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Messages - The RPS Guy

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Dragon's Tales / Re: The Good, The Bad, and the Lucky.
« on: April 30, 2014, 07:04:27 AM »
"We are gonna get a ride. No worries." Chris assured the other two and motioned them to get down before quickly climbing up onto the shoulder. Stepping out to the edge of the road in view of the approaching headlights he extended his hand, the held cigarette glowing orange, an unnatural and burnished dot against eventide, careened over asphalt in hopes to block the way for a ride. If not seen by the light or in a smoker's recognition, then just like Cain, they were walking again.

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: April 07, 2014, 01:29:13 PM »
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

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: March 30, 2014, 10:20:43 AM »
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?"

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: March 24, 2014, 07:14:52 AM »
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.  " 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? n'y a pas d'aide sur le chemin."

Grateful Dead - Franklin's Tower @ Radio City 10-31-80 ;)
Alan Ginsberg-Howl

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: February 27, 2014, 09:02:18 AM »

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: February 27, 2014, 09:02:12 AM »
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."

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: February 11, 2014, 04:33:30 AM »
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.

Within the Barrier / Re: Hallucinated Greenlight
« on: January 14, 2012, 05:09:51 AM »
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
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas-Hunter S. Thompson
Spoon-The Underdog-YouTube[/size]

Within the Barrier / Hallucinated Greenlight
« 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.?

?Moon?s Spawn??

?Anomander Rake.?

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
it stuck.
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...

Acoustic Jam.
Confiture Acoustique. Dead Air.

Many years have passed and no one has seen them since?

The Marketplace / Re: The Hungry Huggy
« on: April 13, 2008, 05:40:20 AM »
If the door had a bell attached it just rang, and as everyone knows when a bell rings, someone is about to get some waffles.  Walking in behind that bell, as if on cue, were four individuals, blue-collar men from the look of it.  The first through the door was a man in a suit, three-piece with a fat tie and cheesy mustache.  It was Chris.  He carried a briefcase in his left hand and his look was all business.  A pause for effect was given before the shoulders were shrugged violently, sending the butterfly collar into flight.  The others fanned out behind him, Mac, Chewie, and the new guy on the force, Doc.  Arms crossed, heads leaning slightly to the side, they gave Chris a nod.  A nod, an unspoken word sent in a simple gesture; these few, these precious few.   With that Chris stepped to the counter and placed the briefcase on the floor as he took a seat.  His eyes were locked onto the one behind the counter as he began removing the utensils from the napkin they were wrapped in; this was a business trip.  Can the waffles pass mustard? Is this the last refuge for RPS Enterprises, or, is this just another stop on the road in that quest for the tasty anytime waffle?

?I would like to try your waffles.?

WestEnd / Re: The Countdown to Peace
« on: June 13, 2007, 05:52:18 AM »
?Wait. Wait. Wait?shhhhh??

Chris slid back up her body and poked his head from under the covers, his hair was a rat?s nest and the grin was priceless.  ?What is it??


Chris cocked his ear to listen but kept his eyes on the woman beneath him.  He didn?t hear much at first, maybe someone talking outside but that was about it.  There was silence again for a moment, then, what was that? Footsteps? Footsteps on the porch, a door opening, and now they were inside.  Chris felt the woman tense up beneath him just as he was asking the question, ?Who ??

?My husband is home.?

?Ya what? Oh s***e! Ya are married?? Chris had already thrown off the covers and jumped out of the bed and was now running around the room naked as the day he was born picking up all his clothes.  ?My shoes?damn it, where are my shoes?? He spotted one on the dresser and snapped it up.  He found the other under the bed, grabbed it, and then made for the window.

?Chris.  Wait.?

?What?? He was straddling the window when he paused, one foot inside on the floor, the other outside on the roof.  He could hear the footsteps on the stairs now.

?Will you come back tomorrow??

?Um, let?s see?no.?  With that he stole silently from the window, jumped off the roof and hurried across the street towards a patch of woods.  Still naked, he carried his junk with one hand and his clothes in the other, running like the cops were chasing him.

WestEnd / Re: Confusion's Prince
« on: June 01, 2007, 12:02:37 PM »
Chris had taken a knee and was staring at the ground in anticipation, playing out the next few hours in his mind?s eye and hoping to live them well. He had stepped from the road into a forest and ended up in hell. Gone was the plate mail, replaced with a torn buckskin shirt tied at the waist with a wampum belt of brown and green beads, calico leggings, and moccasins covered his feet. His head was now shaved bald except for a scalp-lock and he was tattooed with the symbols of his family, The Mark, a phantom and a fly. Two pistols were holstered in a sash around his chest.

He was kneeling just inside a smoke filled sally-port tunnel on the eastern side of the fort. The fort was Fort Prince and it was under siege from cannons that never went silent and moved closer by the day. Three more days and the fort would be taken or destroyed with all those left in it. The crash of cannonballs sent up explosions all around him, littering the air with splintered wood and shrapnel. The world smelled of death and the sound of anguish from the dying sent a cold chill down his spine. Soon I will be among them, Chris thought, as he lifted his gaze from the ground over to a heavyset man with a bushy-gray mustache, the Sarge, who barking out orders and keeping down the fort as it were.  

