A Short Interlude
In a desert under an alien sky a dark ritual was being performed. A pentagram carved into the ground burned with arcane fire. The pitch black flames absorbed the light of the three full moons above contrasting with the white earth below. Inside the circle runes twisted and writhed with the power that was being fed to them. At the center a whirlwind of black sand rose up from the ground. The wind pulsed like the slow, languid heartbeat of a half-dead abomination.
At the circle’s edge stood a tall man in a long black jacket that flapped in the wind. Purple smoke wafted from his upturned hands then curled downward into the black fire, fueling it. His face was fixed in an expression that was equal parts concentration and madness. From his lips he spoke an incantation in a language so vile it would rip one’s mind in two if it attempted to comprehend the words. The man’s eyes were black pits from which dark veins pulsed across his handsome, young face with each syllable.
Behind him were two more figures. One was a very tall and thin young man with a scar on his face. He sat on a boulder with a saw secured between his knees. The same runes as the diagram running up the tool's length. He ran a bow across the toothless edge of the saw drawing out a sharp, haunting sound that cut through the diagram’s pulsing. The sound warbled as he flexed the tool with his free hand, and the whirlwind warped along with the music as if an invisible hand were molding it.
The musician, eyes closed as was his habit while he played, flexed the saw sharply eliciting a note that then sent the runes and the whirlwind ablaze. The jacketed man became a shadowed outline as a column of blue fire erupted from the diagram. The fire was painfully bright and burned cold instead of hot. The musician’s breath could be seen as puffs of white vapor as frost covered the ground, and his sunglasses shone with reflected werelight.
Just to his side hopped the last of the ritual’s participants. Jumping on one foot while beating a rune-covered drum with a chicken foot, he’d had the foresight to come better prepared for the light show and wore a welder’s helmet on his head. With each beat of his drum the fire pulsed with mounting force.
“Yu Mo Gai Gwai Fai Di Zao. Yu Mo Gai Gwai Fai Di Zao,” could be heard being chanted from behind his helmet. The musician cracked open an eye and looked as his companion.
“Is that necessary, Al?” he said.
“No, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” Al said, and continued to chant.
“Can ya shut it up!” shouted the jacketed man from the base of the inferno. “You’re screwin’ with my work!” His accent was distinctly that of a New Yorker—from which part was anyone's guess—and though he usually played it down the stress of the ritual was drawing it out in full force.
“You mean it’s actually doing something?” Al said.
“It is a real Cantonese chant,” the musician said.
“A chant to dispel dark magic!” The jacketed man nodded to the inferno. “A little counterproductive don’t ya think?!”
“Dante’s right, Al. So unless you want to anger the Warlock I’d stop if I was you.”
Al huffed, “Like that’s hard to do, Ike.”
Ike nodded, “True, but…”
Al sighed. “Okay, okay I’ll stop,” he said and then mumbled to himself, “stupid Characters always ruining my fun.”
“I heard that,” they both said.
“And I stand by it!” Al shouted back.
“And you can shove it up your…” Dante started to say, but trailed off when the inferno’s pulses morphed into a deep rumble. “Tighten up boys! Here’s the finale!”
All three resumed their tasks. Dante began shouting the final verse of his incantation, Ike’s bow danced along the edge of his saw, and Al hopped with everything he had.
“My leg’s gonna cramp up at this rate,” he said.
Ike grunted. “Just hold on for a few more—”
The inferno exploded!
Al was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling backwards. Ike had just enough time to grab onto his boulder to keep himself from flying off, but his instruments were sent sailing away. His frame-less sunglasses, however, didn’t budge from his nose.
Al groaned as he sat up and removed the welder’s helmet from his head. He glanced around at the smoldering crater in front of him, and for a second a surge of panic shot through him.
“Where’s Dant-” Al was cut off when a jacketed and slightly charred figure landed on him.
Ike stood up and brushed the sand out of his hair. “There,” he said.
Dante, his eyes now their usual shade of warm brown, laid on the ground and watched the smoke that came from his curly hair drift into the air. He didn’t get to admire it for long before something threw him to the side with a grunt.
“Get off!” Al said. Ike rolled his eyes and walked over the both of them.
“You're welcome,” Dante grumbled as Ike helped the two of them to their feet. Dante shook off his landing, looked over to where the diagram had been, and smiled. “Well, explosions,” he placed both of his fists at the base of his spine and bent backwards. He sighed happily as his back made the sound of a tree breaking in half. “Ah! And spinal injuries aside. I think it worked.”
He walked towards the crater, and after sharing a glance at each other his companions followed after him. At the explosion’s epicenter was a goat, and beneath the goat was a laptop. Dante patted the goat on the head before reaching under it and taking the laptop. He looked at the device’s screen and nodded, smiling triumphantly.
