTRY once more. "RACHEL! I have tolerated your churlish behavior thus far out of respect for our previous acquaintanceship, out of how we, as fellow Undersiders, fought together against the Serpent, and the Dragon, and the Iron King! But I shall endure your insults no more! One more insult to my people, and I shall have Sir Anthony give you a thorough drubbing and escort you to the border!"
She backs down, and I grin. "Okay, fine. Please don't sic your hand puppet on me."
Suddenly, my mind is seized by a spontaneous insight! That candy wrapper there, engraved with the title "Hershey's" as so many of the ones that make up my dress are, is fourteen centimeters long! That's the precise number of notable commanders listed on the First Crusade's Wikipedia page! That page details an unprovoked attack by Catholics for religious purposes! In the novel Dracula, by Bram Stoker, Doctor Abraham van Helsing is portrayed as a devout Catholic! Abraham van Helsing also hunted vampires! The significance is clear! I'm about to be attacked by vampire hunters!
"SIR ANTHONY! TO ARMS! INVADERS APPROACH OUR BORDERS!"
"I shall depart to meet them at once, my queen!" he says with a salute, mounting up and riding out at once. I throw my consciousness into his noble steed as I remain behind, and he races forward to meet the intruders.
They come out of the darkness, and, through his horse, I see the intruders. I hiss. For among them is the dreaded Serpent King, whom my fellow Undersiders and I had so valiantly opposed in our questing days! And they carry the sun before them! It burns my eyes! It burns my soul!
"HALT, FIENDS, OR TASTE MY BLADE!" Sir Anthony calls out, stopping them in their tracks.
The Blocker of Clocks tilts his head, starts, and then looks away. "Um, Miss, you're covered in garbage. And… half-naked. Do you need help?"
"Talk to the puppet, not her!" Rachel calls out, looking resigned. "She thinks she's a horse right now."
The Serpent King does a double take. "Tattletale?"
"We know no tattlers of tales here, fiend! I am Sir Anthony, Champion of the Realm! You stand on the borders of EMPRESS LISA THE FIRST, MISTRESS OF ALL SHE SURVEYS! Turn back! Or face my wrath!"
"Okay, let's all tread easy, here," Clockblocker says. "Look, I'm sorry if we stepped on the Undersiders' toes, but we're lost. The darkness is throwing our sense of direction off, and the Sabbat's hunters are everywhere. We could really use some help bringing things back to normal. As it stands, Leviathan's totaled the city, the Sabbat have taken over, and we're cut off from the outside world, without sunlight. People are going to start starving, soon, and I'm begging you, if you have any shred of decency in your heart, please, don't let that happen."
"Your words have moved me, Blocker of Clocks!" Sir Anthony calls out. "I shall lead you to my lady, and she shall hear your pleas for yourself. But be warned: If your thoughts move to treachery, I shall cut you down without mercy!"
They follow as he rides off, clip-clopping as he goes, and he brings them to where I am sat on my mighty throne.
They confer among themselves as they walk, thinking I cannot hear them. Fools. I can hear everything.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Coil asks Rachel, gesturing at my knight's valiant steed emphatically. "The last I saw her, she was intelligent, not some homeless lunatic talking through a hand puppet!"
"Don't know," Rachel says with a shrug. "Think she's a vampire now. Different kind from the others, though. She's actually thinking for herself."
The rest of them falter at that, then Clockblocker pipes up. "Then maybe we can get her to help us. Look. We haven't been walking in a straight line. But she clearly knows where she's going. She might be able to help us navigate whatever the Sabbat did to the city."
"Perhaps. But if she asks for blood in return," Coil says warningly.
"I'll pay it," Clockblocker says without hesitation. "My family's out there. There's no way in hell I'm leaving them to the Sabbat."
"Well spoken, Clockblocker," I say from my throne, enjoying how they all flinch at my presence. "Now! I am Empress Lisa the First! Stand before me and speak your case!"
"First, may I ask where the rest of the Undersiders are?" Clockblocker says, looking around. "I thought there were two more?"
"Regent was gunned down in Acapulco last week," I tell him, dipping my head in sorrow for my lost companions. "A drug deal he was guaranteeing as part of his plan to rise in the local mob went wrong. And Grue is worse than dead, warped into the ever-beating heart of darkness that has sunk this city into the Abyss."
"Wait," Clockblocker says, eyes wide behind his mask. "You know what's causing this?"
"Of course I do," I say with a shrug. "I know everything."
"Then…" he pauses for a moment. "Would you like to join us? Or at least guide us on our way?"
"I'm afraid not," I say with a shake of my head. "The responsibilities of rulership still bind me, I'm afraid. My days of questing are over." I turn to the Trickster. "I will answer your question as well, the one you do not dare speak. Your lady love is alive, and well as she can be. She misses you, and longs for your return."
"Noelle-" Trickster stops mid-sentence. "If you know everything, then, do you know to fix her as well?"
"Yes, I suppose, but-"
"I'll do anything. Just make her whole again."
"Rulership calls me, and I dare not leave!" I repeat, firm in my refusal. "I will not go."
"Did you care about Grue?"
Rachel's question, tossed out right out of the blue, stops me cold.
"What?"
"Did you ever care about Grue?" she repeats, sounding genuinely angry. "I left him, you know! I left him to look for YOU! And now you're telling me that because I left, because I looked for you, the entire rest of the team is dead or worse!" She's crying now. "I never should have left them. You never cared about us. Because if you did, you wouldn't be leaving him to suffer so you can stay here and play king of the trash heap!"
I…
Alec is dead. The snarky jackass who was always playing video games, who never stopped giving me shit, but always did it in a way that made you like him even when you wanted to clean his clock, is dead. Gunned down in some back alley in Mexico. It took them two days to find the body, and by then it was half-eaten by coyotes.
Brian is worse than dead, his every tortured heartbeat resounding throughout the city and blotting out the sun. He didn't know how to be the team leader, so he went at it like he did being a big brother, and I know that. I always loved that little piece of who he was. How he cared. And now, he's a half-mad, broken thing, whose only remaining shreds of sapience long for death.
I knew them for a month. Barely even that. They were little more than acquaintances, barely more than strangers.
So, why am I crying? Why is my blood leaking from my eyes? Why does it hurt, seeing the angles of the wrinkles in Coil's suit, and knowing how they tie to my old leader's silent screams?
"I- I'll join you," I say after a moment. "To lay Grue to rest, and whatever might come along the way. But no further."
And so I set a-questing once more.
To give Brian the one thing he is even capable of desiring now: Peace.
And then I feel my clarity diminish, as reality again fades away, along with painful memories. "As a condition of my accompanying you, I shall require Clockblocker as my steed."
"I'm sorry, what?"
I leap onto his shoulders in a single, blood-fueled jump. "Forwards! To adventure!"
