I'll likely not be posting again today. Give other people a chance to get in. Parry is trying (and will fail) to find his flaming sword in the basement.
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- Aleranicus 11 yrs ago
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Revving the Writing Engine
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"FuckFuckFuck," Parry grumbled, rounding the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, tripping slightly on the body of something-someone? Something. Maybe. Didn't matter. The Celestial reached up one handed, snapped a finger to the beat of Lucy in the Sky, and took in the mess of his basement as the lights popped on.
He would gladly admit that he was a materialistic bastard. A lot of classic clothing, some banal weapons that he absolutely could not be parted with, but for all the fantastic, there was a lot more useless junk- records, magazines, VHS tapes of foreign films and all the Super Bowls, and then the engine to a 1971 Ford Mustang. Still had to find the body and tires that went with it.
Either way, he had to make sure that the place was locked up and get ready to go. Nemsemet kind of wiped whole dynasties off the historical and metaphysical map for a few centuries. So yeah, Camden was going to be a shitty place to be. Maybe Los Angeles would be better. Or Tokyo.
Silk shirt was traded for a wife-beater and jean jacket, the one with the lovely pink triangle Jason had left him a few months ago. The Gucci diaper bag was where he'd left it last night- on the hook by the Beatles collection. Grabbed that. He paused briefly and twitched his nose.
The daycare was his Sanctum, and by all the gods there was a measure of control he could exercise over it. The sugar, flour, and candy canisters would be swapped out into the party safe beneath the stairs for the more, er, proper contents.
Call me a fool, call me a slut, call me a hundred different things. But don't ever call me negligent around children.
It felt like he was down there plowing through piles of clothes and boxes of junk for years- probably ten minutes- before he realized something very, very important.
"Rusty," Parry said, "I don't hear you claiming to be a Chinese restaurant up there... You are dialing, right?" That number was not usually something he thought about, but the direct line to Murael's secretary in Verona was definitely a nuclear option. If it didn't work, they were well and truly isolated. There would only be two ways out of the city- one of which involved a bullet to the brain and answering to his superiors about all that unauthorized vacation time.
Option two was even less pleasant, and required he find some items he hadn't needed for a very very long time. But the vacation could continue.
So of course he toppled over an entire pallet of Pampers diapers in a search for his own holy grail, misplaced so many years and blunts ago. And when it wasn't under that one, he started throwing the Huggies onto the Mustang engine.
"So, uh, Rusty? Who's left alive out there? Has the mummy, like, put a Pharaoh hat on and everything? Also, if anyone needs to sober up- Stella, I'm looking at you- the green baby bottles in the fridge have my Saturday Morning Cure in them. And yeah, the nipples are clean.
"Feel free to raid my upstairs wardrobe for clothes. We burned your pants in the fire pit out back last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
He would gladly admit that he was a materialistic bastard. A lot of classic clothing, some banal weapons that he absolutely could not be parted with, but for all the fantastic, there was a lot more useless junk- records, magazines, VHS tapes of foreign films and all the Super Bowls, and then the engine to a 1971 Ford Mustang. Still had to find the body and tires that went with it.
Either way, he had to make sure that the place was locked up and get ready to go. Nemsemet kind of wiped whole dynasties off the historical and metaphysical map for a few centuries. So yeah, Camden was going to be a shitty place to be. Maybe Los Angeles would be better. Or Tokyo.
Silk shirt was traded for a wife-beater and jean jacket, the one with the lovely pink triangle Jason had left him a few months ago. The Gucci diaper bag was where he'd left it last night- on the hook by the Beatles collection. Grabbed that. He paused briefly and twitched his nose.
The daycare was his Sanctum, and by all the gods there was a measure of control he could exercise over it. The sugar, flour, and candy canisters would be swapped out into the party safe beneath the stairs for the more, er, proper contents.
Call me a fool, call me a slut, call me a hundred different things. But don't ever call me negligent around children.
