fett on 15/2/2005 at 23:35
Chapter 19 – Awedude – 10:30pm
Garrett emerged from the blue mist like methane from a Burrick, silent and deadly. He’d made the rounds collecting various tools and weapons to aid him in his venture against Elvis. Unfortunately, none of the thief supply stores carried hot dogs or moon pies with which he could lure the monster. He’d have to improvise. It took him all of 45 seconds to walk the width and breadth of Awedude, with no sign of Elvis anywhere. The only place left to look was in the sewer.
In the water.
He’d tried desperately to find another way, but without actually climbing down into the canal, there was no way to be sure he was seeing everything. Maybe the pump house would reveal some way to at least lower the deadly water to ankle level.
The pump house door was barred by an unnatural overgrowth of vines. A note posted to the door read:
[indent] Dyan havers another nightmares. A horrible monster bes living in thems canals. As long as them water levels in thems canals stays high, none of them Cityheads can do’s something stupid and cause trouble with thems monsters. Be’s you needers to get into thems pumphouse, seek Dyan in the park. She havers some weed killers that bes making thems vines go away. Whys we’re living in park near murderous monsters whens we havers all of that goodsie land from Trail of Blood is beyond me. I should be in chargers but Nnnnnnoooooo. We’s be having to haves a woman running things. Bah!
Larkspur.[/indent]
Garrett made off for the park to get the weed killer, knowing full well that the Pagans weren’t going to give him a warm welcome.
Just grab the weed killer and get out.
Problem was, getting past the sentries and into the park was impossible.
Maybe those invisibility potions weren’t so lame after all…
“Garrett!! We’s be deadening you!” a bald man in a loincloth ran toward him.
Garrett showed him the gas bomb glowing in his hand, “Hold it right there buddy, no one has to get hurt,” he averted his eyes, “And uh…could you put the mouse back in the house?”
“Ah, sorries about that,” said the loincloth guy adjusting his meager garment, “but if you’s not be using your magic arrows on cocoons, me’s be deadening you.”
“That’s what this is all about? I thought that was some kind of joke. I’ve got plenty of arrows to spare.”
Garrett launched a few water, moss, and gas arrows into the cocoon, which responded by glowing green.
“You users many arrows thiefsy,” said the bald guy.
“No problem – they’re laying around everywhere. And you wouldn’t believe the economy these days. They cost pennies.”
Everything was going fine until he started in on the fire arrows at which point the pagans around the cocoon went ballistic and charged him with swords and daggers drawn.
I literally cannot win…
He spotted the jug of weed killer sitting on a nearby park bench, grabbed it, then took off for the pump house. The pagans gave chase for a few yards but inexplicably lost him when he turned the first corner.
The pump house door gave way easily and Garrett managed to lower the water level and stay his fear enough to climb into the canal. After a bit of exploration he managed to find the entrance to Elvis’ lair. Huge iron gates guarded the way in. A glittering sign across the gaping hole in the sewer read: Graceland.
Elvis’ Lair – 11:15pm
After spending twenty minutes trying to unstick himself from the spiral staircase, he made it upstairs.
Gaudy didn’t begin to describe the décor. Rhinestone encrusted gargoyles and gold plated mirrors broke up the black velvet tapestries with hideous depictions of tigers and sports cars.
Graceland? More like Carport Sale Land…
Elvis had conveniently left books laying open all over the place for him to read:
[indent]The Song of Unbinding.
I gotta keep ya here with me. If’n I don’t, Garrett might use you to bust up ma stone bodyguards. I’m a feared of ya. Fer now, I’m gonna hide ya in plain sight in the main room of tha house. Ain’t nobody gonna look there![/indent]
Not the brightest guy in the world…
He also found a telling volume from the Keeper Library:
[indent]The Letters of Diocen, Book 5
To the Council –
I am nearing the end of my ability to take myself to the bathroom, and therefore will not be able to serve as Interpreter. My apprentice, Cattlecall, though blind and incoherent, is going to be highly pissed if she doesn’t get the promotion. I’m not gonna be around when the shit hits the fan, so what do I care? For the future, the prophecies are clear and rife with warnings. With the help of the young acolyte that chose thievery over our laziness, we shall eventually overcome the first two trials. Then, if finances and marketing trials permit, a third dark age will approach, but here the songs are not so clear, as is evidenced by the way we’ve been grasping around for a plot line. Interpreting the third trial will be Cattlecall’s life work, if she can resist Orlandos insistence that she moderate Trivial Pursuit games. She knows this, and accepts her fate with oblivion.
