RE: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND THREE: PORT CERIDWEN]
08-02-2016, 10:32 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-02-2016, 10:42 AM by Pharmacy.)
“Hrrmmmmph.”
Tschichold balefully observed his surroundings. It was green grass and the smell of freshly cut flowers. There was also a dream-like haze that was all too comfortable, too familiar. Tschichold had no idea where he was. He took another anxious drag off his cigarette. Normally, he would be wary of accidentally setting himself on fire (again), but it’s ok. Dream cigarettes aren’t real.
“Hullo, there!”
Tschichold turned around. There was a tiny mote of light with vibrating wings. Great. A fairy. He disdainfully ignored it, letting his lack of depth perception taking care the rest.
“Fuck off.”
“Why so glum?” The voice was shrill and earnestly bordering on annoying. “Why are you smoking?” Tiny arms gesticulated wildly towards a cartoonishly large pile of empty cartons and cigarette butts. “And why are you littering? Littering is bad!”
“They’re fake and everything feels fake. I deserve them.” Tschic toss his cigarette away with all the pretension a former art student can muster. He proceeded to conjure up another carton out of dream bullshit and crack it open. There was a smear of paint on it. “I’m having a bad day. Series of bad days.”
“Why--” The fairy was interrupted by a raised finger.
“There was a television show. I met some real nice people and some real jerks. There was a beach. There was a casino. There was an inn. I fucked up there and I might had killed somebody. Somebodies.” He drolly looked at the fairy. “It was wild.”
“W-" Another raised finger.
“I was too lost in my own ego and my own miserable euphoria. I am a coward.”
They didn’t talk for a good number of seconds. The silence suited Tschic fine until he decided there was better things to do, like apologizing to everyone for fucking up. He obliterated his cigarette in one breath and proceeded to shuffle off in a random direction. Tschichold had no idea where they were. Where he was. Or where he was going. This was okay.
“Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait—” The fairy swooped at his face with a tenacity of a small bird. “Do you know where you are going?”
“No.”
“Well for the low, low price of your immortal soul—”
“Wait, just my soul?”
“Uh—yes, why? If you want, we could totally do a lease clause with cheaper rates. Emotions, memories, your teeth…”
“Why, that’s practically a steal!”
---
The proceeding conversation was surprisingly a tedious, banal affair. Tschichold would had yawned if it were not for the fact it was his soul on stake. After putting his signature and chop-seal (which Tschic substituted with a cigarette burn), the exchange was officiated and would soon activate as he woke up. Which he did.
“Augh.”
Tschichold fell out of bed with the majesty of a drunk brick. He felt pain and surprisingly in synch with his surroundings for once, which apparently was some tastefully high-end inn. He proceeded to scramble to what he thought was the washroom. He looked in the mirror and was surprised to see a stranger back. He touched it and as much as he tried to will it, there was nary a paint-stain on the surface. He remembered.
For the low, low price of his soul, Tschic got to his destination, got his clean clothes. Most importantly, he got his face back.
“Sooooooorrrrrrrrrry, we could not totally remove your curse,” a familiar voice sheepishly reverberated from a nearby mote of light. “It was a weird curse. It felt grody. Plus, your soul was kind of grody. What the hell is wrong with your soul?”
“Myeugh. It was slightly used. Slightly,” Tschichold observed his face. He hadn’t seen it in months, maybe years. “Someone tried to sell my soul once. It failed horribly.”
He made a face. “It sucked and I hoped he died.”
“Right. I guess I’ll deal with…this,” the fairy was holding a glowing jar. It was grody and the fairy was trying its best to hold it with least amount of fingers as possible. “Good luck then? With this Aaron fellow?”
“Yes, that Aaron fellow. He’s a wizard,” Tschichold said as he put on a jacket. He paused. “Wizards are more useful than artists.”
The orb shrugged and faded away. Tschichold could not care any less as he proceeded to turn in his keys to a pleasant innkeeper and walked out into the street. It was a fairy-town and as expected filled with weird buildings. There was an especially weird one in the distance. It was probably filled with wizards because wizards are weird. Aaron was weird.
