closed popcorning / an owl for Vladimir Harkonnen (extant) and for Duncan Idaho (a kernel)
The melange-heavy waters of Time were muddied, Paul's prescience hopelessly clouded. Yet still he could feel the tidal pull of destiny when it drew him.
There was a place he must go.
Texarrakis.
Yes, that Texarrakis. That Texarrakis.
'Twas nigh-on certain he'd find naught but water-fat decadents, hardly fit to sub for a chairdog. At best, they'd be intermediaries between himself and the primitive institutions that functioned as authorities in this early-Terran civilization. At worst, the water of their bodies could be rendered.
He would enter the cleansing desert, with his baliset strapped to his back, and his crysknife at his waist. He would bring with him his own supply of melange, and for the people his dim (malfunctioning?) prescient sight told him he would find at Texarrakis, he would bring a gift of Starbucks pre-ground coffee from the airport kiosk, befitting their undeveloped taste.
Behind him at Hogwarts would be left a popcorn kernel, he understood this well. Had he intended to return, it might be different. But from Texarrakis ... there should be no return.
Paul left notes for two persons from his own universe. One of these people was a popcorn kernel, and Paul left the note attached to his kernel's glass case with Spell-O-Tape. The other person showed no sign of detaching from Hogwarts life, and this one, Paul sent a time-delayed message, by the roundabout provision of instructing a house-elf to owl the message forty-eight hours after Paul's departure.
The note to Duncan Idaho read: Farewell, old friend. I'm to tread sands stranger still. Be of good cheer, if you pass this way again. The food's excellent, and the people uncomplicated. Beneath this, the outline of the Atreides hawk was traced.
The time-delayed message to Vladimir Harkonnen read: The flesh of my father's son is no more. Beware the Tleilaxu.
That should bedevil the old fiend nicely. The Tleilaxu had nothing to do with anything.
Or did they? I mean, really, wtf. Texarrakis.
unauthorized footage of a Face Dancer at Texarrakis
There was a place he must go.
Texarrakis.
Yes, that Texarrakis. That Texarrakis.
'Twas nigh-on certain he'd find naught but water-fat decadents, hardly fit to sub for a chairdog. At best, they'd be intermediaries between himself and the primitive institutions that functioned as authorities in this early-Terran civilization. At worst, the water of their bodies could be rendered.
He would enter the cleansing desert, with his baliset strapped to his back, and his crysknife at his waist. He would bring with him his own supply of melange, and for the people his dim (malfunctioning?) prescient sight told him he would find at Texarrakis, he would bring a gift of Starbucks pre-ground coffee from the airport kiosk, befitting their undeveloped taste.
Behind him at Hogwarts would be left a popcorn kernel, he understood this well. Had he intended to return, it might be different. But from Texarrakis ... there should be no return.
Paul left notes for two persons from his own universe. One of these people was a popcorn kernel, and Paul left the note attached to his kernel's glass case with Spell-O-Tape. The other person showed no sign of detaching from Hogwarts life, and this one, Paul sent a time-delayed message, by the roundabout provision of instructing a house-elf to owl the message forty-eight hours after Paul's departure.
The note to Duncan Idaho read: Farewell, old friend. I'm to tread sands stranger still. Be of good cheer, if you pass this way again. The food's excellent, and the people uncomplicated. Beneath this, the outline of the Atreides hawk was traced.
The time-delayed message to Vladimir Harkonnen read: The flesh of my father's son is no more. Beware the Tleilaxu.
That should bedevil the old fiend nicely. The Tleilaxu had nothing to do with anything.
Or did they? I mean, really, wtf. Texarrakis.
unauthorized footage of a Face Dancer at Texarrakis