To the Council –
This will be my last missive. The songs have taken all from me. I hope my efforts have not been in vain, though I fear most of this will go unread because you are a bunch of illiterate buffoons. If there is a Song of Transmutation, then there is a terrible danger. A sex-changing glyph would be too much a temptation for any Keeper, particularly that Bowie fellow. Keep a close eye on him. We must scour the old texts for any references to such a song. It is possible that early Keepers found it…but that the knowledge was lost during the great Shuffleboard debacle of ’27. Stupid Shuffleboard.
Interpreter Diocen[/indent]
Well at least that explains how Elvis made himself look like a girl for all those years. Though, just barely…
In the next room he found a stone gargoyle which he dispatched with a fire arrow. He spotted the Spittoon.
How many times am I going to have to steal this thing?
He went to pocket it, but it looked to be full of slimy brown muck. He carried it into the next room – which appeared to be Elvis’ bedroom – and wiped it off with the purple silk sheets.
Here he found a text entitled Final Song/ Last of All Songs:
[indent]
Cross check fer other names used?
Artifacts – Crown – where? Check Cattlecall’s notes. Lost Beyond Time, Under the Above World. Landmarks? Must be important. Awedude Plaze – Terry Bradshaw Momument – Kidney?[/indent]
It went on for several pages mentioning several artifacts – among them the contact lens taken from Garrett’s eyeball years ago – and locations throughout the City. There was more here than met the eye.
Maybe Elvis' journal would shed some light:
[indent]
Ma efforts have met with problems, dadgummit, but I guess I can still use Garrett. He can steal stuff I can’t, and I know more’n he does.
I remember the day Summersault found tha song, My song, and I knew even though I promised never ta use it, that one day I’d be able to get it. It called to me, It sang me it’s song. I tried to sing back. That’s when I figured out how ta keep ma’self from getting’ older. And it worked. And now, ma music has lasted longer’n any of ‘em imagined.
Up till now, I was usin’ the pants of that teeny-bopper Ashley to hide from everyone, but that jig is up.
And Orlando’s dumber’n a mud fence, thinkin’ my letters were from Cattlecall. I done stole all these books I need too. My mamma said I wasn’t the smartest bulb in the box (or sumthin’ like that), but Orlando ain't got the sense god gave a piss-ant to get in out a tha rain.
But ah got bigger things ta deal with now. Other people are gonna wanna use the song, and I’m gonna give it to them. I’m the Song now. And I’m gonna sing till the world hears me. I’m staging a comeback tour![/indent]
They say he was a legend once, but whatever he was, Elvis has become a sweaty, overrated fat guy in need of a Hooked on Phonics course.
After blazing through a few more talking statues, he found the Jackelopes Paw. Again. Whatever it was.
He thought he’d seen the whole place, when he spotted two balconies in the courtyard and remembered his climbing gloves.
Upstairs and down the hall, he found a huge room, occupied by a large map of the City, and Artimus.
“Hey – how did you get up here?” Garrett asked.
“Climbing gloves,” he flashed a pair, “they’re all the rage now you know.”
“I thought I told you I don’t like being followed.”
“But I didn’t follow you here. I was here first, therefore, you followed me.”
He considered this a moment. “Fair enough.”
“Garrett, our paths have converged. We seek the same thing.”
“A weekend off from all this stupidity?”
“No, the mystery of how Elvis’ songs can continue to endure, despite how gut-wrenchingly awful they are.”
“True. I guess if you were working for Gamall, you would have tried to kill me just now.”
“Me? Working? That’s a laugh. But look around – this is Elvis’ secret recording studio. Here he has been writing music for other pop singers, lurking in the shadows, for what seems like several lifetimes. He has used the songs to…extend his life.”
“You know how to read Artimus.”
“A little. I subscribed to the Dr. Suess club last year and it’s been very helpful. In these books Elvis has documented his plans carefully. The meaning of the map is not yet clear to me, but then, I’m a little drunk right now, so don’t expect too much.”
Garrett looked at the map table that dominated the center of the room, “The Spittoon, the Crown…these places are marked with the names of the artifacts.”
