Dyer, who had been enjoying himself on the bus playing with his
kards, looks up in dismay. He looked at eatsh of the Malks as they walked
onto the bus, and notised the smell of salt koming from several of the
kompany. Dyer looks bak down to his kards to soon to notise the ghost dog
galloping towards him, jumping onto his lap and skattering his kards.
Somewhat annoyed, Dyer begins to pik up his kards while taking a
head kount. He looks up to verify another person on the bus. Dyer puts
his kards away in his poket, and looks out the window at the odd streaks of
energy and whirls and all of that other odd umbral stuff whitsh was
floating outside of his window.
He glanses at the Nosferatu whitsh is twisting outside of his
window and yelling at the bus. He then turns to Alex and begins skratshing
him behind his ears, and then stops in mid-pat. His mind begins to rethink
the past several sekonds, and a few sekonds later Dyer is sitting next to
the reverend asking him to turn around.
Omnicynic, not really wanting to argue, turns around and pulls to a
stop beside the strangely out of place Nossie. As the door opens, all of
the Malks on the bus peer at the Man. ME looks from under the koats,
keeping an eye on the fuzzie.
"Hello there, my name is Mr. Pi."
Dyer glanses up quikly, and a look of rekognition passes over his
fase as he disappears into Omni's shadow. The only one to notise this was
Alex, who did not really kare.
Several voises tshime in together, "What were you doing out there
in that stuff."
Mr. Pi glanses around with a distressed look on his fase as he
realises the kompany whitsh he just kame into. "Well, uh, it was a rather
interesting accident which involved a Airliner, a particle acceleter, a
wolf, and a niktuku. Mind if I hitsh a ride?"
A general mumbling begins, after whitsh, The Reverend answers.
"sure, just mind the pile of jakets, and don't talk to Dyer, he's not very
talkative." At the mention of the name Dyer, Mr. Pi winses and looks around
the bus, but when he does not see Dyer, a relieved look komes akross his
fase.
Mr. Pi sits down. Spooke and Handel walk up and sit on eatsh side
of him. "So, what do you think of the Tremere?" they ask in unison.
"Well, I don't care for them much, but I do like them better than I
like the Niktuku..." Handel and Spooke give eatsh other an approving
glanse and get up to leave. Before Spooke gets up, he asks Mr. Pi, "By the
way, what is your first name?" Mr. Pi looks up with and insulted look on
his fase. "I don't think that is any of your business!" Spooke walks away
trying to think of ways to find out the nossies name.
As the bus begins to move again, Day looks around for Dyer, but
kannot find him.
Dyer sits alone inside of Omni's shadow playing Solitare. He will
kome out when he gets bored.
Overwhelming confusion can be fun for a while, but it gets old, and fast.
For what seemed like days but was probably only hours Parr had been tossed
about by a series of totally disjointed events that, if she wasn't such a firm
believer, might have shaken her faith in the Divine Order of the Cosmos.
It had started tamely enough, just a gaggle of malks and a few other
immortals on an armored bus-from-hell. Pratically an every-day occurrance.
She'd fallen asleep under a pile of black trenchcoats and slept peacefully
thru the day. On nightfall they had reached the Toronto airport, and after
fishing around in the bars (she'd taken some peanuts) they had finally met
two vampires that had been left behind to shepard them to Egypt. The main
group had left, bounding fearlessly (or senselessly?) forward to confront
various baddies of all shapes and sizes.
The Rev. O (her sire had mentioned him before--was he the cause of this
chaos?) and a chap named Handel had jumped aboard and twisted open a gaping
hole in reality. This was the part where she started having trouble. She
liked reality, was really quite fond of it, and wasn't pleased to see it so
mistreated. And the experience of hurtling through the void in a Greyhound
bus wasn't that pleasant either. She'd spent most of it back under the
trenchcoats until they were unceremoniously stolen by ME. Looking at the
shaking huddle, Parr decided that ME needed them more, anyway.
