Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10 
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Feb 26, 2016 12:51:55 GMT -7
Chapter 1
Austion Bard sneezed, then wiped his nose with a Kleenex frustratedly. He wouldn't need to worry about that anymore if he could just get this glyph to work. Why did they have to be so touchy? Then again, that was the beauty of glyphs—they left no room for imperfection. It was a precise art, or so the website had said.
Austion looked into the two mirrors, then tried again to write the glyph on his left shoulder blade with a flourish. He felt the scratch of the Quill against his skin, but again, nothing happened. He considered putting the glyph somewhere else, but he didn't want it to be conspicuous. Besides, the site had said that the Health Rune was most effective when Scribed on the left shoulder. Since he only had this one Health Rune, he didn't want to waste it.
He struggled awkwardly with his arm bent over, then scratched the Quill against his skin once more. He jumped as the bathroom lit up in a blue flash, and a cool burning sensation flared on his shoulder and eyes. He squinted in the mirror as the Rune blazed into view, then faded into a faintly luminous blue symbol on his shoulder. He was suddenly aware of a refreshing clarity in his throat and sinuses.
"I did it!" he whispered, looking at the glyph. It glimmered faintly every once in a while, almost like a silent bug zapper. "It worked!"
Austion took a deep breath. The sinus pressure, the mucus in his chest, the sore throat, all gone! He felt perfectly healthy, as if the cold he had caught three days earlier had been but a memory for weeks. He smiled, closing his eyes. Yep, the Health Rune was definitely gone. All he had left was the Stop Rune he had found on the old book, and he saw it glimmering behind his eyelids. He'd have to look up what that one was useful for at work.
Austion put his green shirt on, emblazoned with his family crest, and his vambraces. He felt his left shoulder, but there was no indication that anything was there. It was essentially a magical tattoo, silently and inconspicuously keeping him healthy. He felt like jumping for joy. No more sickness ever! He could use all his sick days for vacation for the rest of his life!
Austion placed his Quill carefully on his desk, then grabbed his backpack and scabbard holding his sword, clipping it to his belt around his waist. It was going to be a great day.
Austion grabbed a cheese roll from his apartment's tiny larder and stuffed it into his mouth as he hefted his pack and headed out the door. He sighed happily as he felt the crisp spring air and sunshine, which had felt so chilly and unwelcoming the day before. Austion vaguely wondered how productive he could be now that he never had to worry about being sick again. What else could he stop worrying about? Eating rotten food? Washing his hands? Well, that was going to far, of course, he thought, shaking his head. Not everyone was blessed to have a Health Glyph.
Chickadees were singing as Austion walked down the stairs from his apartment building and turned the corner to walk to work.
"There you are, Bard," said a greasy voice. Austion started and nearly ran into the hunchbacked old lady in front of him.
"Oh! Mrs. Xooxman," said Austion. "I didn't see you there."
"Your rent's late," said the old lady, her green eyes flaring slightly against her gray skin. Mrs. Xooxman was a grendel, the counterpart race to humans.
"I know," said Austion. "I'm sorry. I was sick the past couple of days and haven't been able to pick up my check."
"You look fine to me," growled the old lady.
"Yes, I'm feeling much better, and I'm on my way to work now," he said, irritated. "I'll bring the rent at 5 o'clock."
"You'd better," said the old grendel, pushing past him, her loose gray bun of hair wobbling slightly. "5 o'clock and not a minute later. This is your last chance or I'm evicting you."
"Geez," hissed Austion to himself when she was out of sight. "As if I'm your worst tenant." It was common knowledge that grendels were racist against humans. There were at least a half dozen in Austion's complex, always making noise and living in filthy conditions, and likely skimping on their rent much more than he was, and yet Mrs. Xooxman was always complimenting them and sending them gift cards every Saturnmas.
Austion looked at his watch again, then quickened his pace down the sidewalk. Soon, the Twin Castles came into view above the business houses and blossoming trees. One of them alabaster white and the other a dark black. He vaguely wondered about the status of the leadership of the city. Though Mayor Paladin had been in office since Austion had moved to Ovorp Thorp, this year things might change if the tyrant Lord Xrancix took over the town. Though the grendel tyrant was evil, people in town pointed out that he was just and got things done much more quickly than Mayor Paladin. Paladin's practices were merciful and fair, but he did seem to focus too much on impossible ideals and trusted people too much. Of course, Austion cared little about politics, and in fact was now already lost in thought about glyphs again.
Meanwhile...
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Post by Bobo on Feb 29, 2016 6:45:16 GMT -7
Bob sat listlessly in the record store as Chad and Jeremy soothingly played in the background. Nobody was here at 9:00 am, but the smell of fresh vinyl would surely bring in customers to enjoy buying a cheap single or album or two for lunch. The store owner had retired, and had recently given the store in his care, though the owner still got half-price and had a say over him.
Being a connoisseur of vintage music was not easy, especially since it was so popular here. People always asked him what sort of hip music was out there, and sometimes, for lack of a better knowledge, he shrugged his shoulders.
The bell rung and he immediately took in the man, who had a helmet with jutting horns and long white beard, and then he noticed the signature, the scars on his eyes.
“Moondog?” said Bob, who was sure he had died 20 years ago, “The Viking of 6th Avenue?”
“Hello Good Sir: you are correct,” he said “I’ve been looking everywhere for a most sublime record.”
“Anything specific?”
“Well, yes. I’ve been looking for the Album of Space-Time Continuum.”
Bob couldn’t help but feel skeptical about this.
“It’s only a legend. And if I had it, why would I give it to you? Wouldn’t it bring about the eminent destruction and end of the world?”
“…and…perhaps...the beginning of a new and a better world for all of us?”
Bob looked at him skeptically. “Umm…even if it existed, you probably couldn’t have it. Sorry about that. Would you like something else…would you care for some Lawrence Welk?”
The man looked angry and spat. “Lawrence! I’m looking for Norman!”
He used his cane to feel his way back to the door.
Bob felt instinctively that wasn’t the last time he would see Moondog here. Perhaps he knew something he didn’t.
Bob went about at once through the large and various shelves of records which he was still partially unfamiliar to see if he could find it. Generally, records were arranged by artists, but some more multifarious were arranged by composer or title. There was no luck.
Then Moondog’s mention of Norman reminded Bob about Norman Luboff and decided he would put that on the recording in the store after Chad and Jeremy expired. After shuffling through several records by the artist, he noticed tucked behind them there was a rather black looking record sleeve. It seemed to have been forgotten and was covered with dust. He blew the dust off of the plastic wrapping. It had never been opened. His jaw dropped. This was it, it was the album that had been mentioned…the one about the space and time continuum, and it looked like Norman Luboff had cut the record…but how…and when? Why did Luboff, known for his elegant, jazzy choir arrangements, do it, and HOW? He noted the price, 5.50…fairly good for an obscure, single album. So…the album was for sale?
Bob looked skeptically at the price again and then noticed the ISBN number. Would it really cause the end of the world? It was time to call the owner, and his boss, Mr. Skryllex.
Bob went to the telephone and dialed his number. He waited patiently as the phone buzzed.
“Hello,” said a voice on the other end.
“Hello, Mr. Skryllex, I just--”
“Ha ha ha ha! The joke’s on you. You’ve just reached my voicemail. Please leave your name and number and I’ll call you back as soon as you can.”
