Murphy's World - 2
Current word count: 3666
Should be: 6668
Only need to write 3000 words today! Unfortunately, I burned my left palm and right middle finger in a failed attempt at lunch, and they hurt quite badly. I'll soldier on despite it, that's what I'll do.
Chapter 2: Morning Rounds
It was another lovely day in Murphy’s World. Malonki Rube made his way through the stalls in Market Corner, stopping briefly to test the lemons at one stall, at another to buy his usual breakfast of baby cob and bee juice. Things mostly looked rainbow-right, but he was getting that feeling again. It had been almost two weeks since the last dust-up. Probably time for a new one.
On the corner of Rocket Way and Atlantic Road he stopped, nodding a greeting to the uniformed man there. “How’s it looking, Cap’n?”
“Fair morning, sir. The usual number of new doors and visitors, all looking suitably heroic. No suspicious-looking personages as I’ve seen, nor my men.” Cap’n Argument nodded his thanks as he accepted the lemon Malonki offered him. “Thinkomasher still looking tip-top, I hope?”
“So far as Dr. Gamba can tell, anyhap. Running smoothly, at least, no more cranky gobbles.”
The Cap’n dug one blue fingernail into the lemon’s nub and ripped it out, then began peeling. When half the peel lay in yellow strips on the cobblestones below, he offered the lemon to his breast pocket. His little roder friend popped out her head, wiggling those enormous, semi-transparent ears, and took the fruit in her paws with a happy squeak.
“Good lemon, sir,” Cap’n Argument said, watching the roder dig through the flesh to the seeds. “Nawi’s fair vibrating with pleasure. Sourest one she’s had in days, feels like.”
“Anything for Nawi,” Malonki said, watching the tiny creature in fascination. He’d never quite understood this relationship, and wasn’t sure he ever would. It wasn’t magic, was all he was sure of. But Nawi was the best at sniffing out trouble, and neither watcher would ever deny her even the smallest treat.
“See you later on rounds then, sir?”
“Count on it.”
Malonki Rube walked on, passing the usual gaggles of heroes new and old. Muffin and Limey were hauling another hapless noober to Chez Martinez, chattering non-stop. They were good welcomers, those two. Set a lot of noobers at ease with their street-monkey charm and half-British, half-Murphish slang. Though Malonki suspected that they did it mostly for the free meals.
Turning slightly on his heel, Malonki passed the Qanta Mirror without actually looking at it. It was dangerous, that thing, with its little control bar and slick, metal-gray surface. The heroes who came through it always seemed to be looking for weapons to fight terrible, mind-controlling enemies, and were not at all interested in not causing trouble. The mirror had just appeared in Murphy’s World one day, rooted in place, and they couldn’t get rid of it, sadly enough.
The creepy thing gave Malonki the jimmies, like everything else that wouldn’t respond to Thinkomasher’s commands. But the silver-blue thread of the trace that linked the Qanta Mirror to Watch Headquarters was still bright, still active. At least there was that. Malonki checked it three times a day minimum, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. All of the mirrors here were dangerous, but this was one of the worst.
Teepa was in her usual snipe position on the roof of the Arcade down by Central Station, watching the goings-on with narrowed eyes, showing only slits of silver-green in her dark almond-brown face. When she saw him, she gave a little wrist-wave, sending an arc of green-spark magic through the air. He waved back and stepped on the hidden sidewalk square next to the wall below her, ascending rapidly. He sat beside her on the shingle slates to hear her report. Teepa had a lovely voice, but it didn’t carry more than five steps away from her.
“Greetings, Rounder,” she said in that whispery, bell-magic voice, sending little bursts of silver glitterspell into the air around them that glinted green as they vanished. “All’s quiet on the east side. We have a new group of Weemen, though.”
Malonki huffed out a breath. “Ah, lovely. I’ll stop in at Miekel’s Café next, then.”
Yet he sat there a bit longer, resting his heels on the edge of the kiln-red gutter, watching the wandering crowd. They’d had a few heroic entertainers come in, he saw, some jugglers and tumblers. A cheerful woman with a guitar played loud, snappy ballads on a street corner. Her strings vibrated yellow-sweet with subtle magic, warming and inspiring, spreading delight to anyone who paused to listen for the smallest moment. It was always good to have a few bards in town.
Teepa tucked her knees up against her chin, and clasped her legs in the circle of her arms, making her small frame even smaller. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like, to not be able to see so much?” she asked.
Malonki tilted his head. “Do you?”
She turned her face to him briefly and smiled, crinkling up her eyes, then turned back to watch the crowd. “I think you know.”