Sleep had always been one of her main copeing tactics, so she had gone back
to
sleep on a bus seat where she had remained untill a rather nasty jolt of
reality woke her up. She'd been sheperded, sleepy-headed out onto the sand
and forced into a tea party. She hated tea parties. The final straw had
been when it was explained to her that this, in fact, was not egypt, and
that she would be having to get back on the bus and go through nasty
un-reality again. She'd viciously swallowed the little cookie she was
chewing on and ran off, teacup still stuck on her ring finger.
It is a scientific fact that a Malkavian is only as dangerous as they think
they are (whileas their mischieviousness is inversely proportional). Right now
she was feeling pretty damn dangerous, and the scattered citizens of Hawaii
seemed to sense that. Tired, hungry and frustrated to boot, Parr tromped in
and out of dozens of tourist traps. Everywhere she went security guards eyed
her, normal people shied away. She bought a melty ice-cream cone from a
lonely vendor and ambled through the city.
"Why are we here?" she wondered. It seemed a let-down, all a let down. She
had been prepared to fight, to act when they reached Toronto, but the others
had moved on, left them behind. What was in Egypt--the source of that face?
Were they battling it? Were they even still alive? Damn it, she wanted
answers. She'd heard the Reverend mention that one of the Malks in Egypt-one
'Ere'-had a cellular phone. Did he still have it? It wouldn't work without
local activation, but she could take care of that. She stalked up to pubic
phone and dialed home.
"Hesia Residence, Justin speaking."
"Justin, this is Parr."
"Madam? Where are you? The line is so faint."
"I'm in Hawaii, Justin, not sure which island. I've had quite
an...adventure."
"I do say, madam. I thought with your skin condition..."
"Let's just say I'm not getting a tan. Anyway, I want you to activate my
cellular phone here. Activate it for Egypt, too. And I want you to find the
number of one Erehwon, in Pittsburgh. He's got a celluar phone--I
want you to activate it, too. In Egypt. Got that?"
A pause, and then:
"Could you be a little more specific? Is Erehwon his first or last name?"
"Who knows? How many people have cellular phones in Pittsburgh with the name 'Erehwon'?"
"Right then. I suppose you'll be off again, then..." the voice faded out.
She smiled.
"I'll be back. Keep the home fires burning."
"I will. Goodbye..."
After the call she stood idly plinking her finger into the change return
slot. She should really be getting back to the others. Hungry, so hungry.
Parr had really never had to deal with hunger before...she knew most of the
servants gave a pint now and again willingly for Miss Hesia's blood
condition. What she didn't know was that this wasn't allways the amount
nessisary, so Alex and
Justin often bribed Red Cross workers to secure more blood. She'd been
brought up in a cocoon, lived in a cocoon, even died and lived afterward in
one. Parents and Sire had sheltered her. She knew little of the outside
world, less about being a vampire, and nothing at all about the various other
supernatual forces at play. Blindly she walked into the unknown, as she
stumbled back to the beach and her compainons...
"The Tremere had taken her?" ME's voice was practically shaking with
compassion. Mm, Jello-mold not-a-malk-they-don't-exist. See her quivver,
see her shivver...
"Yes, and made her one of their own."
"She was a Tremere?" ME was shocked; she started back as though a viper
had come out of Handel's collar and struck at her.
From his place some distance away, Spooke cocked his head while sighting
down a rubber band at an old can. "Ahhh," he sighed. He'd thought as much.
These images and emotions were hard to avoid; the spirit of the blood
brought them to him like eldritch lightning; searing and bright. "But Alex
never died, he only faded away," Spooke murmured with grim mirthless humor,
which was a feat not common to most of other clans. Betrayal and irony lie
strong under the surface; treachery becomes you not, my dear, my hated one.
Spooke knelt and stroked Alex's strong head, watching from the corner of
his eyes the bristling of the dog's shaggy white hackles, the questing
brush of his whiskers. Something in the sea. Spooke shifted, uneasy, but
the intangible light of his parents' blood, coursing hot and cold through
his veins, assured him that there was no threat. It was his friend and
neighbor, and to be trusted amid the shocks of the brutal flocking
mentality that pushed and ground his spirit bare. Alex felt it as well;
quelled his fears, calmed his harsh stance.