Bob hung up the phone discouraged, but not before giving a message explaining the situation. Now what was he supposed to do? What if he got rid of the Record and Mr. Skryllex fired him, or what if that was what he was supposed to do all along and Moondog kept lurking around trying to steal it? What if he single-handedly prevented the end of the world? He went to the computer and wrote an email to his boss. He felt bad bothering him so much, but he felt like the fate of the world and his job rested in his boss’s hands.
He sat in the store for another hour listless, and ominously, he realized that he had absent mindedly unwrapped the album from its plastic container while he waited. He thought of what he could do to prevent himself from absentmindedly playing. He put it on top of one of the shelves where he couldn’t reach it, but after a half hour or so, felt worried he might forget where it was, so put it back again. Another half hour passed when he thought he heard a faint voice.
Plaaaaaaaay meeeeeeeeee…..it whispered in his mind.
Bob turned to the source of the sound. It was the record still encased in its black record.
Plaaaaaaaaay meeeeeeee Bob…..just doooo iiiiiiiit.
“No!” said Bob emphatically. Ocassionally, a record would come with a little voice, and it looked like this one had it.
doooo iiiiiiiit
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Feb 29, 2016 13:00:38 GMT -7
Austion made his way down Dust Street, then the rest of the way down Brown Way to his place of work, the editing company Werner's. Ovorp Thorp was a tiny town, and most of the industry was either lightbulbmaking, the trade mostly dominated by the town's humans, or coriander farming, which was mainly the work of the grendel population. Austion, however, had gotten a degree in Medium Professionwork from the academy back home, and thus had an edge finance-wise over more common Low- or No-Profession laborers. Though he still couldn't afford a very good rental in town, Austion at least could save dings for the future.
He opened the door to Werner's and stepped inside, where an enormous dog statue stood next to the door inside. Austion held his lanyard out. The statue stuck out its obsidian snout and sniffed his scan card, then barked deeply. The door beside it shifted open. Austion entered, clocked in with his punch card, then made his way to his boss's office.
The door was open. "Mr. Ravenswort?" said Austion, peering in and knocking quietly on the inside of the door.
The bald man inside was talking on the phone. He looked up at Austion and held up a finger. "Well, that's your fault for raising him that way, ma'am. In fact, I'm rather surprised that he had you call in his place. Has he no spine? Did you, like, not give birth to him with a spine?"
Austion hesitated, then came in and sat down at one of his boss's chairs in front of his desk, looking around idly at the framed pictures of tree stumps that covered the walls.
"Ma'am, the bottom line is, he broke our rules, and now he's fired. The fact that he cried to his mommy about what he did shows that he never learned how to properly follow law." Mr. Ravenswort looked at Austion and rolled his eyes, gesturing to the phone and mimicking stabbing himself in the side of the head. "Look, ma'am, thanks for calling and wasting my time. I really appreciate it. No, really. Tell Henrir that Mr. Ravenswort wishes him dead and unemployed. Uh huh. Buh-bye. Doom on you, too. Bye."
He hung up the phone. "Apshalt, this is turning into a wonderful morning. I could kill someone. What do you want, Bard?"
"I'm better from my sickness, and I was just coming in to collect my paycheck from Tiwsday."
The bald man, flicked at his crested tie. "I don't understand," he said blankly.
"My paycheck. I've been gone for the past three days, but pay day was on Tiwsday. Can I collect it?"
"Oh, that's not how it works," said Ravenswort, rubbing his shiny forehead. "Since you were gone three days, you have to make them up before you can get the money for them."
"No, I mean... Moonday was the only day of this pay period I was gone, so can I get the money from last fortnight? And besides, my three sick days were paid time off."
"First of all, we only give out money on pay day. That's why it's called 'pay day.' Today is not called 'pay day'; therefore, no pay on this day." Mr. Ravenswort gave a strained smile. "Second of all, those days are paid, but you have to make them up on a day-by-day basis. You were gone three days, so you work three days and get paid double for each. That way, it all evens out and you don't go skipping the company after using your last week of vacation."
Austion was stunned, and he felt anger welling up inside him. "Mr. Ravenswort, I worked for the past two weeks. I need that money to pay rent and buy foods."
"I'm sorry that you didn't read the fine print of the employee's tome," said Ravenswort, taking a pen and pretending to write on a brief. Austion could see he was just drawing little squiggles. "But that's the law of this company. I can't give you any money unless it is pay day."
"How was I supposed to get the money then if I was sick?"
"Thanks for bringing that up and making this conversation even longer," said Ravenswort, nodding in mock sincerity. "I really am glad you're using up my valuable time arguing against things I'm not going to budge on instead of doing your work. But I'm afraid I really must cut you short. My final word is this." He opened his mouth as if to say something, then gave a little cough as his hand pointed to a sign on the wall. It read LAW IS THE LAW. "I hope I made myself clear, Bard. I'd hate to have deprived your mind of understanding. Thanks for leaving now."
Austion turned around, fuming. He walked down the hall past the mess hall into a small room with computers in it. The familiar smell of burnt popcorn pervaded the room. Several other people were there, typing away on their computers.
"Hi, Austion," said Shisha, a tall girl with pretty violet eyes behind glasses. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," said Austion, a faint glimmer of happiness floating to the surface of his frustration stew. He was feeling better. And always would. "A lot better, actually."
Austion sat down at his cubicle, where random post-it notes covered with his own scribbles lay plastered. Next to his monitor was an empty candy dish. He logged into his computer, checked his email (nothing but the latest "Rule of the Week" showcase from hravenswort@werners.waw), and began to edit. Werner's was a company that edited any manuscript or written work, be it novel, spellbook, ransom note, defamation letter, king's proclamation, or army propaganda. Today's slew of articles seemed to be mainly cookbook pages. Austion's least favorite. He loved reading about food, but it always made him hungry for the food he didn't have the money to buy.
"Hey, um, Shisha?" asked Austion.
"Yeah?" asked Shisha, her violet eyes sparkling.
"Is there... any way I could borrow some dings?"
Shisha looked confused, then she sighed with realization. "You missed pay day, didn't you?" Austion nodded bitterly. "I think I can spare a few. Do you need money for lunch or something?"
"Rent, actually," said Austion sheepishly. "I doubt you have four hundred dings to spare."
Shisha shrugged sadly. "I'm sorry. I wish. I'd let you borrow it if I did."
"It's okay. I'll figure something out."
Austion went back to editing, fixing up cooking pages full of typos and odd sentence structure for an hour or two. Eventually, he came up to one that called for "1 cup of grarg grass." He stopped typing, stroking his thin goatee, then went to the internet to look it up. He had heard of "grog grass," but never "grarg." As far as he knew, grarg was a type of marshmallow egg tart, but that wouldn't make sense. Would it? He searched for the term, but nothing came up. He decided to change it to "grog grass," which was probably what they meant. As he went to switch tabs in his internet browser, he saw the page he had bookmarked last week. The one on glyphs. Excitement welled up inside him, replacing the frustration and boredom from the hours earlier. He looked around to make sure no one else was watching his computer, then clicked the page.
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Post by Bobo on Mar 2, 2016 9:32:03 GMT -7
Bob suddenly heard the phone ring. Nobody was at the store yet. Maybe it was his boss and he could solve the problem!
Instead, a strong feminine voice was on the other line.
