Friendly Hostility Contest Entry! With Zombies! (As if I'd write anything else.)
So, I wrote an entry for the awesomely talented cartoonist Sandra's webcomic Friendly Hostility. It includes hats, sex, zombies, and unexpected feminine body parts. Not necessarily in that order. I hope you enjoy!
The zombie invasion began two days after Derringer got turned into a girl. Not that the two events were causally related, but still, Leslie had to admit girl-Derringer was pretty hot, swinging a pick-axe over her (his?) head, splitting the rotting skulls of animate corpses in two, squelchy.
At the point in which the zombies attacked, Derringer had somewhat adjusted to his lady parts. It took familiarization via a Brazilian wax and investment in a (very enthusiastic) vibrator, but Derringer could confidently say he (she?) was in command of his body once more. Though damn if he ever played poker with Fox’s uncle again.
Fox’s uncle, funny little man that he was, had been the one to wake Derringer the morning after the poker night before; leering, eyes screened behind dark sunglasses, ratty goatee and slicked back hair, it had not been a sight for sore eyes. Which Derringer’s eyes admittedly were, most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol imbibed just hours previous. Derringer had yelped, scrambled backwards, stood up, and fell down, all within a ten second time span.
His second attempt at standing was no more successful than his first, ultimately due to the fact that his centre of gravity had radically shifted and he no longer knew the exact length of his legs relative to torso, not to mention his arms, all of which subtly played with his ability to judge spatial dynamics. In effect, Derringer had no clue what was up with his body that was all of a sudden much slighter and smaller than what he was used to. Not to mention the obvious extra bits bobbing gently from his chest. Dumbfounded, and more than slightly hungover, he poked at them. They bobbed yet more. Another poke, another bob.
“This is almost porn,” Fox’s strange little uncle leered. “Get a little cupping action in, there, darling, that’s a girl.”
Which was, incidentally, Derringer’s rude introduction to the fact that, yes, now he was physically a girl. With girl bits. Wow.
Before he could manage to reply to the perverted comment, a fist answered for him: scarred knuckles, dark brown hair, blunt finger tips, swinging in with still-slightly-drunken fury, Leslie Rudd to the rescue.
Some part of Derringer’s hind brain preoccupied with the sexiness of said Rudd swooned, crooned to itself, “He loves me, he really loves me.” Notably, this section of Derringer’s hind brain preexisted his female state and would continue on after unforeseen female state had passed - it wasn’t a girl thing, it was a Derringer thing. Derringer had many things particular to him, the least of which being his ditzy exterior coupled with tough guy interior so native to ex-high-school-jock newly discovering his proclivity for dick. Though the ‘newly’ part of the discovery was pretty much worn out by now, five years into Derringer’s assured fascination with the lean male form; though his proclivity for dick did not in any way inhibit his matching love for breasts, et al, particular to the female sex. (Some have noted: Derringer = slut. Derringer notes: sex = awesome. The equations always seem to have similar end results.)
To return to the scene of Leslie Rudd and his fists of righteous rescue - Fox’s creepy little uncle falling over - and Derringer still poking at his boobs. Leslie groaned blearily, crust of drool and beer dried to the night’s growth of beard populating his face, and said, “Who the hell are you?”
And that was just the start of the whole insanity.
*
The end of the whole insanity, to spoil it for you, is of course zombies. Many of them, many of them wearing familiar faces, lurching about and groaning for brains. Well, presumably for brains - no one could really make out what the zombies were saying due to decomposition of the oral cavity. The only way to be sure would be to stand very close to a zombie and listen very hard, and no one in their right mind would engage in such an act.
Wait. That’s not the end of the whole insanity. It’s close to the end, but not quite there. The end involves Padma Maharassa and Charlotte Rudd and the collapsing of a black hole and the end of all life as is currently known. We’ll get to that end.
Meanwhile, we return you to:
*
“Dammit, would you stop fondling yourself?”