Suddenly the night took on its darkest aspect, and the stars and sea and
sands themselves, so magical in their beauty before, dimmed to his sorrow.
Hopelessness like unto the surf, crashing down over the rocks and granite
of reality, futile and wearing, enshrouded his soul and dimmed his
perspective. He looked up but none were aware; no hand raised to him, no
father to welcome and cherish his son. A Sire unwitting, and perhaps never
to be told.
Spooke reached automatically for Spitz' steadying soft white fur, but his
vertigo passed through cool air, the coldest ice the absence of the life,
like sunlight, of his comfort.
Alex's strength had long waned, was at an end; without Spooke's will, he no
longer roamed this land of illusion and pain within facade within
clockwork; no support held Spooke as he fell, despairing, into the sand.
The sand itself was no keeper of solidity; rather, the partner of gravity,
and when his body hit, into the swirling, swamping sand-spinning darkness
he dropped, and kept falling.
* * *
The heavy thump of black purple dark dismal low-grade constant terror a
beat in the nature of the background of a tortured mind held fast by rage
and frustration and pain and sorrow like an animal gnawing and gnawing but
never cutting loose, gnawing and healing only to gnaw when the itching and
the pain and the fear grow too heavy a burden; only fear is left, and that
indifferent blue emotion bares its grinding teeth and snarls in horror
here, of this place, this intolerable situation that must be tolerated for
there is no out; Spooke slashes at his hands and screams through clenched
teeth at the pain that confirms this damnation and yet remains a penance
and an absolution; if you don't pay the piper then the devil takes his due.
The surroundings are familiar but terribly darkened, horribly wrong;
something subtle in the way nothing is, and nothing is what it used to be,
but seems so in memories that flee at the slightest hint of respite from
this place, this horror. The sanctuary offered only heightens the fear of
intrusion; dark shapes flit past outside, and you know you are alone, the
dark yellow of light cannot save you, but do they know you are here?? Step
carefully now, always you return to this place, comforting in its
familiarity even as your soul adjusts and it becomes your home, and
eventually you are one with the dark shapes that crowd the dark places, and
your safety lies in your evil.
These gray and threatening shadows that prowl silent and mad, you know them
do you not, these creatures who attack for no rational mind's understanding
of a reason, but like automatons live on this style and fear, hack, hack,
hack. Their shapes are unimaginable in their undefined ambiguity; their
eternal providence is their multitude of forms, but those that reside here
are not large, not large at all - small, they hide in every shadow, in
every crevice, gremlins of vicious and mindless malice, and the
mindlessness of it is the worst of all; red eyes are a thought, but only a
possibility amid the bone-white glistening of... something, and these
flowing shapes, inhuman silhouettes. No other mind could survive here; this
is your home.
"something VERY bad is going to happen VERY soon"
Listening... that isn't the voice of the beasts, their singular and
unintelligible and unmistakable collective emanation of pain and fear...
Fading. The mental image loses its focus; the creatures become distant,
unimportant, bleached of color and reality. A shimmering revealed;
familiarity steps into Spooke's mind and rousts its sibling, squawking and
squealing in a terrible cacophony...
"And then some BAD THINGS are going to happen"
So familiar, it can't be touched... bicycle ice cream of blue, yum yum... where
is that telephone pole??
...The voice is clearer, soothing. Understanding. But this isn't the way,
this is confusing, there was no real invitationÉ this blood of mine, this
gateway...
"And if the people get the thing some more BAD THINGS are going to happen.
I had some BAD THINGS happen to me, and..and..HEY!!! WHO's THAT???!?"
* * *
Sammy falls into an infinity doughnut, crawls out to see who Del is talking
about. Spooke is standing there, gazing at a now terrifying Delirium in
full trench coat, battle regailia, fishnet stockings, high heels, and one
camel, staring angrily down at Spooke.
* * *
This presence blasts away all traces of the oncoming depression, derailing
it into a cold river of cool good cheer that keeps flowing over the wounds
and refreshing the spirit as it numbs the pain... Mm, the seven... and even so,
even SHE remembers me not, as my Sire does not...
* * *
"Oh! That's Spooke. He's a friend. And a fish. But only sometimes. And on
Thursdays. And..." Sammy trails off. "Spooke? Are you OK?