Yes, he knew. Of course he wondered. To his eyes, magic colored everything, often in hues and shapes that did not have names outside his own peculiar language. Of course he wondered what it would be like to not have this sight, or to visit a world without magic. Would everything look less beautiful? Or more?
Teepa, too . . . of course she wondered. And her sight was not quite so kind. She saw the potential for cruelty and violence on a person, in their face and limbs, in the way they held themselves. Weapons, too, revealed to her what evils they had done in the past, with only a casual glance. She had tried to describe it to him, once, as being like ink, or mist, black tendrils, not floating off the way magic did but inside the person as if waiting for a chance to be released. He couldn’t imagine it, though, as he knew she couldn’t imagine what his sight was like.
At last he spoke, because her question deserved an answer. “Sometimes I wonder if everyone else is missing out, or if we are. It might be nice to be surprised someday.”
Teepa nodded. “Yes, it might.”
But they were Watchers of Murphy’s World, and this was their task. To see, to know, to protect. They had all come from different lives and paths, brought here just like everyone else, stepping through an ordinary door. They were the ones who chose to stay because they saw they were needed, not because they dreaded a return to their former lives like most of those who decided to stay past their rightful time.
At last he stood carefully on the sloping slates, nodded goodbye to Teepa, and stepped out over the secret square. Magic lowered him to the ground, eddying around him in turquoise wisps, and he set off down the street. Next stop, Miekel’s Café. Though why the Weemen preferred that eating establishment over the dozens actually scaled to their size, he would never fathom.
The café was a one-story building on the corner of Green and Lima, squat and square and bright red. Dustmagic drifted up from the chimney, mingling with the smoke. Miekel was experimenting with the sandwiches again.
Malonki pulled open the door and stepped inside, immediately flooded with sounds, sights, smells, and magic. It was just the right time of morning to catch everyone there for a late breakfast, and everyone there for an early lunch. And, of course, the Weemen, who were dancing on the long counter that stretched the length of the café, mostly avoiding the plates of the diners who sat there on stools, enjoying their sandwiches.
Malonki pressed his way through the greasy, sparkly air, hoping to get close enough to make a difference. He could see the sparkcharms building up between the small green people, two in particular. He couldn’t hear their voices over the sounds of people talking, meat frying, plateware tinkling and servers yelling orders, but their body language told him the gist.
And yes, the sparkcharms burst, splatting like tiny orange-red lightning bolts, and the two Weemen leaped onto a passing serving tray.
“You’ll eat your words, Ankero!” cried the one with blue commander epaulets, finally loud enough to be heard. “En guarde!”
He ascended the sandwich beside him, laboring to climb what to him was a steep hill, and pulled out the tiny plastic sword Miekel used to keep his concoctions together.
“Nay, I say!” The other one cried, clambering on top of another sandwich to steal its sword. “My blade shall do the talking!”
The duel was met. The server carrying the tray held it still with a resigned sigh, steadying it with her other hand. The two sandwiches began to fall apart under the Weemen’s vigorous footwork, meat and cheese and lettuce sliding out of the bread. The duelists’ feet squished in the greasy white condiment Miekel was so fond of.
“Huhey!” Miekel called from the kitchen. “You are a-ruining my work, you leetle a-scoundrels!”
“Bibi! Ankero!” Malonki yelled. “I’ve warned you before-leave your differences in your own world!”
But Bibi and Ankero were too excited to hear. They called instructions to their companions still on the countertop, who quickly formed two camps, one supporting the commander and one supporting the upstart. Instead of fighting each other, though, each group began finding ways to upset their champion’s opponent.
Bibi’s followers grabbed a bottle of olives from the edge of the counter and began flinging them at Ankero. Ankero’s friends stole meatballs from a nearby diner (who protested with a mild “Hey!”, then went back to eating), and six of them formed a pyramid in order to get better aim. Bibi’s Weemen ran out of olives, and went after the toothpicks. Ankero’s supporters began constructing a small catapult.
Ankero and Bibi both dodged food missiles (and sometimes friendly fire), continuing to duel with their plastic swords, slipping and sliding in all manner of condiments, sauces, and spilled drinks. Eventually they were forced to jump off the tray in order to find better footing, and the barrage of countertop items followed them. When the ammunition on the counter ran out, the two opposing sides ranged further afield, stealing from plates and servers indiscriminately to continue their little war.
Diners shouted in surprise and outrage as their meals were stolen and flung about the café. Soon, the big folk were joining in, some aiming at the Weemen, some at each other. The servers ducked and covered, Miekel made little gasping noises as if he was being killed, and Malonki finally spotted the color of magic that he needed.
