Red Dragon Inn
Mount Yasuo => Within the Barrier => Topic started by: The RPS Guy on January 14, 2012, 04:51:27 AM
?This is bad.?
?The Moon requires a parcel.?
?The Moon does??
?You don?t come back from that.?
Ano ?mother****ing? Mander Rake. I mean come on, this is the Summer?s Eve of deliveries, and no one wants to go there. Some things just can?t be washed away, like memories for instance, or image burned retinas. Though I digress, the Rake is bad mojo. We are all going to die, Mac, Chewie, and I. No one comes back from a delivery to the Moon. One time this guy named Jumbo Steve, the very same Jumbo Steve that owned and operated Jumbo Steve?s Delivery, he got that yellow sticky to the sky in an attempted Moon delivery. Rumor has it he didn?t even make it to the doorbell. Well, RPS Enterprises wasn?t going down like that, oh no, not only were we going to deliver that parcel, we were going to live. After that we were going to capitalize on it.
I am getting ahead of myself however, let?s go back in time you and me, to the RPS War Room where history was made and legends were born.
The transcript reads:
Sometime around midnight in the
RPS War Room, it?s smoky and ten-
sions are high along with everyone
else in the room?
Mac: We could try the Puma Two-Step.
It is said that it works nineteen percent
of the time all the time.
Chris: Oh that?s brilliant, Mac.
Just out of curiosity, can you actually
play a bagpipe with your?
Mac: Alright! Alright?I was just
throwing something out there to see if
Chewie: Nous pourrions toujours
essayer la confiture acoustique?
Chris: Chewie, ya are a genius!
Mac: What did he say?
We setup at the edge of the bottom step of the Moon, The RPS Trio at home now crowded into the empty space that spanned Grandma?s Persian rug. Chewie was percussion and drove the machine; Mac was on the lefty bass, which left me with the guitar and vocals on this particular trip. We stood huddled as if there was a biting wind, the parcel sat quietly upon the top stair with a pen and clipboard beside it. Socks had already jumped up and pawed the doorbell; he tried to get away real fast but the porch was painted wood and he couldn?t get a grip and had wolf-slip-a-phobia. It was hilarious. He got away before the door opened. If nothing else, at least we got as far as ringing the doorbell before we were too stupid to run away. Socks, is, was, and always will be the brains behind the operation.
Then he appeared, Anomander Rake, the guy is like seven feet tall with a sword six and half feet long that when you look at it, you see the darkness of your future. He is badass. Also has a habit of spreading his arms out to the side as he speaks. ?Look at me, look at me, driving and I won?t stop. Damn! It feels good to be alive and on top.? This was about the time his eyes flashed some ominous hue that spoke of famine and worlds-end, later Chewie would admit to pissing himself upon seeing it. ?My reach is global, my tower secure. My cause is noble, my power is pure!? Now he was holding up a fist, looking evil, like he was about to drop the hammer. ?I can??
So we cut him off and began to play.
?The thing that I tell ya now?
?It may not go over well
?And it may not be photo-op?
?In the way I spell it out...
?But you won?t hear from the messenger
?Don?t wanna know 'bout something that you don't understand,
?Ya got no fear of the underdog?
?That?s why ya will not survive...
Confiture Acoustique. Dead Air.
Many years have passed and no one has seen them since?
It is hard to say how long it has been since the RPS crew disappeared; time is funny in this place. If you ask Chris or the others they would say about five years but to someone else it might only be one or it could be twenty. Time is strange round here. Or as the old wise man Mr. Hunter would say, time is where everybody dies but me, or you, in your case. Whatever the perception or the reality may be, they were lost to time for a while, literally burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night. Turns out they found it, and ate it. Not dead, no, they live. As Raoul Duke once quipped upon seeing them at the SoHo, ?There they go, some of God?s own prototypes. High powered mutants of some kind never even considered for mass production. They are too weird to live, and too rare to die.?
[size=9]Malazan Empire (http://www.malazanempire.com/site/)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas-Hunter S. Thompson
Spoon-The Underdog-YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqPfCoAp_O0)[/size]
The RPS Trio shuffled into the Lotus, all dead men walking, and made their way to a back corner booth where they could take in the room without worry of having to watch their backs. They were clearly in a state and it showed. Haggard, downcast, and cold, they slipped into the booth, quickly flagging down a server and ordering a round. Warm spiced wine was on the menu as well as some bud, which was sparked up and passed around. One by one the three crawled from the fields that ran along the thousand yard stares as each buzz was lit and the weight on their shoulders was lifted long enough to realize they weren't dead. Their deaths would not be long for the moon most likely and that still weighed a little heavy so they stayed in the cups and smoked in silence.