Derringer glanced coyly at Leslie from the passenger seat. He’d never managed to really pull of the coy look before, despite having the requisite ridiculously long lashes, mostly because his eyeline was above Leslie’s head. As a girl, he was a bit shorter, enough so that he and Leslie were around equal. A good compromise, Derringer thought smugly.
It wasn’t that Derringer relished being inexplicably female, but it was that he had always believed in either making the best of any situation or turning any undesirable situation into a desirable one. In this case, squeezing his new breasts were a part of the ‘making an undesirable situation desirable’ equation, and not just because the rhythmic opening and closing of his palms and fingers around his boobs were making Leslie’s face turn deeper and deeper shades of fuchsia, no - it also felt good. Really good. Good as in the way Derringer hadn’t thought boobs could actually feel. Sure, he sort of missed having a penis, but he could push that emotion away long enough to enjoy having boobs and a vagina. Which, speaking of, he was starting to get sort of curious about. Because if boobs felt this awesome, then….
“What the hell happened last night?” Leslie asked. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Derringer’s side of the vehicle, fixed firmly to the road as he drove them to the hospital. His rationale for the hospital visit was that, given an overnight gender change, something was up. Not that anyone would believe his story, but still.
Derringer shrugged. This did odd things to his chest. “I don’t remember much past the first round of, um, whatever drink it was that tall guy brought.” The tall guy - the one with holes where his eyes should be, and a mouth full of knives instead of teeth, and the shadows that moved around him as if live snakes, and who, incongruously enough, had a supreme and innocent love of sushi - had whipped out a bottle of something and passed it around the table.
Around the table included such poker players as Fox’s creepy uncle, and Fox’s friendly dad, and Fox himself; Leslie, the tall strange guy, and, obviously, Derringer. What had precipitated the odd little get-together was a pet idea of Fox’s dad’s, who had wandered into the newspaper office earlier that day to invite Leslie to an inaugural ‘Poker Night for Guys with Girls’ Names’. Suspicious, Leslie asked, “Who else do you know with a girl’s name?”
Fox’s dad replied, “No one, actually. I thought we could bend the rules just this once and have others invited as well.”
Leslie growled, “Not interested,” but was dragged along nevertheless with promises of free beer and easy opponents. He probably would have held to his refusal had he been aware that none other than his nemesis, Fox’s creepy uncle, would also be present at the poker tournament of doom.
But given that no one can remember the events of that poker night past the bringing out of the mysterious liquid substance of DOOM, no more attention shall be given to Leslie Rudd’s antisocial and anti-Fox’s-creepy-uncle attitudes, and more to the fact of Derringer’s femaleness. And, later, to the matter of the zombies.
*
To diverge from the Leslie and Derringer storyline momentarily, it becomes important to note these facts:
1. Anne (formerly known as Bootsie) is currently having fun exploring the full range of two-person sex; she is thanking her past self for going sex-toy shopping, as all the hardware is coming quite in handy. Nick meanwhile is exhausted, wondering what the hell he got himself into, and how he got so lucky. Neither notices the shuffling, lurching footsteps that being to echo outside Anne’s apartment door.
2. Fatima does notice something strange going on in the world, attuned as she is to the mayhem and mishaps it is possible for an unrestrained Padma Maharassa to let loose into the world. She is, however, in Alaska. She leaves the resolution of such turbulence to souls closer to ground zero, and silently gloats in her peaceful distance. That night she watches a meteor shower and picks up a piece of a star fallen from a place further off than outer space.
3. Kitty reorganizes Leslie’s apartment. She likes reorganizing other people’s places. She ignores her mother’s insistent messages on her cell phone, angrily attempting to get her attention, for the sole fact that she is aware that her mother only wants to harass her into wearing something more revealing for hanging out at Leslie’s place. It’s not that Greer wants Kitty and Leslie to fall madly in love, just that she likes making Leslie uncomfortable. Unluckily for Leslie, this character trait is genetic, and dominant within the younger Nowakowski as well.