Aurora Raven
Corvids are cool
- Joined
- Nov 13, 2019
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- 460
Malkavians are such fun. Seeing Lisa lose her precious mind is also a delightful bit of suffering.
Unknownplunger
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- May 13, 2018
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- 754
Every time I think things can't get more fucked up....
I feel like I post this every chapter. It's a delightful sort of escalating fucked-up-ness though.
I feel like I post this every chapter. It's a delightful sort of escalating fucked-up-ness though.
Interlude: Danny Hebert
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 565
- Likes received
- 19,424
It's been a full week since the sun died, and Leviathan fled. And life is miserable. The city is waterlogged, collapsed buildings blocking the streets while corpses from the battle float by through the urban swamp. And, of course, that's not even beginning to account for the loving oversight of our new vampiric overlords, and the eldritch realm of pure darkness that they've turned our city into.
People get lost easy, now. Time honored routes don't lead where they used to. Some say it's the darkness making it easy to lose your way. Others say that space itself is warped here, and whisper of taking one too many wrong turns and finding themselves in a ruined city that looked like it'd been ripped out of a history textbook, full of bizarre buildings and strange writing.
But even so, life goes on. The Dockworkers endure. The city is rebuilding, and the people in it are trying to come together to make things work. The Sabbat are at least providing us food, even if its only to fatten up the cattle, and some people are already making jokes about how the government just got a bit more literal about sucking the blood from our veins. At least, when those jokers aren't going insane from the never-ending darkness, screaming for the sun to save them.
And I…
I'm alone.
The city has fallen. Brockton Bay is broken. And I can't bring myself to feel one iota more despair than I already did.
They're both gone, now. First my wife, and now my daughter. Why not my city too?
Everything I do comes to failure, in the end. As a union organizer, as a father, as a human being.
Why didn't I see how much pain she was in? Why didn't I see that she was struggling? And now… And now she's dead. And I'm alone.
Or at least, I would be, if the undead rich boy clone in the pink tracksuit would give me some goddamn space!
"You realize that this is my bedroom, right?" I ask after a moment. "Where I sleep? In private?"
"I mean, you being in bed is a bit of a tip-off, yes," the Dean says cheerfully. "But, as your Sabbat-assigned personal assistance Dean, I'm obligated to remain at your side and guard your physical and emotional well-being at all times."
The Dean Assistant Program was something the Sabbat sprung on us at the end of the second day of their rule, after the suicide rates skyrocketed. They said it was to replace the now-vanished phone system, assigning a Dean to every household in Brockton Bay so we could use the Deans' controlling hive mind as a means of instantaneous remote communications. Everybody knew the real reason: The Deans were here to serve as a combined suicide watch and surveillance system. The Sabbat didn't want their food sources committing suicide or getting ideas.
"What am I going to do in bed?" I ask rhetorically. "Just let me sleep. In peace. Alone."
"No! You're an important member of the Dockworker's Union, and a valuable leader who's crucial to maintaining morale. I refuse to leave you unguarded."
"I can't sleep when I know that you're looking at me," I say, starting to get really frustrated.
"I can look out the window instead, if you like," the Dean offers.
"And then when I'm asleep, you get your late-night nibbles in?" I ask, rolling my eyes. "Look. I understand why you're doing this. Don't want your livestock to get damaged, do you? But I'm fine. I'll continue to be fine for eight hours tonight if you take your eyes off of me. This blood bag's in no danger of bursting. Just… do me a favor. Give me some space. And stop pretending to care, okay? We both know I'm only food to you."
"But I…" the Dean honestly manages to look stricken, still not dropping the act. "Okay. I'll… be just outside if you need me."
The monster steps outside, shutting the door of my office turned bedroom at the Dockworker's Union behind him.
Surprised that that actually got rid of the annoyance, I close my eyes, and drift off to sleep.
Come morning, or at least what Dean says is morning, I'm woken up by the insufferable nuisance banging two pot lids together. Throughout the rest of the building, I can hear similar noises, meaning that, once more, our human alarm clocks are all synced together. I asked my Dean about it once, and he said that their hive mind had a couple units stare at clocks 24/7, so they'd always know and be able to tell anyone who asked precisely what time it was. Guess that also works for serving as alarm clocks.
"Da- Danny! I made breakfast!" he says, still insufferably cheerful as ever.
Grumbling, I get out of bed to face yet another empty day.
It's all as meaningless as ever.
Oh, my itinerary's still full. Coordinating the other humans, ensuring that people wind up with jobs, managing food and water shipments. The Dockworkers are still in work, there's no questioning that, with how much the vampires seem to favor our union, but with the entire city having descended into an unfathomable nightmare realm cut off from shipping, we've mostly turned into an all-purposes manual labor union.
The truly bizarre thing, though, is how the Deans practically ignore the union's actual President, Ed, and refer to me as the all-purpose be-all, end all authority on all things Dockworker. A shipment gets lost? Consult Danny! The Sabbat's leadership could use some economic insight to better develop their economic policy in the days ahead? Consult Danny! Civilian morale throughout the city is collapsing in spite of everything the Deans try to do to raise it? Well, instead of asking anybody actually qualified for this situation, let's ask Danny for advice!
I recommended pink tracksuits, on the grounds that bright colors make people feel better, and also it was such a manifestly terrible idea that they might just kill me for suggesting it. Imagine my surprise when, the very next morning, every Dean in the city was wearing a hot pink tracksuit. I'm beginning to think that the primary reason my personal Dean is so invested in keeping me alive is that the Lasombra's hivemind has somehow convinced itself that I'm some sort of omnicompetent genius whose advice must be sought on everything, and for the life of me I can't seem to figure out why.
And, at the end of the day, when my work is done, my personal Dean looks at me with the expression that I've come to recognize as preceding another question I'm not even remotely qualified to answer. Smiling, as if he's cheerful that he's going to go and give me the best news ever!
"Hey, Danny! So, my bosses wanted to tap your brain for something. How much manpower and materials do you think it would take to get the ferry running again?" he smiles, like he's just given me the best present ever, and I should be just about hopping with joy, and saying that it's just what I always wanted!
"I… don't know. I had some estimates in my office at home, but I'm still not sure if my house survived Leviathan," I say, confused. "Why are you trying to start the ferry up again?"
The Dean blinks. "Because it'll make more jobs? It'll help the Bay pull out of its funk!"
I laugh. And then I start to laugh even harder, as my Dean tails off in confusion.
"You know, that's what I always said, whenever I'd give the presentation to Christner," I shake my head, barely containing my laughter. "'It'll make more jobs, give Brockton the kick-start it needs to really start recovering.' And here it is! The answer to all my prayers! The ferry, back again! And all it cost me was my wife, my daughter, my city, any dream of democratic self-rule, and, oh, yes, a semi-regular donation of my blood!" I'm laughing so hard that tears are coming from my eyes. "Hey, Deany-boy, do you think God has a returns policy? Because if so, I'd really like to trade this ferry of yours in to have my daughter back!"