“These books – some have been missing for months, some for decades. I thought Orlando was keeping them in the bathroom with him.”
Garrett places one of the map markers into the corresponding landmark and the map lit up with a familiar blue light.
The change in the map drew Artemus’ attention as he walked over to it.
“The Awedude Plaza, the Southtowne Plaza?”
“Well, now we know what to do with the artifacts once we’ve found them,” Garrett said.
“He has been planning while we’ve playing Pictionary.”
“Do the books say where he is now?” asked Garrett.
“The artifacts, by pure coincidence, are all at the museum. He hopes to gather them all at once.”
“And when has them, he plans to sing this ‘final song’?”
“No, no, the books are very clear about that. He intends to destroy the lyrics. When he has the artifacts he’ll have the power to do just that.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Yes, I know, but it will explain why you need to go to the museum. It’s all I have.”
“He’s only scared of one thing, that Final Song. Well, two things – he’s scared of you as well. Oh! And he also has a slight phobia of high protein food that’s not processed. I’ve also heard he’s terrified of television sets…”
“Ok ok, I get the picture. But the Keepers told me to destroy the lyrics or the song or something. It all runs together now. More manipulation from the Keepers? Why am I not surprised?”
“Why indeed? They’ve shafted you ten or twelve times now. You should know better. Sucker.”
“Bite me Artemus.”
“I will go to Orlando and get the truth from him myself.”
“I’ll go to the museum and get the artifacts before Elvis does.”
“And we’ll go file for unemployment,” shouted the dev team as they passed the doorway heading down the hall.
Garrett and Artemus looked at each other and shrugged.
“We’ll meet back in Awedude Plaza. And Garrett – if you encounter Elvis, you must understand – with that voice and pelvis shaking of his, he’s almost indestructible.”
“Right, I’ll keep that in mind. Artemus?”
“Yes.”
“Just checking to make sure you’re still here.”
“I'm standing right in front of you. Are you blind?”
"Actually, partly, yes. And it's your fault."
"Oh! Quite right, forgot about that..."
Yos on 16/2/2005 at 04:31
Quote:
“And we’ll go file for unemployment,” shouted the dev team as they passed the doorway heading down the hall.
A pure gem! :laff: The laughtastic ending is near and I can't wait.
Pitch on 16/2/2005 at 16:44
Quote:
Garrett emerged from the blue mist like methane from a Burrick, silent and deadly.
Priceless!! :laff: :thumb:
Old Man on 17/2/2005 at 12:58
Quote Posted by Yos
... The laughtastic ending is near and I can't wait.
I had this same realization just a few paragraphs earlier and was struck with sadness that this pardy would soon end. Hard not to be greedy for this to go on and on. Thanks, fett. Do it right, please.
Larcener on 18/2/2005 at 13:34
Killer stuff man.....but what are we going to do when it's over??? That's what I wanna know.....
.
.
.
*sigh*
The Rogue Wolf on 19/2/2005 at 05:47
Quote Posted by Larcener
Killer stuff man.....but what are we going to do when it's over??? That's what I wanna know.....
.
.
.
*sigh*
Read again and laugh. :cheeky: It's that good.
Hoopz on 19/2/2005 at 07:47
Stopped reading when you brought in the Republicans and Democrats and the Hussein thing. Boo for US-centrism. Too bad, it sounded quite nice otherwise.
fett on 19/2/2005 at 19:56
Originally posted by fett:Quote:
I regret the Republican/democrat thing. It doesn't translate. I'm gladly moving on to the Keepers.
luriumer on 19/2/2005 at 23:00
Argh...when I saw your name there in the Last Post column, fett, I thought you had posted the ending already. Well, at least that won't happen to anyone else now...
fett on 20/2/2005 at 05:34
Chapter 20 – The Weildstrom Museum
1:17am
Elvis is after the artifacts in the Weildstrom Museum, and so am I. He has really frightening sideburns, an army of statues, and the ability to disarm anyone with his pelvis which makes him virtually indestructible. I have an arsenal of explosives, magic arrows, and healing potions because…well, there’s just money laying around frickin’ everywhere. I have to get those artifacts. I’ve already got two of the five. The last three, against all possible coincidence, have become museum exhibits and include some old friends. The Kurshock crown seems to have made it here, despite the fact that I didn’t steal it from the sewers and no one else has been able to find the place for a few decades. Quick work on someone’s part. The other is the Contact Lens, with which I have some history.