?Courier?? The Sarge had moved to where Chris was kneeling and took a hunters crouch beside him where he began drawing something in the dirt with his finger.  ?Are you ready to run??

Chris said nothing, only nodded. He was looking down at what the Sarge was drawing but his mind was on the run ahead. It was a run like to kill him, as it did for most chosen for this duty, a frontiersman courier. On side with this time there were no phones to call for backup with, no ravens with a message requesting reinforcements. No. With this time there was just a man, his speed, some courage, and hopefully a little luck. Chris had been lucky enough a few times now, though he would argue that it was his speed that created the luck. Either way, his luck was sure to run out.

?This tunnel is pointing due east so just run and keep straight until you hit the river. Here.? The Sarge tapped his finger next to the river he had drawn on the crude dirt map. ?That is about two miles from here so once you find yourself on its banks, turn north and follow them to the kingsroad then strike east for the Keep.?  That was a good five miles, a hard run.  

?The Keep?? Chris glanced over at the Sarge with a look of concern.  

?Aye?the Keep,? the Sarge?s brow furrowed with a heavy frown as he spoke and Chris thought he might have seen a hint of fear in the man?s eyes. ?We are lost.  Gone nineteen we have. Only they can save us now?from the wicked.? But who will save us from them the Sarge wondered as he stood and wiped the dirt from his hands, wished Chris luck, and then started barking orders again.  ?You! Look alive there!?

Moments later Chris was standing in the shadows at the end of the tunnel looking into a dark wood, the orders he was to carry tucked safely away beneath the sash. Above him, on the top tier of the fort, two snipers sat with a stack of loaded rifles resting against the casement, two other men were there at the ready to hand the snipers already-loaded rifles and reload the ones just shot. They were all waiting on the signal, a single volley of all the fort?s cannon on the west side. When the thunder rolls?run! When the cannons boomed, Chris did not hesitate. He was full speed two steps out of the block and would stay that way until he reached The Keep, or he died. There is no stopping or slowing down to look around or gather ones bearings. No stopping to fight those coming for blood from the trees. No, there is only a dead run or death itself.

He had just broken the tree line when two of the wicked appeared out of nowhere on either side of him; both fell away back into darkness as the snipers found their marks and Chris ran between them without even a glance.  At least ten more met the same fate, including one that fell from Chris? pistol when he stepped in the courier?s path and took a bullet just above the right eye that exited out of the back with a flap of skin and tuft of hair.  He was still standing, dead on his feet with a hand over the wound above his eye and the most surprised look on his face when Chris passed him by.  He never broke stride even as the woods grew darker or when his body began to shake and the adrenaline poured away.  He kept east until he reached the river then turned north to follow it, but he never slowed, nor did one that still followed.

WestEnd / Re: Confusion's Prince
« on: May 27, 2007, 07:49:07 AM »
?Paradise waits for no man I can tell you that much! You better get your head in the game you filthy little bug of a ??

The caddy knew this place, the nineteenth hole of the Union Grove Public Golf Course.  A simple place, but a lost one first.  The tee was elevated above a slender fairway that curved into an easy fade; a nice left to right swing for the suited player.  It was spring and late in the day, the sun fell across the sky drawing shadows to the darker places, and the gun had been pulled and leveled faster than a barracuda could take to a shiny ring.  He was fast.  Gunslinger said the wind.  ?Shut up and hit the ball.? The caddy was clear of mind and had a smile on his face.  He turned that smile on another that stood there, a man of many winters by sight.  ?You there, what do they call this hole??

?Confusion?s Prince, my lord.?  The old man started to laugh.

WestEnd / Confusion's Prince
« on: May 24, 2007, 01:32:59 PM »
The old bear of a truck slipped easily beneath the harvest moon, reflecting the high profile shine, brown with a green outline, rolling down the kingsway. Chris drove and the Caddy rode shotgun and slept. Chewie was kicked back in the middle jump seat and Socks, the beagle, the legend, sat on his haunches at the intern?s feet and leaned with the curves of the roadway. The radio played a mellow tune and those awake sang along?  Karma police, arrest this man, he talks in maths?he buzzes like a fridge, he?s like a detuned radio.  They could just as easily be lords on the kingsroad, surrounded by forest and caught up in steel? For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself?