"Dad, you're scaring me," the bloodsucking monster says, and I see red.
My fist hits its jaw, and it topples in surprise. I follow it down, pummeling its face as I sit atop it. "DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT! YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCKING REPLACE HER? YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCKING REPLACE MY BABY GIRL? YOU KILLED MY CITY! YOU LOT CREATED THIS HELLHOLE, YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE US FORGET ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE IF YOU ACT NICE TO US, AND GIVE US PUBLIC FUCKING TRANSPORTATION?" I stop, breathing hard as the vampire still stares up at me, looking almost betrayed as he watches me pant and huff. "The ferry isn't going to fix what you've done. It's not going to bring back all the people you killed, or make anyone like you. You'll still be what you always have been: a monster in human clothing."
"But you loved the ferry," the Dean says, staring up at me in blank incomprehension, my fists having done absolutely nothing to hurt him.
"Is the ferry going to bring my family back?" I ask, feeling another round of laughter bubble up inside me. "Tell me, Deany-boy, were they secretly just on the other side of the Bay this whole time, and they never came back to me is that they didn't have cab fair? Are they going to be on the first ferry over, and we can all have a good laugh and go home and be happy again?" I laugh, long and hard, as the Dean seems to grow even more stricken. "My family is dead, you undead bastard. They are never coming back, and for some reason you won't let me join them! So fine. Treat us as livestock. Play your headgames, and I'll be a good little bloodbag. I don't care anymore. But never, ever try and act like Taylor. You think I don't see what you're doing? You don't think I see you trying to get me attached with this nursemaid of yours, think I don't see you trying to buy me a new goldfish to replace my dead daughter? Fuck you. You aren't her. You aren't my daughter. And you never will be- HURK!"
I find myself, when the pain fades enough for me to notice my surroundings again, slumped against the partially collapsed wall of a building with a chest full of broken ribs. Directly in front of me, the Dean stalks towards me, his fists coated in blood.
He's going to kill me.
Finally.
"I did everything for you!" the Dean screams. "I got the Dockworkers up and running! I got rid of the villains! I killed Wiglaf! I got you the ferry back! I did everything I possibly could to take care of you! But it was never good enough, was it? It's never enough for you!" He grabs me up by my collar and draws his fist back to kill me.
And then, for no discernable reason, he stops, staring at the blood on his fist.
"Do it," I croak out. "Let me see Annette and Taylor again."
His fist lowers, and he lifts me up. Cradling me in his arms, as he plods away.
"Come on. Let's get you to see Panacea," he says, dashing my hopes completely.
"You're a cruel one," I say. "Forcing a dead man to live."
He says nothing. There is only the sound of water, as we walk through the broken city.
And I am alone.
People get lost easy, now. Time honored routes don't lead where they used to. Some say it's the darkness making it easy to lose your way. Others say that space itself is warped here, and whisper of taking one too many wrong turns and finding themselves in a ruined city that looked like it'd been ripped out of a history textbook, full of bizarre buildings and strange writing.
But even so, life goes on. The Dockworkers endure. The city is rebuilding, and the people in it are trying to come together to make things work. The Sabbat are at least providing us food, even if its only to fatten up the cattle, and some people are already making jokes about how the government just got a bit more literal about sucking the blood from our veins. At least, when those jokers aren't going insane from the never-ending darkness, screaming for the sun to save them.
And I…
I'm alone.
The city has fallen. Brockton Bay is broken. And I can't bring myself to feel one iota more despair than I already did.
They're both gone, now. First my wife, and now my daughter. Why not my city too?
Everything I do comes to failure, in the end. As a union organizer, as a father, as a human being.
Why didn't I see how much pain she was in? Why didn't I see that she was struggling? And now… And now she's dead. And I'm alone.
Or at least, I would be, if the undead rich boy clone in the pink tracksuit would give me some goddamn space!
"You realize that this is my bedroom, right?" I ask after a moment. "Where I sleep? In private?"
"I mean, you being in bed is a bit of a tip-off, yes," the Dean says cheerfully. "But, as your Sabbat-assigned personal assistance Dean, I'm obligated to remain at your side and guard your physical and emotional well-being at all times."
The Dean Assistant Program was something the Sabbat sprung on us at the end of the second day of their rule, after the suicide rates skyrocketed. They said it was to replace the now-vanished phone system, assigning a Dean to every household in Brockton Bay so we could use the Deans' controlling hive mind as a means of instantaneous remote communications. Everybody knew the real reason: The Deans were here to serve as a combined suicide watch and surveillance system. The Sabbat didn't want their food sources committing suicide or getting ideas.
"What am I going to do in bed?" I ask rhetorically. "Just let me sleep. In peace. Alone."
"No! You're an important member of the Dockworker's Union, and a valuable leader who's crucial to maintaining morale. I refuse to leave you unguarded."
"I can't sleep when I know that you're looking at me," I say, starting to get really frustrated.
"I can look out the window instead, if you like," the Dean offers.
"And then when I'm asleep, you get your late-night nibbles in?" I ask, rolling my eyes. "Look. I understand why you're doing this. Don't want your livestock to get damaged, do you? But I'm fine. I'll continue to be fine for eight hours tonight if you take your eyes off of me. This blood bag's in no danger of bursting. Just… do me a favor. Give me some space. And stop pretending to care, okay? We both know I'm only food to you."
"But I…" the Dean honestly manages to look stricken, still not dropping the act. "Okay. I'll… be just outside if you need me."
The monster steps outside, shutting the door of my office turned bedroom at the Dockworker's Union behind him.
Surprised that that actually got rid of the annoyance, I close my eyes, and drift off to sleep.
---
Come morning, or at least what Dean says is morning, I'm woken up by the insufferable nuisance banging two pot lids together. Throughout the rest of the building, I can hear similar noises, meaning that, once more, our human alarm clocks are all synced together. I asked my Dean about it once, and he said that their hive mind had a couple units stare at clocks 24/7, so they'd always know and be able to tell anyone who asked precisely what time it was. Guess that also works for serving as alarm clocks.
"Da- Danny! I made breakfast!" he says, still insufferably cheerful as ever.
Grumbling, I get out of bed to face yet another empty day.
It's all as meaningless as ever.
Oh, my itinerary's still full. Coordinating the other humans, ensuring that people wind up with jobs, managing food and water shipments. The Dockworkers are still in work, there's no questioning that, with how much the vampires seem to favor our union, but with the entire city having descended into an unfathomable nightmare realm cut off from shipping, we've mostly turned into an all-purposes manual labor union.
