Metaworld: At the Sign of the "Who Gives a Shit", part 2
Holy shit, I'm actually continuing something I started! How very unexpected!
It's...three time longer than I originally planned? How very...typical of me.
It's...still not finished. And my goddamned OCs have a more prominent presence in this one. (I apologize for that in advance.)
What is wrong with me?
Ahh, what the hell.
Metaworld: Athe Sign of the "Who Gives a Shit" part 2
Go Back to Part 1?
"We'll Man the Freaking Desk When We're Good and Ready"
Fandom: L4D (mostly) Respect A Woman Verse (still mostly)
Characters: Lady Smoker and Lady Hunter, with various cameos and several of my OCs
Warnings: Some language; nothing absolutely dreadful, but a few F-Bombs are dropped here and there. Lots of talking and build-up.
Word Count: 4,970 I...it's two times longer than the first part. I really don't know how that happened.
What the giant horse looking guy had failed to mention was that there was going to be a considerable wait before Hunter actually got to compete against the cat boy; there was already a fairly long list of names on the board of people who had not gone yet, Hunter hadn’t quite managed to get her name on the list yet because…well...
"What do you mean, there is no disco in the database? I was told that every song that ever existed and ever will exist should be in this thing!” snapped the girl with the blue afro. “AND NO MUSIC DATABASE IS COMPLETE WITHOUT THE GREATEST STYLE OF MUSIC EVER, YOU FIEND!”
The guy at the sign-up counter, a surly looking brunette with short wavy hair, just glared back. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear. Yes, Disco is in our database, but I refuse to play it for you or anyone else BECAUSE IT IS FUCKING TERRIBLE. NOW CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE OR GET THE FUCK OUT OF LINE.”
“Oh my god, this place is even worse than that shape-land dimension!” wailed the next girl in line, a darkly complexioned young woman with short, shaggy dark hair. “Nothing makes any sense at all! Why would anyone put that horrible little sociopath in charge of the sign up board anyway? Why the heck did that alien in the pot plant thing try to go early, he didn’t have any legs? What the heck was up with those jester twins? AND WHY ARE WE HERE AT ALL? It’s like we were pulled here entirely for the purpose of a terrible fanfiction cameo that maybe 10 people will get, god!”
“Oh my god, shut up shut up shut up shut up.” Muttered the oddly 2 dimensional , living triangle.* “Are you never not asking stupid questions and pointing out the FREAKING OBVIOUS?”
“And you! Why the heck are you signing up for this thing, you don’t have any more legs than the pot plant alien thing, what were you planning on doing, hopping on the buttons one at a time like a moron? “
Hunter, who was next in line after the girl and the triangle sighed and bounced on her heels impatiently.
“Well, get over it, Leisure Suit Laura, Disco is Dead, and contrary to popular belief, there is nothing in the multiverse Deader than Disco, PERIOD.”
“LIES UPON LIES! DISCO LIVES ON AND EVER ON! YOU CANNOT DESTROY IT!”
“One, you are crazy, Two, legs are just about the most worthless of appendages and frankly, you don’t seem to be able to do anything even with them, and Three, you are CRAZY! “
“Oh, for….how am I the crazy one here, huh? Really? You keep saying that, but you never even try to explain any of it to me! Seriously, what the heck? And why are we still traveling together, we completely hate each other, and there are plenty of other things you could be doing in here besides SIGNING UP TO PLAY A GAME THAT YOU DON’T HAVE THE NECESSARY ANATOMY TO PLAY IN THE FIRST PLACE.”
“Whatever you say, loopy-loo.”
“GARARAGAGAGAGGAGAGHHH!”
“That is it, I challenge you, foul keeper of lists, I challenge you to a DANCE OFF…TO THE DEATH!”
“Oh, you wanna play it that way? You wanna play it that way, Miss Cotton Candy Puff? We’ll play it that way! “ yelled the surly looking guy, writing his name (which was apparently McCaulley) up on the board with angry slashes of his chalk, next to the word Dico Crazy Chick. He then started to storm off, still yelling at the afro girl.
“Hey, wait, we’re still waiting!” yelled the girl, grabbing at the sign up guy as he walked past.
“I care? Leggo of me, you and triangle thing over there have been getting on my nerves for the last five minutes. You two wanna have your little marital squabble or whatever, take it outside.”
Completely ignoring the angry shouts from both girl and triangle, the guy turned to Hunter. Before she could register her complaint that she hadn’t gotten a chance to sign up either, he said “And you must be the cat hooded girl who’s challenging the catboy? Tora, the freaky giant horse guy, mentioned you were coming. You really as good as you say you are?”
She bristled. “Can it. We both know talks cheap. How’sabout you just let me show you how good I am, and sign me the hell up?”
“Certainly confident enough. And smart enough to not give me a straight yes, that would have landed you straight into the stupid “Pride cometh before the fall” Aesop range.” He smiled for the first time; it was amazing how much the simple change in expression improved his features. “Alright then, you have the slot after me and Blue Hair here. What do you go by?”
The tiny Asian was taken off guard by the turn around in the guys attitude. “Umm…Hunter. I’m called Hunter.”
“Not bad. Not terribly creative, but I can’t think of a person named Hunter who I completely dislike. “ He said, writing it down. “You can call me Mike, by the way. If you have any questions about the rules, don’t bug me with them. Ask the red-headed waitress instead. Her name’s Holly. Now piss off, Disco Dani over there and I still have unfinished business.” He punctuated the last sentence by slamming a sign down on the desk which read:
Sign ups for DDR closed for the foreseeable future.
We’ll man the freaking desk when we’re good and ready to.
