Saval Chronicles [2]
Verse 1 must be read before you read this, else all that your eyes will witness on this page shall make very little (or, in my opinion, littler) sense.
The epic journey following the adventures of yours truly and darkwings08 continues. With a new addition to the gang!
Disclaimer: This is all for shits and giggles, written by me when a plotbunny whacked me over the head with a spoon of epic proportions. All characters mentioned in this piece (not including Sa and I) are only used for fun, same applies to all quotes posted: no copyright infringement was intended at all and no offence was meant. All ideas for freakishly weirdo plotlines were taken from actual conversations between darkwings08 and I... some things were just born out of my tired, overworked and incredibly random brain.
Made purely for enjoyment so... go forth and enjoy!
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Verse 2 - Discerning Dave
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…”It has stolen… Dave.”
My words hold the intended gravity. Had Sa not been one of us she would currently be sitting on someone’s front porch in a shiny box with a ribbon on it. As it were, she replies:
“That… is regrettable.”
And there she goes. Putting on her holier-than-thou hat. And after all the effort I went to, making up epic metaphors and placing strategically advantageous pauses in my sentence. She doesn’t appreciate me.
“You’re telling me. It sucks. We don’t even know who the guy is!”
Sa’s mind briefly returns to dinner, which she is now chewing thoughtfully. I, having done my job, return to my fanfic.
And this, in truth, is where the story ends. Or, would have ended, had the Amazing Tentacle not called up one of Its majestic Plot Bunnies to whack Sa over the head with a particularly heavy frying pan. Thanks to Its infinite wisdom, Sa’s mind is no longer on dinner. Sadly, my mind can no longer be on the fanfic either. We are twins, Sa and I, in all but name, and appearance, and family structure, and birthdays. And thus our minds are connected.
“The Tentacle never speaks without purpose,” muses Sa as she nurses the bump on her head. I nod solemnly, glad, for once, that Sa gets struck by the Plot Bunny and not I. I can hear the cogs in her head turning. They need to be oiled. I mentally make a note to get mine checked out too, nothing worse than friction in your head.
“Maybe,” Sa continues, taking a big bite of her tuna sandwich. “Maybe this ‘Dave’ is in reference to someone we don’t have to know, but something we need to know.”
“Dude, backtrack, simple language for the mortals.”
“The chance that this ‘Dave’ is a real person is slim, so maybe he - it - is something else. Maybe it’s a clue.”
The Tentacle does work in mysterious ways.
“So you’re saying that the song I sent you by the Dave Mathews Band has something to do with it?” I like being clever.
“It’s possible,” Sa has finished her dinner and is now thinking very carefully about dessert.
“But how can you be sure?” I ask, imagining Sa and I sitting in a big room, with a big table and a big window. We have lots of paper on the table (in big piles) and look very important. Big things always make people look important. In contrast, not all big people are important. Sad fact of life. Luckily for us, we’re not big, we’re just important.
“It’s just a thought. I mean, how did you interpret the things the Tentacle told you that night?”
I think back to that night. All I remember is holding a very serious grudge against this Tentacle for keeping me from my dream. And it was a good, good dream… I frown.
“I was told I was gonna meet a random. After I was interrupted from a very, very good dream. How would you have reacted?”
“Probably the same as I am now, when I’m told of a Dave I don’t know.”
“I know a Dave!” I exclaim suddenly, as the memory hits me like a big blue-and-orange-and-white school bus - as not all school buses are yellow, you know, we don’t all live in America.
I rise from my seat, and point a finger at the sky to emphasize my point. I’ve always found that a strange thing to do, but have always wanted to try it. Does pointing your finger at the sky suggest that what you are about to say holds importance? How is that shown by pointing my finger at the sky? Why can’t I point it at something more interesting, like my desktop background that is currently home to a lovely picture of the Winboys and Cas, or the blue-and-orange-and-white school bus about to charge me, or those cupcakes over there on the stairs, proposing to each other. Those things are infinitely more exciting than the sky. But I settle for the sky nonetheless, as my desktop background has been replaced by a blank screen saver, the blue-and-orange-and-white school bus has already hit me and the cupcakes are already happily married.
My point is emphasized. Sa ponders this new development.
“I’ve heard that Dave is the name of one of the 13 Angels of God…” she says suddenly, completely off topic. My groove is thrown. “That would be pretty funky, saving an angel.”
While Sa thinks on this, I go to my trusty computer and enter a Google search: Dave Angels.
I strike gold with a link to a “Dave Angel” on Wikipedia. Must be my lucky day, my thinking hat isn’t on too tight.
“Sa, I think I found your man. It’s perfect, it all fits so well, how could we not have seen this before!”
“What?”
“Dave Angel is a…” I pause as I actually skim the page. My thinking hat tightens on my head and I remember that I need to oil the cogs in my brain. Urgently. “…techno musician… in America…”
“Oh, that must be him.” Sa offers, rather sarcastically.
“Damn you Google search,” I mutter as I close my laptop and stare into space. I follow two motes of dust as they float gracefully around each other, circling as though in a never ending dance of love. I begin to envy them, wanting that freedom of flight. Wanting to drift softly through the air, through sunlight and shadow and…
I swiftly change my mind as the star-crossed motes of dust are sucked noisily in by the air conditioner. I choose life.
That’s it…
“Choose life…” I whisper.
“Eh?”
“Choose life!” I have half a mind to stand up and point at the sky again. But instead I find two more motes of dust that seem to be part of an arranged marriage more than freedom of love, and I point at them instead. Their path also ends in the air conditioner.
“I don’t plan to end my life,” Sa comments matter-of-factly, as though I suggested otherwise.
“No, no, choose life. Like in Trainspotting.”
“…I don’t want to look at trains either.”
I decide to ignore the comment. Instead I try to remember the long monologue that was delivered so well in such a sexy Scottish accent by none other than Ewan McGregor. Choose your friends.
“That’s it! I know how we can find Dave!”
“How?” Sa’s interested again. And all it took was one more poke at the sky.
“We call for reinforcements!” I’m more excited about this than when I found out orange was the new pink, and wore black anyway. “You can’t research and Google and I are in the middle of a long and expensive divorce,” I continue, knowing this attention span is short. “We need someone who can research for us! We need someone who is young, full of life, upbeat, annoying as all hell yet terribly loveable.”
Sa looks at me as though I discovered sliced bread. And even though I had, in my time, discovered this novelty, this discovery is much, MUCH more important.
“We need a younger sibling of sorts, we need someone who has not yet been touched by the Tentacle - all meanings implied.”
I pause. I decide to make it my new hobby of ending verses with epic pauses and long metaphors. And as the Plot Bunny hit Sa today and not me, I cannot think of a metaphor. Instead, I just pause.
“We need… Diz!”
The epicness continues: Verse 3