Meanwhile, Artemus is trying to drag Orlando away from the new Keeper air hockey league, and get the truth out of him. These artifacts won’t do me any good if I don’t know what to do with them. Call it ego, but I’ve always wanted to tackle the museum. The place is loaded with valuables and all the crack security needed to protect them. Why I didn’t come here all those times I was short on cash, instead of farting around with goofy little castles and shipping yards is beyond me. The last time someone tried to break in, the crime reports read, “Museum proves thief-proof. Would be thieves idiots.” Nobody’s tried since then.
Elvis may already be inside, though if he’s not, this is going to be little more than a boring breaking and entering job – I won’t get my hopes up.
Ok you fat old sweaty guy, let’s see who’s really washed up.
If the façade of the museum was any indication, this place was going to be ritzy – so much so that it would be horribly out of place contrasted against the other locales Garrett had visited in the last few days. No matter. Security was tight out front, and he’d already checked for the cliché open window to the left of the door. Nothing for it but to sneak in the conventional way.
“How’s it going Sinclair?”
“Not bad, I only…”
“Let me guess. A little sick to your stomach tonight?”
“I’ve got the craps something awful. I feel like my stomach is turning over and over and over…”
“Just think of Spam and cheese fries. Big fatty chunks of ham, and greasy French fries covered with filmy cheese. And maybe a big tub of ice cream with chocolate sauce dripping down the sides…”
Sinclair bolted for the nearby bushes and proceeded to back up the breakfast truck (as it were) with loud gagging noises. Between hurling he yelled out, “What’d you have to go and do that for!!??”
The other guard was laughing so hard he didn’t notice Garrett slipping past.
The welcome book read:
[indent]Welcome to the Weildstrom Museum. All items worth stealing are now on display in the East Wing, the West Wing, and the Main Atrium. In other words, we’ve spread them out all over the place so you can’t just grab them and go. [/indent]
The foyer was certainly grand and the curator was bent on bragging about the new security systems – there were reminders plastered all over the place:
[indent]
To: All Museum Personnel
From Curator Milton
The new security systems are now operational. In case you need to shut them down –which you shouldn’t unless you’re planning on stealing them or something – there are two power stations. One in the northwest corner of Porter Hall (top floor), and the other in the southwest corner of Tesero Hall (on the second floor). For some reason it made sense to place them as far away from the actual exhibits as possible. If the power is shut off, all electric security and lights in the corresponding Hall will be disabled. Logic dictates that if the security system is down, we would also want the lights off. However, power will resume automatically after enough time has passed for someone to rob us blind. Security gates reset to their default positions when power comes back on. If you have questions, please consult the instruction manuals. [/indent]
Wonder how much they paid for those things…
Garrett looted the downstairs, but he was going to have to bring a truck back to haul the paintings off – they were gigantic and numerous. Eventually he found himself looking at one of the security devices protecting the Kurshock Crown. Four metal posts formed a box around the treasure, which sat in the middle of a heavy shag carpet. The posts hummed with a low electric current.
Static Electricity? Every security system has a weakness, but give me a break…
He examined the display from all angles and found a sign on the wall:
[indent]The Crown
This Exquisite example of the pre-imperial style of goldworking was purchased with funds donated by the Bafford and Rutherford Familes – you’ve heard of them right? The artisan is unknown, but from the smell, one cannot help but note that the thing has been lying around in a sewer for a really long time.[/indent]
Another small sign just below it said:
[indent]Thieves enter here[/indent]
A small arrow pointed to a crawlspace sized tunnel that allowed Garrett to get within reaching distance of the Crown. He tentatively stepped out onto the shag carpet and felt the immediate pop of static electricity on his fingertips.
THAT HURTS!!
Static electricity was not to be sneered at. Next to giant rats and paper cuts, Garrett despised static electricity. He slipped out of his rubber soled boots and his white tube socks. Barefooted, he reached across the barrier and grabbed the Crown.
One down, two to go.
A few twists and turns later, he emerged beneath a stairway looking at a large block column behind which apparently lay another artifact – the Burrick Heart. An rookie guard was talking to his superior.
“Is Curator Milton in his office?”
“No, why? Not asking for a raise already are you?”
