06-12-2017, 06:26 PM
“Can’t these stupid horses move any faster?”
“Archer, they’re horses,” Cyril muttered from immediately beside me, wringing his suit coat between his hands. “And this is a dirt road, not the Autobahn.”
“Yeah, but we’re also apparently in Narnia, not Krautland.” I retorted, brushing a lock of damp hair back into place. Although we’d been traveling down the muddy path to civilization for what felt like an hour, the damp air had prevented anything from drying significantly. “And I’m already sick of sitting downwind from these mules. Plus this buggy handles like shit.”
“You’re pretty ungrateful for someone who tried to grope the person who made this carriage,” the bean-counter asserted, attempting in vain to dry the lenses of his glasses with a section of damp sleeve.
“I was HELPING.” I snapped, crossing my arms indignantly. A pause. “And also groping,” I admitted. “But at least partially helping.”
Figgis sighed, carefully folding his still-waterlogged jacket and placing it in his lap. “Anyway, so are we really just accepting the whole ‘Omnipotent being pulls in random people for entertainment’ thing? This whole thing feels like some kind of fever dream.”
“Not random. Awesome people, Cyril,” I corrected, a smug grin plastered across my handsome face. “It’s the duty of the awesome to summon the less-awesome for entertainment. It’s poetic, really.”
"You realize in your attempt to gloat you just also called yourself 'less-awesome', right?"
"No. And also shut up."
His eyes rolled at the comment. “And you’re not the least bit concerned that this is some shared hallucination or something cooked up by Krieger? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’d considered that,” I conceded, thinking back to my arrival at the fountain. “But really his concoctions are usually more on the acid-trip end of the spectrum, not the wish-granting-power-fantasy end.”
“So...I’m just supposed to believe that this is all real, and that I’m under your subjugation until I die, at which point I’ll likely just be re-summoned only to do it all over again.” The comptroller stared straight ahead as he finished his sentence, watching the horsetails swish rhythmically back-and-forth with a blank expression on his countenance.
“Pretty much, yeah,” I agreed, a pleasant grin on my face.
“I hate my life...” the bespectacled man murmured, heaving a slow sigh. His shoulders slouched in defeat as he glanced dejectedly out the window.
“Right? I mean, your life sucks.”
“Town’s coming up, gentlemen,” our driver announced, pointing a slender finger at a passing sign post. A crack of the whip spurred the horses forward at a more lively pace, causing the cart to wobble and shudder at every bump. Whatever Darkshire was, we were almost there.
“Thank creepy-grinning-God,” I blurted out, relieved. “I need some new clothes; this rain is ruining my suit. Hopefully they have a decent tailor.”
“You do realize I’ve been soaked since the exact moment I got here, thanks to you?”
“Yeah,” I said, breaking into laughter. “I forgot for a while there. Thanks for reminding me.”
My heart sank as Emily’s wagon began to slow, the creaky oak wheels rolling into what I prayed was not our destination. With buildings that looked to be straight out of a period piece, composed of crumbling stone and splintery wood, the Empress would likely feel right at home. The same couldn’t be said for me; spies and powdered wigs didn’t exactly go well together.
“Are we sure this is the place?” I inquired. “I mean, the name ‘Darkshire’ does kinda fit, but I was hoping for something a little less...bubonic.”
“The sign says Darkshire,” Cyril confirmed, pointing at a large worn plank of wood propped up against a withering tree. The words ‘Welcome to Darkshire’ were carved into its surface, a layer of faded maroon paint having begun to peel off in chunks. It was far from comforting.
“Peh,” I tutted, not bothering to mask my annoyance. “So I guess buying a new suit is out. I guess that’s fine, since I don’t actually have any money on me.” While Omni had found me interesting enough to summon up for his amusement, he didn’t seem to have found my wallet very interesting. Maybe it was part of his humor. His cosmic, douchey humor.
“Yeah, and I seem to also be missing mine,” my dumpy companion added. “You can blame yourself for that one, oh Great God Archer.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, twisting the door handle and whipping the door open mid-roll. “I can’t hear you over the sound of me walking away from you,”
Before he could form a reply I had hopped down onto the cobble road, forcing my way into a crowded side street packed with village-goers. The vehicle continued to roll lazily through the streets of Darkshire without me, despite all protest from its occupant.
