Aurellis
Imbolc, year 761, Yorketown
It was more of a cavern than a room, laying as it did at the centre of a vast underground labyrinth beneath the Capitol of Yorketown. Filled with the light that spilled forth from the Logrus that occupied the major part of the centre of the room, it was difficult to say exactly how big the place was.
Strange distortion filled the air – it wasn’t possible to see to the other side of the chamber, not just because of the huge bright thing in the middle of it, but also because of the strange way that space seemed to wobble – this close to a Logrus, there was sufficient leakage of the constrained Chaos that the normal three dimensions of distance were not completely sufficient – additional ones would occasionally intrude for a while.
You could easily go mad here in here.
You could also die of starvation or thirst in here – it was a resource free environment. Bare rock, shimmering air, labyrinth doorways, and the Logrus. That was it. Normally.
Today – there is also a woman in here. Standing in a long fur coat that most certainly was made from the pelt of something that had formerly been living, she waits with the toe of one high heeled boot tapping the stone floor, and a drifting curl of smoke rising from the cigarette in the elegant holder she held in her right hand.
Eventually the thing for which she
is waiting
begins. Emerging from the infinitely bright light that was the
visible extent of the Logrus, is a man – dressed in dark clothes and
carrying a cigar, who eventually stops before her, as she lets the
coat fall open, revealing that it and the thigh high red leather
boots are all she is wearing.
“Is this it?” asks the man. “My triumphant return to life – just you?”
“Fuck you too Sweetie.” Is the reply from the woman, as she takes an extended drag from the cigarette and blows the smoke languorously towards him. “I go to all this effort, expecting you gloriously new, naked and hard as a rock, and here you are in a cheap suit. “You fucking died, you idiot! What did you think they would all do? You were the focus. The linchpin for it all, and you fucking well upped and died, you moron!”
“Not that I aren’t overjoyed to see you too, my dear.” replies the man. “I like the look – did you make the effort just for me, or will I find someone else dribbling down your thighs into your boot tops, if I should bother to take up the offer?”
“You utter bastard! This is my one last pre-agreed marital duty, you heap of shit!” she shouts. “You died, you complete and total prat. We were getting there. It was all really starting to happen, and you got yourself so obsessed with your damned and blasted loyalty virus that it fucking killed you. Where did that leave me eh? Fucking nowhere, is where it left me. Goddess of fucking lies doesn’t really cut it that well when you’ve got a bunch of greedy bastard underlings suddenly freed of any loyalty to anything except their own selfish desires. We’re just bloody lucky that they were a bunch of ignorant greedy bastard underlings who had never bothered to study all that much, or you might have found that it was ‘Bomb suprise!’ waiting here for you instead of your loving, shortly to be ex-wife.”
“What happened to Lincoln? Surely he didn’t abandon me after all I did for him?”
“Lincoln Asshole Abrahams with the delightful Helen Cuntface de Troilus bitch wife of his were so fast to ditch the memory of you, that they did not even wait as long as the memorial service before they had a general election called. My guess is he was supposed to assume the Office and do the ‘temporarily unable to serve’ clause and wait for you to come back, but instead the Asshole took over and did the ‘missing presumed dead – new mandate needed from the people’ thing instead, and is now the Second President of the Federation. You’re a historic relic, babe. How does it feel?”
“Incidentally – why are you wearing clothes?
Here I am all whored up to give you a last ‘welcome back’ fuck, and
you’re fucking dressed? Who the hell emerges from a fucking Logrus
dressed? You invented the whole 'get them pregnant in high school',
'mandatory prostitution for women', 'only men can own property and vote', 'sex mad',
'eat your failures' Federation, and you come back to life fucking
dressed?”
“Let’s just say that not everything has returned to its peak efficiency yet and leave it at that. He replies. “Light me up, will you?” he asks, holding his cigar towards her cigarette.
“Why did I bother?” she mutters, as she gathers her coat back around her, and belts it up before lighting his cigar from a zippo she pulls from her pocket.
“What about Megan? Surely my Prime Facilitator tried to stop them?” he asks.
“Coma. The backlash from being your Prime Facilitator when you fucking died, you dick brain, practically killed her too. Oh don’t worry. She woke up eventually. I’m sure she can’t wait to be in Daddy’s arms again just as soon as possible, the incestuous little cow. I’m supposed to give you this from her.” She says as she hands him a Trump card. “You're supposed to call her once we had met up and I’d given you your 'get out of jail' party.”
“And what about Hannibal? I gave that sick bastard everything he ever asked for – I passed laws so that he could lobotomise people and farm them for food for fuck’s sake? What did he do to stop Lincoln?”
“Oh – he did his best. He was just a bit too slow off the mark. Cuntface blew up his motorcade, and he missed the entire election campaign on his back in a hospital bed trying to heal. One thing you can say about Asshole and Cuntface – they sure know how to make a badass dirty bomb.”
“So – how did you fare?” he asks.
“Well you might ask – you limp dicked bucket of effluent. Not all that great. Asshole and Cuntface made things pretty clear right from the start – by holding Giselle to ransom, would you believe – that I was basically an indentured ‘not slave – because slavery is illegal’ in the new order of things. They had me hauling shit in and out, running the blockade for months, setting up the fucking Wolfe Pack for a new offensive, until I finally got wind of where they had Giselle hidden, and called in every favour I still had from some very unsavoury people, to bust her out. So – I’m back at the starting line. No resources left, no allies, no favours left, and just as soon as I get you out of here and drop you off at the place of your desire, no fucking husband either.”
“Hmm - It had probably better be Outside somewhere – I guess.” He muses.
“Yah think? There certainly ain’t anybody Inside that's likely to want to do you any favours. Unless you fancy selling your soul to Andreas Delatz – he’s always happy to assimilate new opportunities into his grand plan.” She replies scornfully, and takes another languid drag of her cigarette.
“Actually – seeing you there in that outfit, smoking like that – I think some things might be in working order after all.” He says with a lascivious grin.
“Piss off.” she replies disdainfully. “You had your chance earlier - I'm not in the mood now. Next time you see my naked ass, it'll be because you're spying on me fucking somebody I actually give a shit about. Let’s get the fuck out of here before someone else realises what day it is and we end up having to fight our way out. Dumbass!”
“By the way – just so we’re clear – you fucking died. That means I’m a widow, and I no longer care about you. We’re finished, through, ended, kaput, OVER! Got it?”
“I'm sure you mean every word of it, you lying bitch.” He says, smiling again. "You remember that law of mine about mandatory prostitution for women?" he asks as a gold brick with the Federation double headed eagle stamped on it appears in his hand. "American Express Gold should cover it - right?”