Saturday, May 21, 2011


Hard to enjoy the rest of my day after...that, but I'm still trying.  Even the Marriott can only cheer me up so much.  Food is good, service is fine, and the rooms are just enormous.  Hell, the sights are awesome.  But every time I look out that window, I remember...what HE showed me.  Burning buildings, thirty care pile-ups, and...Him.  Except when I saw Him, he was looking INTO my window.  On the thirtieth floor.  He's tall enough as is, thank you very goddamn much.

So my options are pretty much sleep, eat, or blog.  Luckily they've got no shortage of computers here.  So here I am, to share with you guys what happened.  To start, I met Zab about how his own post described; I don't do well in public.  About the only thing he got wrong was my outfit.  It's not gray, it's really more of a white.  Anyways, on we go.  I had to resist taking our phone-babbling friend's device, shouting some static noise and stepping on it; I'd call that my good deed for the day.

I woke Zab up, and almost had to drag him down the stairs.  I'm not a fit kid, and Zab is damn heavy, but I've spent more than enough time figuring out the proper ways to move things that don't exactly feel like moving.  All you need to do is find the right spots.  Anyways, at THAT point we actually talked a bit.  Zab's a good kid, if a bit naive.  Even when I didn't BELIEVE in all this, I wasn't half as good-natured as him.  I just can't find it in myself to do all that stuff society tries to force on me.  So we talked, and I found out that he's had relationships before.  More than I can say, not that it particularly bothers me.

It was...two o clock?  Three, maybe?  Hell, time's a lot harder to grasp with a fucked up circadian rhythm, and harder still when all the clocks are beeping a damn 'Time to Rapture' clock.  By my count, I'm about 7 hours overdue.

Anyways, we heard a lot of activity, even in the middle of the night in L.A.  Zab wanted to ask for directions a few times, but I know a streetwalker when I see one.  Besides, "Looking for a demon" on the night of the Rapture would probably get us crucified.  Luckily for us, we actually passed a guy babbling about one, so that saved us some time.  I'd brought a cross with me, and a pentragram, for what little they do; my Mom's a Wiccan, and my dad's Catholic.  I guess if I hated someone enough they'd be hexed AND smote.

Neither of them did much besides make the son of a bitch laugh, when we found him.  I had one in each hand, and a book tucked between my shoulder when I heard him.  I'm not sure if you guys have ever heard a rattlesnake shake its tail, but Baaztat's voice was a mix of that, a dog's growl, and I'm pretty sure there was just a hint of Gilbert Gottfried in there.  That was THE most annoying voice I'd ever heard, bar none.

So, he appears behind us, and I had to whirl around just in time for a pair of hands the size of my head rip the things from my hands; they're still bandaged, and I'm disinfecting every hour.  At that point, I really didn't have much else to defend myself with, so I just grabbed my back.  He laughed again, and I almost wanted to shove my key in my ear to stop the sound.  And Jesus Christ, he smelled worse than a farm.

I'm pretty sure he had goat's legs, but they might even have been pig's from what little I could gather.  Either way, they were covered in scales, and they oozed some thick red shit I can't even name.  He was about 8 feet tall, and he looked like some sort of gargoyle from the legs up.  He had wings that were as far across as he was tall, and they looked halfway between those weird-ass insect wings and the leather of a bat's.  His head was lopsided, with one eye a few inches higher up than the other, and the sclera were both a sickly yellow that made me want to vomit.

He came to me first, I guess because I was the believer.  A hand that might have made sense attached to a gorilla hovered just over my head, and I saw...chaos itself.  I saw people panicking, saw Him feeding on it all.  I'm pretty sure I saw what's coming if he ever gets it into his head to stop hiding.  Then he spoke again, in words I could actually understand.  I could hear...other shit, just behind it.  I think he was talking in every language at once.  I only really know French, but I'm decent at German, and...goddamn, each language he was just playing with the meaning of what he said.

"Are you a customer?"  God, that sound, and the smell made me go paler than I normally am; and Zab can vouch, that's pretty fucking pale.  I almost looked like I was made of milk, and I couldn't even talk around some sort of solid mass in my throat; my heart?  Yeah, could've been.  I just kinda gaped like a fish, until Zab finally stepped forward and spoke FOR me.

I was barely paying attention, but I know he told it that we wanted his help to fix what He's been fucking with, and he was NOT happy.  It did the same thing to Zab, and I don't know what the hell HE saw, but I know he fainted dead away.  The fucker didn't even have the guts to stay standing for more than a second after it took a step away.  I never should've invited him; he's wasted my money, he wasted my time, and I've had to baby him all the way.

But he bought me enough time to marshal my thoughts, so there is that.  I laid out the deal, just as I'd told Zabulon.  Just as I'd told the Tablet.  Just as I told all of you.

The soul of Zach Briggs, to prove my sincerity.  A lifetime of pain and torture, for his wisdom.  His power.

And the death of Archangel, for the cure to the Virus.

We're meeting him tomorrow, at the same time and the same place, with the proof.

Now I just need to hope these printers work...I've spent five hours working on a contract, and I've had to go back just to make sure my trembling hands didn't mistype a couple dozen times.

It's ironclad.  Neither side is worming their way out of this.

I've got no choice but to deliver what was promised.  But, hey.  I've spent way too long planning this.  He may be eight feel tall, and he may have powers I can't dream of...he may be old enough to have seen the world created, for all I know.  But he still THINKS like a human, and that means that this is my turf.  He thinks I'm too scared to try and screw him over.

To be honest, I think it too, right now.


  1. She wasn't a streetwalker, and I didn't want JUST directions.

    Either way, don't talk about me like I'm a fucking parasite. If you'd seen what I'D seen, if he did to you what he did to me, you wouldn't even be able to wake up.

  2. What would you prefer I talk to you like you are, Zab? You get me to bring you along by promising to help me pay for all this, and then you suck up what little I had saved up. You faint dead away as soon as we GET THERE, and I pretty much had to drag you out of there myself.

    Parasitism- The act of one being benefiting, to the detriment of another. Seems apt enough to me.

  3. HOW THE FUCK DID I BENEFIT FROM THIS SHIT. I'm still trembling. I can't even type more than a few sentences at a god damn time.

    Plus, I told you, I'll pay you back once I find an ATM where I'm sure I won't be stabbed.

  4. A night at the Marriott sure seems like benefiting to me.

    What the fuck did you see, anyways? It couldn't have been much worse than the Slenderpocalypse.

    Ah, whatever. We've got our scheduled meeting in a few hours. Try to stay on your feet this time, Zab? For me. I'm not entirely sure if I'll walk out of here alone a second time.

  5. It was worse... much worse... you cant even imagine...

  6. What? Did he kill your little puppy? Did he break in a few windows and start touching you in bad places? Did the Big Bad Slenderman make you feel funny?

    Whatever he showed you, Zabulon, it doesn't matter. It's not real; it's just a maybe. It'll only be a certainty if you don't GET UP OFF YOUR ASS AND STOP TRYING TO PLAY THE SKEPTIC.

  7. Think before you speak!

    In the midst of arguing with you I managed to stop my shaking long enough to type out what happened...

    After you go do your businessman shit with Baaztat, we're parting ways. Obviously you are a self-centered brat who thinks of no one but himself.