RE: Inexorable Altercation [Round IV - Hezekiah]
05-25-2013, 01:01 AM
”I was wondering when you’d get here,” the you, presumably, meaning us, the outsiders, this group of whom Parset, the gnome uncomfortably supposed, was now a member.
Or wait.
The woman—the figurehead of the vessel, as Parset understood, applying the principle of something-something-magic that got him through the more abstract periods of his life—seemed to have her eyes squared solely on one member of the party. She was staring down the odd-one-out among oddities—Chester, the native, the loping giantish.
“I’m here,” he confirmed, his gruff voice going a little tender.
”We’re looking to cut a deal,” cut in Will. ”We were placed here without a trial for no particular crimes. If we can find a—“
”I don’t care overmuch,” confessed the figurehead, still watching Chester. “’No particular crimes.’ I could name some. Witchcraft. Assassination. Drunk and disorderly. Meddling with time. Burglary. Various assaults. And, hmm—“ she stole a glance at Annaliese, despite herself, Parset thought—“Tyranny. Everyone deserves to be punished for something.”
“But not you,” insisted Chester. “All you did was your job. Performed your function. Meted out justice.”
“I didn’t mention your sins, Chester. And neither, I’ve noticed, have you. I understand there’s no question ruder than ‘What are you in for,’ but Mr. Haven in particular, I think, has been dying to know.” She looked at Will tauntingly. “Would you like me to tell you?”
”No.”
”I’m a bit curious,” offered Annaliese. Withering under Chester’s glare, she added: ”You know, if you’re willing to share. We could all go sit in a circle and explain all the cryptic things this one’s been saying. And then we’ll all be in the know and we can stop being cryptic and have a nice normal conversation.
“It, um, we could make sort of a game of it.”
”They wouldn’t understand,” said Chester to Hezekiah ignoring Annaliese, “Even if you spelled it out for them. Only you understand me.”
“I do.”
“You’ve been punishing me for three years. You know everything I’ve done.”
“Everything you’re capable of.”
“You played on my guilt and my suffering like a violin. You’re an artist.”
The image of the woman flickered like a candle acted on by a sudden breeze. “And you’re a work of art,” she said.
“I’ve been in love with you for, if I count right, two of those three years.”
“I loved you since the second you entered me. In all these years, Chester. You were the only one who ever asked how I felt.”
“Hezekiah,” said the man-ape weakly.
“Chester. My Isaiah.”
Chester ran to embrace the woman and passed through her. A ghost, then. Or a vision or an avatar of a higher force. Parset kissed his key, not knowing any other gestures of faith appropriate to the situation. When Chester came out the other side of the woman she was crying.
“I deserve to be in here, just like all of you,” she admitted. “I’m just like Xylphos. A sadist. I’ve spent centuries only pretending to care about justice anymore.”
“You’re perfect,” cried Chester, declining to look at her—or, maybe, looking at the real her, the rippling walls of the ship’s “brain.” “You’re the spirit of liberation. You sail where you wish and take us all with you.”
“Then I’m bringing you all into hell,” snapped Hezekiah. “I’ve started to fantasize… a higher justice. I built walls around infinity. I found religion. ‘In those days Hezekiah was sick unto death. And Isaiah the prophet son of Amoz came unto her, and said unto her—”
“I’m not a prophet and I’m nobody’s son.”
“And said unto her, ‘Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not live.’ Then Hezekiah turned her face to the wall--”
Chester touched his hand to the wall. It quivered. A spark shot out. “And prayed unto the Lord. And said, ‘Remember Lord, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and done that which is good in thy sight.’”
“And Hezekiah wept sore. You never got the joke, Chester.”
“’Behold, I have seen thy tears: behold, I shall add unto thy days fifteen years.”
“Chester,” snapped Hezekiah. “Meaning ‘a camp of soldiers.’ Alternatively, ‘one who chests.’ Or ‘more chest.’”
Parset had long lost track of what was going on. Loran looked like he was considering killing one or both of the conversants. He had an idea that another conversation was occurring, parallel to the heightened-sounding nonsense he was hearing, in some higher language, in gesture, in touch. This, perhaps, was the negotiation Will had intended.
“’And I shall deliver thee and this city out of Assyria,’” said Chester. “’I shall defend this city.’”
