Larry's brilliance is, as always, only exceeded by his untamed genius.
"Okay, so, angels are holy, right? They should glow, right? So we just need more angels in here, right? Right!"[Larry's affinity roll: 3+1+1]
He faces the darkness and wills it to be engulfed in serene angels of sound and spiciness - and this is indeed what he gets, for the darkness is immediately suffused with pure angelic essence, the noisy shuffling of wings and the smell of fresh fruit, peppers and cilantro livening the place up considerably, and the singing of angelic, unmistakably ethnic voices only improves the mood.
Unfortunately, however, no light is produced by any of this.
"Doesn't help the light issue, but at least the place smells better, am I right?" the guy tries to be positive.
* * * * *
Halesey, being largely a cosmic phenomenon rather than a proper human being at this juncture, awaits the awakening of this drunken foolish person. When he doesn't seem to be about to do any such thing within an hour, Halesey moves on to the next plan, which is to poke him mercilessly. He pokes the man with the fleshy lining remaining of his foot, and is disappointed when this fails to wake the man in any way. Clearly more advanced methods are required.
"Wake and receive thine Holy Potato, Wise Drunkard! Tell me your name, and gaze upon your god! That's not me, incidentally," he shouts experimentally. The drunkard still doesn't react in any way. Bugger.
* * * * *
John, urged into action by the mild verbal abuse of his imaginary friend, plunges back into a world of magical glory by opening the magazine and inhaling deeply as he regards its secrets.
[John's mind roll: 3]
The world fades away, and above John is a sky of infinite, flat grayness, pure nothing. Beneath him is a meadow. And right there at eye level, there is nothing but a small black figurine, spinning in place. John looks at it curiously - it's a very stylized affair, a single small pillar with two large horns protruding from it, a single white light between their bases glaring all about. Continuing to observe the thing, John notices that it seems to be starting to slow down, until it comes to a stop, single pinprick of light staring him right in the eyes.
The figurine twists ninety degrees, then plunges itself into John's abdomen horns first, stabbing right into him, causing John to plummet to the ground, his concentration momentarily lost. Within seconds, he hits the ground hard, at which point he snaps back into reality.
1. Cloud of Humongous T-Shirts
Beautiful! Now try a few more times and we'll be golden!
* * * * *
THE DUNKER knows what to do with a crowd of agitators - who would be better suited at dispersing them than the fine representatives of the nation's labor unions?
[THE DUNKER's affinity roll: 4+1]
A few people in the crowd are suddenly enveloped in vaguely spherical aggregations of green people who look like they're packing heat, their expressions rather grim and lethal. The other people in the crowd barely even notice, and do not react in any way - feeling this to be but a ruse, THE DUNKER orders the mafiosi to help out! Oddly, only one mafioso says anything back, and even that seems to be to soundly refuse the wizard's bidding on grounds of that not being part of the spell.
"These people remind me of my own flock, they do," Hungry Pete says, scratching his chin.
"Although they are more scantily clad and slightly more blasphemous!"His eyes flash, and behind him appears a large amount of floating pies, moving quickly to orbit slightly above him, oddly menacing for a bunch of baked goods.
"My weapons are ready. Now I need only my shield of truth, and we may charge!"* * * * *
Eta, properly and rightfully paranoid of the horrors that lurk inedibly and indelibly in the night, moves out to reach the hotel. Every shadow seems ready to snap at her, and the occasional dinosaur rumbles as she passes by, making her jump with sudden fear, followed by a bout of sprinting for dear life. Every alley harbors vicious thugs and ancient conspirators in the guise of hobos, and Homeland Security lurks around every corner, ever so willing to take her to a secret place beyond the reach of the law so that the true extent of her activities can be discovered. She takes detours around lone pedestrians with what look to be smiles on their faces, ducks into doorways at each passing car. The streets feel full and brimming with ill intent, unlike their peculiar perceived lifelessness in the face of habitation during the hours of the day.
The circuitous, maddening routes she takes to avoid even the slightest hint of trouble and to hopefully throw off whatever is pursuing her cost her time - when she reaches the hotel, where Little Tay is waiting at the desk, she is exhausted, yet more tense than she has been ever before. As he raises his eyes to look at her, Eta feels terribly exposed all of a sudden.
"Hey, where you been?" he asks in a manner that sounds vaguely meaningful and slightly nervous.
Author
Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 256121 times)