“Yes! Ike, you have yourself one resurrected story," Dante said, handing the device to the him. Ike took the laptop and began to read over the document on its screen, and Al clapped Dante on the shoulder.
“Good work, Danny-boy,” he said. “I knew I’d let that thing sit for too long. Ike and I agreed it was going to need one hell of a jump-start to get it going again. It’s great having a Warlock on stand-by.”
Dante rolled his eyes, “Not that he likes it much.” He then glared down at the shorter man. “And never call me Danny-boy again!” he growled.
“Hehe, r-right,” Al stammered before looking down. “And where did you find that?” He said, pointing.
Dante followed Al’s finger to the goat. For having been at the center of an explosion the goat didn’t have a scratch on it. Its eyes did burn with red hellfire, and the four horn’s that twisted from its skull glowed with a familiar set of runes that spiraled up to their tips, but besides that it was fine. The demon-goat’s tongue hung limply from the creature’s mouth as it studied Al with a derped expression.
“Baaahhh, I’ll swallow your soul,” it bleated.
“My cousin knows a guy, who knows a demon, who owns a ranch,” Dante said.
“Y-you don’t say,” Al said nervously. “Could you?” Dante snapped his fingers, and the goat’s shadow peeled itself up from the ground and enveloped the creature becoming a sack before sinking into the ground leaving behind a dark stain that began to be burned away by the moonlight. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Dante said. They both turned to Ike who finished looking over the document.
“Good work, Dante,” he said, closing the laptop. “Everything seems to be in order. The foundation is all there. Now all Al has to do is make it tangible, and it'll be all set.”
“Yeah,” Dante said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, speakin’ of making things tangible, Al,” the Warlock turned towards the short, young man giving him a questioning look. “When are ya going to get back to my story?”
The writer grew pale, “Uh, well Dante you see…”
Dante felt a hand lay on his shoulder. “You’ll get your turn eventually,” Ike said.
Dante frowned, “That’s always the excuse. It seems I lose out a lot when it comes to Al’s projects.”
“You have things published,” Al said.
“I have one thing published,” Dante said.
“Well think of it this way,” Ike interjected as he walked back over to his boulder, “You’re a Mets fan, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Well,” Ike slumped onto his rock, “then you should feel used to losing out."
Dante’s face grew red as Al’s paled further. Ike sat on his rock with a lazy smile on his face as Dante stalked over to him. Al gave the musician a bewildered stare, and Ike simply winked at the writer and made a cutting motion with his hand. Al frowned in confusion before realization dawned on him. Dante was seeing far too much red to notice
the exchange. No one dissed his Mets!
“Why don’t ya get up and say that to my face you John Lennon wannabe, Motherfu-”
A door materialized on the ground at Dante’s feet. It tilted up encompassing Dante and slamming shut before melting back into the earth below.
In a New York apartment a young woman sat on her boyfriend’s couch. She held a mug of hot cocoa in her hands sipping contently from it while she watched Merry Christmas Charlie Brown on the TV. The apartment was lightly decorated for the season. A little Christmas tree sat twinkling in the corner, and paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling.
She was dressed in one of her mother’s handknit sweaters, a functional one and not one of those ugly, seasonal monstrosities. Her wild mane of black hair cascaded down her back, and her green eyes started to grow weary with the lateness of the hour. She didn’t want to go to bed just yet, however, as she was still waiting for—a door rose out of the floor in front of her—that to happen. Life had never been normal for her. The last few months only reinforcing that, and she prided herself on the fact that she was hardly shocked by these types of things.
The door swung open and fell backwards into the floor, melting into it as it did. Her red-faced boyfriend now stood in front of her.
“-cker!” Dante shouted before wheeling around and seeing that he was back at home.
Rachel smiled, “Have fun?” Dante’s eyes settled on her, and he slumped to the ground.
“No,” he grumbled. Rachel shook her head and pulled Dante in for a kiss. She paused halfway and brushed a lock of his hair away from his forehead. Her cheeks grew red, and she brought a hand up to stifle a giggle.
“Um, hon?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you missing an eyebrow?”
Dante hesitantly reached up and felt his forehead. To his annoyance he found that his left eyebrow had been singed clean off. His hand fell, and he laid his head on Rachel’s shoulder. She patted his back as he groaned.
“Assholes.”
Ike watched the door disappear into the ground and shook his head.
“Lennon Wannabe?” he said. “That was low.”
“Always interesting having the two of you in the same Headspace,” Al said as he approached and looked at Dante’s vanishing point. “He’s gonna be pissed.”