Hunter watched him run off, yelling at afro girl (“And furthermore, your outfit SUCKS.”), followed closely by the girl and the triangle (who, united in anger, were actually yelling at someone besides each other.) She glanced back at the deserted sign-up desk, and wondered if maybe the new sign had been written by the same person who made the one outside the door.
*Which was still not the weirdest thing Hunter had seen there, so she didn’t waste too much time starting.
…………………………………..
Smoker watched carefully as Allison the pushy bartender put together the drink in front of her. She didn’t recognize a fair number of the fruits and herbs she was using, even after asking about the names and properties, but it all looked innocuous enough. The smoke from the red-headed-definitely-still-a-boy’s weird little hand-roll was starting to bug her, though, and was making it hard to focus completely on the drink making process.
That’s not to say it was unpleasant. It had a spicy, almost sweet scent, and didn’t smell a thing like any variety of tabacco she knew. * At the same time, it didn’t smell like any of the other things she would have immediately recognized. It wasn’t a clove cigarette that any of the little hipsters she new favored. It was reminiscent of some of the leaves she smelled in the one of two hookah parties that Juan managed to drag her to, but not nearly as sweet. ** It didn’t have the distinctive acrid smell of weed, so she ruled that out. But what DID it remind her of?
Her train of thought was cut off abruptly when Alison slapped the fresh drink in front of her with a thunk. “Any further question? No? Now drink.”
She would have argued further just for the heck of it, but something in the petite blonde’s tone stopped her. She took a careful sip instead.
As it turned out, it wasn’t bad. A little odd, with a flavor that she couldn’t quite describe afterwards, but still vaguely pleasant. Almost instantly, her headache (which had actually gotten worse the longer she’d been sitting there) began to fade, the tension in her shoulders and arms easing. Damn her, the bartender was right; it WAS helping.
“Thanks, Miss.” She muttered reluctantly.
“That’s Mrs., and you are welcome.”
Smoker blinked, and glanced at the blondes left hand. Odd, she didn’t see a ring. Deciding that she didn’t care to pursue the subject, Smoker looked up, and shrugged. “Whatever you say. So, can anyone explain to me what this place is?”
“Drink your drink. Well, let’s see…I don’t know if I’m the best person to explain things. We normally leave that sort of thing to Lance…”
“Well he’s not here, and you are, and he smiles too much anyway.” Alison made a snorting noise that on anyone else would have sounded like a laugh. “So give me your best shot. We’ll start with the basics…apparently this is a place where all sorts of made up people can meet up for some reason?”
Alison shook her head. “Never thought I would ever hear someone complain about Lance’s smile…sorry, no, you are technically right. This is part of a very LARGE place where anything…and anyone…cooked up by the human brain can go, and it is also a place where you can visit…by different means and degrees…any PLACE imagined, ever. And mind you, when I say ‘anything, anyone, anyplace’, I mean past, present, and future, so that includes those from creations that haven’t been finished or even fully conceived yet. Mind you, those are considerably harder to access…it’s much easier to get to places that have made a strong, lasting impression on a lot of minds.”
Smoker blinked and took a longer swig. “I’m not sure I completely understood all of that.”
“Sorry…I’ll try again. Ok, so have you ever heard the idea of separate realities, sometimes called universes or worlds? It comes up a lot in speculative fiction…”
“I have, actually.” Smoker read a fair amount of Sci Fi and Fantasy; it was one of her many guilty pleasures behind Musical Theatre, and the occasional midnight Rave. (The third thing being the one that she’d thus far managed to keep secret from Hunter.)
“Ok, so think of this bar right here as a VERY small part of a VERY large…Hub, I guess, one that connects every possible world. You can think of it as the World Between Worlds.”
“What, like in the Magician’s Nephew?”
The blonde paused to give another rare smile. “You’ve read the Narnia books, then?”
“Yeah…liked them a lot when I was a kid, until I figured out that Aslan was basically lion Jesus, then I kinda lost interest. Still like Magician’s Nephew, though…it had some good ideas, even if it didn’t use them very well. I used to always wish they’d gone to more than one world…”
“I had the same problem with it.” Said the blonde, nodding sympathetically. “It felt like such a waste of a neat plot element, and then it never was used again. But, yes…to get back to the main point, it is very much like that, only without the rings or the pools of water. Also, as you might have noticed, this place far more active than the in-between place Mister Lewis imagined. More Infinitely large airport than living woods/crawl space. Also, you can visit the Narnia verse from here; you can even go to that World Between Worlds and visit places that the text left out.”
Smoker blinked. She still was a little baffled, but if the parts that she understood were correct…”So, wait. Say, I wanted to check out…oh, Middle Earth?”
“Very popular tourist destination. They do guided walk-throughs all the time, among other things…worth visiting at least once if you are a fan.”
Smoker felt her heart begin to speed up. “And if I’m a fan of, oh, say…West Side Story?”
“You could go visit that world in person, if you choose, or you could stick around here and watch the play. We get a lot of actors…or characters who regard themselves to be actors of sort when outside of their world’s context…that come through here, and they are always putting on shows. If you look hard enough, you could probably find any play you wanted being performed somewhere. Let’s see…I have an informational pamphlet for newbies here somewhere. It would explain a lot of the details better than I can.”
Smoker was feeling genuinely excited at this point. If what she was hearing was correct…well, the imagination itself was the limit to the sort of things she could see and do here. And with Hunter by her side, well…
Her thoughts screeched to a halt there. Oh, dammit. I haven’t decided what I want to do about Hunter yet… She sagged visibly, and felt her headache starting to come back in full force. The red-headed-we-assure-you-he-is-male actually looked up from his book, and frowned at her.
“You ok there, Lovely?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned back, and yelled over the counter “Sa, Mrs. Alison…I think she’s gonna need another of those potions of yours.”
