Mummification
The streets were abustle with the noise of every day life. People going to stands and buying and browsing items, the sellers of the items yelling out and across the masses to entice more customers to their stands. In the thick of the throng walked Pyrik and Langrid, striding aimfully towards their next destination.
"Pyrik, when you see or feel something important, how do you keep it?"
Itching the side of his head as he walked, Pyrik responded.
"Er, what do you mean?"
"Uh, when you sight an object or creature of beauty, or find yourself feeling and thinking something important, how do you go about preserving it?"
"I mummify it."
"You 'mummify' it?"
"That's what I said."
"Would you mind clarifying that?"
"Actually, I would. I tire of your questions and the long-winded clarification you inevitably need to understand my point. It's all rather bland now. If you don't ask a question for a while, and by this I mean at least a year, perhaps I'll find myself willing to give you an answer. But only if it's a nice day and the future is looking bright. And if my hair is likeably soft and wavy. The hair bit is probably the deciding factor, for your information."
"What in the nine hells! I am your friend, comrade, and endorser. I am half the reason for whatever progress we've so far made!"
"More accurately a third. Let's not get bogged down in details, all right?"
Langrid was the closest he had been in years to striking Pyrik with all possible force. He could control himself only a little longer.
"Clarify or feel my wrath, Pyrik!" Langrid growled.
"And what wrath would that be, pray tell? Some brutish physical act in which I'm struck by your fist or foot, and end up on the ground and in pain? The stuff nightmares are made of, clearly."
The point of self-control had passed. Putting all of his weight into it, Langrid slugged Pyrik between the shoulder blades as he gazed appraisingly at a stand selling an assortment of berries. He fell to the ground with a mighty thud.
Sitting on his haunch, gingerly rubbing the area where he had been punched with his left-hand, Pyrik glared angrily at Langrid.
"That was a mistake, Langrid."
"No, your mistake was not giving the clarity I patiently asked for."
"Demanded."
"Asked! What happened, you made happen."
"Is that right? I made you throw your ogreish fist into the middle of my back?"
"Yes. If you just had clarified instead of heckling me, this would have been prevented."
"You factually are a dimwitted, air-headed, witless son of an oaf."
Getting to his feet and brushing off the dirt his fall had collected, he continued. "OK, you'll get your explanation, in exactly the complexity that'll mean comprehension will be virtually impossible for someone of your limited intellect. Here it is: mummification is the methodical and careful appropriation of appreciated images and emotions, categorized and signified by their evident importance and usability. Once mummified, they are perpetually accessible, to be called upon on such occasions as they are needed or desired, to be utilised in the manner deemed most necessary for that point in time. Short and sweet, eh, Langrid?"
On the verge of striking Pyrik a second time, Langrid clenched his fists and walked ahead of him, unable to take it anymore.
And so the day wore on.
"Pyrik, when you see or feel something important, how do you keep it?"
Itching the side of his head as he walked, Pyrik responded.
"Er, what do you mean?"
"Uh, when you sight an object or creature of beauty, or find yourself feeling and thinking something important, how do you go about preserving it?"
"I mummify it."
"You 'mummify' it?"
"That's what I said."
"Would you mind clarifying that?"
"Actually, I would. I tire of your questions and the long-winded clarification you inevitably need to understand my point. It's all rather bland now. If you don't ask a question for a while, and by this I mean at least a year, perhaps I'll find myself willing to give you an answer. But only if it's a nice day and the future is looking bright. And if my hair is likeably soft and wavy. The hair bit is probably the deciding factor, for your information."
"What in the nine hells! I am your friend, comrade, and endorser. I am half the reason for whatever progress we've so far made!"
"More accurately a third. Let's not get bogged down in details, all right?"
Langrid was the closest he had been in years to striking Pyrik with all possible force. He could control himself only a little longer.
"Clarify or feel my wrath, Pyrik!" Langrid growled.
"And what wrath would that be, pray tell? Some brutish physical act in which I'm struck by your fist or foot, and end up on the ground and in pain? The stuff nightmares are made of, clearly."
The point of self-control had passed. Putting all of his weight into it, Langrid slugged Pyrik between the shoulder blades as he gazed appraisingly at a stand selling an assortment of berries. He fell to the ground with a mighty thud.
Sitting on his haunch, gingerly rubbing the area where he had been punched with his left-hand, Pyrik glared angrily at Langrid.
"That was a mistake, Langrid."
"No, your mistake was not giving the clarity I patiently asked for."
"Demanded."
"Asked! What happened, you made happen."
"Is that right? I made you throw your ogreish fist into the middle of my back?"
"Yes. If you just had clarified instead of heckling me, this would have been prevented."
"You factually are a dimwitted, air-headed, witless son of an oaf."
Getting to his feet and brushing off the dirt his fall had collected, he continued. "OK, you'll get your explanation, in exactly the complexity that'll mean comprehension will be virtually impossible for someone of your limited intellect. Here it is: mummification is the methodical and careful appropriation of appreciated images and emotions, categorized and signified by their evident importance and usability. Once mummified, they are perpetually accessible, to be called upon on such occasions as they are needed or desired, to be utilised in the manner deemed most necessary for that point in time. Short and sweet, eh, Langrid?"
On the verge of striking Pyrik a second time, Langrid clenched his fists and walked ahead of him, unable to take it anymore.
And so the day wore on.