Roseluck Shrugged, and other facetious drivel

by RoxyTheMagus

The Original Work, of about seven hundred something words.

Scene 1: In which a strapping young libertarian-anarcho-capitalist attends Capital Con, and makes a mysterious purchase.

Our AnCap Protagonist steps out of the blinding midday sun and into the cool indoors of the Canadian Exposition Center. It is the first day of Capital Con (Canada's only capitalist convention), and he intends to enjoy as much of it as possible, before he must return home to his irredeemably socialist family come the end of the weekend.

The day is far from uneventful, but the author simply does not wish to give a play-by-play of a capitalist convention, as she maintains that the concept is stupid. Furthermore, the author desires that the reader be made aware that anarcho-capitalism is a stupid philosophy, and that this is strawmanning, self-gratifying trash, even by her standards.

Regardless of the author's cooperation, our hero enjoys a long and wonderful day of conspiracy theories, cryptocurrency seminars, and Elon Musk fanboying, and eventually feels that he had best go and rest up for tomorrow.

On his way out, our capitalist hero spies a lone vendor, selling pony memorabilia. He is presented with a dilemma. He does not particularly care for ponies or their ilk, but he does enjoy spending money. After a few moments of contemplation, decades of corporate brainwashing win out, and he purchases a pin in the shape of a small horse with a flower on its rear. The vendor tells him the horse is named Roseluck, but our strapping protagonist simply has no time for the petty whims of the working class.

The anarcho-capitalist calls an Uber to take him the three blocks to his apartment, and heads up to his room. He lies upon his hotel bead, not even bothering to remove his shoes, and tosses the funny horse pin on the nightstand. He picks up the phone, and orders the most expensive item room service can provide, a decadent feast of chicken and steak. He doesn't particularly like either, but the flow of capital must be maintained, and besides, this is on his mother's credit card.

As this spoiled capitalist awaits his food, he flips on the television, purchasing a few films, each of which he watches a few seconds of, before changing his mind and buying a different one. Eventually, he settles on Michael Bay's Transformers, a film the author has not seen but has been told is awful, and not in the ironically bad fashion of The Room. A few minutes pass, and his food arrives. He idly munches on a leg of chicken, half-watching the film as he slowly falls asleep to the sound of explosions.

On his nightstand, our hero's pin begins to glow, a faint, pale light.

Scene 2: In which our bourgeoisie protagonist awakens in a different place, and finds himself possessed of a different form.

The author wishes to once again make it clear to the reader that she is definitively not an Anarcho Capitalist, and the views expressed by our protagonist are not necessarily representative of the views of the author, nor are they necessarily correct. Furthermore, she wishes it know that this story is sarcastic, and is not actually meant to be particularly good.

Our capitalist hero opens his eyes to a room unlike the place he fell asleep. Indeed, this is a different place, for it lacks even a television. Perhaps he has been kidnapped? Likely by communist terrorists, he notes, gazing around at the rooms decoration. Upon the wall hangs a striking poster of a worker surrounded by stars, breaking the blackened chains of capitalist oppression with a hammer, his apron bearing naught but the number 1917. Perhaps the number is a reference to…

Those dirty soviets! Our protagonist is shocked and appalled, and so leaps into action! By rolling off the bed and onto the floor. How odd, his muscles aren't responding the way they normally do! The communist bastards must have drugged him! He scrambles to his feet, and bursts out the door of this room, and into a hallway. An odd breeze around his legs allows him to notice he is wearing a nightgown. Damn emasculating feminist communists! Damn them! Our hero dashes down the hall, and down a flight of stairs.

Author's Note:

There were some notes I left for myself at the bottom of the document. Needless to say, I have not heeded them whatsoever, and shall now post them verbatim!

-- I'mma take a break and read about ancaps.

Save this bit for something else ~>    [No, Roseluck realizes. Now is not the time to fantasize of revolution. She has to restrict her thoughts to the present and figure out who kidnapped her. A second sweep of the room reveals to her that it is not the lair of some bourgeoisie-commie villain, but merely her own bedroom. Of course, it does appear someone has vandalised her room.]

(Yo, me! Remember to have Roseluck drop out of CHS, on account of it being taxpayer funded.)
[Fuck no, me. We're going the route of redemption!]

This is the end of the notes I had posted in the document. By redemption, I meant that my original plan involved having Roseluck see the light and shed the foolish views of capitalism. I still kind of want to do that, but is it ironic enough?

Comments

[The Blue EM2]

Well, this is certainly...different to most of the other stories in the group.

[HeartfireFirebrand]

Tempest here, I hope you're ready for Gym Roseluck

[RoxyTheMagus]

9520845
What now?

[Griseus]

Protagonist is a he and the Author is a she, correct? Cause it is a little confusing to follow.

[RoxyTheMagus]

9564900
That is the intent, yes. It's no supposed to be coherent or in any way good.