“Hey, Bobby-boo.” said a saccharine voice on the other end.
It was his girlfriend Shisha, who was an editor.
“Hey, what’s up, dear?”
“Hey, one of my friends is looking for extra cash to pay rent. I’m sure you could lend them some money for the next few days?”
Bob knew he probably could, and wanted to do the right thing. After all, it was his generosity that caused Shisha to be attracted to him in the first place. He went for it, “Okay, I’ll talk to this person. Have you told them your boyfriend has some money?”
“No. He doesn't know I have a boyfriend.”
Bob cringed, noting the "he," that had been added. Bob was supposed to be a big part of her life, not uninteresting enough to remain totally unmentioned by her co-workers.
It also really bothered him that Shisha felt the need to be close friends with so many other guys, especially because it felt weird and not right. It made him wonder that maybe she wasn't really as interested in him as he thought and would date someone else she liked better at the first opportunity to do so.
“Okay. Tell him to come to the shop at 5 when it closes, and we can figure it out. What’s his name?”
“Austion. Thanks Bob, you’re the best. Love you.”
“You too.”
“Bye.”
Bob hung up the phone, even more discouraged. His relationship was hanging by a proverbial record needle.
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Mar 3, 2016 17:43:07 GMT -7
The link opened. Austion scanned the low-budget website, clicking the animated gif buttons till he could navigate to the list of Glyphs. Health, Stop, Slippery, Stone, Wood, Bomb... There were so many of them! Despite his excitement, Austion was somewhat unsure about this new interest of his. He had been so lucky to have found the Health and Stop glyphs on that graffitied wall outside Tingo's... what if he never found any more? Was there a way to make glyphs? He vaguely realized he was wasting productivity at work, but the interest factor of these fascinating Glyphs was gluing him to the website.
Okay, thought Austion, glancing at the clock. At 9:10 I'll stop. That's four minutes I can spend. Then it's back to work.
"Austion?"
Austion jumped, instinctively looking at the clock. 9:21?! "Huh?"
Shisha was behind him.
"Oh hi! What—what is it?" fumbled Austion, trying to inconspicuously close the web browser and open the editing program again.
"Sorry for scaring you," Shisha laughed. "I just was on the phone with a friend of mine, and he said he could lend you some money if you need it."
"Oh, that'd be great! Thanks for doing that for me."
"No problem. Do you know where Skryllex's Smoke Shop & Vinyl Records is?"
Austion thought, then remembered it was over in the Detritus Quadrant of Ovorp Thorp. He had never gone into the store itself; despite his surname, music never really interested him, and he had only tried smoking once, when his academy teacher had told him to write a paper on something new he had tried. It had not ended well. "Yeah," he said. "Does he work there?" It'd be a bus ride across town, but his last couple of dings in exchange for enough to pay rent was obviously worth the trouble.
"He said if you meet him there at 5:00 when it closes, he can hook you up."
"I don't want to be a bother," said Austion. "I mean, he doesn't even know me. And he's willing to lend me four hundred dings?"
"He's a really generous guy," said Shisha. "Besides, if you don't pay him back, he can always send me to bust your kneecaps." They both laughed. "Just ask for Bob when you get there. Tell him Shisha sent you."
"Thank you both soooooo much for wasting clocked in company time conversing with each other."
The editors looked up to see Mr. Ravenswort's hairless form looming over them. "I really appreciate that, rather than working, you—"
"Yeah, yeah, we get it. We're sorry, Mr. Ravenswort," said Austion. "She was just helping me out with an editing question, that's all."
"If you would read the rules more closely, use your time more wisely, and stop slacking off so much, Bard, you wouldn't need to ask for help," said Ravenswort, giving a wide, fake smile. He strode around the room, peeking over people's shoulders with his hands behind his back.
Shisha went back to her cubicle. Austion caught her eye and mouthed "Thank you." She mouthed "You're welcome" back and got back to work. Besides getting him out of a bind with rent, she would probably not know what trouble she had saved him from just now.
It was a lot easier to focus now that Austion didn't have to worry about rent, but those Glyphs... Austion shook his head and tried to focus. He could go to the library this weekend and use the computers there to learn more. Provided he had time with laundry and dishes...
He shook his head again, pulling up the cooking article about grog grass. Focus. The time was 9:24. It was going to be a long, boring push till lunch.
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Post by Bob on Mar 5, 2016 14:43:43 GMT -7
Noon came around soon, and several customers had piled in. Bob had had to turn away a customer who had assumed it was still also smoke shop. Mr. Skryllex had given up smoking when he had retired, because of emphysema, and felt the moral need to stop selling them. Bob heartily agreed with this (he had always hated the smell, and unhealthy, and against his religion), but it didn’t prevent it from becoming an unending confusion among occasional customers asking where they could buy a pipe or tobacco. What first had been an annoyance now was kind of amusing. It made Bob wonder what he didn’t notice sometimes. In any case, he tried to get them to buy an album instead, and only sometimes he succeeded. At the same time, he just wished that Mr. Skryllex would just change the sign outside. It was more obvious than the large sign that said as they entered the store, “we no longer sell smoking items.”
Bob looked at the clock as the last lunch customer left. It was 1:45. His boss hadn’t called him back about that album, and it was beginning to worry him again.
Then the voice in his mind came back.
Bob—pla—
“Quiet. Not a peep out of you.” said Bob, suddenly annoyed, cutting the pleading record off again.
Suddenly, the bell of the store dinged again.
Framed Glasses, hair greased back. It was Morton Feldman.
“Hey. Got the album of Time-Space continuum?” Feldman said.
Bob’s jaw dropped. He looked behind the counter at the album. This was it. He didn’t think he could sell it, but he didn't think he could deny a customer outright. He could lie, but that might not be good.
“I’m not selling it to you. There are some issues. Try again or go somewhere else.”
“So…it’s here!”
“Yeah. Could I interest you in another album."
Feldman ignored him again.
“I’ll…I’ll…pay you 1000 dings. Nobody will ever know.”
“Not worth it,” said Bob truthfully. And if the record was what it purported to be, everyone would probably know.
Feldman’s face became red. “You’ll give it to Moondog and his cronies! I just know it. How much did they offer?!”
“I’m not giving it to anyone right now.”
Feldman made a rather awkward grunt noise Bob supposed was supposed to be angry, then stormed out. Maybe what Bob should have done was to call the watch guard.
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Mar 5, 2016 22:00:25 GMT -7
Time went faster than Austion had suspected it would. Before he knew it, lunch and the daily training were over, and forty edited articles later, it was 4:40 and he was packing up his things to go.
"Thanks again for hooking me up with that money, Shisha," said Austion, walking with Shisha on his way out. "My landlord's a friggin' harpy, and, well, you know Mr. Ravenswort."
"No problem," said Shisha. Her tall height was a tad intimidating, thought Austion, but man, she had pretty eyes. If Austion had been interested in dating anyone at this point in his life, he would probably have asked her on a date. He wondered if she had a boyfriend, and decided he didn't care.
"So just ask for Bob, right?"
"Yep! He's a great guy. Kind of lacks self-confidence sometimes, but I think you'll like him a lot."
"Well, he sounds generous at any rate."
The pair exited the door next to the giant dog statue, then went out into the road.
"See you tomorrow!" called Shisha, going south. Normally Austion would have walked with her another block, but the bus stop was the other way.