4. Had Kitty actually picked up her mother’s call instead of assuming its content, she would learn that, well, yes, her mother is fully supportive of her showing off her physical assets, but in this one case that message is not the focal point of the call. The focal point is: Was the sky always this particular shade of green? Or am I right in thinking something strange is going on?
5. Something strange is going on.
Post Script. Padma asks, “Hey, where’s my hat?”
The answer to this is the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
(The corollary question: which life, universe, and everything?)
*
When Leslie and Derringer finally got out of the hospital, having bravely faced the numerous doctors’ incredulous faces and Demon’s guffawing one, Leslie didn’t even think to drop Derringer off at his own place and instead brought him back home.
Derringer noticed this, and internally did a few hundred back flips of joy.
Walking in through the front door, the entire apartment is different. Leslie growls, blinks, thinks, Today is fucking weird.
Yes, today is fucking weird.
But in this case, the explanation for the drastic change materializes in the form of Kitty, apron about her waist and hair pinned up, oven mitts holding a tray of still warm cookies. “Welcome home!”
*
When two girls with similar claims to the same guy first meet, an interesting dynamic occurs. They can either be instant best friends, instant best enemies, or… frenemies.
In the fucking weird case of Kitty, fake girlfriend, and Derringer, fake girl, what develops is:
“Oh my GOD I LOVE your hair!”
“Oh, really? It’s soooo long, I didn’t even know I could get it this length.”
“Man, I’m jealous. I mean, I know I can rock the short look, but still.”
Leslie Rudd looks on in horrified fascination.
*
Things get weirder.
In Collin and Arath’s broadcasting station, an hour has become a day has become a minute has become an hour. Collin keeps on thinking he should be going on his lunch break, or falling asleep, but he just keeps on shooting the same scene over and over and over again. Arath in the background, setting sound, keeping watch.
Anne and Nick’s door rattles, their floor shakes; the universe around them implodes save for the small hard kernel of reality they have wrapped around them, their bodies twined and writhed.
Nefertari momentarily merges with Sofia, despite the fact that neither woman has ever met, that neither woman has much in common, that neither woman is even within the same zip code. As they snap back into their own separate existences, each shares one last simultaneous thought: What a bitch.
Padma searches for his hat and in his quest - which lasts as long as an eyeblink and as short as a geological age - manages to run across the Hell dimension that has swallowed Charlotte Rudd whole. Given that Charlotte is the paramour of a resident of said Hell dimension, she has been given preferential treatment; still, she sees a human face, and latches on to his journey. They travel out of Hell and into ether, into air.
Rafi grumbles, rolls over, recovers consciousness enough to mutter, “Damn, nice rack.”
*
Kitty takes Derringer’s tutelage in hand and instructs the newly-formed girl in the ways of femininity. Leslie mostly hides out in his bedroom or lurks in the hall listening in on feminine giggles. It’s like he’s got the makings of his own blonde, leggy, stacked harem in his living room, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it. Not that he thinks anything would ever or could ever happen, but still. Damn.
It feels like only a few hours have passed, but in actuality it’s two days, and the zombies are coming.
*
The zombies! Lurching, hungry, mouths open and eyes filmed grey with death. Are they of human make or model? Possibly, though what human could ever become the reanimated dead is something Leslie would prefer not to contemplate.
Actually. Were he to pause to cogitate, he would become aware of not ever acclimating to the appearance of zombies, not ever responding to them in a meaningful way other than, “Oh, zombies, must kill them now.” Shouldn’t he be shocked and surprised at the appearance of the unnatural undead?
A good question, but one unasked, and unanswered.
Another question unasked, but this one answered: yes, Derringer is handy with a derringer pistol. But he’s better with a baseball club, and best of all with an axe. Leslie has to admit to enjoying the sight of a woman with hardware in her grip.
*
Charlotte says, “This can’t be happening.”
