Fantasy The New Home

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney went through items he found, but nothing was marked dangerous. He looked around at the paintings shown in the gallery. There were spectacular paintings, some were surreal. But if something was marked dangerous, it wasn't anything here. Rodney checked the painting supplies for the dangerous thing his uncle mentioned.

Rodney knew he was hungry, why was he putting off dealing with that? Wasn't that more important? So he went to the pantry. There were still a few cans around, but he saw no can opener. There was sliced bread, and he found hummus. So he made sandwiches with that, and ate to contentment. But he would still have to go to the store in the area to bring more food into his new home, he knew.

But now the search for what might be marked dangerous, that he should know about, should continue, to some extent anyway. Rodney came to where a great assortment of books lined the walls in the personal library his uncle had left. He did not know what to look for, these were only books. But he dutifully went along, looking at the visible book ends showing the titles, stepping on when he had checked a row from top shelf to bottom shelf, not yet knowing why this would be important, but not having thought of anything else to do. After several rows with this careful looking, he saw a row of six books, each having a taped label, with the word Dangerous written on them. So there were books that were dangerous?! It did not make much sense. He pulled the first out, and looked at the title, and opened it to the title page, showing the same title, Necropsidia. A strange name, but that didn't tell him anything. Maybe the next book would have a more meaningful title. He pulled it out to look. That second book with the label on it had the title The King in the Lost City. Whatever it was talking about, it made an interesting title. But dangerous?

Maybe he would just look through a little of it, to get a sense of what would be in the book. Maybe what the lost city was would be shown there in some way. So then, he let his hands open it to the first page of text.

As he read the beginning though, it became quite interesting suddenly and unexpectedly. He saw the king was an unidentified stranger, who told no one that he was a king. The people never knew who was their king, hidden in the tower. The city held the people there, for it seemed to be in different places at different times. Someone walking out away from the city would probably not find their way back to it.

As he read he heard a voice. But from where? And it was a familiar voice, he quickly became convinced.

 

[Caroline1539]

"Rodney, ever convinced that the book he had currently picked up was an immense waste of time, didn't bother reading any further." The voice prompted, his tone one of restrained, patient consideration. "Instead, he looked behind that series and found yet another book.

A solid, thick hardback touched his fingertips. With some straining, he got his grip on it and pulled it out.

My God. What a wonderful book. What a gorgeous, gorgeous book. It was a hardback, with a black velvet casing- and a decorative front, would you look at that!

The Ouroborous looked out of the cover of the book. The Ouroborous was a bright, deep red, almost as if someone had captured lifeblood in a still image. It's scales shimmered when Rodney turned the book in his hands, winking and shining at him as if they caught the light, but something was strange too- it was almost as if when he looked closely enough, he could see reflected images within the scales. Perhaps he was just imagining it, though- seeing images where facets only should be.

The Orouborous stared at Rodney with a bright yellow eye, it's gaze following him as he turned the book in his hands. It encouraged him, please read this book. If you want, you can crack open the spine and see what lays inside. I will always speak a good story- one that will intrigue you. One that will inspire you. One, if you so wish to identify with the characters inside, could be about you. Yes, you. A book about you, wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't that be fun?

The Ouroborous encircled a title, written in black text on a white field. The Parable, the book was titled. The pages themselves were nothing fancy, white, thick, hardy pages cut cleanly, the edges smooth and crisp. The book looked as if it had never been opened before- really, it didn't show any signs of age. How was this book supposed to be dangerous? If no one had read it before, it must be simply a collectible- unless Rodney's uncle meant that it was dangerous only because of how intriguing the possibility of reading it might be."

The voice didn't bother to hide himself in Rodney's thoughts, this time. He spoke, clearly ringing out in the room around Rodney's person, and after he was done repeating himself, he waited just a moment before he cleared his throat, the sound of someone shifting position playing out despite there being no one physically there.