"Yeah. Tomorrow's Friggaday! Wooo!"
Shisha laughed, then made her way down the street. Austion made his way to the bus stop a block away and sat on a bench. A filthy grendel man was sitting on the other end, hacking dryly.
"Spare a ding, pinkie?" asked the gray-skinned man.
"Sorry, man, I only have enough for me," said Austion. He wasn't really sorry. Grendels were notoriously lazy and disgusting. This old man probably enjoyed begging more than any other job he had been fired from.
Austion counted his money. Four ding notes to his name. He had his inheritance in the bank, but he couldn't access it till he turned twenty-three next year. Not that it was a lot. It probably wouldn't last him more than a year. But it would sure be useful to at least use for savings or emergencies like this. Still, he felt lucky: a ding-fifty for each fare to the record shop and back, and a ding for a meat roll or something for dinner. He read the front of one of the ding notes, which had a picture of a bearded man on the front and read In Zeus We Trust. Indeed, he thought. Despite his trust of Shisha, he rubbed the little lightning-bolt medallion on his keychain and thought of the gods. If this Bob fellow wasn't able to help him out, he was hosed.
Other people gathered around the stop, giving the hacking man a wide berth as he asked for money from each one. Finally, the 5:00 bus came, and everyone piled on.
"You might try busking," said Austion to the grendel before he got on. He gave the busdriver two dings and received a fifty-dot coin in return. Then he made his way through the crowded vehicle to go hang onto a pole.
The city rushed by out the windows. The bus passed the other medium-profession places of work on Brown Way, then left the service district entirely, and Austion saw nothing but miles of coriander fields for a while. It was only about five minutes after that that he looked ahead and saw the Detritus Quadrant coming ahead. He pulled the cord and disembarked. This part of the city was a fair deal dustier than where Austion lived. The quadrant was sandwiched between the windy, dirty fields to the south and the smoggy industrial district to the north. He walked for a couple of blocks.
I could've sworn it was on this side of the road, thought Austion. He passed convenience stores, book shops, and a coffee shop or two, then noticed a sign indicating the streets. He seemed to be at the corner of Hoarfrost Boulevard and Hairy Street... which one was the record street on?
Suddenly Austion staggered as a man bumped into him, almost knocking him to the ground. "Hey!"
The man looked back at Austion, annoyed, then shuffled away. He had a stovepipe hat on and a tweed jacket. Odd clothing for the type of weather the shamans had designed for this time of year. Oh well.
As Austion was about to go back down the street, he looked across the road and saw it: "Skryllex's Smoke Shop & Record Store." The words "Smoke Shop" seemed to have been scuffed a bit. Austion crossed the road and tried to open the door, but it was locked. The lights were still on in the windows, however, and the "Open" sign was still up. Austin peered inside, but didn't see anyone. He pounded on the door, praying to Zeus that someone would let him in.
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Post by Bobo on Mar 7, 2016 16:02:10 GMT -7
The afternoon had been much more busy than usual, with several records being sold, about 200 dings worth. Thursday was a short day. Usually, the business was open until 9, but since they were short handed, the knowledgeable, lanky pair teenagers that tended the store after 6 o’clock were at Band practice, and there was nobody to cover who had the same expertise. Bob had dance lessons with Shisha at 6 today, and there was no time in between to have lunch. It was a good thing that Mr. Skryllex was so informally, unusually flexible. Mr. Skryllex had not answered throughout the day. It made him wonder if he actually cared, or had been distracted by something else.
As 4:45 ticked around, Bob realized that maybe he should do something about the record. It had only bothered him a little, and the question about hiding came up. He locked the door, just in case anyone came back.
Don’t hide me….play…meeeee.
Bob ignored it. After thinking about it, he logically thought of putting in the record sleeve of the album in cash safe that was hidden in a board under the floor, guarded by a combination lock. What was the new combination that they had changed yesterday again? Blast. He would need to put the money in there too. He knew he had it written down somewhere. He frantically ransacked his notes on everything. Nothing. Then he remembered. 41-80-8….hi bob upside down. Just as he was bending down adding cash to the safe, after adding up all the totals from the purchases of the day, he heard a knock at the door.
Oh great. Thought Bob. It was that guy Shisha had talked about. He was tempted to ignore it. He looked at his watch: 5:15. It was good he had been late.
Bob poked his head above the counter and saw a guy with a goatee. He gave him a wave, and then signaled for him to wait a second. The man looked slightly hopeless.
He bent down again and spent the next few minutes putting in the cash.. Then he went and opened the door.
“What was going on?” said Austion.
“Um…confidential stuff.” said Bob.
Austion gave him a slightly skeptical look. Bob didn’t blame him.
“What’s that in your hand?” asked Austion.
Bob looked down, and realized he hadn’t put the sleeve in the safe!
“Umm…let’s just talk about this loan from me.”
“Oh,” said Austion. “Okay. I can pay you back in a short time, so you needn’t be so worried.”
“Yeah. I can sick Shisha on you if you don’t,” said Bob.
Austion gave another puzzled look. Bob had the feeling maybe he didn’t like records or something.
“Can you wait outside, and I’ll open the door when I’m ready? I have some business to attend to briefly.”
Austion looked slightly disappointed, as Bob led him to the door and shut it. Bob went back to the safe and opened it.
Suddenly he heard a yell outside. Bob turned around, and saw Austion being held by a greasy, bug-eyed man. It was Morton Feldman again, holding a knife, and being helped by an accomplice…a bearded man with a goatee, who didn’t look violent in the least. The other man suddenly made a fist, and Bob felt the record in his hand fly out of it cover and saw it land into the Record player.
“Nooo!!!!” said Bob.
The record player clicked on and started rotating. It was only a matter of time! Bob dove and turned it off again.
Then the man was able to telepathically turn it on again.
On-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-…..
Suddenly, Bob stopped as the glass to the store broke, and the man with the goatee held an orb which could cause serious damage to him. An alarm went off! The night guard would be coming for them!
Bob held his hands up. “Okay! I’ll let the record play!”
The record began playing the sultry sounds of Norman Luboff. He hadn’t been stupid, he’d switched records around 4:50 (including the label), but he was hoping these guys would not look closely and be fooled. Sorry the narrator needlessly sort of withheld that detail, but it was irresistible, especially because it caused a cool plot twist.
Both villains mouth hung open, clearly in a state of shock.
“That’s it? THAT’S IT? ”
Both of them looked suspicious, but Bob had done a convincing job. Bob let the record play.
“Maybe it will take awhile!”
“I don’t have that time you fool! The guard will be coming any second!”
“You won’t have to worry if the world comes to an end!” said Bob with fervor, suddenly secretly amused.
“Okay. I’ll take the record.”
The record suddenly floated into his hands.
He turned around quickly and his accomplish let go of Austion, both made a run for it, but it was too late. Glowing nets encompassed their entire bodies, and they screamed.
Justice had been served, but what of Moondog?
“What happened?” said Austion, out of the broken window, rubbing his neck. “What was that all about? And it broad daylight.”
It must have been done when nobody was around, or people must have witnessed it and called the police, who didn’t come until it was too late…and Mr. Skryllex’s window had been broken.
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Mar 8, 2016 12:52:20 GMT -7
The constables arrived and took the bandits away, giving the stolen record back to Bob.