“Archer, they’re horses,” Cyril muttered from immediately beside me, wringing his suit coat between his hands. “And this is a dirt road, not the Autobahn.”
“Yeah, but we’re also apparently in Narnia, not Krautland.” I retorted, brushing a lock of damp hair back into place. Although we’d been traveling down the muddy path to civilization for what felt like an hour, the damp air had prevented anything from drying significantly. “And I’m already sick of sitting downwind from these mules. Plus this buggy handles like shit.”
“You’re pretty ungrateful for someone who tried to grope the person who made this carriage,” the bean-counter asserted, attempting in vain to dry the lenses of his glasses with a section of damp sleeve.
“I was HELPING.” I snapped, crossing my arms indignantly. A pause. “And also groping,” I admitted. “But at least partially helping.”
Figgis sighed, carefully folding his still-waterlogged jacket and placing it in his lap. “Anyway, so are we really just accepting the whole ‘Omnipotent being pulls in random people for entertainment’ thing? This whole thing feels like some kind of fever dream.”
“Not random. Awesome people, Cyril,” I corrected, a smug grin plastered across my handsome face. “It’s the duty of the awesome to summon the less-awesome for entertainment. It’s poetic, really.”
"You realize in your attempt to gloat you just also called yourself 'less-awesome', right?"
"No. And also shut up."
His eyes rolled at the comment. “And you’re not the least bit concerned that this is some shared hallucination or something cooked up by Krieger? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’d considered that,” I conceded, thinking back to my arrival at the fountain. “But really his concoctions are usually more on the acid-trip end of the spectrum, not the wish-granting-power-fantasy end.”
“So...I’m just supposed to believe that this is all real, and that I’m under your subjugation until I die, at which point I’ll likely just be re-summoned only to do it all over again.” The comptroller stared straight ahead as he finished his sentence, watching the horsetails swish rhythmically back-and-forth with a blank expression on his countenance.
“Pretty much, yeah,” I agreed, a pleasant grin on my face.
“I hate my life...” the bespectacled man murmured, heaving a slow sigh. His shoulders slouched in defeat as he glanced dejectedly out the window.
“Right? I mean, your life sucks.”
“Town’s coming up, gentlemen,” our driver announced, pointing a slender finger at a passing sign post. A crack of the whip spurred the horses forward at a more lively pace, causing the cart to wobble and shudder at every bump. Whatever Darkshire was, we were almost there.
“Thank creepy-grinning-God,” I blurted out, relieved. “I need some new clothes; this rain is ruining my suit. Hopefully they have a decent tailor.”
“You do realize I’ve been soaked since the exact moment I got here, thanks to you?”
“Yeah,” I said, breaking into laughter. “I forgot for a while there. Thanks for reminding me.”
My heart sank as Emily’s wagon began to slow, the creaky oak wheels rolling into what I prayed was not our destination. With buildings that looked to be straight out of a period piece, composed of crumbling stone and splintery wood, the Empress would likely feel right at home. The same couldn’t be said for me; spies and powdered wigs didn’t exactly go well together.
“Are we sure this is the place?” I inquired. “I mean, the name ‘Darkshire’ does kinda fit, but I was hoping for something a little less...bubonic.”
“The sign says Darkshire,” Cyril confirmed, pointing at a large worn plank of wood propped up against a withering tree. The words ‘Welcome to Darkshire’ were carved into its surface, a layer of faded maroon paint having begun to peel off in chunks. It was far from comforting.
“Peh,” I tutted, not bothering to mask my annoyance. “So I guess buying a new suit is out. I guess that’s fine, since I don’t actually have any money on me.” While Omni had found me interesting enough to summon up for his amusement, he didn’t seem to have found my wallet very interesting. Maybe it was part of his humor. His cosmic, douchey humor.
“Yeah, and I seem to also be missing mine,” my dumpy companion added. “You can blame yourself for that one, oh Great God Archer.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, twisting the door handle and whipping the door open mid-roll. “I can’t hear you over the sound of me walking away from you,”
Before he could form a reply I had hopped down onto the cobble road, forcing my way into a crowded side street packed with village-goers. The vehicle continued to roll lazily through the streets of Darkshire without me, despite all protest from its occupant.
![[Image: sterling-archer.jpg]](https://hollywoodhatesme.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/sterling-archer.jpg)