Padma says, “For you to say that with full authority, you must first be aware of what is, in fact, happening.”
Charlotte says, “What is happening?”
Padma says, “Figure it out.”
Charlotte is a smart girl. She figures it out.
“So, you finding your hat -“
“Is the answer, yes.”
“…The universe is so weird.”
“Incorrect. The universe in and of itself is governed by specific rules and regulations that make its behaviour predictable to the trained observer. The multiverse, and, on an extended level, those that exist extra-universally, complicate matters.”
“…You are so weird.”
“And you are still learning.”
*
Fox is lost and stumbling. He wants to find Collin, he wants to find his family, he can’t find anything.
And then he finds a hat.
His father’s hat.
Yes, that hat.
And holding the hat, is Nyarlothotep.
He is smiling.
Not an evil or malicious smile, but his happy and childlike one.
The one with the sharp teeth, and the bottomless eyes, and the spindly spidery fingers splayed out in greeting.
“Fox,” he says.
“…” the hat says.
*
The search for the hat could continue on for the next thousand years and they would still remain lost between dimensions, extra-universal travelers, until Charlotte has the bright thought of brining the hat to them.
“You are aware that this could conceivably end all life as we know it,” Padma says, thoughtful.
“Is life the way it is now really all that worth it?”
Which is a good point.
And so they collapse a black hole.
Don’t ask how, it’s science. Like magic, without explanation except to those on the same esoteric level.
And the world ends.
*
“Mwarahbraaaainnnns,” the zombie mumbles as it gnaws on Derringer’s hair.
And then the world ends.
*
“Oh, oh, oh,” Anne gasps, and Nick says, “mmmmmm,” and the world ends.
*
“What’s my line again?”
And Arath checks the sound,
and the world ends.
*
Rafi rolls over.
The world ends.
*
In the morning Derringer wakes up. He’s a boy.
He’s not sure why he thought he should have girl parts. The night before, a poker party, right.
Fox and Fox’s creepy uncle and Fox’s dad are huddled in the corner. And Derringer is lying on top of Leslie.
His brain smiles. Today might just be a good day, despite the hangover. Yes, yes indeed.
The zombie invasion began two days after Derringer got turned into a girl. Not that the two events were causally related, but still, Leslie had to admit girl-Derringer was pretty hot, swinging a pick-axe over her (his?) head, splitting the rotting skulls of animate corpses in two, squelchy.
At the point in which the zombies attacked, Derringer had somewhat adjusted to his lady parts. It took familiarization via a Brazilian wax and investment in a (very enthusiastic) vibrator, but Derringer could confidently say he (she?) was in command of his body once more. Though damn if he ever played poker with Fox’s uncle again.
Fox’s uncle, funny little man that he was, had been the one to wake Derringer the morning after the poker night before; leering, eyes screened behind dark sunglasses, ratty goatee and slicked back hair, it had not been a sight for sore eyes. Which Derringer’s eyes admittedly were, most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol imbibed just hours previous. Derringer had yelped, scrambled backwards, stood up, and fell down, all within a ten second time span.
His second attempt at standing was no more successful than his first, ultimately due to the fact that his centre of gravity had radically shifted and he no longer knew the exact length of his legs relative to torso, not to mention his arms, all of which subtly played with his ability to judge spatial dynamics. In effect, Derringer had no clue what was up with his body that was all of a sudden much slighter and smaller than what he was used to. Not to mention the obvious extra bits bobbing gently from his chest. Dumbfounded, and more than slightly hungover, he poked at them. They bobbed yet more. Another poke, another bob.
“This is almost porn,” Fox’s strange little uncle leered. “Get a little cupping action in, there, darling, that’s a girl.”
Which was, incidentally, Derringer’s rude introduction to the fact that, yes, now he was physically a girl. With girl bits. Wow.
Before he could manage to reply to the perverted comment, a fist answered for him: scarred knuckles, dark brown hair, blunt finger tips, swinging in with still-slightly-drunken fury, Leslie Rudd to the rescue.