"Apshalt, they attacked quickly," said Austion. "I was going to fight them with my sword, but I saw that orb and knew they meant business. Why did they want to steal that album?"
"It's... really none of your business," said Bob, putting the album away.
"Oh. Right," said Austion awkwardly. "My name's Austion, by the way. Austion Bard."
"Bob," said Bob. "Listen, I have a commitment at 6:00, so let's just go get my money from the bank real quick, okay?"
"That's fine with me," said Austion.
"I'll just go get my stuff. Please don't touch anything." Bob left the room, and Austion was left alone. He could hear the constables radioing in someone to come magically repair the glass and take the thieves away to the dungeons. He noticed they had confiscated the orb, too, which Austion knew was an illegal weapon. Austion idly browsed the record store. Such weird names for composers. He really couldn't tell them apart and didn't even really know what the difference between one section and another was.
Help me... I'm trapped.
Austion looked around. The constables were muttering to each other, but it didn't sound like one of them. "Bob?" Austion called.
Here under the floorboards. Come help me out...
The voice sounded muffled, as if it were being loosely gagged by a sock or something. What was going on here? Was Austion being set up? He began to panic a bit. Who was this Bob character? Was he more than Shisha had thought? What kind of contraband were those thieves trying to steal from him?
Over here, by the Pun-Rock section...
Austion crouched by the section and felt around the floorboards. One of them was loose. He looked back to the hallway where Bob had left, but there was still no sign of him.
"Who are you?" Austion whispered as he lifted the floorboard.
A prisoner... please... open the safe. The combination is 41-80-8.
The safe was big, but it didn't seem big enough for a person to be locked in it. Austion followed the combination, and sure enough, the safe clicked open. Inside he saw a bunch of stacks of cash. He quickly looked around, but no one was looking at him. He'd hate to get busted for stealing when the constables were here, but they weren't looking anyway.
The record... pick it up and play it.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but leave me alone! Are you a ghost?"
I'm a prisoner. Only playing the record will set me free.
Austion hesitated, but took the record out of the dusty black sleeve. The sleeve read "The Album of Space-Time Continuum." What was this, one of those techno space records? Suddenly, he noticed something familiar etched on the vinyl. A red, glowing Glyph. He heard the voice again, and each time it spoke, the Glyph seemed to flicker.
Please, sir. You are the only one who can hheeeEEEELELLLLEL---
Austion felt a whooshing sensation throughout his body as the Glyph detached itself from the record and flew into his eyeball. He felt the cold Glyph slithering around his eye, spinning around like a cold minnow in his eye socket. He cried out, clutching his eye, and then the sensation was gone. He blinked several times, then closed his eyes. His jaw dropped. There, next to the Stop glyph, was the red glyph from the record. He didn't recognize it as any specific rune, but there it was, stocked and ready for him to Inscript. He hadn't meant to store the rune. He had just been thinking about how he had done it the first time, with the Health and Stop runes on the graffitied wall. Apparently, it was definitely a Glyph for all intents and purposes.
Austion heard something from the back room, then quickly replaced the album, closed the safe and replaced the floorboard. He stood up just as Bob came in, adjusting his glasses and stuffing things into a suitcase stressfully.
Austion eyed the floorboard where the safe was buried. "Hello?" he whispered. But the voice that had implored his help made no further noise.
"Did the constables ask any questions?" asked Bob.
Austion shook his head. "Uh, no. They haven't really even regarded me."
"Good," said Bob. "I'm glad they witnessed the whole thing. Less work for us. Let's go."
They left the store, but not before Bob turned the lights off and locked it up. The constables assured him that the glass would be fixed within the hour, and they would make sure it was locked tight.
Bob and Austion walked down the street. "So it's four hundred dings you need?" asked Bob.
"If you wouldn't mind," said Austion. "But could you make it four-fifty? The four hundred itself is for rent, so I'll need a bit more for food and stuff until I get my paycheck. You see, my landlady is an old grendel hag who's all prejudice against humans, you know how it is. Nice people, but man, grendels can be annoying sometimes. And my boss is way too letter-of-the-law. I was sick, and missed pay day, so he won't even pay me until next pay day. It's ridiculous."
"Uh-huh. I can do four-fifty. As long as you pay me back as soon as you get your paycheck."
"Sure thing," said Austion. They walked in silence for another block. "So how do you know Shisha?"
"She's my girlfriend," said Bob, adjusting his glasses.
"Oh," said Austion. He hadn't been expecting that. Why hadn't she mentioned it to him? Perhaps it was an open relationship, or maybe they hadn't discussed the actual nature of their relationship to each other. Austion could understand Bob thinking it was more than it actually was to Shisha. Not that he really cared.
"She's one of my coworkers. Nice girl," said Austion. "So do you live around here?"
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Post by Bobo on Mar 10, 2016 20:13:43 GMT -7
Bob suspected Austion thought that perhaps he was deceived by his girlfriend.
“No. I live in the forest just outside of town, in a…um…quadruplex….by the way…Me and my girlfriend, we’re serious. We’ve been dating for 6 months. We’re Facebook official. And we talk every day, and date every week.”
Austion shrugged his shoulders, perhaps still not convinced.
Bob sighed. It was ridiculous to have small talk, have to explain the problems with his relationship, and give a loan to a random guy when something weird was going on. It was becoming clear: despite her reassurances and verbal expressions of love, his girlfriend had trouble committing in deed as well as in word. However, compared to what happened today, it seemed the lesser of his problems. Would Moondog (or, maybe one of his cronies if he had some) break in tonight and try to steal the record?
They walked in silence. The bank was several blocks away.
Austion spoke again, a little quieter.
“A kind of funny thing happened while you were out.”
Bob looked at him as he could suspect what had happened.
“Go on. What happened?”
“Um…A record spoke.”
Bob sighed. “Yeah. Did it tell you to play him?”
“Yep. And it gave me the combination to the lock. I kind of feel bad about opening it in retrospect. But I didn’t play the record. I apologize”
Bob threw his hands in the air. What was this world coming to? Bob realized that it was futile to try to hide it there. The record could probably speak to whoever had broken in. But the most interesting question he had to figure out, was, why hadn’t it spoken until Bob had touched it?
The neared the bank he had known and loved for the past 10 years. “3rd Trust bank.”
It was a good thing that banks closed at 6 on Thursdays. It was really annoying that banks tended to be closed whenever he was not busy and needed them the most. The façade was neoclassical, with a hint of something formal.
Both men entered the large building.
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Mar 12, 2016 18:33:07 GMT -7
As Austion followed Bob into the Third Trust Bank, he shook his head. He wasn't sure why he had confessed to Bob about what he had done to the record, but at any rate, he was glad that Bob wasn't mad. He seemed more irritated at the record itself. He seemed like a stressed-out kind of guy, and since it had clearly been a long day at work for him, Austion decided not to make any more small talk.
Bob withdrew 450 dings, counted them, and gave them to Austion.
"Shall we shake on it, or write out a contract?" asked Bob.
"You can trust me. And like you said, we can maintain contact through Shisha. I'll give you the money as soon as I get my next paycheck."
The two men shook hands, then parted ways. Bob hurried down the street to go double check that everything was fine with the security of the record shop, and Austion stopped at a meatroll stall and bought a pork roll for dinner. Since the bus wouldn't come for another ten minutes, he looked around at the buildings in this quadrant of the city with interest, but tried to walk with a purpose anyway. This part of the city looked much older than where he lived. It was probably built even before the Dragon Calamity of 1920.
