S
Sir Basil
Guest
Todd tilted his head to the side. His smile faded, for a moment. His hands tensed on his arms, but only for a moment, as they quickly moved, in a flurry, to pull a cigarette from his pockets. He lighted it without his lighter - the gesture clumsy, hasty. He was here too, then. Todd was capable of finding his own kind. He only had to turn to the headline news, to find some indication that his people were there. They marked the headlines in broad strokes, with declarations of "War!" and "Death!" He, on the other hand, was consigned to the tabloids and the back pages, where he was listed in statistics. His mouth corners twitched, and he dove his hands into the pockets of his jeans, fiddling around for something in their depths that he hoped he would not have to use.
He had met him before, and sometimes they had been the same person. Sometimes, they intermingled in the office, chatting by the metaphysical water-cooler. It had always been a cold sort of conversation. It had been made of passive-agressive bullshit and feigned friendship. Todd was not friends with his co-workers, and they were not friends with him. It would have been mutually assured destruction, if he had. But they were aspects of one another, and sometimes that came down to friendship. More often, it came down to the big fish eating the little fish, and the littlest fish dying. Todd did not want to be the littlest fish.
Todd recollected himself, and smiled toothily at the door, but behind his glasses, his eyes darted around him. They were searching eyes. The Other was older than he was. Possibly the Oldest. But now wasn't the time. His fingers curled in his bottomless pockets, fingers moving about the tiny mouths and suckers from thousands of different people. They grasped the scroll, and his fingers brushed against the indents where the letters had been written. Maybe the Boss had sent him. Maybe their Boss wanted them to work together. Maybe their Boss didn't give a rat's ass about his creations, and wanted simply to see them fail. Todd suspected it might be that.
He blinked, as the door was opened. He looked over Raiden, and smiled. "I kin' fin' 'er if yeh wan' 'er. If yeh wan' 'er, I can get 'er. Whuk fer a retrievel-orgin'izayshun of sor's." His accent seemed even more incomprehensible. "It kyn'na depen's on yeh, kiddo. Yeh want The G'ehl. I geh' yeh, The Gehl."
But, in another language, in a hive-mind beyond worlds, between worlds, between places, he whispered quietly.
-What are you doing here?-
He had met him before, and sometimes they had been the same person. Sometimes, they intermingled in the office, chatting by the metaphysical water-cooler. It had always been a cold sort of conversation. It had been made of passive-agressive bullshit and feigned friendship. Todd was not friends with his co-workers, and they were not friends with him. It would have been mutually assured destruction, if he had. But they were aspects of one another, and sometimes that came down to friendship. More often, it came down to the big fish eating the little fish, and the littlest fish dying. Todd did not want to be the littlest fish.
Todd recollected himself, and smiled toothily at the door, but behind his glasses, his eyes darted around him. They were searching eyes. The Other was older than he was. Possibly the Oldest. But now wasn't the time. His fingers curled in his bottomless pockets, fingers moving about the tiny mouths and suckers from thousands of different people. They grasped the scroll, and his fingers brushed against the indents where the letters had been written. Maybe the Boss had sent him. Maybe their Boss wanted them to work together. Maybe their Boss didn't give a rat's ass about his creations, and wanted simply to see them fail. Todd suspected it might be that.
He blinked, as the door was opened. He looked over Raiden, and smiled. "I kin' fin' 'er if yeh wan' 'er. If yeh wan' 'er, I can get 'er. Whuk fer a retrievel-orgin'izayshun of sor's." His accent seemed even more incomprehensible. "It kyn'na depen's on yeh, kiddo. Yeh want The G'ehl. I geh' yeh, The Gehl."
But, in another language, in a hive-mind beyond worlds, between worlds, between places, he whispered quietly.
-What are you doing here?-
The response in the space between spaces comes as laughter, the sound of a thousand eldritch fingers scraping across a thousand chalkboards intermixed with screams.