It belonged to a little old man sitting in the opposite corner, robed and bespectacled, still calmly eating his meal as if he noticed nothing going on. None of the flying food seemed to touch him. Against the wall next to him leaned his staff, shining a faint ice-blue at the tip. Malonki made his way across the café, shielding his face with his arms, ducking plates and glasses that passed too close.
At last the watcher reached the little old man and bent down to whisper a request in his ear. The man looked up, blinked as he noticed the carnage around them, and nodded a casual assent. He picked up the staff and gave it a little flick, sending out waves of ice-blue magic.
Instantly, everything froze in the air-Weemen, food, tableware, customers, servers. Only Malonki, Miekel, and the magician remained mobile, staring around at the chaos.
Malonki huffed a sigh. “Thank you for your services, good wizard,” he said to his rescuer, offering a respectful bow. “What may I call you? Murphy’s World and the Watch Headquarters owe you gratitude.”
The small man blinked, his eyes huge behind his enormous spectacles. “I am Master Finch. And you owe me nothing for this small magic, young one.”
“All magic is large,” the watcher said gravely.
Finch nodded slowly. “Hmm. That is wisdom. Are you a magic-user yourself?”
“I cannot use magic, no. I only see it. Your magic is subtle and powerful, Master Finch. We are fortunate to have you here. The Weemen always seem to cause some sort of catastrophe when they come, but this may be the most spectacular yet.”
“Si! And who is a-gonna help me clean this-a up?” Miekel called shakily, staring around at his devastated café.
Malonki had already lifted his talky box from his belt. “I’ll ask Service Central for a crew skilled in reversal, friend Miekel. They should have everything rainbow-right in half a stick.”
Master Finch chuckled fuzzily through his mustache. “In the meantime, I’ll finish my meal.” He lifted his fork in salute to Miekel. “Extraordinarily delicious, my friend. What is this white stuff you spread over everything?”
Malonki smiled and left them to it, making his way back to the door as he spoke to the Service Central attendant who answered his message-summons. It could have been a lot worse, he knew. He wove his way through the detritus of war scattered frozen in the air, and gently plucked Bibi and Ankero, still paralyzed, from their fortifications. It was time they had a good talking-to.
All in all, though, his morning rounds hadn’t gone nearly as badly as he had suspected they would. It was just another lovely day in Murphy’s World.
Should be: 6668
Only need to write 3000 words today! Unfortunately, I burned my left palm and right middle finger in a failed attempt at lunch, and they hurt quite badly. I'll soldier on despite it, that's what I'll do.
Chapter 2: Morning Rounds
It was another lovely day in Murphy’s World. Malonki Rube made his way through the stalls in Market Corner, stopping briefly to test the lemons at one stall, at another to buy his usual breakfast of baby cob and bee juice. Things mostly looked rainbow-right, but he was getting that feeling again. It had been almost two weeks since the last dust-up. Probably time for a new one.
On the corner of Rocket Way and Atlantic Road he stopped, nodding a greeting to the uniformed man there. “How’s it looking, Cap’n?”
“Fair morning, sir. The usual number of new doors and visitors, all looking suitably heroic. No suspicious-looking personages as I’ve seen, nor my men.” Cap’n Argument nodded his thanks as he accepted the lemon Malonki offered him. “Thinkomasher still looking tip-top, I hope?”
“So far as Dr. Gamba can tell, anyhap. Running smoothly, at least, no more cranky gobbles.”
The Cap’n dug one blue fingernail into the lemon’s nub and ripped it out, then began peeling. When half the peel lay in yellow strips on the cobblestones below, he offered the lemon to his breast pocket. His little roder friend popped out her head, wiggling those enormous, semi-transparent ears, and took the fruit in her paws with a happy squeak.
“Good lemon, sir,” Cap’n Argument said, watching the roder dig through the flesh to the seeds. “Nawi’s fair vibrating with pleasure. Sourest one she’s had in days, feels like.”
“Anything for Nawi,” Malonki said, watching the tiny creature in fascination. He’d never quite understood this relationship, and wasn’t sure he ever would. It wasn’t magic, was all he was sure of. But Nawi was the best at sniffing out trouble, and neither watcher would ever deny her even the smallest treat.
“See you later on rounds then, sir?”
“Count on it.”
Malonki Rube walked on, passing the usual gaggles of heroes new and old. Muffin and Limey were hauling another hapless noober to Chez Martinez, chattering non-stop. They were good welcomers, those two. Set a lot of noobers at ease with their street-monkey charm and half-British, half-Murphish slang. Though Malonki suspected that they did it mostly for the free meals.