Eventually, Austion popped the last bite of meat and bread into his mouth, and went to the bus stop. Luckily, he was just on time to climb aboard. he gave the busdriver his last personal ding and fifty-dot piece and sat down. Not many people were on the bus now that rush hour had passed.
The bus left the stop and Austion began to feel sleepy. It had been a long day, and tomorrow was Friggasday, the last day before the weekend. He felt as if he could do another day or two's worth of editing work; he'd had the first few days of the week off, after all. But he was very anxious to do some studying on glyphs again.
Suddenly, the bus lurched to a stop, and Austion had to throw out his hand to stop his head from bashing into the metal chair frame in front of him.
The people around him began to murmur sounds of "What's going on? Why'd we stop?" when two dark figures climbed aboard the bus.
"All right, peeps, here's the deal. I want you all to stand up with your hands in the air. My colleague and I are going to take your valuables, quick and easy, and then leave you alone. Anyone draws a sword on us, makes us feel like we're not welcome, sneezes too loudly, they get their throat slit. Understood?"
The people around Austion began to get jittery, but most of them stood up anxiously and raised their hands in the air. Austion, however, utterly panicked inside.
Ap. Shalt. Austion thought. Not now, not now, not now. This is the only money I'll have till my paycheck. And there's no way I can pay Bob back if it gets stolen! Austion began to sweat as his mind raced. The bandits were already starting at the front of the bus, taking people's dings and jewelry and enchanted items. One of them looked familiar.
Austion started. The stovepipe hat, the tweed jacket... he looked really nervous for how intimidating his size and demeanor was. The other bandit seemed to be more confident, directing his partner to check everyone's purses and all their pockets.
Austion slowly reached down to the pommel of his sword. He looked around, but there were just a few old men and an old grendel lady on the bus. No young armed men like him. If there was only one other swordsman, they might have stood a chance at saving the bus. Alas.
"Hey!" Austion started. "I said everyone get up with your hands in the air!" Austion and a couple of other shaken people obeyed, holding their hands up. Austion's mind raced as he looked out the window. They could not find his dings. There had to be a way out of this situation.
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Post by Bob on Mar 19, 2016 19:51:31 GMT -7
Bob slowly walked back to the store. It was starting to get dark outside, and Bob knew that weird people hung around here at this time of night. Well, maybe not as weird as what had just happened. It wasn’t worth it to drive to the bank, but his house was a ways away, and his car was parked at the store. As the sign of the store came into view, he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder.
“Boo!” said comical voice.
Bob turned around annoyed.
“Hey there, Bob-Bro. Fancy seeing you here at this time.”
“Bobo…” but then Bob gave up, knowing it was futile to rebuke him.
His fraternal twin, Bobo, was a clown by profession. While Bob was kind of thin, Bobo was on the portly, and always wore a rather thick furry hoody at this brief, mildly cold time of year in the kingdom of Floridus. The main difference was that Bobo had a broad smile on his face all the time. Bob could remember Bobo embarrassing him in school with his comical antics with his friends, and for saying the most fittingly funny thing at the worst (or for most everyone else who appreciated him, the best) time. Bob couldn’t remember at time where he had not been pranked or made fun of at least once a week by his slightly younger twin. While Bob had been a little embarrassed by his brother in his youth, he had come to accept him as who he was, and even began to think he was kind of funny.
“Bobby-boo, I heard about your store on the radio back from work and thought I’d go check it out and make sure you were okay. I saw your car was still there.”
“Um…Yeah. Everything is good. Thanks for caring.”
“It’s what brothers are for!”
“Let’s go over there and see if everything is okay.”
“Cool. I’ll tell you about it.”
Bob suddenly smiled. Even though his brother Bobo could get in his hair sometimes, he also improved his mood in weird way, and he had to be reminded of it.
Bob unlocked the store again and both entered the quiet dark area again.
“So, what had happened?” said Bobo laconically.
Bob supposed he could tell him what was going on.
He whispered seriously, “The record of Space-Time Continuum. We have it, people are after it.”
Bobo laughed.
“Oh. That one record by Norman Luboff? What a crock. I bought one a few years ago off a guy on the streets, and played it. Nothing but more soothing choral jazz. I have a copy sitting in my living room at this very moment. But when I thought about it, the music was good enough that I’ve played the record at least a dozen or so times. But it never beckoned me to play it. Why do you think it is doing that?”
Bob’s mouth was wide open at this news, so he ignored his question. “You tried to initiate the end of the world?”
“Well. Yeah. Of course. Haven’t you heard that after the destruction of this world, the next world would be much better? The record was only 5.50, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Do you think you may have gotten a forgery?” said Bob, suddenly thinking about why the store had been attacked.
“Well. I dunno. They just said it would. And it didn’t. And it was really fine vintage record with music I could find nowhere else. Well worth the 5.50. How could it be copied?”
Then Bob thought about it. “This is a magical record player in here. It can give off thoughts, smells, feelings, and colors, or even images. What is your record player like?”
Bobo shrugged his shoulders. “I can never afford that fancy stuff. It’s pretty normal.”
“Maybe if you played it on a record with magic involved in it, things would be different” said Bob, trying to stick with his assertion that the record could be harmful.
“There’s only one way to find out! Let’s do it!”
“No! I mean…we don’t know if we’ll survive the end of the world, or if a new world will be born. Let’s not take that risk. Please Bobo. Don’t try what I’ve just suggested on your record.”
“But why not? It’s worth trying—“
“Just…trust me. I am a musician. I know about this and have studied music.”
Suddenly, a strange, disembodied, nasal voice spoke, “I am here. And I agree with your friend.”
Bobo started “Brother. His brother. Do you want to play it too?”
From the moonlight a man with a Viking helmet came into view. Bob wasn't sure how he had gotten in, but it was Moondog.
“Yes. I do. I agree with your brother. We’ll never know unless we try.”
“You are trespassing!”
“Where is the record? Give it to me now!” said the man. "I need it!"
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on Mar 21, 2016 11:57:59 GMT -7
The bandits progressed through the bus, the more confident-looking one rooting through each person's bags and filling a sack with valuables and weapons, the other one with a sword in his hand making sure that the person didn't try and pull a fast one on them. Austion suddenly got an idea. He slowly and smoothly reached down, grabbed his sword, and slid it into his pants, where it rested inside his baggy pant leg. Since he was standing up, they wouldn't be able to see it. They seemed to be rushing this robbery, which made sense. If a constable saw the bus stopped for this long when it wasn't at a bus stop, they would be in trouble fast. At any rate, they weren't taking the time to frisk anyone... or focus on one or two people at a time.
Nevertheless, Austion sweated nervously. He hadn't had to swordfight in some time, and he hoped that he would be able to overpower them by himself. Four-hundred and fifty dings was worth the risk, though. If he lost that money, he'd have to skip town or something equally despicable.
The brutes came to Austion finally, and the bigger of the two nudged Austion aside roughly and grabbed his backpack, rooting through it. The other man glared at Austion. To think that this man had been preparing a bus heist an hour ago...