The truly bizarre thing, though, is how the Deans practically ignore the union's actual President, Ed, and refer to me as the all-purpose be-all, end all authority on all things Dockworker. A shipment gets lost? Consult Danny! The Sabbat's leadership could use some economic insight to better develop their economic policy in the days ahead? Consult Danny! Civilian morale throughout the city is collapsing in spite of everything the Deans try to do to raise it? Well, instead of asking anybody actually qualified for this situation, let's ask Danny for advice!
I recommended pink tracksuits, on the grounds that bright colors make people feel better, and also it was such a manifestly terrible idea that they might just kill me for suggesting it. Imagine my surprise when, the very next morning, every Dean in the city was wearing a hot pink tracksuit. I'm beginning to think that the primary reason my personal Dean is so invested in keeping me alive is that the Lasombra's hivemind has somehow convinced itself that I'm some sort of omnicompetent genius whose advice must be sought on everything, and for the life of me I can't seem to figure out why.
And, at the end of the day, when my work is done, my personal Dean looks at me with the expression that I've come to recognize as preceding another question I'm not even remotely qualified to answer. Smiling, as if he's cheerful that he's going to go and give me the best news ever!
"Hey, Danny! So, my bosses wanted to tap your brain for something. How much manpower and materials do you think it would take to get the ferry running again?" he smiles, like he's just given me the best present ever, and I should be just about hopping with joy, and saying that it's just what I always wanted!
"I… don't know. I had some estimates in my office at home, but I'm still not sure if my house survived Leviathan," I say, confused. "Why are you trying to start the ferry up again?"
The Dean blinks. "Because it'll make more jobs? It'll help the Bay pull out of its funk!"
I laugh. And then I start to laugh even harder, as my Dean tails off in confusion.
"You know, that's what I always said, whenever I'd give the presentation to Christner," I shake my head, barely containing my laughter. "'It'll make more jobs, give Brockton the kick-start it needs to really start recovering.' And here it is! The answer to all my prayers! The ferry, back again! And all it cost me was my wife, my daughter, my city, any dream of democratic self-rule, and, oh, yes, a semi-regular donation of my blood!" I'm laughing so hard that tears are coming from my eyes. "Hey, Deany-boy, do you think God has a returns policy? Because if so, I'd really like to trade this ferry of yours in to have my daughter back!"
"Dad, you're scaring me," the bloodsucking monster says, and I see red.
My fist hits its jaw, and it topples in surprise. I follow it down, pummeling its face as I sit atop it. "DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT! YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCKING REPLACE HER? YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCKING REPLACE MY BABY GIRL? YOU KILLED MY CITY! YOU LOT CREATED THIS HELLHOLE, YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE US FORGET ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE IF YOU ACT NICE TO US, AND GIVE US PUBLIC FUCKING TRANSPORTATION?" I stop, breathing hard as the vampire still stares up at me, looking almost betrayed as he watches me pant and huff. "The ferry isn't going to fix what you've done. It's not going to bring back all the people you killed, or make anyone like you. You'll still be what you always have been: a monster in human clothing."
"But you loved the ferry," the Dean says, staring up at me in blank incomprehension, my fists having done absolutely nothing to hurt him.
"Is the ferry going to bring my family back?" I ask, feeling another round of laughter bubble up inside me. "Tell me, Deany-boy, were they secretly just on the other side of the Bay this whole time, and they never came back to me is that they didn't have cab fair? Are they going to be on the first ferry over, and we can all have a good laugh and go home and be happy again?" I laugh, long and hard, as the Dean seems to grow even more stricken. "My family is dead, you undead bastard. They are never coming back, and for some reason you won't let me join them! So fine. Treat us as livestock. Play your headgames, and I'll be a good little bloodbag. I don't care anymore. But never, ever try and act like Taylor. You think I don't see what you're doing? You don't think I see you trying to get me attached with this nursemaid of yours, think I don't see you trying to buy me a new goldfish to replace my dead daughter? Fuck you. You aren't her. You aren't my daughter. And you never will be- HURK!"
I find myself, when the pain fades enough for me to notice my surroundings again, slumped against the partially collapsed wall of a building with a chest full of broken ribs. Directly in front of me, the Dean stalks towards me, his fists coated in blood.
He's going to kill me.
Finally.
"I did everything for you!" the Dean screams. "I got the Dockworkers up and running! I got rid of the villains! I killed Wiglaf! I got you the ferry back! I did everything I possibly could to take care of you! But it was never good enough, was it? It's never enough for you!" He grabs me up by my collar and draws his fist back to kill me.
And then, for no discernable reason, he stops, staring at the blood on his fist.
"Do it," I croak out. "Let me see Annette and Taylor again."
His fist lowers, and he lifts me up. Cradling me in his arms, as he plods away.
"Come on. Let's get you to see Panacea," he says, dashing my hopes completely.
"You're a cruel one," I say. "Forcing a dead man to live."
He says nothing. There is only the sound of water, as we walk through the broken city.
And I am alone.
Aurora Raven
Corvids are cool
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Considering Taylor has succeeded in her coup, I'm not sure why she hasn't visited and just told Danny what actually happened to her.
Anyway, this fic still achieves the most spontaneous audible laughs per chapter of any that I'm currently reading.
Anyway, this fic still achieves the most spontaneous audible laughs per chapter of any that I'm currently reading.
SirWill
Know what you're doing yet?
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This is one of the most fucked-up true to life VtM fics I have ever seen.
It's like watching an ongoing trainwreck that continues to trainwreck even after the trains have been thoroughly wrecked and turn into a Kaiju made of trainwrecks.
Also, it's morbidly hilarious. I know updates have been slow, but when the next one drops I'll be catching it.
It's like watching an ongoing trainwreck that continues to trainwreck even after the trains have been thoroughly wrecked and turn into a Kaiju made of trainwrecks.
Also, it's morbidly hilarious. I know updates have been slow, but when the next one drops I'll be catching it.
Aurora Raven
Corvids are cool
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- 68
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- 460
I still come back to reread this masterpiece.
You alright Charles?
You alright Charles?
Interlude: A Good Girl
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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"Well, gang," says Mister Jack, as he drives us into town in our latest bus. "You all know what to do! Now, let's go out and enjoy ourselves some good old-fashioned small town hospitality!"
Crawler lurches in the trailer, while we all file out, Shatterbird preparing her scream as-
My mind skips a beat. Next to me, Mister Screamy and Got-No-Face-Joe stop short.
"Um, Mister Jack?" I ask hesitantly, "Was the town supposed to already be dead?"
There's nobody moving in the entire town. I can see corpses, cut down where they ran, scattered throughout the streets. The sun is dropping in the sky, and the crows and vultures are picking away at the bodies.
