wrote:
> The little girl is not sure how it was done, but before she can say "Jack
> Frost", she's sitting in a big stuffed chair in front of a roaring fire,
> with a cup of tea in her hand.
>
> "Just rest for a bit. You *poor thing*! You must be half-frozen after
> hiding in that bush! How long were you out there, honey? Don't worry
> about a thing. We can arrange something for rent later. To be quite
> honest, I've been admiring your clothes, and wonder if you could whip
> something up for me for the Christmas party? -- call it even?" Poly's
> clothing situation has been getting very grim for awhile, and she's sick
> of everything she has...
>
> The place quiets down again after the excitement of receiving a visiter, a
> *grrrl*, too -- very rare. In the half-light of winter twilight, snow
> begins to fall, building up quickly, covering the lawn and flamethrower
> turrets, and any gargoyles sitting still too long on the roof...
>
> Inside, all is warm and bright.
And as Sweet Poly offers a fine selection of candy canes to the little
girl, a deep voice echoes distantly, yet close, in the room, yet not,
seemingly coming from everywhere, and nowhere:
"Finn rest ye merry Cyberpunks
Let no one you portraaaaay"
Then a furious scrabbling and a dislodging of bricks, as if dragons were
loose like mice in the the woodwork...
"...to save us all from Andrea's power
When we are gone astr...yeaowwww!!!"
The little girl's eyes grow wide and startled. Is the Rancho collapsing?
Are Chthulian creatures sifting down from other dimensions? She's heard
*anything* can happen here!
Sweet Poly would have grabbed her pick axe, ready to defend Rancho Deluxe
from foraying Kibologists, but she recognizes that voice, knows it all too
well...and knowing it could appear as something infinitely worse than
other dimensionl demons, draws the little girl closer to her for comfort
and protection...
Suddenly the fire in the fireplace turns black and cold in a fury of soot
that billows out into the room, driving them back beyond their chairs.
And from the swirling murk emerges a tall blackened figure carrying a
large squirming, chittering sack.
"Santa?", the little girl gasps dismayed.
"Sourcerer!" Poly stamps her foot. "What are you doing to my house?" He
stomps forward, pure carbon black except for glistening blue eyes and
white teeth showing his grin, and extends the wiggling sack to her...
"What you said. Snagging all my beemice and batcats from the walls and
woodwork..."
Then he notices the little stranger, and distracted, lets the sack loose
not quite in Poly's grip..."Hello. Who are you?" He grins wildly, no
doubt thinking he's put on a friendly and inviting face...
The sooty apparation towers over her grinning, and the little girl takes
a step back and raises her arm defensively, "I...I'm..."
"Soucerer!" It's almost too much for Poly to bear! Her lovely quiet
parlour swirling in soot, and her new friend completly terrified by his
barbaric uncouthness...and now that dropped sack and the batcats are
loose, as sooty as their creator, flapping crazily around the room
shedding showers of soot like moth dust.
One batcat notices the little girl's outstretched arm, takes it for a
likely perch, and flaps down, digging it's claws into her wrist. Slowly it
begins to rock back and forth, setting it's claws like a cat kneading a
rug. The little girl winces from the pain but is too astonished and
scared to move. Then, it's eyes droop and slowly close, and in one final
swooping swing, hangs upsidedown from her wrist like a pendant, it's
batwings folded, and begins to softly purr itself asleep.
Poly summons the med-daemons, and grabs a handy batcat perch (they're
scattered throughout the Rancho for just these situations) when Nesta and
Gene and Nemickol burst into the parlour laughing and shouting, not
stopped for an instant by the improbable scene before them (it is after
all Rancho Deluxe where nothing is improbable).
"Hey Poly! Hiya Source! Hiya...you..." they say in chorus.
"Eyebrown's decorated the flamethrower turrets with holly and poinsettas",
says Gene.
"And Zeit's stringing lights on the roof", says Nemickol.
