Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Two: BJ
12-10-2011, 12:33 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Jake smiled slowly as the scent of caramel filled his favorite little coffee shop. The whiff of caramel was soon joined by hazelnut, which was itself supplanted by an acrid yet inviting of rich, dark coffee; the barista whose name he didn't know – he wasn't that kind of regular! – smiled at his smile and passed him a cardboard cup and his change. He sat at a table in the corner and settled in, blowing on his drink as he fished out his laptop. It was a comforting routine, and as he swallowed the still-too-hot melange of sweet and bitter, he was happy.
He wasn't aware of the figure standing behind him until his screen reflected a pair of glasses and a scowl.
Jake nearly spilled coffee all over himself and his computer as he leapt up. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Samuel glowered, which wasn't unusual. "It's happening again."
"No it's... That doesn't even make sense. It can't be happening unless you're making it happen, and I just know you'd better not friggin' be doing that."
Jake sat back down, but Samuel kept hovering; he shook his head, creases in his forehead further deepening. "No, it's happening without us."
"Go to Hell. This isn't funny."
Jake turned his back and made as though to go on browsing the internet as though nothing had happened until a leatherbound book thudded onto the table next to him. Its cover and spine were unmarked, and the leather itself was mottled with blues and purples and greens, but it looked like it was just an ordinary book.
"Open it up to any page."
Hoping to end whatever stupid bit Samuel was doing and get back to his life, Jake snatched the book up and flipped it open.
"It's blank."
Samuel sighed. "Okay, go back to the first twenty or so pages. I guess I should have been specific, but..."
Jake muttered some things that sounded an awful lot like "But that wouldn't have been as portentous" and "Drama queen" and there was a pause as he rifled backwards. Then a longer pause as he absorbed the contents.
"This bit's in my handwriting."
"I know. Well, I guessed as much anyway."
There was another, even longer pause, which was eventually broken by Jake blurting out "Are you gonna explain anything at some point?"
The other man shrugged. "There's not much to explain, not that I know. This thing showed up on my bookcase a few nights ago. I saw the contents, I freaked out, I burned it. I didn't want another Macy on my hands, I didn't want another City on my hands. It was back the next day, and I threw it away, and it came back again."
"Is it all stuff we already wrote?"
Samuel sighed and finally took a seat. "Mostly. There's a few passages that we never did, including stuff that looks and sounds like I wrote it. Pretty standard, inasmuch as there's a standard for later-season transitions I guess."
Jake caught Samuel's expression and narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"And there's a foreword by Jennie. It's really garbled and confusing, like she was high as hell and sleep-deprived when she wrote it, but... I dunno, I think it makes reference to events that happened after, ah, you know, her... You know, suicide."
Jake finally snapped. "I swear to God if this is some kind of fucking joke–"
Half the patrons' eyes were on them at this point, if only because of Jake's voluble outburst, and the barista was doing her best to effect an air of professional detachment. I'm just the help, her turned back said, I certainly don't plan on blogging about the crazy guy I saw at work today. Jake settled back down in his seat and seethed.
Samuel hissed through his teeth "How the hell would I know what your handwriting looked like, even if I was good enough to imitate it? You're being a fucking cliche right now. This is happening, and we have to deal with it, and reenacting the first half-hour of every horror movie ever isn't going to get us anywhere."
Jake pulled a hand down his face. "Why should we deal with anything? We said we'd stop this. No more slaughtering fictional people who turn out to be real. No more fucking metafiction. We're just people now, we don't have to do anything."
"We have to deal with it because we said we'd stop. If it's going to keep on going without us we can at least try to make it happen less... implosively."
There was another pause, one that threatened to swallow the preceding pauses in its gaping silence. Jake took several gulps of his coffee and mulled things over in his head.
"Why'd you come to me? I mean, Norm was the one that kept saying we couldn't stop, that it wouldn't work like that. Seems like he'd be the one I'd talk to first if I found mysterious books full of our characters being written by our dead friend or whatever's going on here."
"You don't know I came to you first."
"I do now."
Samuel waved a hand. "You were the easiest to find. Everyone else tried pretty hard to disappear from each other; I'm not even sure Alexis still lives in the city. It's hard to track someone down after the better part of a decade, but I'd seen you on the street occasionally so you seemed like the best place to start."
"Mmm."
Jake leafed through the more apparently-recently-written pages before muttering "So what are you proposing, exactly?"
Samuel slumped back in his chair and sighed. "I wish I knew."
---
Cascala drifted, dreamlike, through the streets of Santa Nada, unheeding and uncaring of the looks she was afforded. Though her theremin was packed up neatly and her amp was unpowered, she was still doing this world's equivalent of strolling through town with an uzi on her hip, decked in full battle garb and just daring someone to bump into her. She of course didn't consciously or intentionally project a threatening image, and was in fact currently unaware that the world had taken some liberties with the cut and style of her clothing; all she knew was that the song was within her and she would do as it bade.
Whether because she truly was in contact with the very fabric of the reality around her or simply because it was bound to happen if she walked long enough, Cascala soon ran – near literally – into Harmon and Klendel. With a beatific smile that couldn't possibly suit someone in the makeup currently plastered across her face and was even more at odds with the livid flesh of her recently-scarred arm, she breathed "It's going to be you, isn't it? Yes, yes I think it probably is. One way or another, you're important to the song."