It felt like he was down there plowing through piles of clothes and boxes of junk for years- probably ten minutes- before he realized something very, very important.
"Rusty," Parry said, "I don't hear you claiming to be a Chinese restaurant up there... You are dialing, right?" That number was not usually something he thought about, but the direct line to Murael's secretary in Verona was definitely a nuclear option. If it didn't work, they were well and truly isolated. There would only be two ways out of the city- one of which involved a bullet to the brain and answering to his superiors about all that unauthorized vacation time.
Option two was even less pleasant, and required he find some items he hadn't needed for a very very long time. But the vacation could continue.
So of course he toppled over an entire pallet of Pampers diapers in a search for his own holy grail, misplaced so many years and blunts ago. And when it wasn't under that one, he started throwing the Huggies onto the Mustang engine.
"So, uh, Rusty? Who's left alive out there? Has the mummy, like, put a Pharaoh hat on and everything? Also, if anyone needs to sober up- Stella, I'm looking at you- the green baby bottles in the fridge have my Saturday Morning Cure in them. And yeah, the nipples are clean.
"Feel free to raid my upstairs wardrobe for clothes. We burned your pants in the fire pit out back last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
I'll be posting again in a few hours. Wrapping up at job #2 right now. Of course, any other party attendees are free to post as well!
Subplot: The Hangover: Supernatural Editio
Subplot: The Hangover: Supernatural Editio
@Utrax Oh... oh no. You reeeeeeeally shouldn't have done that...
@HeySeuss For what it's worth, I work afternoons/evenings this weekend, so I'll be able to post in the morning.
"Well, it wasn't meant to be something that would kill a Peruvian Mummy anyway, just negate some bad-"
Nemsemet. Ancient Egypt. Powerful Sorcerer. Or Demigod. Or god. Depending on which hieroglyph you read at the time. Helped Mentuhotep II overthrow the First Dynasty of the Pharoahs and leave nothing but gloating statues all over the place for a good century. Egypt was nothing better than one giant squall of radioactive Magic for paranormals until his death and mummification. Parry was perfectly happy to wander up to Crete and ride out the storm. Came back for the funeral though. Not a lot of people were sad to see him bite it, and nobody could agree how it happened. Cause, you know, nobody wanted to accidentally incur the wrath of the dead all-powerful-could-be-magician-could-be-a-god thing.
"Ah. A, uh, Mummy. A true blue Egyptian mummy. Up and about." Parry blinked, mentally taking stock of how long it would take to load up his Persian silks and Japanese Yukata into his bag, then stuff the whole safe into the bag and hail a cab.
"Walking. How about that. And you... can't... leave... Phone's in the kitchen. Feel free to make a call, for, you know, as long as you want."
Parry froze, looking at the open door and the twilit sky framed by bright street lights on the street. That would need to be taken care of, STAT.
"If anyone in the kitchen is not, I repeat, NOT a drug induced hallucination, I would very much appreciate it if you did something about my front door! Locked and bolted please. And put the bookcase in front of it as well."
Parry left Rusty in the hallway, marching through the living room and pausing just long enough to unplug the stereo. The disco ball he left spinning. May the disco gods never die. Without skipping a beat, he headed straight into the kitchen, produced a key from beneath his silk blouse shirt, and unlocked the basement door.
"I'll be downstairs, need to, uh, grab a few things. You know. For necessity's sake. Also, do me a favor and call the number on page 243 of the cookbook by the fridge. If it connects to someone named Murael, say you're from a Chinese takeout place and say wrong number, then hang up and DO NOT answer it if the phone rings. If it doesn't go through... we're genuinely fucked."