Tschichold shrugged. He could start apologizing to him first.
Tschichold balefully observed his surroundings. It was green grass and the smell of freshly cut flowers. There was also a dream-like haze that was all too comfortable, too familiar. Tschichold had no idea where he was. He took another anxious drag off his cigarette. Normally, he would be wary of accidentally setting himself on fire (again), but it’s ok. Dream cigarettes aren’t real.
“Hullo, there!”
Tschichold turned around. There was a tiny mote of light with vibrating wings. Great. A fairy. He disdainfully ignored it, letting his lack of depth perception taking care the rest.
“Fuck off.”
“Why so glum?” The voice was shrill and earnestly bordering on annoying. “Why are you smoking?” Tiny arms gesticulated wildly towards a cartoonishly large pile of empty cartons and cigarette butts. “And why are you littering? Littering is bad!”
“They’re fake and everything feels fake. I deserve them.” Tschic toss his cigarette away with all the pretension a former art student can muster. He proceeded to conjure up another carton out of dream bullshit and crack it open. There was a smear of paint on it. “I’m having a bad day. Series of bad days.”
“Why--” The fairy was interrupted by a raised finger.
“There was a television show. I met some real nice people and some real jerks. There was a beach. There was a casino. There was an inn. I fucked up there and I might had killed somebody. Somebodies.” He drolly looked at the fairy. “It was wild.”
“W-" Another raised finger.
“I was too lost in my own ego and my own miserable euphoria. I am a coward.”
They didn’t talk for a good number of seconds. The silence suited Tschic fine until he decided there was better things to do, like apologizing to everyone for fucking up. He obliterated his cigarette in one breath and proceeded to shuffle off in a random direction. Tschichold had no idea where they were. Where he was. Or where he was going. This was okay.
“Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait—” The fairy swooped at his face with a tenacity of a small bird. “Do you know where you are going?”
“No.”
“Well for the low, low price of your immortal soul—”
“Wait, just my soul?”
“Uh—yes, why? If you want, we could totally do a lease clause with cheaper rates. Emotions, memories, your teeth…”
“Why, that’s practically a steal!”
---
The proceeding conversation was surprisingly a tedious, banal affair. Tschichold would had yawned if it were not for the fact it was his soul on stake. After putting his signature and chop-seal (which Tschic substituted with a cigarette burn), the exchange was officiated and would soon activate as he woke up. Which he did.
“Augh.”
Tschichold fell out of bed with the majesty of a drunk brick. He felt pain and surprisingly in synch with his surroundings for once, which apparently was some tastefully high-end inn. He proceeded to scramble to what he thought was the washroom. He looked in the mirror and was surprised to see a stranger back. He touched it and as much as he tried to will it, there was nary a paint-stain on the surface. He remembered.
For the low, low price of his soul, Tschic got to his destination, got his clean clothes. Most importantly, he got his face back.
“Sooooooorrrrrrrrrry, we could not totally remove your curse,” a familiar voice sheepishly reverberated from a nearby mote of light. “It was a weird curse. It felt grody. Plus, your soul was kind of grody. What the hell is wrong with your soul?”
“Myeugh. It was slightly used. Slightly,” Tschichold observed his face. He hadn’t seen it in months, maybe years. “Someone tried to sell my soul once. It failed horribly.”
He made a face. “It sucked and I hoped he died.”
“Right. I guess I’ll deal with…this,” the fairy was holding a glowing jar. It was grody and the fairy was trying its best to hold it with least amount of fingers as possible. “Good luck then? With this Aaron fellow?”
“Yes, that Aaron fellow. He’s a wizard,” Tschichold said as he put on a jacket. He paused. “Wizards are more useful than artists.”
The orb shrugged and faded away. Tschichold could not care any less as he proceeded to turn in his keys to a pleasant innkeeper and walked out into the street. It was a fairy-town and as expected filled with weird buildings. There was an especially weird one in the distance. It was probably filled with wizards because wizards are weird. Aaron was weird.
Tschichold shrugged. He could start apologizing to him first.