Conversation
Author's Notes
Important vocab words specifically for this:
Native: a creature that lives and was created within any of the Dream Worlds of the Dark World. They are created by their respective Admins (gods), and will die if their respective Admins are somehow killed. They do not possess a soul, and upon death rejoin their Dream World as parts for new Natives to be created from.
Celtic's Admin (The Taskmaster) perished the moment she began existing, and likewise, as he was her obligatory first Native, so did Celtic. He was saved from immediate death by The Husk, whom he now has devoted his eternal existence to.
Just wanted to explain the term Native because I realize that doesn't make much sense out of context-
"Please tell me your name." Celtic was growing displeased with the girl that sat before him. It felt like they had been doing this for hours, days, centuries. Of course, time did not truly exist here.
"Ooh… booh… hahh…" the girl dozed, poking at a stray EYE as it passed.
"Your name, ma'am." Celtic insisted.
"And I was so close to being able to follow it… what do you need, Celtic?" the girl ruefully stated, before turning to face Celtic with her blank face.
"Your name." Celtic responded.
"Celtic, you already know my name." the girl giggled, tossing an illusory lock of hair from her illusory face.
"Just for the record." Celtic insisted one final time.
"For the record, no one reads the records." the girl sighed dramatically. "My name is The Butterscotch Deity. Or, The Butterscotch Girl, if you're feeling less pious."
"And please state why you're here." Celtic continued, writing the names upon a page that floated in front of him.
"Saw some people. Got a thing. Hey, have you heard…" the girl waved her hand as though what she had gone through was less than nothing, and hunched forward, "...I found a new way to get to The Forge. I love watching the Natives dance… untouched, kept safe… so pretty…"
"Noted. But, that isn't why you are here. Please express why you are here." Celtic clicked.
"...Yeah. I saw them again." the girl nodded.
"Them." Celtic monotonously questioned.
"Yeah, them." the girl snorted. "You know… oh, I've always loved your Discrep. You can ask questions… be rude… it's always been a nice breath of fresh air to here you talk." she reminisced. "Like… just the other day, I was talking to the new guy… whatever we're calling him, the big one downstairs…"
"Them." Celtic queried.
"Yeah I'll get to that in a minute. So I was all… 'Hey man, how the souls?' and he responded by saying 'You ploughed this field. I am harvesting it. The masses gorge themselves on those not lucky enough to escape.' and that was like… really weird. And stuff. You know how he is, he'll he." the girl shrugged.
"This is not important." Celtic did not want to speak of the new recruit. Celtic wished to speak about the thing the girl had come here to speak about. "Tell me about your encounter with the Dark Assembly."
"It was pretty basic… suddenly, I was in a void… kinda like this one, bit obviously less gray. Like, black. Completely black." the girl gestured to the void around them, swirling with the invisible eddies of steps far above. "And there they were. All holding hands, except for the first one… I dunno, he's never holding their hands… he's too… busy, I guess." she continued.
"Yes, and." Celtic penned the words faster than he could comprehend them. He did not need to comprehend, he just needed to work.
"Other… stuff happened. And it was all over. Ooh- the other day- oh gosh, his face was so funny…" the girl trailed off.
"Please stay on the subject at hand. What happened next. What actually happened next." Celtic replied.
But the girl was gone.
The EYEs were gone.
The gray void was gone.
Celtic now floated in a vast, dark void. It was utterly silent, quieter than quiet, more maddening than the Corners of Rialitii. Celtic had no soul; no real soul. And yet, he could feel the bony hands of dread caressing whatever faux soul he possessed. For before him, there stood a multitude of forms: all of them were far too dark to make out. Far too numerous to count. Far too many eyed, mouthless faces. Each held the others' hand, forming a never-ending chain, a bond greater than any other bond.
There was no doubt in the reprogrammed Native's mind: this was the Dark Assembly.