Two hours ago they were banished from a moon, dropped off on some mountain in a snow storm and informed to follow the path up where eventually they would find a village. Within the village they found the tea house; now warmed up, well into the cups, and high as kites, one of them finally said something. It was Mac.
"We are so screwed!"
There were no arguments from the other two, Chris or Chewie, they were screwed and they all knew it. Even if they accomplish what they are supposed to do, things were still not going to swing in their favor. They were dead, the lot of them, either way. That is what happens when the wrong parcel is brought for delivery and the recipient for said delivery is Anomander Rake. Once Mr. Rake found out he was rather upset about it. The guy is Soletaken, which is the wrong type of individual to piss off in the first place. For those that may not know, a Soletaken is a shape-shifter and this particular one takes the form of a black dragon. Also his home and preferred mode of travel is a moon. A moon!
Upon learning of the mishap Mr. Rake kindly showed that form to the trio with some theatrics of a scary nature, the demonstration of that anger caused Chewie to piss himself and pass out. Once Chewie woke up Mr. Rake had something else to show them. Draginpur, his sword. First off, Draginpur is a black blade that absorbed all light. Bad news right off the top. What was worse is the sword, Draginpur, is actually a gate to the Realm of Darkness which holds a giant cart that is chased forever by the forces of Chaos. The icing on the cake as it were, was that the cart is pushed by the souls of the people slain by said sword for an eternity. To show someone an eternal hell is an effective demonstration on all accounts.
At this point The RPS Trio had two choices. Either retrieve the correct parcel and bring it back or spend an eternity pushing a freakishly large cart as forgotten souls with Chaos in constant chase. They were drinking like fish and smoking like chimneys at the thought of this, a completely understandable response under the circumstances...get wasted and hope it's not real or just goes away.
Just then Mac set his glass down and looked up, totally gone at this point, a rather glassy idea smiling in his eyes. "I got it! Let's go jump off something very high. That way we don't die by the sword and in turn we don't have to push that hell cart thing forever." He grinned a bit, nodding, happy with himself for coming up with a good plan. It was so matter of fact it sounded logical, and maybe it was.
Chris however didn't even move, he was now slumped back in the booth, looking up at the ceiling, high as a blister in the sun. Chewie on the other hand was staring at his shoes, still pretty embarrassed about the peeing incident and the joint only made him more paranoid about it. Mac's smile faded and he went back into his cups; all three went back to the silent reverie as Blind Faith played in the background on the jukebox.
When the song ended Chris sat up and leaned forward on the table, pouring some more of the spiced wine from the pitcher and drinking it down before refilling the glass. Somewhat optimistic, he spoke up. "Let's go get it. We can go see if it's still there, if so, we bring it back. If not, then we can find something to jump off." Swirling the contents and lifting it for another swig, he paused halfway, "If we can actually find it, maybe we don't have to die. It's a win-win...or lose-lose. Either one. Either way." With that he finished off the glass and slid it back to the table, matching the grin Mac had earlier with his idea.
"Find it?! Who knows how long it's been? Hell! We don't even know where we are!" Mac was pretty animated, pointing around the place as he spoke. He looked at Chewie, who was still in his own little world, before lifting the gaze back to Chris. "How are we supposed to do that exactly?"
"Well..." Chris was sliding from the booth to stand. "We go to the last place we saw it...the Forsaken Blades Clubhouse." Much to high to be making rational decisions he clapped his hands together in what must have been triumph in his own mind. "Road trip!"
Mac responded immediately. "Oh yeah? Road trip? The Edge of Forever is it then, Sagan?" Sarcasm dripping from his questions and burning holes in the floor. "Might I remind you again that not only do we not know where we are, but when we are!"
Chris shrugged. "Let's find out then."
Just about then, Socks, having finished his fun of playing in the snow, made his way inside with a dash at the open door and found the slippery surface. Slipping and sliding on the hard wood floor in attempted turns he eventually plopped down to a belly flop that ended up at the foot of the booth. Upon stopping the beagle looked up at Chris, barked and wagged his tail, clueless as to the trouble they were all in.
The Ardent of the Moon walked into the tea house and pointed to the three as he passed the hostess; the room seemed to bend around him as he walked over. The hostess merely watched him go by without a word. Upon reaching the booth he grabbed a chair and sat down at the end of the table, smiling at the trio. "Thought you were high enough to escape reality?" Shaking his head with a chuckle and grabbing the pitcher to fill the nearest cup, he smiled, "It is real and you are screwed." After enjoying a pull of the spiced wine he snagged the joint and took a long drag before blowing it in their faces. "Mmm...tasty. Kind indeed."