This last was punctuated by the door creaking shut (though not with the tell-tale click of a lock), a brief quiet of feet descending stairs, and finally a shrieking "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Nemsemet. Ancient Egypt. Powerful Sorcerer. Or Demigod. Or god. Depending on which hieroglyph you read at the time. Helped Mentuhotep II overthrow the First Dynasty of the Pharoahs and leave nothing but gloating statues all over the place for a good century. Egypt was nothing better than one giant squall of radioactive Magic for paranormals until his death and mummification. Parry was perfectly happy to wander up to Crete and ride out the storm. Came back for the funeral though. Not a lot of people were sad to see him bite it, and nobody could agree how it happened. Cause, you know, nobody wanted to accidentally incur the wrath of the dead all-powerful-could-be-magician-could-be-a-god thing.
"Ah. A, uh, Mummy. A true blue Egyptian mummy. Up and about." Parry blinked, mentally taking stock of how long it would take to load up his Persian silks and Japanese Yukata into his bag, then stuff the whole safe into the bag and hail a cab.
"Walking. How about that. And you... can't... leave... Phone's in the kitchen. Feel free to make a call, for, you know, as long as you want."
Parry froze, looking at the open door and the twilit sky framed by bright street lights on the street. That would need to be taken care of, STAT.
"If anyone in the kitchen is not, I repeat, NOT a drug induced hallucination, I would very much appreciate it if you did something about my front door! Locked and bolted please. And put the bookcase in front of it as well."
Parry left Rusty in the hallway, marching through the living room and pausing just long enough to unplug the stereo. The disco ball he left spinning. May the disco gods never die. Without skipping a beat, he headed straight into the kitchen, produced a key from beneath his silk blouse shirt, and unlocked the basement door.
"I'll be downstairs, need to, uh, grab a few things. You know. For necessity's sake. Also, do me a favor and call the number on page 243 of the cookbook by the fridge. If it connects to someone named Murael, say you're from a Chinese takeout place and say wrong number, then hang up and DO NOT answer it if the phone rings. If it doesn't go through... we're genuinely fucked."
This last was punctuated by the door creaking shut (though not with the tell-tale click of a lock), a brief quiet of feet descending stairs, and finally a shrieking "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Per my most recent post, anyone who wants their character to be at the Daycare Party is welcome to post as though that is the case.
Peace and dancing would have to wait, it seemed. By the time Parry got back to the playroom and the dancing lights of the Disco ball, the knocks had stopped and the booming kicks of a biker werewolf who really, really wanted to talk began. Fine, he'd make time for the biker. Parry crossed beneath the Heart Crystal hanging in the hallway, expelled a small cloud of smoke, and looked at the guests in his living room- he wasn't sure if they were all real or imagined quite yet. By the time the buzz cleared his system, he'd have much clearer vision.
"Ladies and gentlemen, party's over. I have an urgent visitor. Please make your way out of my mind and into the kitchen."
Spinning on his heel, Parry met Rusty halfway through the hall and gave his best smile.
"Well hello, big bad wolf! I think I'm done huffing and puffing for the night, but I will be happy to buy from you later today. If you could give de Lacy a message for me on your way back, though- he asked for an amulet against undead. I neglected to let him know the one I gave him was for use against Peruvian mummies. I don't think it matters, but I figure the thing was for peace of mind. de Lacy is more paranoid than smart.
"But anyway, what can I do for you?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, party's over. I have an urgent visitor. Please make your way out of my mind and into the kitchen."
Spinning on his heel, Parry met Rusty halfway through the hall and gave his best smile.
"Well hello, big bad wolf! I think I'm done huffing and puffing for the night, but I will be happy to buy from you later today. If you could give de Lacy a message for me on your way back, though- he asked for an amulet against undead. I neglected to let him know the one I gave him was for use against Peruvian mummies. I don't think it matters, but I figure the thing was for peace of mind. de Lacy is more paranoid than smart.
"But anyway, what can I do for you?"
Nice posts, guys. I will make mine in a bit as well. The general idea is to move towards Parael's place, right?
Technically you could be already there, recovering from the all night binge :D
@HeySeuss Just to be clear, Rusty is absolutely free and encouraged to huff and puff and blow the door down XD
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