And, in front of the endless lines of figures stood a final figure. At first, he had seemed far away, so far away. But in the blink of an eye, without even a motion or a step, he stood in front of Celtic. Celtic was about twice as tall as the pitch black being, but he still felt menaced. Intruded upon.
"You are getting in the way of my interrogation. Please send me back where you grabbed me." Celtic clicked, facing down towards the smaller being.
In the Dark Ambassador's outstretched hands, there lay a small rectangle prism: gray, with rounded edges and a slight marbled effect to it, smelling faintly of some terrestrial plant. It hurt even to look at, to smell, to recollect what that rectangular prism had done. Yet, Celtic felt urged to take it.
The moment he touched the accursed item, his hands grew red, inflamed, scaly. Yet, instead of dropping the rectangular prism, he gripped it tighter. It was as if he were glued to it, as though they had become one. Celtic faced the face of the Dark Ambassador. "What do you want." he inquired, his body beginning to shake.
The Dark Ambassador faced up towards Celtic, and, with no mouth, spoke:
Nothing will ever change, they will always see you as lesser, as a fake thought living in a fake world.
"What do you mean by that." Celtic inquired monotonously.
"I mean… like, for a guy with only half his brains left, he was downright mortified." the girl shrugged.
Celtic was back, back within the reaches of sanity and what he could only call reality. Back to his gray void, back to the swirling masses of hungry EYEs… back to the girl. "How long was I gone." Celtic inquired, and looked down at his hand. He was still desperately grabbing at the rectangular prism- which he immediately released. Sure enough, his hand was as scaly as ever.
"You were gone…?" the girl questioned, before noticing the item. "Yo is that soap?? MINE." she immediately grabbed the item, caressing it as though it were a beloved object. "...Mmm… smells like the neighbor's house…" she reminisced.
"That item belongs to me." Celtic clicked.
"Uh, I'm holding it, so it's actually mine funny story actually." the girl snickered.
"Return it to me." Celtic halfheartedly grabbed at the rectangular prism.
"No way dude- how do you expect to carry this thing anyways? Your hand is like… toast." she faced his infested hand.
"...The only way I'll tell you the rest of my story is if I get to keep it." the girl mischievously declared.
Celtic was silent for a few perceived moments, as multiple facets of his self came into conflict with one another.
It was important…
but his duty was more important…
but he wanted it…
but his duty was more important…
than he was…
integrity…
of the…
"Very well. Continue." Celtic replied, reorienting the paper so he could better write on it. "No more distractions."
"Okay." the girl snorted, and in a flash the rectangular prism had disappeared. Probably into a hoard of items she perceived as being important.
"The Dark Ambassador stood in front. And he was holding… the scissors." she continued.
"Which scissors." Celtic desperately penned the words, his hand simultaneously glowing and pissing a deep, black substance.
"My scissors." the girl explained flatly.
"Please elaborate for th"
"For the record, I get it." the girl snapped. "The metal scissors, with the yellow grip. You can fit two fingers into the holes, makes it hard to cut paper but they've become so important to me that I refuse to get rid of them. Cutting off my hair and hiding it in that box… other people's hair... those scissors. Must've… grabbed them out of the cup, or something."
"What did he say." Celtic asked.
"Say?" the girl asked back.
"What did he say." Celtic repeated himself.
"...He said,
They will never see your true pain, the audience laughs as the tiger falls iller and iller.
" the girl responded truthfully. "And in a flash, I was back. ...And like, it was a great dance, too. I had a ton of fun after I returned those bad boys to where they belonged. They had, like… carrot wine, or something? Whatever it was, it was great, and you should try it too."
"Thank you for your report, ma'am. You may return to wherever you came from." Celtic arranged his papers carefully, and began to float in the other direction.
"Oh well okay." the girl snorted. "I swear, out of all of them you're the hardest to deal with."
"As are you. May your dreams be free of 'Manglers." Celtic clicked in reply.
"Yeah yeah, may your dreams be f"