"Well? Go on. Try it out." The voice promoted after a moment, clearly impatient in his expectation, his tone excited despite his professional restraint.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney had been enrapt. There were some who seeing the city would enter it, but when they would want to leave later on they could not find the way. Those who were familiar with this city could, but if they had anything dear there they would not, knowing when they might leave they would not find their way in again. And more was said there that Rodney became aware that the writer telling these things about this city is there, or was there. And it was this writer telling it that knew the discreet one that no one there knew was actually the king there!

But the voice spoke to him. That familiar voice. He thought, I know that voice! He grabbed the book that had been brought to his attention. He looked at it carefully. He the spoke aloud, "I know you, don't I? Can't you tell me, I can't remember right now how I know you?" But as he looked at this book, it did seem interesting. Maybe it really was more interesting than what he would have kept reading from.

 

[GodlyDnD]

It kept being a distracting thought to Rodney about how the voice he heard was so familiar, even as he marveled at this newly found book in his hands. Where could he possibly have heard this same voice speaking to him, before? He had just come back from his attendance of the will being read, with his cousins there, right? And the voice was here now that he just came here. Why should it be familiar? Would he get the answer to what he asked?

But he opened this book at the opening, gingerly. He was sure this had not been looked through ever previously. Then his uncle could not have known of it. But how would it be here without him knowing it?

 

[GodlyDnD]

The text looked intimidating. Rodney's eyes quickly went to a weird picture shown opposite the text. Did that weird picture have anything to do with it? Oh my! Rodney went back to the table with it, where he had left the other book with the king in it, in a lost place, where he might sit, with the cushioning for his arms. That other book had him somewhat interested. Did he really want to go on with this one that had at first intimidated him, with having the weird picture in it too?

 

[Caroline1539]

"You've heard this voice before." The voice said smoothly in response to the question, a sense if danger slowly sliding along the edges of his composed demeanor. "When, you aren't sure. But it feels...almost like second nature. As if it might be a part of the home that Rodney inherited." The voice outlined, slow brushstrokes of contemplative introduction spreading texture to this place.

The air felt warmer, more comfortable, and yet somewhat strange- like they were still experiencing the changes of the season, a transitional atmosphere held still in the atmosphere.

The voice sighed in relief as the spine on The Parable cracked, the space definitely settling towards comfortable and relaxed as Rodney relaxed with the book on his armchair.

The picture that he saw was of the title itself, framed and printed, over and over in smaller iterations of itself, tunneling into the page that it was inked on. As Rodney turned the page, the depth seemed to shift, as if he was looking into something that held true, three dimensional depth. The edge of the frame held texture, grooves smooth under his fingers.

"This is a story about a man named Rodney." The book began. The voice read along with the book, settling into a professional, gentle tone of voice.

Rodney was an ordinary man in every respect. He had a job that he liked, family that he loved...and a story he treasured, as a part of his life.

He did not know who had written this book. The author was an enigma, a title that his childhood mind attributed a certain upright character to, someone to be admired, someone to find fun, and exciting.

As he grew, the childhood admiration wore off. Once, the author's title, held as someone that had written something he admired, became a simple moniker among thousands he had read over his life.

He still loved the story, though.

It changed him, made him the man he was today. The characters and storyline of the book itself remained as a core part of his memory, of his identity. Something so dear that he would never part from it. And indeed, he kept the story to revist over the years of his life.

He was doing so right now.

He had suffered an awful loss, recently. One that uprooted his life, gave him many things he had no precedent for dealing with. Feelings he didn't know what to do with. He needed the comfort of the familiarity of this story. The narration of the author he was so familiar with. He could be safe, knowing that with every turn in the plot, every character and every situation, he knew what was going to happen.

And so, Rodney read the story.

As he did, he found joy in the story as he had always done. It was just as enrapturing as he knew it to be. It was just as comforting as he expected it to be. He kept reading the story until the very end, sinking into the narrative, until the world he knew as a child had become real once more.

And Rodney...Rodney was happy.

 

[GodlyDnD]

"And this Rodney must be about me? I do suffer loss. But I never had a book meaning very much to me, this is my first time with this book. And being happy? That does not sound like me. Wait a minute. This book... I remember something. I don't know how. You are the spirit of this book, aren't you? And I am sure I am remembering your claim that my uncle knew you. How do I remember these things though?"

