Post by Nathan Saniti on Apr 10, 2015 18:37:22 GMT -5
Land of Confusion: Chapter One
Wonder. Amazement. Confusion. Perhaps even a little terror, you know, that tiny screaming voice that clambers to be free, yet is held back with a simple biting of the tongue. These were the emotions going through Nathan's mind as he, his sister, and her betrothed, Grigori Rasputin stared wide-eyed at the utter disarray of Nathan's home. Naomi knew her brother well enough to know that abnormal was pretty much status quo in his world, but this? This even threw her speechless, agog with curiosity. It was only when she took a good long look at her sibling that she understood the severity.
"I..." stammered Nathan. "I... I... Miss Starr? Kelli? She's back?" The notion in and of itself had Nathan climbing the walls. Well, that and the fact that all of the chairs seemed to be defying gravity quite stubbornly. He needed a seat. Now. His hair unfurled, freed from the captivation of his chapeau as it floated from his cranium, drifting weightlessly like a grocery bag caught in a lazy vortex. Nathan forced himself into a chair, his face a bright crimson from sheer effort. His mind concentrated only on the fact that the one love he had been afforded by the fates. He had let her get away, yet she had returned. Mentally reeling from the situation, he pondered, rather uncomfortably, his skewed vision never truly resting on the companions he had suddenly forgotten.
"Nathan," Naomi soothed, "Come up from down there." She shook her head at the absurdity of what she spoke, yet it fit the situation entirely. "Let us go to the PCW world, find her, and speak to her. You need to do this."
Nathan nodded his head in protest. "I can't." Fright took over his eyes, holding them for ransom. "I shan't. My nerves can't withstand seeing her."
"If my zaichik has returned," began Rasputin, almost chastising Nathan, "then she has a reason for her resurfacing." He paused, deeply considering his next words. "I may have been wrong in my attempts to tear the two of you asunder. We must go! We must set right my wrongs!"
Nathan's eyes darkened with hatred as he relived the memories leading to him squaring off with his then-nemesis. A gnarled sneer parted his lips, rage filling his eyes. "YOU!" Nathan outstretched his hands as if choking Rasputin from afar. "Your meddling caused this!"
Nathan hefted himself at Rasputin, his hands eager to fill themselves with the Russian Madman's throat. Grigori found himself unwilling being guided softly down to the ceiling as Nathan connected, physics allowing to both men to live the encounter in slow motion. Rasputin couldn't decide which was more shocking; Nathan's sudden bi-polar shift in attitude, or the glorious length of inescapable time allotted to the whole encounter. Though his body impacted the roof-now-floor with next to no momentum, it impacted as if he had been run over by a rickshaw carrying a sumo wrestler. Rasputin shifted his weight enough to carry Nathan over and off of him. Nathan skidded to a three point stance, his teeth gnashed in a grimace of anger.
Naomi could only observe in terror as her brother attacked her lover. She had no energy to react, none to stop the tide of events. It was as if she has been glued to the very spot. Looking down, she discovered that a rather large vat of translucent goo had in fact been spilled . She cast her glance floor-wards, noticing that Nathan had left his paper mache supplies sitting out. The spillage must have happened before the unfortunate turn of the world. That, or the Creator just wanted to throw in some sort of circumstantial insanity. She would never know for sure. Plot Contrivance was, after all, the Creator's bitch.
A small door next to the entrance of the Now-Possible Staircase snapped open. Out plodded a grotesque version of Harriet, Tarrant's widow. "What's all this fuss out here?" The bickering stopped in its tracks as the men cast their glances to their new guest. She appeared as if she had been turned inside out, her internal organs pulsating as normally as the tone in her voice, as if nothing in the world was amiss. "Nathan, are you fighting again?" She clicked her tongue in mock disgust, her eyelids blinking behind her ocular globes.
"Harriet?" Nathan queried, in disbelief of what he was seeing. "Are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Nathan. Now stop all this quarrelling before you wake up my children." She tersely shook her head again, her brain wiggling like a demented gelatin mold as she disappeared through her door. "You're making enough racket to sleep the living.*"
(*Wake the dead. There's going to be a lot of this. Pay attention. Or don't. Whatever. I'm confused too.)
"It's worse than we thought," Naomi grumbled as she freed herself from her brother's inconveniently placed hobby. "Nathan, you're going to PCW, and you're going to speak to Kelli. This isn't right, even for you."
Once again, a strange bluish-white LIGHT shone from underground, seemingly leading the way towards another door. It too seemed to have a pulse, a life force of its own as it zig-zagged its way to the portal. The three followed the trail as it graced them with a beacon both familiar and somehow unnerving. The LIGHT had been so helpful in its brilliance, showing them the exit away from the cartoonish hillbillies and their co-conspiring furry critter. Now there was something about the LIGHT, something that would give any man pause. This was a different LIGHT, one that had a sinister, opposing feel. Had it been affected by the turn of events in Nathan's love life? Perhaps Nathan's own view gave it the newfound atmosphere. All three pondered quietly as they reached the egress into the PCW Universe.
"I shall follow this LIGHT," growled Nathan. "I shall follow it once more, and even if this incorporeal illumination should get in my way, I shall render it useless, cloaked in shadows." Twisting the knob and yanking the door ajar, he inhaled a courageous breath, sheer determination in his gaze. "I shall once again speak to my love, even if Miss Starr will not have me. This I must do."
"There she is!" teased Rasputin.
Nathan dropped, headbutting the ground audibly, his posterior high in the air. "SQUEWK!" He froze there for several seconds.
Rasputin guffawed at his joke as Naomi shook her head in dismay. "This is going to take some work."
The LIGHT pulsated one last time, materializing a slip of paper just under Nathan's forehead. He arose, the slip stuck to his noggin like a stamp to an envelope. Peeling it from his skin, he turned the paper this way and that, looking at it with morbid curiosity. It simply read: "You're invited, signed TIIT"
"Who is this TIIT?" Nathan wondered. "What am I invited to? Why did this LIGHT deliver it? Will these questions ever end?" He sat on the ground, studying the invitation, dumbstruck. No matter which way he positioned the engraved slip, he couldn't see anything wrong. It gave no hint of danger, yet it captivated him briefly nonetheless. He would go unto this TIIT, squeeze whatever information it can from him or her, milking it of the opportunity to avoid the very thing he came to confront. "Miss Starr shall wait," he determined inwardly. "I may yet be able to kill two stones with one bird." His eyes set upon an insignia; a logo all too familiar, the PCW logo. "Yes. I think we shall make our way to the arena. All things will be answered there."
As he regained his confidence, Nathan led his cohorts towards their destination, casting the note aside absently. They meandered on as the paper floated gently to the ground. Upon reaching the grass, it burst into flames, another familiar symbol charring itself into the design. That symbol was a Black Hand.