Some part of Derringer’s hind brain preoccupied with the sexiness of said Rudd swooned, crooned to itself, “He loves me, he really loves me.” Notably, this section of Derringer’s hind brain preexisted his female state and would continue on after unforeseen female state had passed - it wasn’t a girl thing, it was a Derringer thing. Derringer had many things particular to him, the least of which being his ditzy exterior coupled with tough guy interior so native to ex-high-school-jock newly discovering his proclivity for dick. Though the ‘newly’ part of the discovery was pretty much worn out by now, five years into Derringer’s assured fascination with the lean male form; though his proclivity for dick did not in any way inhibit his matching love for breasts, et al, particular to the female sex. (Some have noted: Derringer = slut. Derringer notes: sex = awesome. The equations always seem to have similar end results.)
To return to the scene of Leslie Rudd and his fists of righteous rescue - Fox’s creepy little uncle falling over - and Derringer still poking at his boobs. Leslie groaned blearily, crust of drool and beer dried to the night’s growth of beard populating his face, and said, “Who the hell are you?”
And that was just the start of the whole insanity.
*
The end of the whole insanity, to spoil it for you, is of course zombies. Many of them, many of them wearing familiar faces, lurching about and groaning for brains. Well, presumably for brains - no one could really make out what the zombies were saying due to decomposition of the oral cavity. The only way to be sure would be to stand very close to a zombie and listen very hard, and no one in their right mind would engage in such an act.
Wait. That’s not the end of the whole insanity. It’s close to the end, but not quite there. The end involves Padma Maharassa and Charlotte Rudd and the collapsing of a black hole and the end of all life as is currently known. We’ll get to that end.
Meanwhile, we return you to:
*
“Dammit, would you stop fondling yourself?”
Derringer glanced coyly at Leslie from the passenger seat. He’d never managed to really pull of the coy look before, despite having the requisite ridiculously long lashes, mostly because his eyeline was above Leslie’s head. As a girl, he was a bit shorter, enough so that he and Leslie were around equal. A good compromise, Derringer thought smugly.
It wasn’t that Derringer relished being inexplicably female, but it was that he had always believed in either making the best of any situation or turning any undesirable situation into a desirable one. In this case, squeezing his new breasts were a part of the ‘making an undesirable situation desirable’ equation, and not just because the rhythmic opening and closing of his palms and fingers around his boobs were making Leslie’s face turn deeper and deeper shades of fuchsia, no - it also felt good. Really good. Good as in the way Derringer hadn’t thought boobs could actually feel. Sure, he sort of missed having a penis, but he could push that emotion away long enough to enjoy having boobs and a vagina. Which, speaking of, he was starting to get sort of curious about. Because if boobs felt this awesome, then….
“What the hell happened last night?” Leslie asked. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Derringer’s side of the vehicle, fixed firmly to the road as he drove them to the hospital. His rationale for the hospital visit was that, given an overnight gender change, something was up. Not that anyone would believe his story, but still.
Derringer shrugged. This did odd things to his chest. “I don’t remember much past the first round of, um, whatever drink it was that tall guy brought.” The tall guy - the one with holes where his eyes should be, and a mouth full of knives instead of teeth, and the shadows that moved around him as if live snakes, and who, incongruously enough, had a supreme and innocent love of sushi - had whipped out a bottle of something and passed it around the table.
Around the table included such poker players as Fox’s creepy uncle, and Fox’s friendly dad, and Fox himself; Leslie, the tall strange guy, and, obviously, Derringer. What had precipitated the odd little get-together was a pet idea of Fox’s dad’s, who had wandered into the newspaper office earlier that day to invite Leslie to an inaugural ‘Poker Night for Guys with Girls’ Names’. Suspicious, Leslie asked, “Who else do you know with a girl’s name?”
Fox’s dad replied, “No one, actually. I thought we could bend the rules just this once and have others invited as well.”