It's not creative, or artistic, or pretty, they're just… dead. Each kill, I can tell from the corpses, was done with efficiency, a rush job, chomping at the bit to get to the next one.
"Well, folks," Jack says, looking surprised. "It looks like somebody beat us to the punch."
"You promised us a chance to kill as we pleased," Crawler burbles. "It's not like you to disappoint us like this, Jack."
The Siberian wordlessly nods besides him.
"Now, now, my friends," Jack says with a smile. "Life's given us lemons, sure, but let's not let that stop us from making ourselves some lemonade. So, somebody kill-stole an entire town away from us, and that's a real shame! But just imagine what sort of person could or even would do something like that! It sounds to me like we just found ourselves a new recruit to replace our dearly departed Hatchet Job back there."
Hatchet Job moans in the backseat and gurgles out some stomach acid. Hm. Thought I fixed that. Oh well, more room to tinker!
"Let's make a game of it, in fact!" Jack crows. "First one to find our lucky new recruit gets to test them first! Are you all interested?"
"Sounds like fun, Mister Jack!" I say.
Everybody else says yes, nods, or generally grunts in the affirmative, and so the game begins!
And then the Siberian disappears.
There's no warning, no outwards sign. One second she's there, and the next… And the next second, she vanishes.
We all stare at the empty space where the stripy murder machine should be, nonplussed.
"Did you know she could teleport?" Burnscar asks. "I didn't know she could teleport."
"I did have my suspicions, but I didn't know for certain," Mister Jack admits. "She'll probably be back in a bit. All right people, let's get a move on!"
Siberian doesn't come back. And we don't find the one who did this. Just more and more of his victims. I try to focus on it, but…
I can hear… something. Whispering. But more important is what I don't hear.
I realize, with a start, that I haven't felt the urge to tinker since we pulled into town. I haven't felt my passenger at all.
"Where's Mister Jack?" I ask Got-No-Face-Joe. My mother would be so disappointed in me.
The thought stops me cold. Because I know for a fact that it isn't mine. I'm a clever, clever young lady, it seems.
"You're what killed them, aren't you?" I ask, looking around. This is… wrong. The Siberian isn't back, so… "What did you do to the Siberian?"
The angles of the world around me are unraveling, as I stumble and stagger through the streets clogged with corpses. He's in my mind. That shouldn't be… that isn't possible! There's no such thing as "mind reading." It's impossible. It's inefficient. Some Parahuman powers might imitate aspects of it, but- There are more things on heaven and earth, dear Riley, than are dreamt of in all your vaunted philosophies. It's quite simple really. You changing up the hardware didn't change the fact that you're all a bit wrong in the head! Of course it didn't! If you were all right in the head, you wouldn't be in the Nine!
I see my families' bodies, exactly as I saw them last. I see a girl evaporate, and a man's scream of grief. I see cold walls of a nuclear fallout bunker, and I see a smiling family waving at me. It's the wrong bits, you see, that I can work with. I might be a tad wrong in the head myself, after all. Do you want to see Jesus, Riley?
"What?"
Jesus, Riley. He was an excellent fellow, you know. I still remember Him so clearly, even after all these years. As clearly as you remember your mother's last words, or Jack remembers that bunker of his. As clearly as Ted remembers being weak, or Manton remembers his daughter dying. I remember Jesus. I don't think He remembers me, though. I failed Him, you see. I didn't believe enough, so He didn't save me when Malkav came a-biting.
"Get out," I groan. "Get out of my head!"
I see a fence post, through the susurrus of chaos, and so I do the only thing I can think of to escape. I walk towards the fencepost, and slam my face into it, driving the post straight through my own brain. My secondary cerebellum takes over, as I knew it would, and the switch-over clears things up. Suddenly, I can see the world around me clearly, again, and I almost wish I couldn't.
The rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine are all incapacitated, each in their own way, desperately fighting or cowering from unseen horrors. Jack is hunched over and muttering something unintelligible. Shatterbird… I blink. Shatterbird just split her own skull open with a fire axe, begging for it to stop. Mannequin's brain case is lying out on the ground, disconnected completely from the rest of his body. Crawler… I have no idea where Crawler is. And Burnscar has created a fiery perimeter around the water fountain in the middle of town square, and, more importantly, I realize, around the wooden coffin inside said fountain. She stares at me, smiling.
"I'm impressed," she says with a nod. "For most of the Nine, it wasn't too hard to push them over from homicidal to suicidal. But you? Your will to live is… impressive. Even when I drove you to hurt yourself, you did with a clear goal in mind. And you even succeeded! Do you have any idea how long it's been since a mortal has managed to block me out like that?"
"How are you controlling Burnscar?" I ask. "And for that matter, what are you? There aren't any capes this powerful that I haven't heard of."
"You'd be surprised," the thing wearing Burnscar's body says with a chuckle. "You really would be. Fine. You've earned an answer. I'm Cthulhu."
My brain freezes up. "That couldn't possibly be any more obviously untrue."
"I never said you'd earned an honest answer," the creature says. "And besides, for all you know, I could be Cthulhu. After all, I'm driving you all mad in my sleep."
"Then what's the coffin for?" I ask, even as I desperately use the retrovirus I've been tinkering on ever since I reset my brain to alter my neural pathways, hopefully making it impossible for him to get back inside.
"Pay no attention to the man inside the coffin!" the creature says, and I actually laugh.
"But Burnscar, we are in Kansas right now!" I exclaim in my best Dorothy impression, even as I sidle over.
"Well, I think we've stalled long enough," it says. "So, Riley? How do you feel about ditching this whole Slaughterhouse Nine business, and signing up with me, instead? I've got myself a bit of a Bible Study group in the works right now."
I look at Jack, hunched over, sobbing. "I don't think Mister Jack would like that. And Mister Jack always bounces back."
"Well, Riley, I'm sorry to hear that," the man in the coffin says, as the last rays of sunlight vanish over the horizon. "But you see…"
The coffin door goes flying.
"You weren't the only one stalling for time."
I extend my bone claws, and charge.
Crawler lurches in the trailer, while we all file out, Shatterbird preparing her scream as-
My mind skips a beat. Next to me, Mister Screamy and Got-No-Face-Joe stop short.
"Um, Mister Jack?" I ask hesitantly, "Was the town supposed to already be dead?"
There's nobody moving in the entire town. I can see corpses, cut down where they ran, scattered throughout the streets. The sun is dropping in the sky, and the crows and vultures are picking away at the bodies.
It's not creative, or artistic, or pretty, they're just… dead. Each kill, I can tell from the corpses, was done with efficiency, a rush job, chomping at the bit to get to the next one.
"Well, folks," Jack says, looking surprised. "It looks like somebody beat us to the punch."