"And you ar-" Chris was cut off so fast he went wide-eyed. Mac choked on a pretzel and Chewie nearly pissed himself again. Socks barked.
"Wigan! Wigan Stokes? You have all met me before. Twice in fact!" The man seemed rather annoyed they didn't remember him but only held up a couple of fingers as he took a moment to enjoy another hit before settling back into the chair. "Don't mind me though, I'm just here to make sure you deliver the parcel." He continued to smoke the joint until it was only a semblance of a roach, which he then dropped into Chewie's still full glass and smiled again. "Whenever you are ready then."
Before they even knew what was happening the RPS Trio were heading down the mountain in a wicked snow storm. Dressed for lesser conditions they huddled against each other as they walked, staring up ahead at Wigan who was all happy on his horse and warm coat. Occasionally Wigan would glance back over from his perch at the trio and laugh before giving some vacant encouragement that only swelled the contempt of the three looking back at him. "It is not so far that you will die from the cold. Not all of you anyway. Maybe."
All of them were very aware how far it was, years ago Mac had talked them into an expedition that led deep into the mountain in search of a mythical golf course called The Mystic Afar. It was an old story from Mac's time in the Highlands about a course layed out on a pin's head on one of Yasuo's storied peaks. As the story went there was a cave near the top of one of the peaks that opened into a hidden landscape that only could have floated on the clouds considering the geography to the entrance of the place. Chris went on the journey because Mac was his caddie and he was very convincing, besides, the thought of a legendary round of golf on some epic level seemed like a fun way to spend the afternoon. Chris loved golf, and his caddie was his best friend, it was a no-brainer. Chewie came along because he had to, he was the intern.
They did find the course and played an epic round, as well as counting the angels dancing on a pin. It was like most journeys in a way however, once it was over there was a trip back. On the way back there was a snow storm, the mountain trail that led to the city was lost to sight before the lights broke the clouds and showed the way; Rhydin then gleamed from the distance in supernatural ecstasy.
They now found themselves once again on the same trail in a similar snowstorm, ill-prepared and freezing cold, though there was warmth in the shared hatred for the man riding ahead of them. As they huddled together on the way down the trail of nostalgia, they also conspired against him.
"There are three of us and one of him. Let's jump this bitch, kill him, then Socks can enjoy a fine meal." Mac was very much trying to show restraint within the moving huddle as he spoke. The would be animated arms were tucked to his side, hands in his pockets for warmth, but the determination in his eyes spoke volumes.
Chewie, unable to keep quiet any longer, let his feelings be known and joined in as well. "Nous devons tuer ce connard en ce moment. Laissez Chaussettes manger!" His chili was hot too.
Chris was taking up the middle and draped his arms about his friends, pulling them close like brothers to speak softly. "First off, Socks isn't going to do s***e if we kill Wigan. Maybe he would bark but then he would just lick it's dead face and look at us with confusion, and maybe judgement in his eyes. Do you want to see that?"
Mac and Chewie did not answer or look at Chris and just stared down at the snowy ground they plowed upon, shaking their heads.
Looking back up, ahead to Wigan all happy and warm on his horse, Chris could only smile. "That son of a bitch needs the parcel just as much as we do, if not more. We know where we are going, he doesn't." Loosing his grip he tucked back into the warmth of the huddle that carried it's way down the mountain and whispered, "He might be the visible madman doom but we are the wards of madtown."
Aside from the blowing wind there was silence between them for a while as they fell back into step, each trying to keep warm and close together. Finally, after some time, Mac pointed into the distance where a tower broke the edge of the mountain and seemed to light up with sound. "Is that Franklin's?"
Chris looked up and laughed, perhaps a little delirious at this point. "Wow...it really does ring like fire doesn't it?"
"Cela ne peut pas ?tre bon. Je ne me souviens pas que la tour d'?tre l? avant." Chewie was worried and seemed to be the only one so. "Les gars, cette merde n'est pas r?el...il n'y a pas d'aide sur le chemin."
Grateful Dead - Franklin's Tower @ Radio City 10-31-80 ;) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEniyvOtETc)
Alan Ginsberg-Howl (http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15308)
They were now out of the cold and into some other strange situation, it was like a Bob Fried Memorial Boogie that had trailers and other visuals that seemed to linger like a lit cherry against the dark. Wigan was off looking to see if there was another way out of the tower while the trio stayed put. They were holed up in some rounded corner, getting high, and playing an epic game of old school Clue; there was a large collection of other games to choose from in this spiral fascination but Clue was the chosen one on the docket.