Leslie growled, “Not interested,” but was dragged along nevertheless with promises of free beer and easy opponents. He probably would have held to his refusal had he been aware that none other than his nemesis, Fox’s creepy uncle, would also be present at the poker tournament of doom.
But given that no one can remember the events of that poker night past the bringing out of the mysterious liquid substance of DOOM, no more attention shall be given to Leslie Rudd’s antisocial and anti-Fox’s-creepy-uncle attitudes, and more to the fact of Derringer’s femaleness. And, later, to the matter of the zombies.
*
To diverge from the Leslie and Derringer storyline momentarily, it becomes important to note these facts:
1. Anne (formerly known as Bootsie) is currently having fun exploring the full range of two-person sex; she is thanking her past self for going sex-toy shopping, as all the hardware is coming quite in handy. Nick meanwhile is exhausted, wondering what the hell he got himself into, and how he got so lucky. Neither notices the shuffling, lurching footsteps that being to echo outside Anne’s apartment door.
2. Fatima does notice something strange going on in the world, attuned as she is to the mayhem and mishaps it is possible for an unrestrained Padma Maharassa to let loose into the world. She is, however, in Alaska. She leaves the resolution of such turbulence to souls closer to ground zero, and silently gloats in her peaceful distance. That night she watches a meteor shower and picks up a piece of a star fallen from a place further off than outer space.
3. Kitty reorganizes Leslie’s apartment. She likes reorganizing other people’s places. She ignores her mother’s insistent messages on her cell phone, angrily attempting to get her attention, for the sole fact that she is aware that her mother only wants to harass her into wearing something more revealing for hanging out at Leslie’s place. It’s not that Greer wants Kitty and Leslie to fall madly in love, just that she likes making Leslie uncomfortable. Unluckily for Leslie, this character trait is genetic, and dominant within the younger Nowakowski as well.
4. Had Kitty actually picked up her mother’s call instead of assuming its content, she would learn that, well, yes, her mother is fully supportive of her showing off her physical assets, but in this one case that message is not the focal point of the call. The focal point is: Was the sky always this particular shade of green? Or am I right in thinking something strange is going on?
5. Something strange is going on.
Post Script. Padma asks, “Hey, where’s my hat?”
The answer to this is the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
(The corollary question: which life, universe, and everything?)
*
When Leslie and Derringer finally got out of the hospital, having bravely faced the numerous doctors’ incredulous faces and Demon’s guffawing one, Leslie didn’t even think to drop Derringer off at his own place and instead brought him back home.
Derringer noticed this, and internally did a few hundred back flips of joy.
Walking in through the front door, the entire apartment is different. Leslie growls, blinks, thinks, Today is fucking weird.
Yes, today is fucking weird.
But in this case, the explanation for the drastic change materializes in the form of Kitty, apron about her waist and hair pinned up, oven mitts holding a tray of still warm cookies. “Welcome home!”
*
When two girls with similar claims to the same guy first meet, an interesting dynamic occurs. They can either be instant best friends, instant best enemies, or… frenemies.
In the fucking weird case of Kitty, fake girlfriend, and Derringer, fake girl, what develops is:
“Oh my GOD I LOVE your hair!”
“Oh, really? It’s soooo long, I didn’t even know I could get it this length.”
“Man, I’m jealous. I mean, I know I can rock the short look, but still.”
Leslie Rudd looks on in horrified fascination.
*
Things get weirder.
In Collin and Arath’s broadcasting station, an hour has become a day has become a minute has become an hour. Collin keeps on thinking he should be going on his lunch break, or falling asleep, but he just keeps on shooting the same scene over and over and over again. Arath in the background, setting sound, keeping watch.
Anne and Nick’s door rattles, their floor shakes; the universe around them implodes save for the small hard kernel of reality they have wrapped around them, their bodies twined and writhed.