"Well, well," sneered the confident bandit. "Just made a withdrawal, did you? Aw, ain't that a shame that we have to take it off your hands for you." He leered at Austion, who glared back. The man merely laughed at his angry expression. He dumped the ding bills into his sack, along with Austion's arcane compass. Then they moved onto the next person. Austion waited until they had gone one more person back, then he turned his head around slowly, reaching down toward the sword in his pants. Then he started as he noticed that the stovepipe-hat man was still staring at him. He jerked pack into his raised-hands position. What was this man's problem? Did he remember him from earlier? Still, why would he? He had just bumped into Austion. Why would he be still focusing on him? Austion ventured one more glance, disguising it as making it look like his neck was stiff, but the man was still staring at him.
Austion's fear and nervousness began to be replaced by fury. Who were these men to take all these innocent people's money? Most of all, why were they going to get away with taking his money? It wasn't even Bob's money. It was his. Bob's would come later when Austion earned it to pay back, but those were four hundred and fifty of his dings—
Something hot flickered in his eyelid, as if a hot piece of dust had gotten in his contact lens. But he only ignored it as he lowered his hands, then drew his sword in one smooth motion, then faced the bandits as he stood up into the aisle.
Immediately, his sword met steel as the bandit lunged to stop him. Their swords crossed.
"I challenge you," said Austion. The bandit reared back with his sword again and struck, but Austion easily blocked it. This bandit had clearly not chosen to specialize in swordplay in fifth grade. Was it all a show? Austion switched to firestance to make up for the lack of room in the aisleway, then began to attack with a flurry of strikes. The bandit parried them, but clumsily, as if he had only learned how to defend and not use his enemy's weapon against them. One of the first rules Austion had learned when he specialized.
The other bandit looked up with anger in his eyes. "Kill him, Casey!"
Austion fenced wildly, switching back and forth from earthstance, to defend more cleanly, and firestance. He could feel his anger rising, though he didn't know why. This guy was clearly a pushover and would surrender, but he felt fury wash over him. Who cares if he was going to yield? He deserved to die! His eyelid burned again. The bandit's eyes widened with horror as Austion pushed him back. The other bandit backed away to the back of the bus, then noticed that this particular bus did not have a back door on it.
"We yield!" he yelled. "Casey, drop your weapon. We yield!"
The tweed and stovepipe hat man dropped his sword, dropping to his knees and raising his hands. "Enough!" he said, his eyes squinting as if bracing for impact.
Austion felt hatred envelop him, and something inside him wanted to cut down the bandit where he stood, but he tried to fight it. Why was he so angry? He noticed again that his eyelid felt like it had something in it. He blinked rapidly, and was surprised to find his anger dissipate.
"Spoils or oath?" Casey asked, his voice quivering.
Austion gained his composure, then pointed his sword tip to Casey's face. "Since the valuables are ours, I think they don't count as spoils. Hand them over."
The man behind Casey snarled, then tossed the bag into a seat next to Austion. Austion pointed at Casey again. "I choose oath. Promise you'll hand yourself over to the constables when you exit this bus."
Casey's face sank, then he spat at Austion's feet. "Fine. I swear it on my life."
Austion relaxed, then moved into a seat to let them disembark. They glared at him, then made their way off the bus. It had been wise of them to only have one of them armed. The other bandit was not bound by the oath since he could not have been challenged, and would thus be able to go free and perhaps break his buddy out of prison.
The two bandits made their way off the bus, but not before the more confident bandit said "You haven't heard the last of us, swordsman! You'll pay for messing with our guild." Then they were off the bus. Austion watched them speak briefly, then part in opposite directions.
He picked up the sack, then looked at the others on the bus. "Come get your things," he said quietly.
Everybody cheered.
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Post by Bobo on Apr 2, 2016 20:19:32 GMT -7
Suddenly, a second, more familiar voice called out.
"Hey Guys. My uncle Moondog was curious about your store, so I thought since I was your girlfriend, I could let him in to check it out, even the back storage area. After all, you did give me a key, just in case you needed something. I hope that was okay."
Shisha's blonde hair shown cold like ice. Bob blushed. How was he supposed to get out this? First Moondog, and now his girlfriend, a relative of this guy, totally acting like nothing is wrong.
"Uncle Moondog says you have a really rare album he wants. Could you sell it to him? I'm sure you'd love the business." Her eyes seemed vibrant with expectant hope in Bob's general generosity.
"I'm afraid not, sweetheart," said Bob, seeing the eyes in his girlfriend dim, "You see, the album is preportedly supposed to cause the end of the world. I can't take that risk. I apologize profusely to Moondog though."
His girlfriend gave him a strange look, "But, wouldn't that be a good thing? Uncle Moondog was telling me all about what would happen. You don't need to be afraid. Come on. If you loved me, you would sell the album to him."
Bobo chimed in before Bob could reply, and wasn't a help at all. "Well, I don't see why not. Hey, if I had a girlfriend that kind, smart, and good looking, I'd sell half the store to her uncle if it made her happy, even if did cause the end of the world."
Shisha's eyes glowed at Bobo, clearly in admiration for him.
Bob tried another approach. He shrugged his shoulder apologetically. "My brother Bobo says that he tried it out and it didn't work anyways."
"Lies and speculation," said Moondog bluntly, "I know it needs a special kind of record player."
Bob's worst fears were realized.
Bobo suddenly chimed in again, "well, if you really want the album, you can have mine. I have it at my apartment..."
"No!" said Bob emphatically "I forbid you from doing that!"
Moondog seemed totally unaffected by this revelation, but then it dawned on him what Bobo was saying.
"You mean, that all along, you had one too...?"
Suddenly the phone rang.
"Just a minute," said Bob, relief sweeping through his body, picking up the phone.
A thin, hollow voice rang out, "Hello Bob, I'm glad you picked up the phone. I wasn't sure you'd be here at this hour."
"Hello Mr. Skryllex, did you get my message?"
"Oh. Yeah. It's a good thing you discovered that album hanging out there. I have no idea what I was thinking when I put it up for sale. It's definitely would cause the end of the world. Especially that specific copy of the album."
"Okay. Weird people have been wanting it."
"Just destroy it. It was arrogant of me to possess the fate of the world in my record store."
"And...they seem really insistent. One is here now."
"Tell them I said it isn't for sale: tell them the store is closed, then destroy it immediately. Use whatever means necessary to get them out of the store. Can you do this?"
"Okay, I can, cool."
"You have a wonderful night. Good bye."
Bob hung up the phone relieved and repeated what his manager said, putting his own spin to it.
"It's simply not for sale. I just got back with my manager who said so. Sorry about that. The store is closed. Please come back in the morning and you can certainly buy another album."
To Bob's surprise, Moondog conceded.
"Ah. I can do this, but I'd like to talk with your brother outside."
Bob remembered what Mr. Skryllex had said.
"You are very welcome to do that," he said, though moments earlier he had said just the opposite. After all, if Mr. Skryllex was right, the copy that Bobo had would not even work.
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Post by Jim on Apr 30, 2016 17:34:26 GMT -7
Chapter 3
After Moondog hastily left to catch up with Bobo, Bob and Shisha were left in the store.
"Okay. It's only 5:50. We were going to go at 6. Are we going on a date then, as soon as I destroy the record?" said Bob.
"No. I need to help my uncle out with the end of the world. Sorry about that."
Shisha turned around and exited the store quickly.
Bob stood silently for a few moments. He knew his relationship was falling apart, but Shisha seemed either unaware what was going on, or didn't think of things the same way.