“I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to the gates of my grave; I am deprived of the residue of my years.”
“O Lord, by these things men live, and and in all these things is the life of thy spirit; so wilt thou recover me, and make me to live.”
“Death cannot celebrate Thee: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for Thy truth.”
“But Thou hast in the love of my soul delivered me from corruption; for Thou has cast all my sins behind my back.”
Hezekiah turned to face Chester, put her hand to his back. It seemed more tangible, now; Parset thought he imagined an actual contact. The figurehead wept as she spoke. “I reckoned till morning, that, as a lion, so He will break all my bones; from day even til night wilt Thou make and end of me.”
“God, yes.”
Hezekiah whispered in Chester’s ear, passionately, even sensually: “What shall I say? He has both spoken unto me, and himself hath done it.”
Brrrrzzzzap!
The walls went aflare with lightning, contracting, undulating even, a spasm of raw energy. Chester’s body fell backwards, unconscious. Loran, more to make a point (or so surmised Parset) than out of any expectation of effect, threw a knife through the figurehead’s eyeball. Will had his weapon out. Annaliese and Parset exchanged a glance, both willing, despite an intangible voyeuristic sense of shame, to watch events unfold. Hezekiah shot the creeper a glare, cradling Chester’s head.
“I’m handing the locks and the keys over to you, my love,” she murmured. “And all the whips and chains. Be my jailor. Punish me like I deserve. Override me like only you can.”
“Oh,” whispered Chester. “Four, four, six, oh.”
“Oh, God,” said Hezekiah. “Um. Thank you.”
“Oh nine seven six seven! One six two two four oh nine two six!”
“Oh, God, yes. Yes. Yes. More. Hack me, Chester.”
“One four eight two two, oh, nine, oneoneoneone oh, oh, oh, OH, OH”
At once the Hezekiah figurehead disappeared and Chester rose to his feet, fully awake. He sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m inside her now.”
”Enough double entendre,” demanded Loran. ”You took control of the ship away from ‘Daddy Ham’ and now we can kill him, right?”
”My overrides don’t override his override,” said Chester. “So we’ll be fighting him at every step.” He smiled. “But no one knows the girl like I do.
“We’re going to win this. Nothing's going to get in our way.”
And Nothing did.
Or wait.
The woman—the figurehead of the vessel, as Parset understood, applying the principle of something-something-magic that got him through the more abstract periods of his life—seemed to have her eyes squared solely on one member of the party. She was staring down the odd-one-out among oddities—Chester, the native, the loping giantish.
“I’m here,” he confirmed, his gruff voice going a little tender.
”We’re looking to cut a deal,” cut in Will. ”We were placed here without a trial for no particular crimes. If we can find a—“
”I don’t care overmuch,” confessed the figurehead, still watching Chester. “’No particular crimes.’ I could name some. Witchcraft. Assassination. Drunk and disorderly. Meddling with time. Burglary. Various assaults. And, hmm—“ she stole a glance at Annaliese, despite herself, Parset thought—“Tyranny. Everyone deserves to be punished for something.”
“But not you,” insisted Chester. “All you did was your job. Performed your function. Meted out justice.”
“I didn’t mention your sins, Chester. And neither, I’ve noticed, have you. I understand there’s no question ruder than ‘What are you in for,’ but Mr. Haven in particular, I think, has been dying to know.” She looked at Will tauntingly. “Would you like me to tell you?”
”No.”
”I’m a bit curious,” offered Annaliese. Withering under Chester’s glare, she added: ”You know, if you’re willing to share. We could all go sit in a circle and explain all the cryptic things this one’s been saying. And then we’ll all be in the know and we can stop being cryptic and have a nice normal conversation.
“It, um, we could make sort of a game of it.”
”They wouldn’t understand,” said Chester to Hezekiah ignoring Annaliese, “Even if you spelled it out for them. Only you understand me.”
“I do.”
“You’ve been punishing me for three years. You know everything I’ve done.”
“Everything you’re capable of.”
“You played on my guilt and my suffering like a violin. You’re an artist.”
The image of the woman flickered like a candle acted on by a sudden breeze. “And you’re a work of art,” she said.
“I’ve been in love with you for, if I count right, two of those three years.”