Turning slightly on his heel, Malonki passed the Qanta Mirror without actually looking at it. It was dangerous, that thing, with its little control bar and slick, metal-gray surface. The heroes who came through it always seemed to be looking for weapons to fight terrible, mind-controlling enemies, and were not at all interested in not causing trouble. The mirror had just appeared in Murphy’s World one day, rooted in place, and they couldn’t get rid of it, sadly enough.
The creepy thing gave Malonki the jimmies, like everything else that wouldn’t respond to Thinkomasher’s commands. But the silver-blue thread of the trace that linked the Qanta Mirror to Watch Headquarters was still bright, still active. At least there was that. Malonki checked it three times a day minimum, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. All of the mirrors here were dangerous, but this was one of the worst.
Teepa was in her usual snipe position on the roof of the Arcade down by Central Station, watching the goings-on with narrowed eyes, showing only slits of silver-green in her dark almond-brown face. When she saw him, she gave a little wrist-wave, sending an arc of green-spark magic through the air. He waved back and stepped on the hidden sidewalk square next to the wall below her, ascending rapidly. He sat beside her on the shingle slates to hear her report. Teepa had a lovely voice, but it didn’t carry more than five steps away from her.
“Greetings, Rounder,” she said in that whispery, bell-magic voice, sending little bursts of silver glitterspell into the air around them that glinted green as they vanished. “All’s quiet on the east side. We have a new group of Weemen, though.”
Malonki huffed out a breath. “Ah, lovely. I’ll stop in at Miekel’s Café next, then.”
Yet he sat there a bit longer, resting his heels on the edge of the kiln-red gutter, watching the wandering crowd. They’d had a few heroic entertainers come in, he saw, some jugglers and tumblers. A cheerful woman with a guitar played loud, snappy ballads on a street corner. Her strings vibrated yellow-sweet with subtle magic, warming and inspiring, spreading delight to anyone who paused to listen for the smallest moment. It was always good to have a few bards in town.
Teepa tucked her knees up against her chin, and clasped her legs in the circle of her arms, making her small frame even smaller. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like, to not be able to see so much?” she asked.
Malonki tilted his head. “Do you?”
She turned her face to him briefly and smiled, crinkling up her eyes, then turned back to watch the crowd. “I think you know.”
Yes, he knew. Of course he wondered. To his eyes, magic colored everything, often in hues and shapes that did not have names outside his own peculiar language. Of course he wondered what it would be like to not have this sight, or to visit a world without magic. Would everything look less beautiful? Or more?
Teepa, too . . . of course she wondered. And her sight was not quite so kind. She saw the potential for cruelty and violence on a person, in their face and limbs, in the way they held themselves. Weapons, too, revealed to her what evils they had done in the past, with only a casual glance. She had tried to describe it to him, once, as being like ink, or mist, black tendrils, not floating off the way magic did but inside the person as if waiting for a chance to be released. He couldn’t imagine it, though, as he knew she couldn’t imagine what his sight was like.
At last he spoke, because her question deserved an answer. “Sometimes I wonder if everyone else is missing out, or if we are. It might be nice to be surprised someday.”
Teepa nodded. “Yes, it might.”
But they were Watchers of Murphy’s World, and this was their task. To see, to know, to protect. They had all come from different lives and paths, brought here just like everyone else, stepping through an ordinary door. They were the ones who chose to stay because they saw they were needed, not because they dreaded a return to their former lives like most of those who decided to stay past their rightful time.
At last he stood carefully on the sloping slates, nodded goodbye to Teepa, and stepped out over the secret square. Magic lowered him to the ground, eddying around him in turquoise wisps, and he set off down the street. Next stop, Miekel’s Café. Though why the Weemen preferred that eating establishment over the dozens actually scaled to their size, he would never fathom.
The café was a one-story building on the corner of Green and Lima, squat and square and bright red. Dustmagic drifted up from the chimney, mingling with the smoke. Miekel was experimenting with the sandwiches again.
Malonki pulled open the door and stepped inside, immediately flooded with sounds, sights, smells, and magic. It was just the right time of morning to catch everyone there for a late breakfast, and everyone there for an early lunch. And, of course, the Weemen, who were dancing on the long counter that stretched the length of the café, mostly avoiding the plates of the diners who sat there on stools, enjoying their sandwiches.
Malonki pressed his way through the greasy, sparkly air, hoping to get close enough to make a difference. He could see the sparkcharms building up between the small green people, two in particular. He couldn’t hear their voices over the sounds of people talking, meat frying, plateware tinkling and servers yelling orders, but their body language told him the gist.
