Post by Nathan Saniti on Feb 23, 2014 10:54:56 GMT -5
The Dark Arcana – Chapter Eight: Strength
Tarrant finally remembered that the best way to beat the bloat that Belchin’ waffles give is to rid oneself of the gas incurred. It was hardly civilized or even wonderfully fragrant, yet necessary nonetheless. Thankfully, the frigid breeze howling through the shattered door swept the air clean as his host recovered from his own problems of having been temporarily petrified. Tarrant hopped over to Herman to check on him, pulling down his lower eyelids and peeking deep inside to ensure that the recovery was indeed taking effect. Between coming down from his unscheduled flight and the slow start to Herman’s reanimation, Tarrant had made himself at home in the kitchen, manufacturing some tappy-okra, a greenish pudding with a wonderful sense of rhythm, rather severe texture, and equally off-putting palate. It was a much needed aid in the anti-stoning process. Catching the dessert also assisting in removing the entropy.
Snatching one of the cups up, Tarrant spooned some of the pudding into Herman’s mouth. His host made a face resembling that of someone in a lemon eating contest, but swallowed the concoction nevertheless. “Ah. Good,” Tarrant remarked. “Expression is returning to your face.” Bite after bite was forced into his mouth, each met with the same sour face, but each more expressive than the last. Soon enough, he began to turn his head to refuse another tidbit. “You HAVE to keep eating,” soothed Tarrant, “otherwise the petrification will restart. It’s a rather nasty taste, I know, but keep eating.” Herman reluctantly turned his head back to the utensil. Eyes squinted; he opened his trap, allowing the food inside without relish. Or even relish, which may have helped the taste be slightly less obstructive.
“Where’s your friend?” growled Herman through the disgust.
“Whoever that was, was not my friend. I apologize for bringing him here.” Tarrant smiled at his new acquaintance’s rediscovered ability to speak. “It almost looked as if you knew what he had planned. Am I correct?”
“You’re right on both parts. He’s definitely not the Nathan Saniti I’ve heard so much about. When I shook his hand, I saw what he had in mind for your visit.” Herman looked at Tarrant forgivingly. That was also when Tarrant noticed that the sanity had returned to his host’s eyes. “Either way, I’m happy to be rid of that maddening crown. For the first time in decades, I feel like I can think clearly again.”
“I wonder why he needed that so badly.” Tarrant scraped the last of the pudding out and fed it to Herman. “I know he’s under the control of Rasputin…”
“No he’s not,” stated Herman. “The man I shook hands with was neither under anyone’s control nor influence. He had an agenda of his own design.”
Tarrant puzzled over this last bit of information. “Were you able to see who he might have been?”
“No. Whomever he was was able to keep his identity masked even from me.” Herman’s body finished returning to normal, yet his energy level was exhausted from the ordeal. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I feel like I need to sleep.”
“Completely understandable, my friend.” Tarrant led his to his bed, helping Herman into bed, and tucking him in as if he were one of his own children. “Your body has been through a lot. Maybe we’ll meet again under better circumstances.”
Herman nearly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow muttering only one last phrase: “An evil almost as ancient as time.” Tarrant was almost startled by the thunderous roar of Herman’s sudden snoring as he pulled the bedroom door shut. He politely and quietly gathered his belongings. As he stepped through the threshold to the cave, he removed his watch from his waistcoat, waving it over the remnants of the splintered door. As he did, the wood began to repair itself to the point of when the wood was freshly cut and fit to the opening. “That should make up for things,” thought Tarrant as he tested the new door for correct fit a couple of times before beginning long trek back down the mountain.
*******
Nathan, at least one of him, possibly both of him, paced the halls of the PCW Arena, a look of worry on one, a look of rage on the other. Neither of them could shake the feelings they had after their match at Trauma 148. Q sat silently watching his worried friend nearly wore a groove in the floor.
*******
“That was a meddlesome turn of event, if I do say so myself,” growled N. Saniti through gnashed teeth.
******
*******
“I would have won that match and saved face.”
*******
*******
“…Yet there he was, siding with his dysfunctional cohorts of late…”
*******
*******
“They’ve never been a threat whenever I’ve had a partner who held up HIS end of the battle. Perhaps I shall have to play some trickery on my intrepid partner…”
*******
*******
“One thing is certain…” hissed N. Saniti.
*******
*******
“…He shall KNOW what the meaning of the word ‘injury’ shall mean.”