“What…?” Alison looked back from where she was rummaging, and saw Smoker’s state, and swore. “LANCE, GET OVER HERE, THIS IS ONE OF YOURS.”
*In spite of years of smoking, Smoker still had a pretty good nose for different varieties of tobacco. She’d gone through a major tabacco snob phase in college, and for a while had been a regular at one of the local pipe shops, and had learned quite a bit about the different types of leaf and cuts that way. Nowadays, though, she stuck to Zomboros…not actually the cheapest option, but a hell of a lot simpler than dealing with loose leaf.
**Juan had always insisted that if she had to breathe in that crap, that Hookah smoke was not nearly as bad for her, and anyway, it got her out of the house and around other people for a change, right? She argued that at least with a cigarette, she wasn’t smoking it after 5 strangers had put their damn mouths all over it. And then she managed to irritate everyone there by using a disinfectant wipe every time the pipe was passed to her. Needless to say, they ended up not going to many of those for a REASON.
………………………………………….
Hunter tried her best to quash down a fresh feeling of guilty over having left Smoker on her own; she remembered all too vividly how she’d taken her first visit to this place, and knew her friend was more than likely having a bad time of it. But she still couldn’t bring herself to face her, and really didn’t want to think about it.
Trying her hardest to find something else to focus on, she actually ended up hunting down Holly the waitress, who, as promised, had a mass of curly red hair barely contained by a hair band. She was a woman of a decent height, although nowhere near Smoker’s gaah, bad brain, not thinking about that right now! , and very athletically built. She looked out of place in her waitressing uniform, acutally…this was a woman who clearly would have been more at home in a coach’s outfit or something. Hunter would not have been surprised if she wore one of those whistles on a chain.
“Hi, that guy Mike said I should maybe talk to you…?”
“Oh, right…cat hood girl? Hunter, I think it was? Yeah, he messaged me a few minutes ago about you. Just a sec…Chris can you Renee’ and Liza handle the tables for moment without me for a minute?” The last part she said into a headset mouthpiece. She waited a minute, and apparently getting a positive response, nodded, and signaled Hunter to sit down in a nearby chair.
“Ok, so I understand you are going to be dancing against Katsane?”
“Wha…?”
“That’s Kaz’s full name. We call him Kat or Kaz for short; according to his team, both are valid pronunciations.”
“Oh wow, hah…that’s not a bit confusing at all.”
“Tell me about it. But we play along with it; their home world naming patterns, their rules and all that. At any rate, Kaz isn’t a bad kid, really. He just…well, he can be really obnoxious about his physical talents at times is all. And the problem with that is that he actually has the talent to back it up. We don’t actually want him to be hurt or humiliated or anything, though, just…”
“Taken down a few pegs?”
“Exactly.” The waitress smiled.
“And that’s where I come in?”
“You got it!”
“Ok, so…what exactly am I up against?” Hunter wasn’t stupid…she’d agreed to go against the guy without knowing exactly how good he was, or even what his preferred style was, but that’s just because she craved a proper challenge. In her mind, this wasn’t far off from free running blind through a strange course (a feat she had done on more than one occasion. But even in those situations, she liked to get a rough idea beforehand of what sort of terrain to expect, and how long the course actually was. The same basic rules applied to going up against an unknown opponent.
“Ok…so here’s the way it’s going to go down. When it’s your turn to go, it’s going to be set to hard mode, and neither of you gets to pick the song. We’ll select one for you at random, the idea being that neither of you gets the advantage by picking anything you are overly familiar with. You dance the whole number, and whoever has the highest total at the end wins. Can you live with that?”
“Sounds fun to me.”
“Awesome! Ok, on to Kaz himself. First off, and I cannot stress this enough, but DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE HIM; it is really easy to do, and he damn well knows it. I don’t know how close a look you’ve gotten of him yet, but he looks a LOT younger than he really is. And he’s small; smaller than you. We’re talking ‘smaller than 4 and a half feet’, here.”
“Wow, ok…really? I caught a glimpse of him early through the crowd, but he didn’t look that…”
“He likes to walk on the tables; we’ve given up trying to stop him doing it.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s one of the things that makes him so obnoxious at times…as far as attitude goes, he’s basically a big, human shaped alley cat.”
Hunter tried not wince; the descriptions the waitress was using for this Kaz guy was starting to make of how Smoker talked about her. Shaking her head, she said aloud “Ok, so extremely confident, constantly spoiling for a fight, and pretty much treats everything like he owns it?”
“More or less, yeah. And the thing about it is, he actually came in completely unfamiliar with arcade games of any kind, much less the sort of music that plays on these things. But he picked it up REALLY quickly entirely by virtue of the fact that he has absurdly good reflexes, a good ear for rhythm, and really great timing. He’s been doing nothing but blind runs like this all night, and it hasn’t hurt his score. “
“Dang…”
She nodded. “It’s also not just talent…it’s also a narrative structure thing. I don’t want to go too much into it, but…well, you know how sports movies usually go?”
“Oh yeah….seen it a million times. The one to bet on is always the one you would normally least expect. So here we have someone who is abnormally short who looks and acts younger than he really is to disguise his intelligence, running on a mixture of skill, enthusiasm, and actual beginners luck, and if I’m getting you right, he’s also too stubborn to give up. Sounds like if he was a wrinkly little old man, he’d be the character that turned out to be the disguised kung fu master or something. And he’s totally using the stories in his favor isn’t he?”
“You’re a fast study! So you understand why Tora set up the bet the way he did, and why he picked you?”
“Oh yeah. And I think I know how I’m going to handle this now. But I do want to see him perform at least once.”
“You’re in luck…he’s going on now.”