Ser Christopher of The Mark rode atop an old bear of a warhorse; his heavy brown cloak surfaced barely a ripple even against a strong wind, the length of it falling well below the horse?s hindquarters. He was clad in full plate mail the color of moss that reflected the sun and painted his face, pouring more color into the emerald of his eyes until they burned like pools of green fire. His hair was a crows black, long and straight, spilling well past the shoulders from a visor less helm. Wiry and athletic, he lost none of his swiftness even beneath the weight of armor, wearing it with the ease of a second skin. On his back, beneath the heaviness of the cloak, the hilt of Confusion?s Prince peeked over his shoulder. Its handle was wrapped in black leather, the pommel a carving of a skull with roses for hair, and the guard that of two souls in communion extending out and staring back at each other from a distance. The blade itself dipped in the same color of moss so that it might bleed into the armor and hold its edge eternal.

The Caddy McDoodles was to his right, slumped in the saddle, eyes closed, and snoring. It was a gift the man had to sleep anywhere and he surely used it whenever he could. It made no matter whether it was on a horse or a rocky ground in the dead of winter, he slept easily when and where others could not; made even easier now after the long days of traveling the kingsroad beneath the plate that weighs heavy on an ageing man and cooks him beneath an unforgiving sun. Once he was known throughout the realm as The Caddy, gallant and beholden. Now old, the hair no more than a few wisp of retreating white that lingered near the temples and envied the fullness of the beard that covered his chubby face.  Old and in the way is how he refers to himself now, his friends still call him The Caddy.  

Chewie, squire of The Mark, rode a few paces behind on a light mount and wore a cheery grin. He always had the look of knowing a secret, a funny secret that no one else did. It had gotten him some beatings in his young life, the smile, but still he wore it. On his saddle was tied the lead rope of a pack mule that clopped along behind, it was weighed down with their belongings including the one parcel still left to deliver.

?Where is the dog star? Where is the moon?? Chewie was looking up at the sky when he sang the question of the sky itself.

?It is day still Chewie. Barely past noon now, can you not see the sun?? Chris brought a gloved hand up to shadow his gaze from the light then wiped at the sweat on his brow. ?Or Feel it??

?Forgive any confusion my lord, I was just singing out loud the song I heard back at the Dragon.  Lost Sailor the man called it? did you not hear it?? The squire loved music and would have been a bard had he not been highborn; had his lord father allowed it.

?On my way out, yes. A good tune from what I heard of it.? Socks announced his arrival from playing in the woods with a bark and fell into a trot next to the old bear who regarded him with a horse?s glance and a whinny. Chris leaned over in the saddle with a smile for his returning friend then eased the gaze back to the squire. ?What happened while I was up in the room? Or were you too busy with wine and music to take notice??

?No my lord, I did not partake in the wine and I only listened to the music while I watched.?
?Just like you said my lord, a man went up to the room you had entered and stood there at the door as if he was trying to listen from the hallway.?
?You are sure it was the doorway of the room I entered. Room nineteen??
?Positive my lord, room nineteen. Then he left shortly before you came out, he must have heard you coming? Who is he??
?He is the one that wants we have and follows us now.?

?Paradise waits!? The Caddy leapt from his sleep with a shout and spurred his horse to a gallop even before he was fully awake and knew where he was or where he was going, charging right into the teeth of the forest where he was immediately swallowed up.  Silence followed.

?s***e.? Chris reigned up his horse and stared at the tree line where The Caddy disappeared into wood. ?The old man is getting worse at waking from his dreams.?

Chewie turned in his saddle to untie the pack mule?s lead rope. ?I will get him this time my lord. ?

?No. I will get him. Stay here and watch the horses.? Ser Christopher of The Mark climbed from the horse and handed Chewie the reigns. ?Do not worry of the one that follows, he is weary yet and will not take this chance.? That said he stepped off the road and disappeared into the woods with Socks tagging along at his heels.

Chris had just finished setting up the ?mail drop? within the government complex; he had placed it on the corner near the entrance of the district.  It was really the only place he could put it and still have it serve the function it was designed to do.  The mail drop itself was a simple metal box with rounded tops, painted brown with some green outline, with a sticker on the front that read: Government Mail Only.  Hidden, put purposefully underneath the mail drop where it couldn?t be seen, was another sticker that read: Caution! Hot!

Since he was already there Chris made his way to the treasury office to see D.C., the Chicken Avenger, and let him know the ?mail drop? had been setup and where he could find it.  As he walked down the hall he thought he saw the Governor walking his way from the other side, he hadn?t seen her in a while and decided to say hello.  ?Hey baby! Lookin??? That is about the time, as she grew closer, that he realized this woman was an old hag that looked like death warmed over.  ?Good god Kitty! This job is killing ya!  Get out, get out now while ya still can.  Please!?  He hurried past her to treasury office door, calling back down the hall before entering, ?Ya look good though.?  Disappears into the office quickly afterwards before she can look back and turn him to stone.

Chris began the search for the chicken by moving through the maze created by stacks of paper that was supposed to be an office.  ?Yo D.C. where ya at?  I got that mail drop put up and I had my intern go over the budget things, turns out they burn real well.?  He stopped and listened for any noise that might be the chicken working before continuing the search.  ?Ya might want to think about getting out of this government job because I think I just passed the Governer in the hallway and damn! Politics will really screw with ya complexion.?

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