* * *
Receding from this place now; I entered unwitting, but uninvited, and no
excuse remains to lingering. Closing my eyes, I step back...
"I am NOT a fish..."
* * *
***TEMPORAL DYSFUNCTION***
"Arrhh... sorry, Handel... kill the tremmies kill the tremmies Handel's gone
so bring him t'dis beach... ugh. What an awful chant. Really poseur.
Utterly. Totally. Heh. Think I'll do another."
Spooke shook his head to clear the last vapors of the depression that
gripped his soul like a vice did an icecube. "Mmmm her eyes looked like big
brown circles with black circles in the middle," he mumbled, then, slowly,
a crooked grin cracked his haggard face and settled into its accustomed
place.
With a gusty sigh and a twist of his hand, Spooke summoned Alex back from
the nether realm, bent down and nuzzled silky warm fur of his ears. "Yes,
Alex, I think it's almost time to get going." Raising his eyes to Handel's,
he gave a slight nod. Handel's eyebrows quirked; apparently, no one else
had noticed his absence, even ME. The scent of the desert wafted from the
dry sand clinging to his clothes and skin, mixing with the bitter smell of
tea leaves.
Closing his eyes, Spooke reached out for Spitz...
Only to be slammed forward by a sopping wet priest of his mother's, who
stuffed him into the bus unceremoniously with a call of, ""Sorry, stay
right there, gotta pick up a few more people. THEN you can go kill
things." Alex cowered before the steps unhappily, unwilling to enter any
motorized vehicle, especially with other people being hurriedly stuffed in,
but a sharp call from Spooke (and a dodged grab from Omnicynic) convinced
him. With a grunt of effort at moving his bulk, he stepped heavily onto the
steps of the bus, paused for confirmation of this obviously insane plot of
driving somewhere again, but at Spooke's firm gesture he resignedly leapt
over to the one fiddling with something. It wasn't even edible, he noted
with disgust, ignoring Dyer's exasperated sigh.
* * *
Spooke sat exhausted, unable to reach Spitz, worried about his well-being.
"I mean, the guy I left him with, his pet is dead," Spooke said under
his breath unhappily. A blast of dogbreath washed over him, and he turned
to berate Alex... only it wasn't Alex. Alex was busy drooling on Dyer, much
to Dyer's disgust. Crazy animal.
Spooke briefly sifted through personalities and vendettas as the Nosferatu
seated himself. Seeing Handel stand with a fiery gleam in his eye, he
choose the appropriate one and followed suit.
Sandwiching Mr.Pi, Spooke and Handel grinned in a manner that showed too many
teeth and said in eerie unison, "So, what do you think of the Tremere?"
"Well, I don't care for them much, but I do like them better than I like
the Niktuku..."
Spooke glanced at Handel, who smiled slightly and nodded. They rose to
leave, Spooke pausing only to ask the Nossie his name. Mr. Pi, who had kept
his gaze averted from the minute he recognized the clan to when Spooke
asked, snapped his head up with an insulted look on his face. "I don't
think that is any of your business!"
Spooke's expression froze. Then he smiled blandly, nodded a polite
farewell, and turned away. None of those present knew him well enough to
read his thoughts in his face, least of all the Nossie, but his narrowed
eyes, once he had turned his back on the Ockly, revealed his seething rage.
Always volatile directly following a bout of depressive-mania, the Ockly
may have become a candidate to discovering why Spooke had so many vendettas
to sift through. Heading towards a lone seat, as always, Spooke walked
away, puzzling first one, then another, discarding a third and modifying a
fourth method of discovering the Ockly one's name.
In his rage, he failed to register the gaze of the Brujah, watching him
from beneath lowered lids from the front of the bus.
Shimmying from side to side on nothingness, it appears that the bus
has lost its navigational capability and is at the mercy of the Umbral
winds. However, a closer look shows a grinning, sodden, bearded figure
behind the wheel. Some of the passengers are feeling a little motion sick.
"WOOOHOOO!!!" Yells the now manic Handel as he fends off attempts
to remove him from the driver's chair and playfully spins the wheel at the
same time. "Avast, swabs!"