………………………………………………
“Hey, Miss…Miss?” Smoker came to with a start, only to find herself staring directly into a pair of warm grey eyes. She yelped and jerked back, and discovered that she was also being partially supported by her red-headed seat mate. Otherwise, she was still in her chair. “Let me go!” she said, pushing him away.
“Apologies…you looked like you were in danger of sliding onto the floor. But you seem to be steady enough now, if that shove was any indication.”
Lance, the bartender, had already stepped back to give her more room, but he was still looking fixed at her face. “Oh, excellent…you’re back with us. The shock finally caught up with you; that’s typical for newbies.” He smiled gently when she glared at him. “If it makes you feel any better, you are still handling it a lot better than many of our first timers.” It was the same soft clear voice he was using earlier, only now it reminded her of the tone that Charger… Wait, I haven’t met anyone named Charger yet…I meet her AFTER the zombie thing…but why do I remember her as a human, too? Aaaggh my head …that reminded her of the tone that SOMEONE had used when trying to calm down either an animal or person who was exceptionally aggressive or scared.
“Did I pass out or something?” she muttered.
“Not entirely…I’d just say that your mind got overwhelmed, and went somewhere else for a minute. You were still able to hold yourself up pretty well; Alison asked your seatmate to support you as a precaution. “
The seatmate in question shot her a look as he lit a fresh hand-roll. Again, she didn’t see exactly what he used to light it. “You scared me. Don’t do it again.”
“Well, excuse me! I’ll try to keep my emotional crisis down to a dull roar next time.” She blinked. “I did not mean to say that out loud. Or that. Feel like I’m losing my mind…”
“Not to put undue pressure on you, Miss, but well…all of these are pretty common symptoms of first timers here. Meaning we’ve ALL gone through something like this to one degree or another. Coming here is a shock, and seeing your own story from the outside is an even bigger shock, especially if your story has a less than completely linear timeline. Again, not trying to pressure you…but a lot of people find that the transition is a lot easier if they talk about it.” Lance’s voice was still very gentle and soothing, and he sounded sincere. This just made her distrust him all the more.
“Talk about it…what? My life’s story? Whatever it is that’s bugging me right now? Cause it’s none of your business, frankly. And I don’t need you acting all concerned over me.”
“Of course you don’t. And you don’t have to tell anyone a thing you don’t want to. No one here is asking that of you.”
“I can take care of my own damn self. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Yes, you have. You are a very strong person, I can already tell.” Still with the calming-the-unpredictable-person voice…
“And quit acting so goddamn…NICE. No one cares this much about a stranger.”
“You mean you suspect I have an ulterior motive. Which is a fair enough suspicion, and a very natural one. All I can do is give you my best assurances that I am dealing with you honestly. It is entirely up to you as whether to believe me or not. “
“Also, what the heck is up with the way you are talking? Do you ever raise your voice? You’re a bartender, but you talk more like a gorram shrink or something.”
The red-headed seat mate who-most-certainly-did-not-have-a-big-obvious-hand-print-shaped-scar-on-his-face-that-she-was-trying-not-to-stare-at DAMMIT coughed in an unsuccessful bid to hide a laugh. “If that word means what I suspect it means, then I guess she figured you out, Doctor.”
……………………………………………..
Hunter watched her would-be opponent carefully, barely paying attention to the other dancer or the music. Holly’s report had been accurate. He moved with a confident, graceful air that only comes from years of dedicated practice, which was quite at odds with his appearance. The other dancer, who was only about average height at best, towered over him by over a foot or so; Kaz was TINY. His cat ears, now that she was looking at them properly, were rather outsized, giving him a kittenish air, and his tail looked almost too long for him. But when he moved…
“Wow. He is GOOD.”
“I know. Say what you will about him, he is fun to watch.”
“But…I’m pretty sure I can still beat him. It’s going to be a bit of a luck thing, with a randomly selected song…there is always a chance that it will be one I’m actually familiar with. If not…well, he’s not the only one here that’s can pick out a rhythm and go with it. “
……………………………………………..
“Doctor…? Are you kidding? Is he kidding? What kind of a shitty plot device is this?”
The bartender smiled and pulled out his wallet. “My business card? You can look me up if you like. They have a pretty good database going, even on unpublished characters like us. Bartending’s only a hobby for me.”
“So you really are a gorram shrink!” She yelled.
“I prefer the term ‘counselor’, but yes, I do act as a therapist at times in my work. But that is not what I am attempting to do here.”
“Technically speaking, he’s an empathy…specializes in a kind of mental magic. I picked him out in two seconds when I saw him.” Added the red-head. “We have them where I come from, too.”
“What…? Is he telling the truth? Stay out of my head!” she snapped.
The not-really-a-bartender sighed and held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “That’s really not how I work. I don’t read thoughts. I read emotions. All I know about you is that you were in considerable distress over something personal; and that was just what I get from ambient feelings around you. An observant person could have picked up as much just from looking at you, and I swear I will look no deeper unless you ask. As to why I am taking an interest in you; I would do the same for anyone who I found in your state. I swear to you, I have no motives beyond that.”
When she only responded by glaring, he continued. “Also, please note, it was only a suggestion. You don’t have to say anything to me or anyone else. All I said was that talking helps.” He then fell silent, but did not lower his gaze from hers.
They probably would have kept it up like that…him gazing, her glaring…without blinking for a lot longer had Alison not broken in by slapping a fresh glass of whatever the heck kind of mixture. “Here, drink up…it’s for the physical symptoms only, though. I should have mentioned that earlier. A little intellectual honesty would go a long way towards fixing the rest; just saying.”
“Dear heart…”
“Don’t you ‘dear heart’ me, Lance Katarina…I’m not the one of us required to have a good bedside manner in my work. If she wants me to be nice, then she can stop glaring at my husband like he’s trying to pull a fast one on her.”