"And we've been putting red tree lights in the eyesockets of *all* the
skulls on the borderline", says Nesta.
"Huey, Louie, and Dewey", thinks Poly, and sighs, and gives up and
collapses in a fluff of soot in her chair.
"But we..." says Gene
"Can't find..." says Nesta
"Omar's skull..." says Nemickol
"Isn't it ready yet?" They chorus.
*************************
Down below all the floors of Rancho Deluxe. Down below the cellars. Down
below the daemons' tunnels and hideyholes. Down below where no batcat or
beemouse wanders. Here the Control Room for Rancho Deluxe. Here the
Creation Chamber of Poly's imagination. Below the foundations, the Dark
Realm of Ereshkigal and her Black Throne. Here Sweet Poly sits in
judgement.
And she has given the Keys to Lisa...
Wet and shivering, it's nose bleeding, wild eyed and self-pitying, Omar
stumbles through the reddish glow and black shadows. Down corridor after
low corridor...the air is stifling hot, but it does not warm him, and the
basalt walls are icey to his touch.
He sees a light glowing up ahead where the corridor broadens into a
chamber. It's borders are lost in mist and shadows, and murky pools
bubble and steam. He gags on the fetid stench. All he wants to do is to
rest and sleep, but THINGS are about, things behind columns of rock or
dimly seen in the far shadows, whispering...hissing...he can FEEL them.
He knows he's being HERDED!!!
He's too tired to run, too faint to fight, and so he drags himself where
they will him...there ahead...a dais and somebody...some THING...
And then he sees her clearly, a tall and languid female form, sheathed in
black snakeskin, dark full ruby lips, and deep sloe eyes, lounging on a
Throne of Bone. When she moves her head on her alabaster neck, he sees
the glint of barbed earings piercing her ears more times than really
necessary. They are stained with her blood. Three rivulets of that same
dark blood are traced on her cheeks and throat. Bound to them with her
own black hair are heavy keys of ruby and iron...he can feel their weight
shoot through his bowels as if they pieced his body with exquisite pain.
She scoops something from a bowl with long ebon fingernails quite daintily
and sucks it into mouth with mobile grasping lips...what? Grey...herring
perhaps or oysters, Omar wonders. Then he realizes IT'S NOT A BOWL! He
turns to run in mad terror, but the shadow things are close to him now and
there's nowhere to go.
She deigns to notice him, and smiles coyly at him...then her smile broadens
into a rich deep laugh...
"Well," she says, "At last. I've been waiting for you to come to play
with me." She licks juice from her lips with her little cat's tongue.
Poly has not come for her keys, because she wanted to give her this
little gift...
One more time...one final time, Omar raises himself up to his dignity and
is about to shout his contempt and hatred. She leans towards him ,
stretching towards him, uncurling herself, her eyes wickedly intent,
glittering like saphires, her grin growing broader and broader...
"Yes, child? You were about to say?"
He can't speak, transfixed by her gaze, and collapses to his knees.
"Poor boy! Poor *poor* Omar, you're so worn and tired," her voice a
murmmer, comforting and soft. A gargoyle shuffles up to her and kneels
before her whimpering, presenting a crimson pillow to her. She lifts the
sickle from it, it's silver blade's cutting edge of diamonds, the heavy
iron handle studded with rubies and emeralds. She tests the edge on her
finger, and sucks the blood from the wound langurously.
Omar, weeping in an agony of ecstacy, stumbles towards her...begging...
"Yes, that's right," she whispers soothingly. "What's your pleasure?"
"Come to me, child..."
She raises the blade...
"Come to Mother."
(__) Sourcerer "The analysts at CosaNostra Pizza
/(<>)\ O|O|O|O||O||O University concluded that it was
\../ |OO|||O|||O|| just human nature and you couldn't
|| OO|||OO||O||O fix it." -- Snow Crash
[Next appendix] | [Return to index for Appendix A3] | [Return to index for Appendix A]