Then he thoughtfully unlocked the safe, and brought out the record.
How was one supposed to destroy it?
He looked at the record again through the moonlight. He noticed a large crack in the record.
How long had it been there? he thought.
Would it still work? He had to make sure he hadn't been seeing things.
Bob turned the lights to full blast to see the damage more carefully.
The record looked even worse in the full light. The crack ran through the record to the right of the text in the middle and the hole. How had it happened? Was it always there? Bob was glad his boss had asked him to destroy it instead of keep it. Thinking about how crumby the day had been made him happy that everyone who had been lusting after this album hadn't gotten it, and if they had, they would have been upset that it was broken.
Bob thought about how he could damage this album that had caused him so much grief today further, just for safe measure. After thinking about several impractical solutions, including an incinerator and a microwave, he decided he would run over it with his car and then throw it in the trash.
In the meantime Bob easily broke the vinyl in half along the crack and the record was now in two pieces. Bob smiled. That would take care of anyone who might be outside when he definitively destroyed it.
The night air was very warm, as it was in the spring of Floridas. Bob smiled again, thinking fondly about how he would pulverize the album with the wheels of his large 4-door vehicle.
He made his way to the driveway and carefully positioned both halves of the album on a wheel so that both would hopefully shatter into a million pieces (vertically on each wheel along the edges). He entered the car, turned on the engine, and then thought critically. Wouldn't shattering them here make a mess he would have to clean up in the morning? Realizing the repercussions of what would happen made change his mind. He got out of the car and took both halves of the record. He would figure something out at his apartment. Then to relaxing and watching episodes of Sun Journey, and the adventures of Captain Jones Dirk, and his assistant Smock.
For good measure before he left, he broke the album into two more pieces. Then he could resist making it to 8ths. How small of divisions could he do?
Soon, the record was into very small pieces, and Bob recognized that without any fancy means, he had definitively destroyed the album. He put the pieces back into the album cover, and then started driving.
Bob turned towards his apartment. As he pulled into the driveway, he heard a familiar voice.
I'm not dead
"No!" said Bob, a little frightened.
I have found suitable and instructed body to inhabit. The Record was just a container I left before you destroyed it. I live!
"Where, and how are you speaking to me from so far away?"
Ah. Well, the record is like a container that I can return to at will, though I found a much more efficient way of doing things when I met your friend. You will see soon enough where I am. Through that vessel, I will destroy the world!
"Not...Shisha?" said Bob, frightened.
Well. Now that you mention it, not Shisha, but of friend of hers. And before destroying the world, I'm going to be sure to mess up your life through him for making the mistake of not playing me! Muhahahahahaha!!!!!
"No!!!" said Bob, freaking out.
* * *
Bob awoke in cold sweat in the middle of the night. His body was shaking. That had been a horrific dream. Then everything came flooding back--The break in at the store, the destruction of the record--Shisha's ambivalence. It had been real, all up to the part when the record started talking to him again while he was driving. Bob thought about it again to make sure it was clear. It had all be real up to the part when the record started talking to him while he was driving. The record was now sitting his kitchen trash can in even smaller pieces. He sighed a breath of relief. Nobody could cause the end of the world now, unless the record had been speaking to in his dream actually did posses such powers.
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Austion
Tenderfoot
Posts: 10
Class: Runemaster
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Post by Austion on May 5, 2016 12:05:53 GMT -7
As the bus drove away, Karn grabbed Casey by the shirt and brought his face close to his own. "What the apshalt was that, you little twerp?" he growled. Casey pushed him away, glaring at the sidewalk. "How did he know you were bluffing? Was it the way you held your sword? Huh?"
Casey said nothing, but kept walking along the sidewalk. Karn followed him, then grabbed him and turned him around to face himself again. "I'm talking to you, Casey," said Karn menacingly. "How did he know you were bluffing? Congratulations, your first bus heist and you're already going to jail!"
"I didn't specialize in swordplay, Karn!" Casey spat, shaking out of his grip again. His stovepipe hat nearly toppled off his head, and he grabbed it before it hit the ground. "You know that. You knew when you let me into the gang that I had specialized in skateboarding. I was a stupid kid in fifth grade, I know. But that's that. It's too late to change, and it's still five years till my second specialty."
"That's not the point," said Karn. "These banditries are little more than stage shows. You intimidate people, they give you what you want, and then you leave. No fighting involved. You could have at least tried to look professional." Karn waved his hand dismissively. "Ahh, what do I care? At least you didn't get me thrown in the brig. I hope you rot in the constables' care. I can find someone else who knows how to properly rob a helpless bunch of busriders."
"You keep blaming me, but you didn't offer to fight in my place," said Casey under his breath.
"What, and get my navel and my nose connected by a scar? You know I specialized in alchemy in fifth grade and sailing when I turned thirty. The point was, you screwed up the whole operation before that guy attacked."
"That guy was nuts," said Casey. "Did you see the fire in his eye? He was going to kill me rather than let me yield!"
"He was a cornered animal," said Karn. "Your problem was, you let him become a cornered wolverine instead of a mouse who would've just peed himself and let us well enough alone."
"I saw him earlier today," said Casey.
"What?"
"I think he knew I wasn't that intimidating. He saw me alone walking on the street an hour or so ago when I was going to your house. That's probably why he had the courage to fight me."
Suddenly, a group of constables came around the corner.
"Aw, apshalt," said Casey, looking up to the heavens in frustration. "How long do you think I'll be in the brig? When can we regroup?"
"We are through," said Karn, pulling the hood of his windbreaker up over his head. "You had a chance as my thief apprentice, and you blew it. I'm telling Morton to take you off the list. After prison, you're on your own. And don't come crawling back to the gang or you're dead."
Karn nonchalantly crossed the street and left. Casey waited till the constables were near, then stopped them.
"I've committed a crime," he said to them. The constables looked at each other.
"What did you do?"
"I've sworn to turn myself in, nothing more," he said. The constables hesitated, then took out shackles to tie him up.
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Post by Jim on May 7, 2016 19:33:53 GMT -7
Bob went back to work the next day, which was entirely without event. He hadn’t heard from his brother Bobo about what had happened at all, but he assumed it had been a dud. The world had definitely not ended. If Moondog and others believed that the record was actually a mischievous prank, then maybe they would leave him alone. In any case, they couldn’t have the record now—it was now sitting in pieces in Bob’s trash can in the kitchen. As 5 o’clock rolled around, two lanky teenagers—apprentices in the record dealing industry came on their bikes to take over the store, after some brief pointers by Bob, who was the trained expert.
“Kids. Don’t be surprised if someone crazy comes into the store while you are alone. If they ask for the Album of Time and Space, tell them it was broken and then disposed of and no longer exists in one piece,” he advised. He knew it was kind of a white lie. It wasn’t disposed of because it was broken—it had broken regardless of the fact he was going to destroy it, but he hoped to hid the truth that it had been destroyed. Perhaps he himself was in denial about it. In any case, he left the pair on their own to deal with whatever happened when he was gone. He got into his car and drove home.
As he went to his driveway, he was surprised do see Austion there waiting anxiously near his door. What was he doing waiting at his door, and how did he know where he lived?
Well. He would find out as soon as he got out of the car, he was sure. He suspected it was more than to simply repay him, if indeed that was what he was doing.
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