Smoker stopped and thought for a moment; not the easiest of feats for her. It had never been particularly easy or natural for her to trust people. And it was all too easy for her to think the worst of everyone, and she so often felt justified for thinking that way. But…well, Alison had been pretty straight with her so far. Lance hadn’t actually lied about his real profession, either. And…well…there was also the niggling thought that she wasn’t actually playing by the normal sets of rules. That maybe…just maybe…now was a chance to try some things she would never have dared tried back in context. It was a weird thought.
As she played with this idea, she pulled out a cigarette and reached for her lighter. Attempted to light it…but the stupid thing would not work. She tried over and over, again, and again, one strike after the other…not even a spark. Glancing around in frustration, she finally turned back to her ok, so I think I’m finally getting used to it scar faced seat mate.
“Hey, do you have a match or something I can use?”
“A what…?”
Not wanting to go through yet another conversation like the one about the bar stool, she all but screamed at him, “Something I can light this with, dangit! I need fire!”
“Aaaahh…well, that I can do.” With that, the red-head kind of…flicked his fingers out in an almost snapping motion and there…well…umm. There was no other way to describe it. Somehow, without a match, or a lighter, or any other visible means of fire production, he somehow had a tiny, perfect flame balanced about half an inch above the tips of his gloved fingers.
That…might explain the burn scar. Maybe. Somehow.
“Well?” said the red-head. “Here is fire. What, never seen a Fire Mage before?”
She blinked. “Well, I guess I have now. Thanks, Sparky.” She lit her cigarette on the proffered flame, ignoring the mage’s disbelieving chuckle. (“Sparky, really? Well, ok, if you insist…”)
Taking a long drag, she leaned back slightly, and slowly released it through her nose. She was smoking a gorram cigarette that had just been lit by magic. The normal rules clearly do not apply here.
With that in mind, she started talking. “Ok…so, here’s a hypothetical scenario. Strictly hypothetical, ok, so don’t go reading stuff into it, you get me?”
To Be Continued...(maybe sooner than later this time..
Dear God, did I really just write almost 5,000 words just to introduce Hunter's Dancing opponent, describe in vague terms how narrative tradition can have actual, measurable power in metaverse, and convince Smoker to talk about her problems with an objective third party? And light a cigarette? I repeat...What is wrong with me?
Alas, this thing is loaded with typos as is usual with every blessed thing I will ever write. I will try to fix them up when and as I catch them.
PS: Dear LJ; quit arbtrarily changing the titles of my journal cuts, and randomly moving my text. I should not be in for a 30 plus minute battle every time I want to post something.
LJ, Why you make everything difficult?
It's...three time longer than I originally planned? How very...typical of me.
It's...still not finished. And my goddamned OCs have a more prominent presence in this one. (I apologize for that in advance.)
What is wrong with me?
Ahh, what the hell.
Metaworld: Athe Sign of the "Who Gives a Shit" part 2
Go Back to Part 1?
"We'll Man the Freaking Desk When We're Good and Ready"
Fandom: L4D (mostly) Respect A Woman Verse (still mostly)
Characters: Lady Smoker and Lady Hunter, with various cameos and several of my OCs
Warnings: Some language; nothing absolutely dreadful, but a few F-Bombs are dropped here and there. Lots of talking and build-up.
Word Count: 4,970 I...it's two times longer than the first part. I really don't know how that happened.
What the giant horse looking guy had failed to mention was that there was going to be a considerable wait before Hunter actually got to compete against the cat boy; there was already a fairly long list of names on the board of people who had not gone yet, Hunter hadn’t quite managed to get her name on the list yet because…well...
"What do you mean, there is no disco in the database? I was told that every song that ever existed and ever will exist should be in this thing!” snapped the girl with the blue afro. “AND NO MUSIC DATABASE IS COMPLETE WITHOUT THE GREATEST STYLE OF MUSIC EVER, YOU FIEND!”
The guy at the sign-up counter, a surly looking brunette with short wavy hair, just glared back. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear. Yes, Disco is in our database, but I refuse to play it for you or anyone else BECAUSE IT IS FUCKING TERRIBLE. NOW CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE OR GET THE FUCK OUT OF LINE.”
“Oh my god, this place is even worse than that shape-land dimension!” wailed the next girl in line, a darkly complexioned young woman with short, shaggy dark hair. “Nothing makes any sense at all! Why would anyone put that horrible little sociopath in charge of the sign up board anyway? Why the heck did that alien in the pot plant thing try to go early, he didn’t have any legs? What the heck was up with those jester twins? AND WHY ARE WE HERE AT ALL? It’s like we were pulled here entirely for the purpose of a terrible fanfiction cameo that maybe 10 people will get, god!”
“Oh my god, shut up shut up shut up shut up.” Muttered the oddly 2 dimensional , living triangle.* “Are you never not asking stupid questions and pointing out the FREAKING OBVIOUS?”
“And you! Why the heck are you signing up for this thing, you don’t have any more legs than the pot plant alien thing, what were you planning on doing, hopping on the buttons one at a time like a moron? “
Hunter, who was next in line after the girl and the triangle sighed and bounced on her heels impatiently.
“Well, get over it, Leisure Suit Laura, Disco is Dead, and contrary to popular belief, there is nothing in the multiverse Deader than Disco, PERIOD.”
“LIES UPON LIES! DISCO LIVES ON AND EVER ON! YOU CANNOT DESTROY IT!”