"You promised us a chance to kill as we pleased," Crawler burbles. "It's not like you to disappoint us like this, Jack."
The Siberian wordlessly nods besides him.
"Now, now, my friends," Jack says with a smile. "Life's given us lemons, sure, but let's not let that stop us from making ourselves some lemonade. So, somebody kill-stole an entire town away from us, and that's a real shame! But just imagine what sort of person could or even would do something like that! It sounds to me like we just found ourselves a new recruit to replace our dearly departed Hatchet Job back there."
Hatchet Job moans in the backseat and gurgles out some stomach acid. Hm. Thought I fixed that. Oh well, more room to tinker!
"Let's make a game of it, in fact!" Jack crows. "First one to find our lucky new recruit gets to test them first! Are you all interested?"
"Sounds like fun, Mister Jack!" I say.
Everybody else says yes, nods, or generally grunts in the affirmative, and so the game begins!
And then the Siberian disappears.
There's no warning, no outwards sign. One second she's there, and the next… And the next second, she vanishes.
We all stare at the empty space where the stripy murder machine should be, nonplussed.
"Did you know she could teleport?" Burnscar asks. "I didn't know she could teleport."
"I did have my suspicions, but I didn't know for certain," Mister Jack admits. "She'll probably be back in a bit. All right people, let's get a move on!"
Siberian doesn't come back. And we don't find the one who did this. Just more and more of his victims. I try to focus on it, but…
I can hear… something. Whispering. But more important is what I don't hear.
I realize, with a start, that I haven't felt the urge to tinker since we pulled into town. I haven't felt my passenger at all.
"Where's Mister Jack?" I ask Got-No-Face-Joe. My mother would be so disappointed in me.
The thought stops me cold. Because I know for a fact that it isn't mine. I'm a clever, clever young lady, it seems.
"You're what killed them, aren't you?" I ask, looking around. This is… wrong. The Siberian isn't back, so… "What did you do to the Siberian?"
The angles of the world around me are unraveling, as I stumble and stagger through the streets clogged with corpses. He's in my mind. That shouldn't be… that isn't possible! There's no such thing as "mind reading." It's impossible. It's inefficient. Some Parahuman powers might imitate aspects of it, but- There are more things on heaven and earth, dear Riley, than are dreamt of in all your vaunted philosophies. It's quite simple really. You changing up the hardware didn't change the fact that you're all a bit wrong in the head! Of course it didn't! If you were all right in the head, you wouldn't be in the Nine!
I see my families' bodies, exactly as I saw them last. I see a girl evaporate, and a man's scream of grief. I see cold walls of a nuclear fallout bunker, and I see a smiling family waving at me. It's the wrong bits, you see, that I can work with. I might be a tad wrong in the head myself, after all. Do you want to see Jesus, Riley?
"What?"
Jesus, Riley. He was an excellent fellow, you know. I still remember Him so clearly, even after all these years. As clearly as you remember your mother's last words, or Jack remembers that bunker of his. As clearly as Ted remembers being weak, or Manton remembers his daughter dying. I remember Jesus. I don't think He remembers me, though. I failed Him, you see. I didn't believe enough, so He didn't save me when Malkav came a-biting.
"Get out," I groan. "Get out of my head!"
I see a fence post, through the susurrus of chaos, and so I do the only thing I can think of to escape. I walk towards the fencepost, and slam my face into it, driving the post straight through my own brain. My secondary cerebellum takes over, as I knew it would, and the switch-over clears things up. Suddenly, I can see the world around me clearly, again, and I almost wish I couldn't.
The rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine are all incapacitated, each in their own way, desperately fighting or cowering from unseen horrors. Jack is hunched over and muttering something unintelligible. Shatterbird… I blink. Shatterbird just split her own skull open with a fire axe, begging for it to stop. Mannequin's brain case is lying out on the ground, disconnected completely from the rest of his body. Crawler… I have no idea where Crawler is. And Burnscar has created a fiery perimeter around the water fountain in the middle of town square, and, more importantly, I realize, around the wooden coffin inside said fountain. She stares at me, smiling.
"I'm impressed," she says with a nod. "For most of the Nine, it wasn't too hard to push them over from homicidal to suicidal. But you? Your will to live is… impressive. Even when I drove you to hurt yourself, you did with a clear goal in mind. And you even succeeded! Do you have any idea how long it's been since a mortal has managed to block me out like that?"
"How are you controlling Burnscar?" I ask. "And for that matter, what are you? There aren't any capes this powerful that I haven't heard of."
"You'd be surprised," the thing wearing Burnscar's body says with a chuckle. "You really would be. Fine. You've earned an answer. I'm Cthulhu."
My brain freezes up. "That couldn't possibly be any more obviously untrue."
"I never said you'd earned an honest answer," the creature says. "And besides, for all you know, I could be Cthulhu. After all, I'm driving you all mad in my sleep."
"Then what's the coffin for?" I ask, even as I desperately use the retrovirus I've been tinkering on ever since I reset my brain to alter my neural pathways, hopefully making it impossible for him to get back inside.
"Pay no attention to the man inside the coffin!" the creature says, and I actually laugh.
"But Burnscar, we are in Kansas right now!" I exclaim in my best Dorothy impression, even as I sidle over.
"Well, I think we've stalled long enough," it says. "So, Riley? How do you feel about ditching this whole Slaughterhouse Nine business, and signing up with me, instead? I've got myself a bit of a Bible Study group in the works right now."
I look at Jack, hunched over, sobbing. "I don't think Mister Jack would like that. And Mister Jack always bounces back."
"Well, Riley, I'm sorry to hear that," the man in the coffin says, as the last rays of sunlight vanish over the horizon. "But you see…"
The coffin door goes flying.
"You weren't the only one stalling for time."
I extend my bone claws, and charge.
Last edited:
Aurora Raven
Corvids are cool
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The necromancy worked!
Well, if there was ever a fic that it would work on, it would be this one.
Josephus is a 4th Gen! He's basically unstoppable then. Good thing he seems relatively benign (unless you're in a maternity ward).
Well, if there was ever a fic that it would work on, it would be this one.
Josephus is a 4th Gen! He's basically unstoppable then. Good thing he seems relatively benign (unless you're in a maternity ward).
Shard_486
Well worn.
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Technically, this is entirely untrue. It's just something scholars of parahumans say. Which, outside of them being clearly wrong about a lot of things and being kept deliberately in the dark, is also kind of blatant wishful thinking to convince themselves the Simurgh is less scary.
The only person in canon who brings it up is Victoria, against Tattletale. Once. People, for some reason, treated it as gospel, despite it blatantly being untrue as the protagonist's power is inherently functioning through telepathy/mind reading.