"Someone get him outta there. Caine knows what trouble we're gonna
get into with a drunk driver out here." Anna dodges as Handel again
randomly pokes the air with his sabre.
"He can't be drunk on just that little bottle. I've seen him go
through half a large one without any effect whatsoever. He's just feeling
better, that's all."
"Hmm. I wonder if that's all he's been feeling," says Nightshade,
with a knowing look at the pile of jackets shifting constantly on the bus
floor. It twitches slightly at her comment.
"Eris is with us," says Omnicynic. "We're bang on course despite
the atrocious lack of consideration for passenger comfort. In fact, I
believe.." The sinister minister suddenly wraps his head in his hands and
takes up a crash position. Those quick on the uptake do likewise.
*** F O O M ***
Entering realspace, Handel attempts to handbrake the vehicle and
succeeds in half burying it in a sand dune. A wave of displaced mica washes
over a bunch of scruffy men riding donkeys at the nearby tents of an
archeological dig, knocking them down.
"Last stop. Haberdachery, ancient ruins and Setite fundamentalists.
Everybody off!" With the sand quickly burying the battlebus, the rest of
the Malks follow Handel's lead and exit swiftly.
Outside, they hear a pair of voices. Handel stands beside a figure
dressed as a remnant of Nazi Germany.
"handel!"
"fiendy. How are things going?"
From further away comes the voice of the other fiend. "handel? it
can't be handel, he's been here with us. " Kate Capshaw appears from the
direction of the tents. "whoa! you're right. handel's been doubled up as
well, everybody!" She/he motions to others behind him/her.
Various Malks move over towards the newly arrived busload. Among
them is Ere, looking somewhat unlike himself dressed as Indiana Jones. A
perplexed look is on his face and he stares at the whip in his hand as if
expecting it to disappear at any moment.
"What the..." says Handel as he sees himself walking amongst the
Egyptian group. "Tremere clone?" The other Handel grins at him and takes a
swig out of his bottle. Buswrecker Handel takes a sniff of the air
automatically. "Maybe not." Pulling out his ever present spade he advances
on the other him.
"Piss off, you bastard," says Egyptian Handel.
"Nothing to be scared of if you're really me. Come to think of it,
this shouldn't affect you much either." Raising his hands in the accustomed
smiting gesture he is stopped from carrying through with his action by a
worried pleading from his opposite number.
"Nooo! Aww, shite. No good fraggin' Cammy scum..." With a shimmer
Badger appears in the place of the Egyptian Handel. "I was only having a
bit of fun." He looks sideways at Ere, who has regained his usual clothing
and demeanour and is shaking his head. "Just remembering my roots," he
says. "Like your 'Night of the Spades' a few years back. Have to make some
trouble when you're surrounded by your unnatural enemies."
"Ahhh. Okay man. Can I have the bottle?" Grab "Tsk. Imperfect
disguise, leaving that much in the bottle." After taking a swig he turns to
the rest of the mix. "Looks like almost everyone is here. Sammy was around
for a bit, but Malkav knows where he is now. Tepes and Hagbutt are all I
can think of who are late."
* * *
Anyone who has ever heard reality burp is in for a treat. And everyone in
the Malkie party was treated as reality made an odd
"B F U O R O P M" Which is a burp and a foom mixed. A small bubble
in realspace bursts and Sammy is deposited onto the now psychidelically
dyed sand. Sammy is also oddly painted.
"I'm here!!! I'm...Where? I'm with... everyone else. This is good. Oooo
Oooo! Everyone. I saw this nice lady and these mean people/person who was
finding and killing Malks. And this nice lady said to watch out and bad
things were going to happen and why are we in Egypt?"
* * *
Alex, who has been watching the men and donkeys dig themselves out
of the sanddrift, turns from regarding them for a moment. "Oh, should be
fairly easy to get Haggy here."
"yeah," grin the fiends.
"You know he doesn't like that," says Ere.
"What?" Chorus the newer Malks.
"Repeat after me: 'Hagbutt, you are so pink and fluffy."
Go to the Broadway Geocities