“One, you are crazy, Two, legs are just about the most worthless of appendages and frankly, you don’t seem to be able to do anything even with them, and Three, you are CRAZY! “
“Oh, for….how am I the crazy one here, huh? Really? You keep saying that, but you never even try to explain any of it to me! Seriously, what the heck? And why are we still traveling together, we completely hate each other, and there are plenty of other things you could be doing in here besides SIGNING UP TO PLAY A GAME THAT YOU DON’T HAVE THE NECESSARY ANATOMY TO PLAY IN THE FIRST PLACE.”
“Whatever you say, loopy-loo.”
“GARARAGAGAGAGGAGAGHHH!”
“That is it, I challenge you, foul keeper of lists, I challenge you to a DANCE OFF…TO THE DEATH!”
“Oh, you wanna play it that way? You wanna play it that way, Miss Cotton Candy Puff? We’ll play it that way! “ yelled the surly looking guy, writing his name (which was apparently McCaulley) up on the board with angry slashes of his chalk, next to the word Dico Crazy Chick. He then started to storm off, still yelling at the afro girl.
“Hey, wait, we’re still waiting!” yelled the girl, grabbing at the sign up guy as he walked past.
“I care? Leggo of me, you and triangle thing over there have been getting on my nerves for the last five minutes. You two wanna have your little marital squabble or whatever, take it outside.”
Completely ignoring the angry shouts from both girl and triangle, the guy turned to Hunter. Before she could register her complaint that she hadn’t gotten a chance to sign up either, he said “And you must be the cat hooded girl who’s challenging the catboy? Tora, the freaky giant horse guy, mentioned you were coming. You really as good as you say you are?”
She bristled. “Can it. We both know talks cheap. How’sabout you just let me show you how good I am, and sign me the hell up?”
“Certainly confident enough. And smart enough to not give me a straight yes, that would have landed you straight into the stupid “Pride cometh before the fall” Aesop range.” He smiled for the first time; it was amazing how much the simple change in expression improved his features. “Alright then, you have the slot after me and Blue Hair here. What do you go by?”
The tiny Asian was taken off guard by the turn around in the guys attitude. “Umm…Hunter. I’m called Hunter.”
“Not bad. Not terribly creative, but I can’t think of a person named Hunter who I completely dislike. “ He said, writing it down. “You can call me Mike, by the way. If you have any questions about the rules, don’t bug me with them. Ask the red-headed waitress instead. Her name’s Holly. Now piss off, Disco Dani over there and I still have unfinished business.” He punctuated the last sentence by slamming a sign down on the desk which read:
Sign ups for DDR closed for the foreseeable future.
We’ll man the freaking desk when we’re good and ready to.
Hunter watched him run off, yelling at afro girl (“And furthermore, your outfit SUCKS.”), followed closely by the girl and the triangle (who, united in anger, were actually yelling at someone besides each other.) She glanced back at the deserted sign-up desk, and wondered if maybe the new sign had been written by the same person who made the one outside the door.
*Which was still not the weirdest thing Hunter had seen there, so she didn’t waste too much time starting.
…………………………………..
Smoker watched carefully as Allison the pushy bartender put together the drink in front of her. She didn’t recognize a fair number of the fruits and herbs she was using, even after asking about the names and properties, but it all looked innocuous enough. The smoke from the red-headed-definitely-still-a-boy’s weird little hand-roll was starting to bug her, though, and was making it hard to focus completely on the drink making process.
That’s not to say it was unpleasant. It had a spicy, almost sweet scent, and didn’t smell a thing like any variety of tabacco she knew. * At the same time, it didn’t smell like any of the other things she would have immediately recognized. It wasn’t a clove cigarette that any of the little hipsters she new favored. It was reminiscent of some of the leaves she smelled in the one of two hookah parties that Juan managed to drag her to, but not nearly as sweet. ** It didn’t have the distinctive acrid smell of weed, so she ruled that out. But what DID it remind her of?
Her train of thought was cut off abruptly when Alison slapped the fresh drink in front of her with a thunk. “Any further question? No? Now drink.”
She would have argued further just for the heck of it, but something in the petite blonde’s tone stopped her. She took a careful sip instead.
As it turned out, it wasn’t bad. A little odd, with a flavor that she couldn’t quite describe afterwards, but still vaguely pleasant. Almost instantly, her headache (which had actually gotten worse the longer she’d been sitting there) began to fade, the tension in her shoulders and arms easing. Damn her, the bartender was right; it WAS helping.
“Thanks, Miss.” She muttered reluctantly.
“That’s Mrs., and you are welcome.”
Smoker blinked, and glanced at the blondes left hand. Odd, she didn’t see a ring. Deciding that she didn’t care to pursue the subject, Smoker looked up, and shrugged. “Whatever you say. So, can anyone explain to me what this place is?”
“Drink your drink. Well, let’s see…I don’t know if I’m the best person to explain things. We normally leave that sort of thing to Lance…”
“Well he’s not here, and you are, and he smiles too much anyway.” Alison made a snorting noise that on anyone else would have sounded like a laugh. “So give me your best shot. We’ll start with the basics…apparently this is a place where all sorts of made up people can meet up for some reason?”
Alison shook her head. “Never thought I would ever hear someone complain about Lance’s smile…sorry, no, you are technically right. This is part of a very LARGE place where anything…and anyone…cooked up by the human brain can go, and it is also a place where you can visit…by different means and degrees…any PLACE imagined, ever. And mind you, when I say ‘anything, anyone, anyplace’, I mean past, present, and future, so that includes those from creations that haven’t been finished or even fully conceived yet. Mind you, those are considerably harder to access…it’s much easier to get to places that have made a strong, lasting impression on a lot of minds.”
Smoker blinked and took a longer swig. “I’m not sure I completely understood all of that.”
