(no subject)
There was nobody it surprised more than the man himself, but it seemed as if Flagg was really starting to warm up to the island. Sure, at first it had rankled him that he was put so far out of his way, but wasn't this kinda like the equivalent of those commercials where the guy tosses his beeper into the Caribbean and cracks open a beer instead? And really, after Trips, he needed a vacation.
The little jaunt to Gilead had been frustrating, sure, especially given that Lloyd had started acting like he was on the rag again and now he'd probably have to deal with the gunslingers sooner rather than later, but he was feeling certain it would all work itself out smoothly.
He just kept reminding himself that he wasn't really stuck here like the rest of these suckers. It was just taking a little extra time, that's all. He just needed to relax, recharge, and wait for his powers to reemerge. Which he was sure they would. They always did.
So, Flagg enjoyed the island as a visitor, partaking in the customs of the locals as it suited him, laughing off the maddening lack of convenience and magic with the objective amusement of a Manhattan tourist in Amish country, and generally managing to take advantage of all the best things the island had to offer while remaining safely above all of it.
This afternoon found him in the rec room. It had a few things that interested Flagg-- first, the projector, because he liked movies and had a lot to catch up on. The last movie he'd seen had been in Vegas, actually, once they'd gotten the power up and running-- the fine piece of American cinema known as Robocop II. It had been the one movie running in MGM's adjacent Showcase 8 that wouldn't have scarred Vegas's under-twelve set for life, but thanks to Trashy's little surprise that would have been a pretty short time frame, anyway.
The other things which interested him were the jukebox and the bookshelf, both of which he'd determined were semi-sentient. The jukebox had also determined, obviously, that he was a cool guy with good taste in music, 'cause it liked to greet him with various classic rock hits the minute he crossed the threshold. The bookshelf, on the other hand, was kind of a smug, cantankerous bitch who so far had insisted on supplying him with five full shelves of various editions of The Gunslinger, hardy-fucking-har. So the minute it started behaving, Flagg took it upon himself to teach the damned thing a lesson.
The Return of the King was a great book, but kinda long, so Flagg flipped through it, keeping an eye on the doorway, and ripped out four or five pages in the chapter titled Mount Doom. Next was a hefty little green tome called Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince; he hemmed, hawed, and tore out three or four pages at random. It was oddly therapeutic, and he'd probably done two dozen before he was interrupted by a middle-aged, dark-haired guy who introduced himself as Scott. Scott's appearance had so surprised Flagg that he'd crammed the thick bunch of folded-over pages into the edge of the bookshelf and started pretending to examine the film reels.
"What the hell is this," Scott said, a few minutes later, pulling out and rifling through the sheaf of climaxes, painstakingly torn from a selection of beloved classics. "What kind of an asshole would do something like this?" Scott shook his head, looking at the pages with the same kind of disgust and sorrow most people reserved for really gruesome news stories.
"I have no idea," Flagg said, sounding amazed and peering over his shoulder. "I have no idea."
Scott paused suddenly, his eyes going wide. "Holy shit," he said miserably. "Oh god." He dropped the pages like they stung, and they fluttered to the floor. Flagg suspected from the look on the guy's face that he was gonna have a heart attack, and Jesus H. Christ, wouldn't that be like the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. But instead he just wandered out of the room, raking a hand through his hair and muttering something that sounded to Flagg like Snape?!
Well, after that, he couldn't just quit.
[ Please distract Randall Flagg from his dastardly agenda. He's by the book shelf in the rec room. He's probably too sly to actually catch ripping out pages, but feel free to find them stowed in the bookshelf while he twiddles his thumbs on the couch, or chat with him as he surreptitiously scopes out his next target. ST is great, everyone welcome, and this will probably be open for awhile. ]
The little jaunt to Gilead had been frustrating, sure, especially given that Lloyd had started acting like he was on the rag again and now he'd probably have to deal with the gunslingers sooner rather than later, but he was feeling certain it would all work itself out smoothly.
He just kept reminding himself that he wasn't really stuck here like the rest of these suckers. It was just taking a little extra time, that's all. He just needed to relax, recharge, and wait for his powers to reemerge. Which he was sure they would. They always did.
So, Flagg enjoyed the island as a visitor, partaking in the customs of the locals as it suited him, laughing off the maddening lack of convenience and magic with the objective amusement of a Manhattan tourist in Amish country, and generally managing to take advantage of all the best things the island had to offer while remaining safely above all of it.
This afternoon found him in the rec room. It had a few things that interested Flagg-- first, the projector, because he liked movies and had a lot to catch up on. The last movie he'd seen had been in Vegas, actually, once they'd gotten the power up and running-- the fine piece of American cinema known as Robocop II. It had been the one movie running in MGM's adjacent Showcase 8 that wouldn't have scarred Vegas's under-twelve set for life, but thanks to Trashy's little surprise that would have been a pretty short time frame, anyway.
The other things which interested him were the jukebox and the bookshelf, both of which he'd determined were semi-sentient. The jukebox had also determined, obviously, that he was a cool guy with good taste in music, 'cause it liked to greet him with various classic rock hits the minute he crossed the threshold. The bookshelf, on the other hand, was kind of a smug, cantankerous bitch who so far had insisted on supplying him with five full shelves of various editions of The Gunslinger, hardy-fucking-har. So the minute it started behaving, Flagg took it upon himself to teach the damned thing a lesson.
The Return of the King was a great book, but kinda long, so Flagg flipped through it, keeping an eye on the doorway, and ripped out four or five pages in the chapter titled Mount Doom. Next was a hefty little green tome called Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince; he hemmed, hawed, and tore out three or four pages at random. It was oddly therapeutic, and he'd probably done two dozen before he was interrupted by a middle-aged, dark-haired guy who introduced himself as Scott. Scott's appearance had so surprised Flagg that he'd crammed the thick bunch of folded-over pages into the edge of the bookshelf and started pretending to examine the film reels.
"What the hell is this," Scott said, a few minutes later, pulling out and rifling through the sheaf of climaxes, painstakingly torn from a selection of beloved classics. "What kind of an asshole would do something like this?" Scott shook his head, looking at the pages with the same kind of disgust and sorrow most people reserved for really gruesome news stories.
"I have no idea," Flagg said, sounding amazed and peering over his shoulder. "I have no idea."
Scott paused suddenly, his eyes going wide. "Holy shit," he said miserably. "Oh god." He dropped the pages like they stung, and they fluttered to the floor. Flagg suspected from the look on the guy's face that he was gonna have a heart attack, and Jesus H. Christ, wouldn't that be like the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. But instead he just wandered out of the room, raking a hand through his hair and muttering something that sounded to Flagg like Snape?!
Well, after that, he couldn't just quit.
[ Please distract Randall Flagg from his dastardly agenda. He's by the book shelf in the rec room. He's probably too sly to actually catch ripping out pages, but feel free to find them stowed in the bookshelf while he twiddles his thumbs on the couch, or chat with him as he surreptitiously scopes out his next target. ST is great, everyone welcome, and this will probably be open for awhile. ]