And yes, the sparkcharms burst, splatting like tiny orange-red lightning bolts, and the two Weemen leaped onto a passing serving tray.
“You’ll eat your words, Ankero!” cried the one with blue commander epaulets, finally loud enough to be heard. “En guarde!”
He ascended the sandwich beside him, laboring to climb what to him was a steep hill, and pulled out the tiny plastic sword Miekel used to keep his concoctions together.
“Nay, I say!” The other one cried, clambering on top of another sandwich to steal its sword. “My blade shall do the talking!”
The duel was met. The server carrying the tray held it still with a resigned sigh, steadying it with her other hand. The two sandwiches began to fall apart under the Weemen’s vigorous footwork, meat and cheese and lettuce sliding out of the bread. The duelists’ feet squished in the greasy white condiment Miekel was so fond of.
“Huhey!” Miekel called from the kitchen. “You are a-ruining my work, you leetle a-scoundrels!”
“Bibi! Ankero!” Malonki yelled. “I’ve warned you before-leave your differences in your own world!”
But Bibi and Ankero were too excited to hear. They called instructions to their companions still on the countertop, who quickly formed two camps, one supporting the commander and one supporting the upstart. Instead of fighting each other, though, each group began finding ways to upset their champion’s opponent.
Bibi’s followers grabbed a bottle of olives from the edge of the counter and began flinging them at Ankero. Ankero’s friends stole meatballs from a nearby diner (who protested with a mild “Hey!”, then went back to eating), and six of them formed a pyramid in order to get better aim. Bibi’s Weemen ran out of olives, and went after the toothpicks. Ankero’s supporters began constructing a small catapult.
Ankero and Bibi both dodged food missiles (and sometimes friendly fire), continuing to duel with their plastic swords, slipping and sliding in all manner of condiments, sauces, and spilled drinks. Eventually they were forced to jump off the tray in order to find better footing, and the barrage of countertop items followed them. When the ammunition on the counter ran out, the two opposing sides ranged further afield, stealing from plates and servers indiscriminately to continue their little war.
Diners shouted in surprise and outrage as their meals were stolen and flung about the café. Soon, the big folk were joining in, some aiming at the Weemen, some at each other. The servers ducked and covered, Miekel made little gasping noises as if he was being killed, and Malonki finally spotted the color of magic that he needed.
It belonged to a little old man sitting in the opposite corner, robed and bespectacled, still calmly eating his meal as if he noticed nothing going on. None of the flying food seemed to touch him. Against the wall next to him leaned his staff, shining a faint ice-blue at the tip. Malonki made his way across the café, shielding his face with his arms, ducking plates and glasses that passed too close.
At last the watcher reached the little old man and bent down to whisper a request in his ear. The man looked up, blinked as he noticed the carnage around them, and nodded a casual assent. He picked up the staff and gave it a little flick, sending out waves of ice-blue magic.
Instantly, everything froze in the air-Weemen, food, tableware, customers, servers. Only Malonki, Miekel, and the magician remained mobile, staring around at the chaos.
Malonki huffed a sigh. “Thank you for your services, good wizard,” he said to his rescuer, offering a respectful bow. “What may I call you? Murphy’s World and the Watch Headquarters owe you gratitude.”
The small man blinked, his eyes huge behind his enormous spectacles. “I am Master Finch. And you owe me nothing for this small magic, young one.”
“All magic is large,” the watcher said gravely.
Finch nodded slowly. “Hmm. That is wisdom. Are you a magic-user yourself?”
“I cannot use magic, no. I only see it. Your magic is subtle and powerful, Master Finch. We are fortunate to have you here. The Weemen always seem to cause some sort of catastrophe when they come, but this may be the most spectacular yet.”
“Si! And who is a-gonna help me clean this-a up?” Miekel called shakily, staring around at his devastated café.
Malonki had already lifted his talky box from his belt. “I’ll ask Service Central for a crew skilled in reversal, friend Miekel. They should have everything rainbow-right in half a stick.”
Master Finch chuckled fuzzily through his mustache. “In the meantime, I’ll finish my meal.” He lifted his fork in salute to Miekel. “Extraordinarily delicious, my friend. What is this white stuff you spread over everything?”
Malonki smiled and left them to it, making his way back to the door as he spoke to the Service Central attendant who answered his message-summons. It could have been a lot worse, he knew. He wove his way through the detritus of war scattered frozen in the air, and gently plucked Bibi and Ankero, still paralyzed, from their fortifications. It was time they had a good talking-to.
All in all, though, his morning rounds hadn’t gone nearly as badly as he had suspected they would. It was just another lovely day in Murphy’s World.