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From: [email protected] (Lisa Walton)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: psycho (psukhe)
Date: 31 Oct 1995 03:55:41 GMT
Organization: Oregon Graduate Institute (OGI), Portland, Oregon
Lines: 98
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
References: <[email protected]> <[email protected]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: blue.cse.ogi.edu

In article <[email protected]>,
Sweet Poly wrote:
[...]
>Zeitgeyser is sitting in a dejected-looking heap on the steps, the
>first-aid daemons hovering anxiously nearby. He's got a couple of black
>eyes, and various other bruises and lacerations -- the point on his head
>has a big lump on it, and he's sobbing into his pith helmet, streaking
>the dust on his face.
>
>Sourcerer is sitting not too far away, looking pretty miserable himself,
>stony and silent, stoically waiting for Poly, and the thrashing he knows
>he probably deserves.
>
>The punks on the porch avoid looking at her and one another, shifting
>their feet uneasily.
>
>She pauses by Zeitgeyser, pats him cheerfully on his shoulder, and says:
>"Get a grip, Zeitgeyser. You wanna play with this bunch, you gotta roll
>with the punches. No harm done, no offense taken. Now toddle inside with
>the nice daemons -- they won't hurt you -- and get some ice for that
>bump..."

A great clattering surrounds Sym as he climbs down from the roof,
shivering and muttering at being forced to spend so much time up in
the sky collecting the ice crystals that Lisa insisted were necessary
for the cure. Shoving aside the futilely meeping bots, he creates a
small icestorm around Zeitgeyser, scouring away the dust and cleaning
his wounds. Seething with frustration and incoherant rage, Zeitgeyser
bellows and reaches for the grinning gargoyle, who dances nimbly out
of reach, trailing ice whirls. Grasping nothing but snow, he hurls it
furiously at the chortling creature.

Lisa watches from the Roof as Zeitgeyser and Sym indulge in a furious
snowball fight, with Sym taking an apparantly serious pummeling, esp
after Lisa interrupted one frisky evasion with The Look...

Feeling exhausted but better, Zeitgeyser returns to the porch and
happily accepts a steaming mug. "You're doing good there Zeit", Lisa
says as she directs the med-bots to give him an extra-deep massage.

"You wandered up to the Ranch, managed not to get eaten by Sym",
dropping to a whisper, "he actually likes you I think".

As they watch the gargoyle frolic in the temporary snow, juggling
iceballs with his toes, she continues "You also courageously waded
into the endless and occasionally hopelessly tangled threads, and got
yourself involved. Congrats!"

Zeitgeyser smiles and blearily hiccups as the heated alcohol warms
everything, even his twitching toes. He experimentally tries to pick
up an ice ball with them, wondering what it would be like to have
talons. Lisa smiles and leaves him to it, confident that he is doing
better.

Her voices echos down to him as she begins her ascent "Keep it up, and
maybe it'll encourage other lurkers to make it further than The Roof
or the Front Lawn. Even from up here the stench from the noxious KF
Tar Pits and the eerie howls from the flame dancers and troll-eaters
patrolling the vast wilderness to the south are pretty intimidating."

Up on the roof, Lisa luxuriates in the cleansing cold of the
Sym-storm, licking crystals from the stained-glass windows and
creating new hues and patterns with her heated breath.

Somewhere, as from a fast distance, she hears shrieking and sounds of
some vast confusion...

[...]

>I can't handle the stress of
>worrying about all of you while I'm gone. Meantime, though, take this
>switch, and whap the side of this woodshed real loud with it, and scream
>and holler -- like you mean it, so the punks think I'm really giving you a
>hard time, and haven't turned into a softie.
>
>Sourcerer meekly does as he's told, shrieking believably, while Poly
>watches from her perch on a keg of nails, and lights a joint, trying to
>snag some relaxation time in a *very* busy day. She's got *packing* to
>do...
>
>While Sourcerer screams bloody murder (making the punks shudder), she
>ponders the wisdom of her post to Ross (see what you started, Ross?
>). She'd had only the best intentions, and look what happened...

Something of sorrow, (mis)understanding, and candor. Honest expression
and an honest act of contrition. Something real. Something gained.

Lisa, dreaming on the roof, realizes that she has lots of packing to
*undo*, and, drawing the moment of relaxation and silence into
herself, quietly slips off into the night.

Meanwhile Sym, the caretaker of her dreams, gamboles endlessly under a
starless sky, reveling in the clarity, in the cold, and the silence.

Lisa

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