Nefertari momentarily merges with Sofia, despite the fact that neither woman has ever met, that neither woman has much in common, that neither woman is even within the same zip code. As they snap back into their own separate existences, each shares one last simultaneous thought: What a bitch.
Padma searches for his hat and in his quest - which lasts as long as an eyeblink and as short as a geological age - manages to run across the Hell dimension that has swallowed Charlotte Rudd whole. Given that Charlotte is the paramour of a resident of said Hell dimension, she has been given preferential treatment; still, she sees a human face, and latches on to his journey. They travel out of Hell and into ether, into air.
Rafi grumbles, rolls over, recovers consciousness enough to mutter, “Damn, nice rack.”
*
Kitty takes Derringer’s tutelage in hand and instructs the newly-formed girl in the ways of femininity. Leslie mostly hides out in his bedroom or lurks in the hall listening in on feminine giggles. It’s like he’s got the makings of his own blonde, leggy, stacked harem in his living room, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it. Not that he thinks anything would ever or could ever happen, but still. Damn.
It feels like only a few hours have passed, but in actuality it’s two days, and the zombies are coming.
*
The zombies! Lurching, hungry, mouths open and eyes filmed grey with death. Are they of human make or model? Possibly, though what human could ever become the reanimated dead is something Leslie would prefer not to contemplate.
Actually. Were he to pause to cogitate, he would become aware of not ever acclimating to the appearance of zombies, not ever responding to them in a meaningful way other than, “Oh, zombies, must kill them now.” Shouldn’t he be shocked and surprised at the appearance of the unnatural undead?
A good question, but one unasked, and unanswered.
Another question unasked, but this one answered: yes, Derringer is handy with a derringer pistol. But he’s better with a baseball club, and best of all with an axe. Leslie has to admit to enjoying the sight of a woman with hardware in her grip.
*
Charlotte says, “This can’t be happening.”
Padma says, “For you to say that with full authority, you must first be aware of what is, in fact, happening.”
Charlotte says, “What is happening?”
Padma says, “Figure it out.”
Charlotte is a smart girl. She figures it out.
“So, you finding your hat -“
“Is the answer, yes.”
“…The universe is so weird.”
“Incorrect. The universe in and of itself is governed by specific rules and regulations that make its behaviour predictable to the trained observer. The multiverse, and, on an extended level, those that exist extra-universally, complicate matters.”
“…You are so weird.”
“And you are still learning.”
*
Fox is lost and stumbling. He wants to find Collin, he wants to find his family, he can’t find anything.
And then he finds a hat.
His father’s hat.
Yes, that hat.
And holding the hat, is Nyarlothotep.
He is smiling.
Not an evil or malicious smile, but his happy and childlike one.
The one with the sharp teeth, and the bottomless eyes, and the spindly spidery fingers splayed out in greeting.
“Fox,” he says.
“…” the hat says.
*
The search for the hat could continue on for the next thousand years and they would still remain lost between dimensions, extra-universal travelers, until Charlotte has the bright thought of brining the hat to them.
“You are aware that this could conceivably end all life as we know it,” Padma says, thoughtful.
“Is life the way it is now really all that worth it?”
Which is a good point.
And so they collapse a black hole.
Don’t ask how, it’s science. Like magic, without explanation except to those on the same esoteric level.
And the world ends.
*
“Mwarahbraaaainnnns,” the zombie mumbles as it gnaws on Derringer’s hair.
And then the world ends.
*
“Oh, oh, oh,” Anne gasps, and Nick says, “mmmmmm,” and the world ends.
*
“What’s my line again?”
And Arath checks the sound,
and the world ends.
*
Rafi rolls over.
The world ends.
*
In the morning Derringer wakes up. He’s a boy.
He’s not sure why he thought he should have girl parts. The night before, a poker party, right.
Fox and Fox’s creepy uncle and Fox’s dad are huddled in the corner. And Derringer is lying on top of Leslie.
His brain smiles. Today might just be a good day, despite the hangover. Yes, yes indeed.