“Eh” Ike shrugged, “true, but like you said that’s not hard for him.” He stood up, collecting the laptop. “Really I just didn’t want to be the one to tell him about his
eyebrows.”
Al laughed, “Oh, so you saw that too?”
“Who could miss it with those Scorsese brows of his?”
“Said the pot to the kettle,” Al quipped which earned him a light cuff on the back of the head from Ike. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” Ike rolled his eyes and handed Al
the laptop.
“Here,” Ike said, “it’s yours to work your magic on, but really try not to leave it alone for so long next… no, ever again. Actually if you could step up productivity by several orders of magnitude I think a lot of us would be much happier.”
Al nodded in agreement, “This year was a drag.”
“On what, our patience?” Ike said. Al glared at him preparing some sort of remark, but he deflated before he could find the justification to speak it.
“Your’s and mine,” he said with a sigh. He looked down forlornly. How many people had he disappointed? There were his characters and their stories, and the people who wanted to read their stories. It was all so much work he hadn’t gotten done out of worry, laziness, and fear of failure. Part of him knew he would deserve whatever hit his hiatus was going to cause him.
“Don’t go moping on me now!” Ike said, as he gave the writer reassuring, yet jostling, clap on the back. “You screwed up. So what? Make it up to them and us. Keep in mind, you can disappoint your readers, but we can keep you up at night.”
“That a threat?” Al said, a slight smile playing across his face. Ike stepped away his own cheshire smile revealing nothing.
“The worst one I could possibly make,” he said. He turned towards the writer and saluted. “Send me on my way. You have work to do.” Al chuckled and nodded. For a split second everything went dark for Ike with the sound of a door slamming shut, and then daylight unfurled around him. He smelled the scent of summer grass drifting through the air and had just enough time to glance down and see his door meld into the grass at his feet.
He straightened closing his eyes and took a few meditative breaths. There was an unnatural stillness to the air around him like time for it had stopped or, perhaps, exactly like that. On his third breath in, he felt it a slight spark like the ignition for an entire world being kicked to life. Ike opened his eyes and watched a leaf that hung frozen in the air before him slowly began to resume its fall to the ground. As Ike breathed out the world relaxed and everything resumed. The leaf fell and air was no longer still. Ike’s smile brightened, and he picked up his gear that he’d left on the ground. There had been no fear of it being lost with everything halted.
Pulling everything on he sighed, “Let’s really get this started shall we?” He continued on down the path, and for a second his mind fogged over. He shook his head thinking it must have been from his lack of sleep the night before.
He continued on for a several paces when he became aware of something rubbing around in his shoes. He paused taking one off and turning it over. A stream of white sand fell from it, and he frowned.
“Where did that come from?”
The writer stood alone in the desert. It was one of his favorite Headspaces; empty, flat, and strangely comforting in its odd way. A perfect place to try out new ideas. He fumbled with the laptop, opened it, and stared at a blank document. The little vertical line blinked on it like some little, mocking demon.
There was no story there. Not one that he could see, anyway. To his characters, it was there written, edited, and ready for consumption. To him it was hidden, and he had to find it.
“Alright,” Al said. He walked over to Ike’s boulder and relaxed onto it. “Time to make it up to them.”
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Wow, I almost forgot this existed. Welcome back!
Que "ITS ALIVE!!!!" memes.
5511130
"Cue."
Oh my...
Oooooh...
Is this what we think it is?...
I think...I think it is!
THIS SPECIAL OCCASION REQUIRES MUSIC!
No...wait, that's the wrong music...Ahh whatever, it works!
(It's good to hear from you pal!)
5511253 that song always works with everything. smoking weed is awesome!
Obligatory
for this being alive again!
5511258
1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsDNTHf0Vi8/U4NR99GRR_I/AAAAAAAAA-s/KlL_nV6ndR0/s1600/1354762061960.png
I feel as if your head is an interesting place. I just started this story a little while ago, as a matter of fact, it seems as if you posted this after I started which is a rather small time frame. Can't wait.
Then
You're
Switch
Great to have you back.
Time to read from the beginning so I remember what was happening!
Yes!! all of this!! in my face!!!
welcome back
You've played Goat Simulator, haven't you?
UNCLE! *thwack!*
Magic must defeat magic!
Its time for team Jade.
Bad day Bad day Bad day!
Crouching tiger punches crow!
those were the days...
That was the best introduction basck from a hiatus that I have seen yet.
I don't even understand...
So... Much... Meta. Me likely!
Doesn't "Were" mean "Man"? It's why a werewolf is sometimes called a wolfman!
Edit: I just got around to reading and have just started on the chapter.
Wait...what happend?
OOOO....Arcane writers block.