“Well, I think I have something to report. Those new security systems…they have a weakness. If you take your shoes off…”
“Ooohhh, thaaaat…and you want to tell Curator Milton? Forget about it. The Curator is really proud of these technological terrors he’s purchased. So it has a weakness. It was good enough to stop those guys last month.”
“Yeah, but they were idiots…”
“So are you! Now get back to work!”
They parted ways, leaving him a clear shot at the Burrick’s Heart Ruby
I don’t know about rubies, but at one time I could have cashed in a million Burrick hearts…
Lost in his reverie, Garrett inadvertently found himself in the path of a patrolling guard who would discover him within seconds if he didn’t act quick. Without thinking he launched a broadhead into the guy’s face. He went down with a prolonged scream and gurgling which echoed loudly throughout the entire building. Garrett hugged the wall in desperation, expecting a mob to come after him.
He heard another guard on the landing above, “In a place like this, ya gotta expect a bit of violent screaming and gurgling.” The footsteps disappeared down the hall.
How much were these guys getting paid?
The sign said:
[indent]The Burrick’s Heart Ruby
The Heart was donated by the Warwick family after the death of Master Clive Warwick, of a wasting disease. This stone is the largest ruby in known existence, so we’ve placed it out here under protection of these crappy security systems hoping no one will bother it. The origin of the stone is unknown, and the Warwick family could offer no explanation. So we killed them.[/indent]
Garrett was noticing that he made less noise in his bare feet. So long as he was careful, he could do this all the time. Why had he been tip-toeing around in clunky boots all these years? ‘The bare foot thief’ – he liked the sound of it…
With two of the three artifacts in tow, he headed for the Tesero Hall which presumably housed the Contact Lens.
Tesero Hall – 2:34am
Garrett gasped for breath as he leaned against the door of the Curator’s office. The guy managed the richest joint in the City and couldn’t install an elevator? The office overlooked the grand hall where the Lens was housed. It was full of goodies, but mostly Garrett was amused by the phonograph recording in the corner. He dropped the needle and listened…
“Let your mind drift away. You’re getting very sleepy. You’re standing on the edge of a deep chasm. Place your troubles in a box, and throw the box into the deep chasm of your mind. Your troubles will forever be far away from you, and you will be a strong, worry free person…the kind of person who can say with confidence three times daily…”I’m having second thoughts about heterosexuality, these motivational tapes were not a waste of money, and I should probably worship Satan.”
Garrett flipped an important looking switch on the balcony overlooking the grand hall. Several stories below, the floor panels receded as a giant eyeball rose out of the floor. Perched solidly upon the iris was the infamous Contact Lens.
I forgot how big that thing is…and me without my bottomless cloak...
He had to go back down a few floors to reach it from the balcony. As the eyeball rotated 360 degrees, it came near enough to reach, but didn’t slip off of the eye as easily as he’d hoped. Then it started talking to him in that grating voice. Again.
“Hello little man. You wouldn’t happen to have any saline solution would you? It’s drier than a City zone up here and you’ll never get me off without tearing or ripping."
Garrett launched a water arrow into the ceiling above and let it rain down on the eye.
‘Ah…much better little man. I have seen many interesting things through this lens. Like for instance, the inside of the box down there where they keep me. And the second floor of this building. Sometimes I rotate around in it for hours and hours and hours until I wished I could dry up and die. But nooooo!!! Here I go again the next day, around, and around, and around…”
Garrett tuned the thing out and tried to come up with a clever way to escape with it. He tried draping it over his shoulder, but it kept sliding off. He hung it over his head like a tarp, but it was difficult to see through it since the prescription didn’t accommodate his mechanical eye. He dragged it to the staircase, with it complaining all the while about getting scratched and all the dust and dirt. He looked at the lens, looked at the staircase, and made his decision.
He tossed a few oil flasks at the stairs, mounted the thing like a surfboard, and shoved off. It actually steered pretty easily. Down the stairs, past the dumbstruck guards, who barely had time to register what they were seeing before a broadhead struck home.
They should put this in a movie…
Even with the element of surprise on his side, the guards were gaining on him. He quickly pulled the Lens the distance across the courtyard. Good thing the guards couldn’t follow him through the blue mist.
In the West Wing, he piled up all the paintings he’d stashed near the door and made for the entrance. Now to meet up with Artemus. And find a pool to keep this thing from drying out.