Not hearing answers now, Rodney had these realizations put further back in his mind. Still he was not sure how he knew those things. But there must be an explanation. So maybe he should look on through the text in this book. He turned the page. But how far would he go? Would answers he wanted really come with this? Maybe there was another way to come to the answers of the perplexing realization that was becoming stronger in him. Then he stared at the next page in disbelief.

 

[Caroline1539]

The voice sighed in exasperation, the comfortable atmosphere wearing off into something irritated again. "Rodney was also an insufferable twit that spoke aloud when reading books." The voice snipped, that sentence placed on the next page.

"Yes. Hello. This book is about you. Don't act surprised- this story has been all about you, even though you have absolutely no understanding of what Suspension Of Disbelief is." The voice went on, annoyed and matter of fact. "Despite the fact that he did, indeed, do everything that was outlined in this book beforehand." The voice insisted, yanking the narrative back into place.

You see, one day, Rodney realized that he had grown up. Properly grown up, with adult responsibilites. He couldn't spend his whole life reading a book, could he?

Well...perhaps he could.

Who cared what others thought of him? Who cared about the other things he needed to do? If he so wished, he could spend his entire life here, sitting and reading and remaining where he was, perfectly content. He could stay with all the characters he knew, all the situations he knew, everything in it's place.

He could be safe, here. Where nothing could hurt him, where he could stay happy. Content, at peace, perfectly safe with the world he knew like the back of his hand.

Wouldn't he like to do that? Stay happy, stay content with the story he was so familiar with?

What else could he possibly be concerned with?

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney thought, Of course, there must be things to do. He would not really sit reading on in a book, even one predicting what he would do from now on, if doing this was all he would ever yet do. It would not be interesting to read he just did that from then on. But there were things. Weren't there? Yes! He had thought earlier he needed to go to the store. His uncle for some reason had not been stocked up on anything, when he departed. Some cans and not even a can opener around that he saw. So he needed to get a can opener, and some food, and drink, here. And maybe things so he would sleep over here, since he would live here.

But that meant putting the book down. And it might be better to tell this narrator. "I need to go do things, now. I will come back to this when I take care of what I need to." If he could just remember what it was that was why saying this was a good idea...

Rodney then got up, leaving the book open there, and went to do what he saw was needful. On his way he still thought about what he was trying to remember.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney considered that he knew that he had to explain to this one whose voice he heard, not seeing anyone, that he had to go do things he needed to, and that he would come right back to that. And, he knew he should read what he was told to read. So, somehow he had encountered this one with just this voice being experienced, before. He knew something about what he was like. But how? He had just come to this house that he inherited from his uncle. Where would he know that one... Oh my god! There is another experience with him!! There was something else, and this started all over again! But how? Did that one cause a start over? Was there a glitch?

In any case he was on his way for groceries. He should not remain hungry in this home, with only the sliced bread there. So he had to focus on the food and utensils he would get, and, especially, a can opener. There was this great puzzle, still. He would have to think more about that after getting what he was remembering to get.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney made a point to have everything he would want for several days, more sliced bread, and spread, prepared foods, fruits, drinks, cans, and a can opener, as soon as he could have those things. He was on his way to his new home then, when he thought further of there having already been an experience of this time, and it was reset. He might confront that voice, that he knew something about already. Would that be right? What he thought he knew would have that not being a good idea. Maybe he could ask questions. No, not too many. But there should be a good question. That voice was sure to go on, wherever it was coming from, whether he was still reading or not.

 

[Caroline1539]

The Narrator made no response, but the page where Rodney left it rustled as he set the book down. The book sat there where he left it, still and inert- but as Rodney thought and got up to do things, words printed themselves onto the page he was reading.

Rodney left the book where it was to do his Adult Things, like going to the store to buy a can opener. He was a responsible person, that he was.

He felt like he was missing something, too. Something important. He couldn't remember what it was, though.