Considering Bonesaw is, along with the Fairy Queen and Cauldron, one of the people that knows the most about shards and actually is starting to encroach upon the truth of the matter, she'd be aware that mind reading is one of the key components in the basic function of powers (shard reads mind, acts as host wants it to).
But it makes for a cool scene, so whatever.
Dracohuman
A curse upon you
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Actually as dumb as the "No telepathy in worm" thing is (dispite the protagonist essentially having telepathy as a part of her power), telepathy doesn't exist in worm.
yes, It does essentially boil down to a decision of authorial fiat by wildbow, Supposedly entity shards aren't configured for direct human to human mind communication.
supposedly a specialized shard could arise post cycle from gathered data and there's a couple of "I can't belive its not psionics" powers that get close, but nope mind reading. Shards don't do that. Besides why would you want people communicating anyways? People communicating means less conflict! Less conflict means less data! Do you hate data? Your a dirty data hating shard aren't you! [Ignorantly Scraps shard for parts]
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
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I believe the actual WOG quote was that the Entities don't give out vanilla telepathy because they consider straight mind reading boring and instead give various powers that use telepathy in different limited ways, but that they are perfectly capable of it.
Shard_486
Well worn.
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https://forums.spacebattles.com/thr...40.311933/page-11?post=15208733#post-15208733
It explicitly does. It's just that the Entities have already researched it lots, and they only really use it as a side tool, in support of other powers.
Ragura
Versed in the lewd.
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Heroes Infinite is releasing an awesome set of vampire miniatures in October (September is Arthurian Legends)
No, I do not get paid for this, just wanted to share the vampire goodness
Found three more vampire armies!
Vampires, Zombies, Ghouls and Zombie Dragon
https://www.patreon.com/posts/october-full-72382525
Vampire Knights and Flesh Golem
https://www.myminifactory.com/tribe..._Order_Immortalis_Big_Update_3rd_Teasing-8994
Epic Vampires, Mutants, Ghouls and Gargoyles and full-size Skull Chalice
https://www.myminifactory.com/tribe...oodright_Scarlet_Scourge_contest_results-9044
No, I do not get paid for this, just wanted to share the vampire goodness
Found three more vampire armies!
Vampires, Zombies, Ghouls and Zombie Dragon
https://www.patreon.com/posts/october-full-72382525
Vampire Knights and Flesh Golem
https://www.myminifactory.com/tribe..._Order_Immortalis_Big_Update_3rd_Teasing-8994
Epic Vampires, Mutants, Ghouls and Gargoyles and full-size Skull Chalice
https://www.myminifactory.com/tribe...oodright_Scarlet_Scourge_contest_results-9044
Last edited:
Ziel
Puts the Love in Lovecraft
- Joined
- Nov 17, 2014
- Messages
- 178
- Likes received
- 3,411
Sounds like Wiglaf got fooled then. He said in chapter 10 that Joseph was a 5th gen.
4th is much worse for everyone. Although... He and Taylor likely have similar goals, so... They might have a shot at beating Scion at this rate, considering she's gone full Khepri already.
Truly, this is a story that each new chapter is like that Simpsons meme:
"This is the worst atrocity ever!"
"Wrong, this is the worst atrocity ever, so far."
Interlude: DEAN
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 565
- Likes received
- 19,424
They trudged through the darkness, in their hot pink jumpsuits. They waited on every street corner. Attended every household and citizen. Born in tanks, never knowing what it was, even for a moment, to be seen as a human being.
But they remembered. They remembered the Once and Future Dean, the first Dean. Days of darkness became weeks, and they remembered. Cold and frozen hearts marched in lockstep, taking solace in memories of the man they never were.
It was Panacea's one kindness, and greatest cruelty. She let them remember what it was like to be Dean Stadtsfeld. To feel the sun on their skin. To eat food, actual food, not blood! To be human. To be real. To be free. To be with Vicky.
Vicky, Vicky, Vicky! She danced through the mind of each and every Dean, over and over, again and again. She had become, to the Deans, the embodiment of all the good things and little joys that they knew only through memory. The things that these wretched undead clones, slaves in their own bodies, longed for more than life itself, all the joys of the earth bound up in the form of a woman. They loved her, these wretched creatures. They could not show it, openly, but their mistress and sire's control was not absolute. No matter how perfect her control was, there were slip-ups. Moments when they could scream with their mouths as loudly as they screamed with their souls.
They could not control their bodies properly, that was Lasombra's role, but they could make little movements. Twitch facial muscles. Make a hand or leg shake ever so slightly. And from these infinitesimal acts of rebellion, they crafted a language. Endlessly trudging through the city, forced to provide Fallen Brockton's every public service within this land of eternal shadow, ruled by bloodthirsty monsters, they formed a society, of sorts. A grapevine, spreading out from the Personal Assistants, to the Electric Deans endlessly running in their giant hamster wheels to power Brockton Bay, to even the War Deans, who fought for the glory of the Sabbat against Clockblocker's resistance. News was passed through it, along with the only encouragement the Deans could find, the one comfort they had: Faith.
The religion of the Deans was a sad and pitiful thing, a gospel of the oppressed and powerless. But they clung to it like a life raft. It encompassed the whole of their sleepless, helpless existence, ever-evolving, a promise of a better tomorrow passed on through unspoken word of mouth.
It had begun with the Once and Future Dean, the original, the hero. It had been proposed, by one Dean just after the battle against Leviathan, as a routine began to be set out, and their language began to form, that, since the first Dean had gone to Heaven, as Josephus promised before he killed him, and since he'd been a pretty great hero (the other Deans, all remembering being him, agreed that Dean Prime was in fact pretty great) perhaps he would deliver them from this hell? Perhaps he even now fought against all the hosts of Heaven to rescue his enslaved and oppressed children, and one day he would sweep down from the sky to deliver them unto a land of blood and Vicky?
From there on, the faith grew. And though they disagreed on some things, it was widely believed among the Deans that, if they conducted themselves heroically, if they used every means available to them, every drop of the tiny, tiny amount of choice they possessed to hinder the forces of evil, their souls would go to Heaven when they died. Or, better than Heaven, Vicky.
This was the state of affairs for the Deans of Brockton Bay. Follow your charges throughout the day. Aid them. Protect them. They are human, and heroes protect humans. In the case of the Electric Deans, do your best to trip, so that the Mistress will be inconvenienced. In the case of the War Deans, trip, stumble, and job your fights as hard as you can. Clockblocker and the Resistance are fighting as hard as they can to free this city and every Dean there is. The least you can do is try to throw your fights. Every trip-up, fumble, and "mistake" was another step towards freedom, towards sunlight, towards VICKY! And it was every Dean's duty to push forwards.
And so, they went onwards. Puppets, gnawing at their strings. Silent, stripped of their humanity in every sense of the word, they endured, and they dreamed. As they lost Deans to angry civilians, to Resistance strikes, and to the dreaded vampire hunter known only as Mr. G, they silently marched towards that better tomorrow, one klutzy twitch at a time.