*******
*******
“First things first…”
*******
Tarrant finally remembered that the best way to beat the bloat that Belchin’ waffles give is to rid oneself of the gas incurred. It was hardly civilized or even wonderfully fragrant, yet necessary nonetheless. Thankfully, the frigid breeze howling through the shattered door swept the air clean as his host recovered from his own problems of having been temporarily petrified. Tarrant hopped over to Herman to check on him, pulling down his lower eyelids and peeking deep inside to ensure that the recovery was indeed taking effect. Between coming down from his unscheduled flight and the slow start to Herman’s reanimation, Tarrant had made himself at home in the kitchen, manufacturing some tappy-okra, a greenish pudding with a wonderful sense of rhythm, rather severe texture, and equally off-putting palate. It was a much needed aid in the anti-stoning process. Catching the dessert also assisting in removing the entropy.
Snatching one of the cups up, Tarrant spooned some of the pudding into Herman’s mouth. His host made a face resembling that of someone in a lemon eating contest, but swallowed the concoction nevertheless. “Ah. Good,” Tarrant remarked. “Expression is returning to your face.” Bite after bite was forced into his mouth, each met with the same sour face, but each more expressive than the last. Soon enough, he began to turn his head to refuse another tidbit. “You HAVE to keep eating,” soothed Tarrant, “otherwise the petrification will restart. It’s a rather nasty taste, I know, but keep eating.” Herman reluctantly turned his head back to the utensil. Eyes squinted; he opened his trap, allowing the food inside without relish. Or even relish, which may have helped the taste be slightly less obstructive.
“Where’s your friend?” growled Herman through the disgust.
“Whoever that was, was not my friend. I apologize for bringing him here.” Tarrant smiled at his new acquaintance’s rediscovered ability to speak. “It almost looked as if you knew what he had planned. Am I correct?”
“You’re right on both parts. He’s definitely not the Nathan Saniti I’ve heard so much about. When I shook his hand, I saw what he had in mind for your visit.” Herman looked at Tarrant forgivingly. That was also when Tarrant noticed that the sanity had returned to his host’s eyes. “Either way, I’m happy to be rid of that maddening crown. For the first time in decades, I feel like I can think clearly again.”
“I wonder why he needed that so badly.” Tarrant scraped the last of the pudding out and fed it to Herman. “I know he’s under the control of Rasputin…”
“No he’s not,” stated Herman. “The man I shook hands with was neither under anyone’s control nor influence. He had an agenda of his own design.”
Tarrant puzzled over this last bit of information. “Were you able to see who he might have been?”
“No. Whomever he was was able to keep his identity masked even from me.” Herman’s body finished returning to normal, yet his energy level was exhausted from the ordeal. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I feel like I need to sleep.”
“Completely understandable, my friend.” Tarrant led his to his bed, helping Herman into bed, and tucking him in as if he were one of his own children. “Your body has been through a lot. Maybe we’ll meet again under better circumstances.”
Herman nearly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow muttering only one last phrase: “An evil almost as ancient as time.” Tarrant was almost startled by the thunderous roar of Herman’s sudden snoring as he pulled the bedroom door shut. He politely and quietly gathered his belongings. As he stepped through the threshold to the cave, he removed his watch from his waistcoat, waving it over the remnants of the splintered door. As he did, the wood began to repair itself to the point of when the wood was freshly cut and fit to the opening. “That should make up for things,” thought Tarrant as he tested the new door for correct fit a couple of times before beginning long trek back down the mountain.
*******
Nathan, at least one of him, possibly both of him, paced the halls of the PCW Arena, a look of worry on one, a look of rage on the other. Neither of them could shake the feelings they had after their match at Trauma 148. Q sat silently watching his worried friend nearly wore a groove in the floor.
“That was a rather eventful return, if I do say so myself.”
*******
“That was a meddlesome turn of event, if I do say so myself,” growled N. Saniti through gnashed teeth.
******
“I won the match, yet I somehow ended up on my back.”
*******
“I would have won that match and saved face.”
*******
“It was my understanding that Mr. Majors was injured…”
*******
“…Yet there he was, siding with his dysfunctional cohorts of late…”
*******
“…And now you, my dear Mr. Q and I shall face the Flying Freebooters together, just as we have in the past.”
*******
“They’ve never been a threat whenever I’ve had a partner who held up HIS end of the battle. Perhaps I shall have to play some trickery on my intrepid partner…”
*******
“The inevitable defeat of the Freebooters shall sew shut any doubt that you and I are a force to be reckoned with once again.”
*******
“One thing is certain…” hissed N. Saniti.
*******
“If Mr. Majors decides to interfere in this match…”
*******
“…He shall KNOW what the meaning of the word ‘injury’ shall mean.”
*******
“But first things first…”
*******
“First things first…”
*******
“I must get rid of the OTHER me!” They both stated in unison as the split camera splices the faces of the two Sanitis together.