The book whispered into the empty room, disturbing the quiet with silibant, obscure speech, the book continuing to print even as Rodney left and went about his business.

~~

The store that Rodney went to was banal, familiar, like every other grocery store that existed.

There was a man wandering through the aisles that looked, for all intents and purposes, banal, familiar, like what you would expect a normal man to look like. Someone who was taking care of Adult Things like Rodney. Someone content to take care of mindless, habitual chores as well.

The normal man caught sight of Rodney, did a double take, and then looked after him with a slight frown on his face, like he was someone familiar.

Carefully, the man tailed him through the store, always staying a good distance away from him, not picking up anything. He stared after Rodney, like there was remembrance on the tip of his tongue.

When Rodney left, the man tailed him through the parking lot too, and only when Rodney had finished putting his groceries away and was dutifully putting his cart away did the man finally bridge the distance. He held up his hand, looking perfectly intent, crossing the distance between them with long strides, as he was taller than Rodney by a good measure so to catch up to him quicker than he could have run for his car.

He didn't speak, but he shifted his open hand into a sign, perfect ASL.

"Hi. Hello. Hello." The man signed, simple, immense intensity in his dark brown eyes in his unassuming, pale face. "Understand me?" He signed next, searching Rodney's face for comprehension.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney was quickly concerned. He had just about come back to where his mount waited, and this man was then catching up to him, and signing with his hands then. He thought, Great. There was never a time I remember learning any signs to gesture with my hands.

He knew he was being greeted, and he greeted back Hello by sign as well. Why did I do that?? Not knowing how he would be communicating, he waited by his mount, Hyacinth, wondering how he could sign with not having learned to do so.

 

[Caroline1539]

The man caught sight of the basic hello sign back, the uncertain way this man was standing, and smiled at him in an amused, yet slightly terse fashion. Of course he didn't know sign- this was par for the course, as far as things went.

Stanley and Rodney stood face to face. One could almost suspect that they were attempting conversation, inasmuch as their limited intelligences allowed for such an endeavor.

Stanley huffed at the sardonic, amused thought that slid through his mind like a thread being pulled through it and frowned slightly as he checked his pockets.

He was an office worker. He remembered that, that was still true- he had to have something to write on his person.

He fished out a slightly wrinkled, long recepit (that showed nothing but a repeated purchase for different kinds of flour on it) out of his pocket with an exhale of relief, then fishing out a very small and almost used up pencil.

He grimaced slightly at the implements; they were a limited capacity to talk regardless of what his true intelligence was measured at, given by someone clearly at the limits of his patience and not in the mood to be especially lenient with extraneous scenes.

He could work with what he had, though. He always did.

"Barnabel?" He wrote down immediately, his handwriting clean and legible despite the necessity of writing on his own palm while trying to keep the receipt flat at the same time. He showed that to the man that looked so familiar, intent in his dark eyes. Like he was someone this other man should know, even if he needed to think about it first.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney looked at the name written out. It became apparent to him that this was a case of mistaken identity. Could this man hear? Or did he sign because he was deaf? He took the pencil and paper, and said, "No, I am Rodney, you must have thought I was someone else that you knew." And he wrote out, "I am not Barnabel, I am Rodney. Maybe you do not know me."

 

[Caroline1539]

Stanley felt an immediate, sharp sense of dismay and uncomfortability as the man took his only method of communication and wasted some of it with needless pencil strokes. Every bit of graphite was precious.

Stanley retrieved his writing implement with a definitely terse smile at him, taking a measured breath as he reigned in his temper. This was okay- he wasn't mad at him. He didn't know any better. Carefully, he deliberately erased everything Rodney had written, pointing to his ear and then giving him a thumbs up with no ability to sign anything more intelligible to him.

"You look like him." Stanley wrote next, showing him the lighter pencil strokes, still legible over the harder ones that Rodney had pressed into the recepit as he reclaimed the limited space he had been given. He gave him a very serious consideration, before he let out a long sigh through his nose.