Chris rolled a FIVE and that got him into the Conservatory where he was going for the win. "Ok. Ok. Check it!" As per the extra rules they just made up, he was also in possession of the joint and hitting on it liberally. It was like the equivalent of the conch shell in Lord of the Flies. "I suggest it is Miss Scarlet-"
"She is hot." Mac interrupted with an inward whistle.
"Super chaud!" Chewie concurred.
Chris could only nod in agreement as he continued. "Miss Scarlet, super hotty, in the Conservatory with the Dreyse M1907."
"Foo d'ye say?" Scottish accent.
"Qu'est-ce?" A French one.
"The Revolver! Miss Scarlet in the Conservatory with the Revolver." Chris then dropped his detective notebook sheet like it was a mic and it was hot. "Bam!"
While making their way down to the cellar and the secret envelope to verify it's contents was when Wigan reappeared and snapped the joint away, kicking at the game board. "Time to go. Remember now ladies, get the parcel or die by the sword where you don't really die. Ya Green?"
Chris jumped to his feet as the board was destroyed and the joint was snapped away, he was up and reacting even before putting a thought to the consequences of his movements. If he had been thinking then he would have just chilled there in the corner and offered up a relaxed "bummer" or "come on man, not cool." That didn't happen however and he was now on his feet looking at the douche bag named Wigan standing just a few feet away.
Wigan only grinned around the joint as he tucked it to a corner and pulled. "What are you going to do there, Susan?" Taking the moment to blow a cloud of smoke into Chris' face before continuing. "Who do you think you are anyway?"
Suddenly an uppercut was thrown, not a moment passed from the last sound of the last syllable from Wigan's lips before it connected. It was one of those mythical shots, one from the ***** stories of ***** stories that tell of a piece of bone from the nose shooting it's way up into the brain and dropping someone dead before they hit the ground. Yet here it was, Wigan was there on the floor staring up with empty eyes, not moving or breathing. Chris didn't even feel the impact of the blow he landed at first, he was caught up in the sweet spot like one punching air in celebration after a wicked-good golf shot. "I thought I whiffed" he would later tell Chewie.
There was a long pause as Mac and Chewie stepped over to stand beside Chris and stare down at the man with blood trickling from his nose and ears, lifeless, wearing a bewildered look on his face. The silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity to Chris until Mac reached down to pick up the joint before the red got to it. "Holy **** man! Hurricane really will cross fade on your arse and bust ear drums." His statement was an observation in the spoken word that had a familiar groove as he took a hit before passing it over. "Who do you think you are again?" Chuckling softly in exhale.
Chris took the offered J with a grin then pointed a finger down to start the beat. "Well I'm that kid in the corner, all **** up and I wanna so I'm gonna..."
Mac and Chewie then chimed in as if on queue and they all started jumping around and singing like the music just kicked in...
Take A Piece Of The Pie, Why Not, I'm Not Quitting
Think I'm Gonna Change Up My Style Just To Fit In
I Keep My Underwear Up With A Piece Of Elastic
I Use A Bullsh*t Mic That's Made Out Of Plastic
To Send My Rhymes Out To All Nations
Like Ma Bell, I've Got The Ill Communi--
All of a sudden there was a twitch followed by a groan coming from the floor, or more specifically from Wigan. The dead man was alive and trying to sit up.
"Rut rho! We got a Cheech Wizard here!" Chewie yelled, and in English, which meant he was freaked out. A beat later he was out of there in a full run.
Chris and Mac were off and running right behind him, out of the tower and back into the light they spilled, each veering off at the exit. Though a dull afternoon loomed, muted-gray in it's reflections, the brightness was enough to send them all reeling like they had just been struck as each attempted to cover their eyes from it. Mac took the worst of the sudden blindness, he was in the path of a low hanging limb and got clothes-lined right across the face that sent him flying back into the snow where he disappeared with a poof. Caught up in the pursuit and with complete disregard to the pain, he popped right back up in stride and was running again like the dead was chasing him.
Socks, who had been screwing around outside doing dog stuff, because, well, he was a dog, took off after them barking and wagging his tail in chase as they basically hurrled themselves blindly down the mountain. The dog loved snow and it showed. Ah yes indeed it's fun time...
Beastie Boys-Sure Shot (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhqyZeUlE8U)
No, **** it, they're all dead.
The dog too?
No, not the dog.
Oh yeah, he lives.
Best dog ever, man. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bC0xaG0QdoA)
((The real Socks gone six years today...miss ya, dog.))