“I loved you since the second you entered me. In all these years, Chester. You were the only one who ever asked how I felt.”
“Hezekiah,” said the man-ape weakly.
“Chester. My Isaiah.”
Chester ran to embrace the woman and passed through her. A ghost, then. Or a vision or an avatar of a higher force. Parset kissed his key, not knowing any other gestures of faith appropriate to the situation. When Chester came out the other side of the woman she was crying.
“I deserve to be in here, just like all of you,” she admitted. “I’m just like Xylphos. A sadist. I’ve spent centuries only pretending to care about justice anymore.”
“You’re perfect,” cried Chester, declining to look at her—or, maybe, looking at the real her, the rippling walls of the ship’s “brain.” “You’re the spirit of liberation. You sail where you wish and take us all with you.”
“Then I’m bringing you all into hell,” snapped Hezekiah. “I’ve started to fantasize… a higher justice. I built walls around infinity. I found religion. ‘In those days Hezekiah was sick unto death. And Isaiah the prophet son of Amoz came unto her, and said unto her—”
“I’m not a prophet and I’m nobody’s son.”
“And said unto her, ‘Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not live.’ Then Hezekiah turned her face to the wall--”
Chester touched his hand to the wall. It quivered. A spark shot out. “And prayed unto the Lord. And said, ‘Remember Lord, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and done that which is good in thy sight.’”
“And Hezekiah wept sore. You never got the joke, Chester.”
“’Behold, I have seen thy tears: behold, I shall add unto thy days fifteen years.”
“Chester,” snapped Hezekiah. “Meaning ‘a camp of soldiers.’ Alternatively, ‘one who chests.’ Or ‘more chest.’”
Parset had long lost track of what was going on. Loran looked like he was considering killing one or both of the conversants. He had an idea that another conversation was occurring, parallel to the heightened-sounding nonsense he was hearing, in some higher language, in gesture, in touch. This, perhaps, was the negotiation Will had intended.
“’And I shall deliver thee and this city out of Assyria,’” said Chester. “’I shall defend this city.’”
“I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to the gates of my grave; I am deprived of the residue of my years.”
“O Lord, by these things men live, and and in all these things is the life of thy spirit; so wilt thou recover me, and make me to live.”
“Death cannot celebrate Thee: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for Thy truth.”
“But Thou hast in the love of my soul delivered me from corruption; for Thou has cast all my sins behind my back.”
Hezekiah turned to face Chester, put her hand to his back. It seemed more tangible, now; Parset thought he imagined an actual contact. The figurehead wept as she spoke. “I reckoned till morning, that, as a lion, so He will break all my bones; from day even til night wilt Thou make and end of me.”
“God, yes.”
Hezekiah whispered in Chester’s ear, passionately, even sensually: “What shall I say? He has both spoken unto me, and himself hath done it.”
Brrrrzzzzap!
The walls went aflare with lightning, contracting, undulating even, a spasm of raw energy. Chester’s body fell backwards, unconscious. Loran, more to make a point (or so surmised Parset) than out of any expectation of effect, threw a knife through the figurehead’s eyeball. Will had his weapon out. Annaliese and Parset exchanged a glance, both willing, despite an intangible voyeuristic sense of shame, to watch events unfold. Hezekiah shot the creeper a glare, cradling Chester’s head.
“I’m handing the locks and the keys over to you, my love,” she murmured. “And all the whips and chains. Be my jailor. Punish me like I deserve. Override me like only you can.”
“Oh,” whispered Chester. “Four, four, six, oh.”
“Oh, God,” said Hezekiah. “Um. Thank you.”
“Oh nine seven six seven! One six two two four oh nine two six!”
“Oh, God, yes. Yes. Yes. More. Hack me, Chester.”
“One four eight two two, oh, nine, oneoneoneone oh, oh, oh, OH, OH”
At once the Hezekiah figurehead disappeared and Chester rose to his feet, fully awake. He sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m inside her now.”
”Enough double entendre,” demanded Loran. ”You took control of the ship away from ‘Daddy Ham’ and now we can kill him, right?”
”My overrides don’t override his override,” said Chester. “So we’ll be fighting him at every step.” He smiled. “But no one knows the girl like I do.
“We’re going to win this. Nothing's going to get in our way.”
And Nothing did.