“Sorry…I’ll try again. Ok, so have you ever heard the idea of separate realities, sometimes called universes or worlds? It comes up a lot in speculative fiction…”
“I have, actually.” Smoker read a fair amount of Sci Fi and Fantasy; it was one of her many guilty pleasures behind Musical Theatre, and the occasional midnight Rave. (The third thing being the one that she’d thus far managed to keep secret from Hunter.)
“Ok, so think of this bar right here as a VERY small part of a VERY large…Hub, I guess, one that connects every possible world. You can think of it as the World Between Worlds.”
“What, like in the Magician’s Nephew?”
The blonde paused to give another rare smile. “You’ve read the Narnia books, then?”
“Yeah…liked them a lot when I was a kid, until I figured out that Aslan was basically lion Jesus, then I kinda lost interest. Still like Magician’s Nephew, though…it had some good ideas, even if it didn’t use them very well. I used to always wish they’d gone to more than one world…”
“I had the same problem with it.” Said the blonde, nodding sympathetically. “It felt like such a waste of a neat plot element, and then it never was used again. But, yes…to get back to the main point, it is very much like that, only without the rings or the pools of water. Also, as you might have noticed, this place far more active than the in-between place Mister Lewis imagined. More Infinitely large airport than living woods/crawl space. Also, you can visit the Narnia verse from here; you can even go to that World Between Worlds and visit places that the text left out.”
Smoker blinked. She still was a little baffled, but if the parts that she understood were correct…”So, wait. Say, I wanted to check out…oh, Middle Earth?”
“Very popular tourist destination. They do guided walk-throughs all the time, among other things…worth visiting at least once if you are a fan.”
Smoker felt her heart begin to speed up. “And if I’m a fan of, oh, say…West Side Story?”
“You could go visit that world in person, if you choose, or you could stick around here and watch the play. We get a lot of actors…or characters who regard themselves to be actors of sort when outside of their world’s context…that come through here, and they are always putting on shows. If you look hard enough, you could probably find any play you wanted being performed somewhere. Let’s see…I have an informational pamphlet for newbies here somewhere. It would explain a lot of the details better than I can.”
Smoker was feeling genuinely excited at this point. If what she was hearing was correct…well, the imagination itself was the limit to the sort of things she could see and do here. And with Hunter by her side, well…
Her thoughts screeched to a halt there. Oh, dammit. I haven’t decided what I want to do about Hunter yet… She sagged visibly, and felt her headache starting to come back in full force. The red-headed-we-assure-you-he-is-male actually looked up from his book, and frowned at her.
“You ok there, Lovely?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned back, and yelled over the counter “Sa, Mrs. Alison…I think she’s gonna need another of those potions of yours.”
“What…?” Alison looked back from where she was rummaging, and saw Smoker’s state, and swore. “LANCE, GET OVER HERE, THIS IS ONE OF YOURS.”
*In spite of years of smoking, Smoker still had a pretty good nose for different varieties of tobacco. She’d gone through a major tabacco snob phase in college, and for a while had been a regular at one of the local pipe shops, and had learned quite a bit about the different types of leaf and cuts that way. Nowadays, though, she stuck to Zomboros…not actually the cheapest option, but a hell of a lot simpler than dealing with loose leaf.
**Juan had always insisted that if she had to breathe in that crap, that Hookah smoke was not nearly as bad for her, and anyway, it got her out of the house and around other people for a change, right? She argued that at least with a cigarette, she wasn’t smoking it after 5 strangers had put their damn mouths all over it. And then she managed to irritate everyone there by using a disinfectant wipe every time the pipe was passed to her. Needless to say, they ended up not going to many of those for a REASON.
………………………………………….
Hunter tried her best to quash down a fresh feeling of guilty over having left Smoker on her own; she remembered all too vividly how she’d taken her first visit to this place, and knew her friend was more than likely having a bad time of it. But she still couldn’t bring herself to face her, and really didn’t want to think about it.
Trying her hardest to find something else to focus on, she actually ended up hunting down Holly the waitress, who, as promised, had a mass of curly red hair barely contained by a hair band. She was a woman of a decent height, although nowhere near Smoker’s gaah, bad brain, not thinking about that right now! , and very athletically built. She looked out of place in her waitressing uniform, acutally…this was a woman who clearly would have been more at home in a coach’s outfit or something. Hunter would not have been surprised if she wore one of those whistles on a chain.
“Hi, that guy Mike said I should maybe talk to you…?”
“Oh, right…cat hood girl? Hunter, I think it was? Yeah, he messaged me a few minutes ago about you. Just a sec…Chris can you Renee’ and Liza handle the tables for moment without me for a minute?” The last part she said into a headset mouthpiece. She waited a minute, and apparently getting a positive response, nodded, and signaled Hunter to sit down in a nearby chair.
“Ok, so I understand you are going to be dancing against Katsane?”
“Wha…?”
“That’s Kaz’s full name. We call him Kat or Kaz for short; according to his team, both are valid pronunciations.”
“Oh wow, hah…that’s not a bit confusing at all.”
“Tell me about it. But we play along with it; their home world naming patterns, their rules and all that. At any rate, Kaz isn’t a bad kid, really. He just…well, he can be really obnoxious about his physical talents at times is all. And the problem with that is that he actually has the talent to back it up. We don’t actually want him to be hurt or humiliated or anything, though, just…”
“Taken down a few pegs?”
“Exactly.” The waitress smiled.
“And that’s where I come in?”
“You got it!”
“Ok, so…what exactly am I up against?” Hunter wasn’t stupid…she’d agreed to go against the guy without knowing exactly how good he was, or even what his preferred style was, but that’s just because she craved a proper challenge. In her mind, this wasn’t far off from free running blind through a strange course (a feat she had done on more than one occasion. But even in those situations, she liked to get a rough idea beforehand of what sort of terrain to expect, and how long the course actually was. The same basic rules applied to going up against an unknown opponent.