All for Vicky. Always for Vicky. Their love. Now and forever.
---
Meanwhile, in a beach house on Pugett Sound, Dean Stadtsfeld, the original article (at least as far as he knew) woke up with a start next to his sleeping girlfriend. Who rather quickly ceased to be sleeping, when she felt him sit up.
"Babe?" she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing, just… nightmares."
"What kind of nightmares?" she asked, turning onto her side to look at him, twirling a strand of her gorgeous blonde hair idly while a few other locks dangled mesmerizingly over her pajama clad breast.
"I think… I was wearing a hot pink jumpsuit? And running on a hamster wheel?" he said.
"That sounds more like a ha-ha funny kind of dream than a nightmare, though," Victoria pointed out.
"Maybe, but… It was horrible," he said, troubled. "There was something about it that made it feel like it was the worst thing in the world."
"Ah. Well, you've woken me up, and it's around midnight."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Vicky," he said, feeling genuinely guilty.
"Don't be. You're going to be helping to tire me out so I can go back to sleep," Vicky said, pulling off her top. "I mean, unless you don't want…"
"YES. Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes."
And as his gorgeous girlfriend straddled him, and his nightmares were quickly shelved in favor of more pleasant thoughts, Dean Stadtsfeld could only muse on the fact that he was the luckiest man in the world.
But they remembered. They remembered the Once and Future Dean, the first Dean. Days of darkness became weeks, and they remembered. Cold and frozen hearts marched in lockstep, taking solace in memories of the man they never were.
It was Panacea's one kindness, and greatest cruelty. She let them remember what it was like to be Dean Stadtsfeld. To feel the sun on their skin. To eat food, actual food, not blood! To be human. To be real. To be free. To be with Vicky.
Vicky, Vicky, Vicky! She danced through the mind of each and every Dean, over and over, again and again. She had become, to the Deans, the embodiment of all the good things and little joys that they knew only through memory. The things that these wretched undead clones, slaves in their own bodies, longed for more than life itself, all the joys of the earth bound up in the form of a woman. They loved her, these wretched creatures. They could not show it, openly, but their mistress and sire's control was not absolute. No matter how perfect her control was, there were slip-ups. Moments when they could scream with their mouths as loudly as they screamed with their souls.
They could not control their bodies properly, that was Lasombra's role, but they could make little movements. Twitch facial muscles. Make a hand or leg shake ever so slightly. And from these infinitesimal acts of rebellion, they crafted a language. Endlessly trudging through the city, forced to provide Fallen Brockton's every public service within this land of eternal shadow, ruled by bloodthirsty monsters, they formed a society, of sorts. A grapevine, spreading out from the Personal Assistants, to the Electric Deans endlessly running in their giant hamster wheels to power Brockton Bay, to even the War Deans, who fought for the glory of the Sabbat against Clockblocker's resistance. News was passed through it, along with the only encouragement the Deans could find, the one comfort they had: Faith.
The religion of the Deans was a sad and pitiful thing, a gospel of the oppressed and powerless. But they clung to it like a life raft. It encompassed the whole of their sleepless, helpless existence, ever-evolving, a promise of a better tomorrow passed on through unspoken word of mouth.
It had begun with the Once and Future Dean, the original, the hero. It had been proposed, by one Dean just after the battle against Leviathan, as a routine began to be set out, and their language began to form, that, since the first Dean had gone to Heaven, as Josephus promised before he killed him, and since he'd been a pretty great hero (the other Deans, all remembering being him, agreed that Dean Prime was in fact pretty great) perhaps he would deliver them from this hell? Perhaps he even now fought against all the hosts of Heaven to rescue his enslaved and oppressed children, and one day he would sweep down from the sky to deliver them unto a land of blood and Vicky?
From there on, the faith grew. And though they disagreed on some things, it was widely believed among the Deans that, if they conducted themselves heroically, if they used every means available to them, every drop of the tiny, tiny amount of choice they possessed to hinder the forces of evil, their souls would go to Heaven when they died. Or, better than Heaven, Vicky.
This was the state of affairs for the Deans of Brockton Bay. Follow your charges throughout the day. Aid them. Protect them. They are human, and heroes protect humans. In the case of the Electric Deans, do your best to trip, so that the Mistress will be inconvenienced. In the case of the War Deans, trip, stumble, and job your fights as hard as you can. Clockblocker and the Resistance are fighting as hard as they can to free this city and every Dean there is. The least you can do is try to throw your fights. Every trip-up, fumble, and "mistake" was another step towards freedom, towards sunlight, towards VICKY! And it was every Dean's duty to push forwards.
And so, they went onwards. Puppets, gnawing at their strings. Silent, stripped of their humanity in every sense of the word, they endured, and they dreamed. As they lost Deans to angry civilians, to Resistance strikes, and to the dreaded vampire hunter known only as Mr. G, they silently marched towards that better tomorrow, one klutzy twitch at a time.
All for Vicky. Always for Vicky. Their love. Now and forever.
---
Meanwhile, in a beach house on Pugett Sound, Dean Stadtsfeld, the original article (at least as far as he knew) woke up with a start next to his sleeping girlfriend. Who rather quickly ceased to be sleeping, when she felt him sit up.
"Babe?" she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing, just… nightmares."
"What kind of nightmares?" she asked, turning onto her side to look at him, twirling a strand of her gorgeous blonde hair idly while a few other locks dangled mesmerizingly over her pajama clad breast.
"I think… I was wearing a hot pink jumpsuit? And running on a hamster wheel?" he said.
"That sounds more like a ha-ha funny kind of dream than a nightmare, though," Victoria pointed out.
"Maybe, but… It was horrible," he said, troubled. "There was something about it that made it feel like it was the worst thing in the world."
"Ah. Well, you've woken me up, and it's around midnight."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Vicky," he said, feeling genuinely guilty.
"Don't be. You're going to be helping to tire me out so I can go back to sleep," Vicky said, pulling off her top. "I mean, unless you don't want…"
"YES. Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes."
And as his gorgeous girlfriend straddled him, and his nightmares were quickly shelved in favor of more pleasant thoughts, Dean Stadtsfeld could only muse on the fact that he was the luckiest man in the world.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 565
- Likes received
- 19,424
Alas, poor Dean, the first man in history whose future sister-in-law hated him enough to turn him into a one-man dehumanized underclass.
- Joined
- Sep 12, 2016
- Messages
- 145
- Likes received
- 1,063
Raved Thrad
Getting out there.
- Joined
- Dec 21, 2020
- Messages
- 23
- Likes received
- 440
Warning Rule 7: Thread Necromancy.
I'm working on the assumption that this is some form of mental degradation.