sixwordstories | (no subject)

[makes a farting noise with his mouth]

(This little blob of blood scoots up the sewer wall, seeming more puzzled than anything else. It clings at roughly eye height, and waves a pseudopod in his general direction - gathering information? waving hello? Who knows? This is not a creature with humanoid body language. Or a humanoid body.)

(Going by the smell, it is human blood. And there is quite a lot more somewhere nearby.)

(Two dimples dance erratically across its surface, and it speaks in a tiny whisper)

Hello?

[BUT

they write something down as quickly as they can]

No talking

Hmm. [ The creature before him is admittedly odd, but not the strangest one he's met in his life. Nuada lets the silence stretch between them, content to watch and see with the sentient pool does, keeping tabs on both it and the potential source.

He speaks after a while, voice quiet but level: ]

What do you want?

[ Right. Because everyone automatically knows English, though Nuada clearly does. ]

Then begone. I have no wish for a prolonged conversation.

[OF COURSE. You're terrifying anyway and they could only assume English was the language of choice. He certainly wasn't speaking Arabic.

The white melts into black, and then zips to a wall, melding with the shadows there. Later!]

[Well, you know. It's his Thing. (and assuming pretty much everyone is inferior to him.)

Hopefully another time!]

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely --having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

[He said speak, he didn't say speak of what.]

(The observation is mutual. After a few minutes, that pseudopod sprouts uncountably more psuedopods of its own, so many and so thick that they look like luxurious red fur rippling in an unfelt wind.)

Want?

(Another confusing thing. The blob moves in a little circle, as if pacing, and leaves a trail of scoured-clean concrete behind it.)

Is my home. What you want?

This sewer is your home.

[ He still has no idea what the thing is, other than visual and scent clues, and until disproved otherwise will continue to treat it as suitably sentient. ]

Why did you attract my attention?

[ Nuada waits whilst the human goes through his sonorous and completely unnecessary recital, nothing if not patient. ]

Is that all? I had hoped for some meager clue as to why we are here.

Well you should have said that, Crypt Keeper.

We're here because we're lost. Or at least I am, and I was gonna ask you for directions but then you got all snotty with me, so I decided to waste your time instead.

Yes. Everyone live somewhere.

(Suddenly, it is covered in delicate tendrils, like a scarlet sea anemone. Its voice has become slower, more deliberate)

You are....new. Different.

Not everyone.

[ If only it were true. His heart would be less troubled. ]

I am different, yes.

Crypt Keeper?

[ What the hell is that? ]

Where were you intending to go.

Jesus, no one watches television anymore.

Starbucks. Specifically the Starbucks on twenty third and main. I need to be there in fifteen minutes, there's a douchebag I gotta shank in the testicles.

All ph- sssssszzhh. (It ruffles, unhappy for a moment, then settles.)

All bodies. Have place. Have mass, shape, solid - need place to be. Even if in moment.

What are?

Of course.

[He bows respectfully, bending every inch that the Prince deserves and not a millimeter more.]

My people are Count D, spirits of nature and wanderers once of the Kunlun mountains. We have heard--rumors, if you will, of your return and seeing its truth wish to offer you hospitality. We have only a simple shop, nothing compared to the splendor of which you deserve, but we would be most honored.

Right, yes, you're the only person in the world whose time is important.

Many pardons monsieur, but I need to get to the path beyond where you are standing.

[Probably best that Taliesin is wearing fairly large, dark-tinted sunglasses. His wide-eyed stare is at least partially concealed.] Um. Yeah. My guitar is behind you.

Are you okay?

[ A home, even if only flesh and blood. This he can understand and nods to acknowledge the truth of the creature's words. ]

My people have gone by many names. I believe the popular term now is ... elf.

What are you?

Your mass media would make a lie of that.

[ While the words are crude, he can understand the slang just enough to garner a meaning. Except: ]

What is Starbucks?

Well you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Shitty expensive hipster coffee shop full of pretentious try hards. I'm banned from all of them but this is really important.

[ His lips twitch, approximating some small amount of amusement, but Nuada returns the modest bow. ]

I have, yes. [ Though his plans have been slightly derailed and modified. ] It would please me to know what sort of hospitality is housed in your shop.