Jake smiled slowly as the scent of caramel filled his favorite little coffee shop. The whiff of caramel was soon joined by hazelnut, which was itself supplanted by an acrid yet inviting of rich, dark coffee; the barista whose name he didn't know – he wasn't that kind of regular! – smiled at his smile and passed him a cardboard cup and his change. He sat at a table in the corner and settled in, blowing on his drink as he fished out his laptop. It was a comforting routine, and as he swallowed the still-too-hot melange of sweet and bitter, he was happy.
He wasn't aware of the figure standing behind him until his screen reflected a pair of glasses and a scowl.
Jake nearly spilled coffee all over himself and his computer as he leapt up. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Samuel glowered, which wasn't unusual. "It's happening again."
"No it's... That doesn't even make sense. It can't be happening unless you're making it happen, and I just know you'd better not friggin' be doing that."
Jake sat back down, but Samuel kept hovering; he shook his head, creases in his forehead further deepening. "No, it's happening without us."
"Go to Hell. This isn't funny."
Jake turned his back and made as though to go on browsing the internet as though nothing had happened until a leatherbound book thudded onto the table next to him. Its cover and spine were unmarked, and the leather itself was mottled with blues and purples and greens, but it looked like it was just an ordinary book.
"Open it up to any page."
Hoping to end whatever stupid bit Samuel was doing and get back to his life, Jake snatched the book up and flipped it open.
"It's blank."
Samuel sighed. "Okay, go back to the first twenty or so pages. I guess I should have been specific, but..."
Jake muttered some things that sounded an awful lot like "But that wouldn't have been as portentous" and "Drama queen" and there was a pause as he rifled backwards. Then a longer pause as he absorbed the contents.
"This bit's in my handwriting."
"I know. Well, I guessed as much anyway."
There was another, even longer pause, which was eventually broken by Jake blurting out "Are you gonna explain anything at some point?"
The other man shrugged. "There's not much to explain, not that I know. This thing showed up on my bookcase a few nights ago. I saw the contents, I freaked out, I burned it. I didn't want another Macy on my hands, I didn't want another City on my hands. It was back the next day, and I threw it away, and it came back again."
"Is it all stuff we already wrote?"
Samuel sighed and finally took a seat. "Mostly. There's a few passages that we never did, including stuff that looks and sounds like I wrote it. Pretty standard, inasmuch as there's a standard for later-season transitions I guess."
Jake caught Samuel's expression and narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"And there's a foreword by Jennie. It's really garbled and confusing, like she was high as hell and sleep-deprived when she wrote it, but... I dunno, I think it makes reference to events that happened after, ah, you know, her... You know, suicide."
Jake finally snapped. "I swear to God if this is some kind of fucking joke–"
Half the patrons' eyes were on them at this point, if only because of Jake's voluble outburst, and the barista was doing her best to effect an air of professional detachment. I'm just the help, her turned back said, I certainly don't plan on blogging about the crazy guy I saw at work today. Jake settled back down in his seat and seethed.
Samuel hissed through his teeth "How the hell would I know what your handwriting looked like, even if I was good enough to imitate it? You're being a fucking cliche right now. This is happening, and we have to deal with it, and reenacting the first half-hour of every horror movie ever isn't going to get us anywhere."
Jake pulled a hand down his face. "Why should we deal with anything? We said we'd stop this. No more slaughtering fictional people who turn out to be real. No more fucking metafiction. We're just people now, we don't have to do anything."
"We have to deal with it because we said we'd stop. If it's going to keep on going without us we can at least try to make it happen less... implosively."
There was another pause, one that threatened to swallow the preceding pauses in its gaping silence. Jake took several gulps of his coffee and mulled things over in his head.
"Why'd you come to me? I mean, Norm was the one that kept saying we couldn't stop, that it wouldn't work like that. Seems like he'd be the one I'd talk to first if I found mysterious books full of our characters being written by our dead friend or whatever's going on here."
"You don't know I came to you first."
"I do now."
Samuel waved a hand. "You were the easiest to find. Everyone else tried pretty hard to disappear from each other; I'm not even sure Alexis still lives in the city. It's hard to track someone down after the better part of a decade, but I'd seen you on the street occasionally so you seemed like the best place to start."
"Mmm."
Jake leafed through the more apparently-recently-written pages before muttering "So what are you proposing, exactly?"
Samuel slumped back in his chair and sighed. "I wish I knew."
---
Cascala drifted, dreamlike, through the streets of Santa Nada, unheeding and uncaring of the looks she was afforded. Though her theremin was packed up neatly and her amp was unpowered, she was still doing this world's equivalent of strolling through town with an uzi on her hip, decked in full battle garb and just daring someone to bump into her. She of course didn't consciously or intentionally project a threatening image, and was in fact currently unaware that the world had taken some liberties with the cut and style of her clothing; all she knew was that the song was within her and she would do as it bade.
Whether because she truly was in contact with the very fabric of the reality around her or simply because it was bound to happen if she walked long enough, Cascala soon ran – near literally – into Harmon and Klendel. With a beatific smile that couldn't possibly suit someone in the makeup currently plastered across her face and was even more at odds with the livid flesh of her recently-scarred arm, she breathed "It's going to be you, isn't it? Yes, yes I think it probably is. One way or another, you're important to the song."