chadu
in
rpg_slaves
New DI Vignette
For those interested in what I've been working on, here's the next Dead Inside vignette:
"This world is hard and cold," said Oskar. "Most folks don't even recognize it, wrapped up in their shells. Your shell is cracked now, and you can feel the draft."
I nodded.
He looked at me, and the glowing on him intensified in his ice-blue eyes.
"Your name's Michael, right? And hers was L... Lucy."
The look on my face must have combined the dual shocks I felt: that he knew who I was, and that I had the strangest feeling that I knew how he knew -- how he did it, I mean. How he Saw.
It was like he was full of electricity, and made it move up into his head. I had an adolescent memory wash over me of watching my dad shave. The sudden connection, the eureka, the "so that's how you do it." But I couldn't. I didn't have the juice.
"No you don't, Mike. Not yet," Oskar confirmed my thoughts. "But, if you struggle for it, do your best, go all-out, while chasing that piece of you that's missing, you'll get some juice." He pulled a fresh, if battered, cigar out of his jacket pocket, bit off the end, and jammed it in his mouth. "I know. I was where you are, once. Down in the hole." He fiddled with a safety match. "I can help you out of that hole."
Before I could say anything, a dead man walked through the wall of the record store. We both turned to watch the ghost float through the shop. None of the customers saw the transparent figure. I realized that they were blinded by their own sufficiency and I had sight only because of my lack. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man gets a straightjacket instead of a crown. My voice stuck in my throat, wriggling like a carnival goldfish in a plastic baggie.
"Hey, Oskar." The dead man waved as he floated towards the wall opposite.
"Hey, Raymond. Staying out of trouble?"
"You know it." The ghost laughed, then slid through a wall-display into the Fashion Bug next door.
"Let's go outside. Then I can light this up. And we can talk about what we can do for each other."
I shrugged and followed Oskar out to the sidewalk, where he lit his cigar. By the time we had turned the corner into the alleyway, he was merrily puffing away.
"Listen, Mike, I can take you somewhere where things'll be easier for you to get a handle on your situation. In return, I need you to help me out a little. Not that you don't seem like a good kid, but do-gooding don't pay the landlord. I need an extra pair of hands. You game?"
Why not? My voice squirmed free. "Sure." Why not? Forced to choose between schizophrenic hallucinations and the spectral dead, I chose to believe in souls being sold for sex, serendipitous psychics, and friendly ghosts. "What now?"
"Let's go Outside," he said, holding up his hands. The glow on them intensified, and between them I saw a rainbow circle, like when I used to play with the garden hose instead of washing Mom's car. Oskar stretched his hands apart, and the ring widened. "Step through the Gate, Mike. I'll be right behind."
I hesitated then, until I felt the breeze blowing from the ring, fresh and clean and warm. Comforting warmth. Not like the cold, cold world I had awoken into since that night.
I stepped through the Gate.
More to come.
(Check out my LJ or this thread on RPG.net to see a good discussion and collection of flyer-text and vignette-text for Dead Inside.)
CU
"This world is hard and cold," said Oskar. "Most folks don't even recognize it, wrapped up in their shells. Your shell is cracked now, and you can feel the draft."
I nodded.
He looked at me, and the glowing on him intensified in his ice-blue eyes.
"Your name's Michael, right? And hers was L... Lucy."
The look on my face must have combined the dual shocks I felt: that he knew who I was, and that I had the strangest feeling that I knew how he knew -- how he did it, I mean. How he Saw.
It was like he was full of electricity, and made it move up into his head. I had an adolescent memory wash over me of watching my dad shave. The sudden connection, the eureka, the "so that's how you do it." But I couldn't. I didn't have the juice.
"No you don't, Mike. Not yet," Oskar confirmed my thoughts. "But, if you struggle for it, do your best, go all-out, while chasing that piece of you that's missing, you'll get some juice." He pulled a fresh, if battered, cigar out of his jacket pocket, bit off the end, and jammed it in his mouth. "I know. I was where you are, once. Down in the hole." He fiddled with a safety match. "I can help you out of that hole."
Before I could say anything, a dead man walked through the wall of the record store. We both turned to watch the ghost float through the shop. None of the customers saw the transparent figure. I realized that they were blinded by their own sufficiency and I had sight only because of my lack. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man gets a straightjacket instead of a crown. My voice stuck in my throat, wriggling like a carnival goldfish in a plastic baggie.
"Hey, Oskar." The dead man waved as he floated towards the wall opposite.
"Hey, Raymond. Staying out of trouble?"
"You know it." The ghost laughed, then slid through a wall-display into the Fashion Bug next door.
"Let's go outside. Then I can light this up. And we can talk about what we can do for each other."
I shrugged and followed Oskar out to the sidewalk, where he lit his cigar. By the time we had turned the corner into the alleyway, he was merrily puffing away.
"Listen, Mike, I can take you somewhere where things'll be easier for you to get a handle on your situation. In return, I need you to help me out a little. Not that you don't seem like a good kid, but do-gooding don't pay the landlord. I need an extra pair of hands. You game?"
Why not? My voice squirmed free. "Sure." Why not? Forced to choose between schizophrenic hallucinations and the spectral dead, I chose to believe in souls being sold for sex, serendipitous psychics, and friendly ghosts. "What now?"
"Let's go Outside," he said, holding up his hands. The glow on them intensified, and between them I saw a rainbow circle, like when I used to play with the garden hose instead of washing Mom's car. Oskar stretched his hands apart, and the ring widened. "Step through the Gate, Mike. I'll be right behind."
I hesitated then, until I felt the breeze blowing from the ring, fresh and clean and warm. Comforting warmth. Not like the cold, cold world I had awoken into since that night.
I stepped through the Gate.
More to come.
(Check out my LJ or this thread on RPG.net to see a good discussion and collection of flyer-text and vignette-text for Dead Inside.)
CU