"I'm Stanley." He wrote out next, showing it to Rodney without reservation, even though he felt somewhat that this wasn't proper. He never introduced himself.

"I knew him." He wrote next, wedging the message within his second, reusing him as he completely disregarded the aesthetic for efficacy of communication.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney responded, "I understand. I look much like that Barnabel. I am sorry that Barnabel was not the one you were aiming to catch up with. I did have my uncle who was named Barnabel, that is sort of an odd coincidence. But he had been much older, and he had just past on. I should apologize, I seem to be insensitive about this little paper you have to work with being used up. I do have my new home to get back to, so maybe I should ride back now. But you know, there would be paper enough at home, which I have from my uncle. If you want to bother coming by my home, I could spare paper that would be adequate to you, for your trouble."

 

[Caroline1539]

Stanley stood and listened, giving Rodney a singularly focused, intense stare as he nodded slowly to Rodney talking about his uncle. With slightly shaking hands, he underlined I knew him and tapped the pencil next to the message, going back down and underlining You look like him to drive the point home. Stanley looked at Rodney with desperate, restrained longing, hoping that he would understand the meaning behind those words, that he wouldn't just write this off as a strange yet routine part of his day.

Stanley gave Rodney's camel a wary once over, before he jerked his head to it and gave him a questioning look. "With you?" He wrote, blinking at him in adaptive curiosity. "I know your address." He wrote next as a contingency, drawing an arrow up to his first underlined explanation for further context, as to not cause undo alarm.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney looked at this Stanley in surprise. "You know my address? You knew my uncle long enough to know if I look like him, which would have been long ago? And you would know my uncle's address, then? How would you know if it is my address, or where I live? I have not mentioned where I live. If you were going to need riding to where I live I could let you use the bicycle I used, if you can ride that, and I would ride Hyacinth, my urban camel, who I had coming along just to carry groceries back. She can handle me still. You know about urban camels? See these legs thicker than those of any other camels? They are strong, it is how urban camels are among the very fastest animals on land. So if you can you could ride the bicycle along with me, on Hyacinth. But it won't be far anyway."

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney thought Stanley looked hesitant. "Do not be shy of this creature. Hyacinth is good natured, and shows herself to be pretty intelligent. She would not do anything harmful."

 

[Caroline1539]

Stanley nodded to the first two questions, before he smiled a tight, thin smile at the interrogation that Rodney gave him about his current whereabouts. He tapped beside I knew him once more, giving Rodney a meaningful, unblinking stare.

Stanley gave Hyacinth an interested, curious look next as Rodney elaborated on her existence. Elsewhere, there was a sound of scratching and a typewriter rewriting, a pleasant ding! to accompany the sound as Stanley's perception of the animal shifted. Stanley huffed his breath out of his nose, before he took a deep inhale and nodded to Rodney's proposal, pocketing his paper and pencil.

He went over to Hyacinth, not minding the animal in the slightest, to retrieve the folding bike that Rodney had tied up with the rest of his gear.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney watched this Stanley getting Rodney's own bike prepared for riding it, and he climbed up the crouching urban camel, and with the groceries also taken, he went with Hyacinth at a gradual pace that Stanley would keep up with, and he went riding on for the several blocks to the home he had from his late uncle. There he dismounted, and he told Stanley, "I do not know what you know about my uncle, who had passed on though late in life, he was around 70, but you might know you would want to be very careful and maybe not come in with me. I will gladly go in and be back with plenty of paper for you, and even a good writing utensil too."

Rodney went to his new home, and unlocked and opened the door. Then he brought those things he had brought in, and went into the kitchen with those. He realized then that he was expecting that voice to speak, anytime.

 

[GodlyDnD]

Rodney saw right away that there was some stacks of unused paper where it was nearby, as he thought he had remembered it would be. Then he found an ink pen, and since there would be more, he thought, why not give this for Stanley's use too? So he grabbed a handful of the writing sheets of paper and held the ink pen, leaving the things he bought right there, in the kitchen area, so that he would go right back to Stanley.