Indecisive Meatloaf

[Clownpiece]

To Sonny, it often seemed that no matter where he went, civilization was never a long way off. It’d been like so for nearly a millennium now, and even here it was no different. Stretching in front of the sun spirit were vast plains vaguely reminiscent of what most other civilizations built on. Gentle winds, born of the calm, bright day, rustled the native flora of the flatlands surrounding him, calmly waving off into the distance until the movement faded from view. Lying well beyond that, sat a mountain range, giving the impression of being deceptively close. The sun spirit knew better, however. Such a landmark could easily be weeks away, since something as tall as a mountain could be seen from absurd distances.

Nestled on and around one of the mountains in the range was an absolute beast of a city. Surrounded by walls of a nature Sonny hadn’t seen for centuries, it gave off the impression of being some sort of stronghold or capital. If this indeed was some sort of outdated kingdom, then he could assume that the off-color greenery surrounding that fortification was farmland. You needed to feed the scores of people under your rule somehow, after all.

“Hey, did we travel back in time or something?” The sun spirit’s voice spoke for him, hijacked by his other half. “First that Temple of Diana, now we’ve got fucking Neuschwanstein over there.”

“We did meet a guy with a motorbike and a soldier with a power suit,” Sonny responded, deliberately ignoring Somerled’s incorrect statements. “And those other soldiers with their weird-ass guns. Hence our lack of eye.”

“It’s an eye, it’ll grow back,” dismissed the storm spirit. Sonny was certain that if he had a body, he’d be waving it off and walking into the distance.

“Yes, but having a literal hole seared through our fucking skull is a bit on the suspicious side, don’t you think?” He punctuated his point further by tapping the inside of the wound.

“Just wear an eyepatch,” his other half suggested like it hadn’t occurred to him.

“Thanks but no.” Sonny responded, disfigured hand grabbing hold of his left sleeve and tearing it off. He stretched the fabric across his face, covering both the missing eye and the gaping wound in the center of his forehead. No matter how much he fiddled and twisted the cloth, however, the broken, numb fingers of his hand were unable to tie a knot. Each time he released the make-shift bandage, expecting it to stay in place, it just slid off, untethered. Every failure was punctuated by a giggle from his other half, which developed into a full-blown cackle at the sun spirit’s expense after the seventh attempt.

His chest heaving with laughter that wasn’t his own, Sonny’s task was only made more difficult. Annoyingly, he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at his other half’s wordless mocking, and if his voice wasn’t already being used, he too would have found himself giggling a bit. His hands fell back down to the horse’s reigns, as he gave up on that fruitless endeavour, and he waited for Somerled’s laugh to die down. He’d just have to summon a new outfit, one that could cover the wounds, and hopefully would blend in with the local populace.

Finding one that matched, of course, would be purely a guessing game without any citizens to base it off of. As it stood, if he wanted a disguise to blend into the populace with, then he’d need to get into a range where said disguise was necessary. It was a real catch twenty two here. Humans and their fickle sense of fashion...

“Just summon up some medieval french peasant-wear or something.” The storm spirit suggested, his giggling having long since faded away. “Or whenever the fuck time period that goddamn war was in. It worked well for us. Only got burned at the cross twice. Point is, even if that city is miraculously twentieth century, we’ll look homeless, not out of place.”

“The fact that we’re Japanese and not French might tip a few people off.”

“Also the fact that said Japanese-French peasant has a Celtic name and is riding a horse is gonna raise some eyebrows, but I don’t see you complaining about that.” Somerled accused.

“Hey, you picked the name!” Sonny retorted. If his other half had been corporeal, he was sure he would have been pointing fingers.

“No, we picked the name. I kept it,” the storm spirit pointed out.

“Kept it well beyond the point where it’s useful! It’s not the twelfth century anymore!” The sun spirit’s voice was somewhere between a normal tone and a shout.

“Just summon a fucking outfit already you indecisive meatloaf!” His other half all but yelled, growing tired of Sonny’s accusations. The spirit in question mumbled something about hitting a button and formed an iridescent orb of omnilium to mold a new outfit out of.

Being of a rather ragged make, the clothing he summoned took much less time than it would have otherwise. Soon, Sonny was wearing a white woolen undershirt beneath a brown leather doublet, with similarly colored long woolen trousers. His modern black loafers were replaced with simple hide boots, and he now had a large, green wool mantle draped across his shoulders, complete with hood and all. Of course, without a bandage or something to cover the gaping holes in his head, that would do precisely no good in keeping him out of public suspicion.

That would just have to do for now, however. With that in mind, he kicked a heel into the beast below him, pulling the reins to direct it towards the city looming in the distance. The soft sounds of hooves pushing off dirt drifted lazily to the sun spirit’s ears, faintly audible over the whispers of the gentle breeze stirring the grasses. Heat from the midday sun bore down on him. If he moved quickly, he should be able to reach the walls before dusk.