“Ok…so here’s the way it’s going to go down. When it’s your turn to go, it’s going to be set to hard mode, and neither of you gets to pick the song. We’ll select one for you at random, the idea being that neither of you gets the advantage by picking anything you are overly familiar with. You dance the whole number, and whoever has the highest total at the end wins. Can you live with that?”
“Sounds fun to me.”
“Awesome! Ok, on to Kaz himself. First off, and I cannot stress this enough, but DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE HIM; it is really easy to do, and he damn well knows it. I don’t know how close a look you’ve gotten of him yet, but he looks a LOT younger than he really is. And he’s small; smaller than you. We’re talking ‘smaller than 4 and a half feet’, here.”
“Wow, ok…really? I caught a glimpse of him early through the crowd, but he didn’t look that…”
“He likes to walk on the tables; we’ve given up trying to stop him doing it.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s one of the things that makes him so obnoxious at times…as far as attitude goes, he’s basically a big, human shaped alley cat.”
Hunter tried not wince; the descriptions the waitress was using for this Kaz guy was starting to make of how Smoker talked about her. Shaking her head, she said aloud “Ok, so extremely confident, constantly spoiling for a fight, and pretty much treats everything like he owns it?”
“More or less, yeah. And the thing about it is, he actually came in completely unfamiliar with arcade games of any kind, much less the sort of music that plays on these things. But he picked it up REALLY quickly entirely by virtue of the fact that he has absurdly good reflexes, a good ear for rhythm, and really great timing. He’s been doing nothing but blind runs like this all night, and it hasn’t hurt his score. “
“Dang…”
She nodded. “It’s also not just talent…it’s also a narrative structure thing. I don’t want to go too much into it, but…well, you know how sports movies usually go?”
“Oh yeah….seen it a million times. The one to bet on is always the one you would normally least expect. So here we have someone who is abnormally short who looks and acts younger than he really is to disguise his intelligence, running on a mixture of skill, enthusiasm, and actual beginners luck, and if I’m getting you right, he’s also too stubborn to give up. Sounds like if he was a wrinkly little old man, he’d be the character that turned out to be the disguised kung fu master or something. And he’s totally using the stories in his favor isn’t he?”
“You’re a fast study! So you understand why Tora set up the bet the way he did, and why he picked you?”
“Oh yeah. And I think I know how I’m going to handle this now. But I do want to see him perform at least once.”
“You’re in luck…he’s going on now.”
………………………………………………
“Hey, Miss…Miss?” Smoker came to with a start, only to find herself staring directly into a pair of warm grey eyes. She yelped and jerked back, and discovered that she was also being partially supported by her red-headed seat mate. Otherwise, she was still in her chair. “Let me go!” she said, pushing him away.
“Apologies…you looked like you were in danger of sliding onto the floor. But you seem to be steady enough now, if that shove was any indication.”
Lance, the bartender, had already stepped back to give her more room, but he was still looking fixed at her face. “Oh, excellent…you’re back with us. The shock finally caught up with you; that’s typical for newbies.” He smiled gently when she glared at him. “If it makes you feel any better, you are still handling it a lot better than many of our first timers.” It was the same soft clear voice he was using earlier, only now it reminded her of the tone that Charger… Wait, I haven’t met anyone named Charger yet…I meet her AFTER the zombie thing…but why do I remember her as a human, too? Aaaggh my head …that reminded her of the tone that SOMEONE had used when trying to calm down either an animal or person who was exceptionally aggressive or scared.
“Did I pass out or something?” she muttered.
“Not entirely…I’d just say that your mind got overwhelmed, and went somewhere else for a minute. You were still able to hold yourself up pretty well; Alison asked your seatmate to support you as a precaution. “
The seatmate in question shot her a look as he lit a fresh hand-roll. Again, she didn’t see exactly what he used to light it. “You scared me. Don’t do it again.”
“Well, excuse me! I’ll try to keep my emotional crisis down to a dull roar next time.” She blinked. “I did not mean to say that out loud. Or that. Feel like I’m losing my mind…”
“Not to put undue pressure on you, Miss, but well…all of these are pretty common symptoms of first timers here. Meaning we’ve ALL gone through something like this to one degree or another. Coming here is a shock, and seeing your own story from the outside is an even bigger shock, especially if your story has a less than completely linear timeline. Again, not trying to pressure you…but a lot of people find that the transition is a lot easier if they talk about it.” Lance’s voice was still very gentle and soothing, and he sounded sincere. This just made her distrust him all the more.
“Talk about it…what? My life’s story? Whatever it is that’s bugging me right now? Cause it’s none of your business, frankly. And I don’t need you acting all concerned over me.”
“Of course you don’t. And you don’t have to tell anyone a thing you don’t want to. No one here is asking that of you.”
“I can take care of my own damn self. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Yes, you have. You are a very strong person, I can already tell.” Still with the calming-the-unpredictable-person voice…
“And quit acting so goddamn…NICE. No one cares this much about a stranger.”
“You mean you suspect I have an ulterior motive. Which is a fair enough suspicion, and a very natural one. All I can do is give you my best assurances that I am dealing with you honestly. It is entirely up to you as whether to believe me or not. “
“Also, what the heck is up with the way you are talking? Do you ever raise your voice? You’re a bartender, but you talk more like a gorram shrink or something.”
The red-headed seat mate who-most-certainly-did-not-have-a-big-obvious-hand-print-shaped-scar-on-his-face-that-she-was-trying-not-to-stare-at DAMMIT coughed in an unsuccessful bid to hide a laugh. “If that word means what I suspect it means, then I guess she figured you out, Doctor.”
……………………………………………..
Hunter watched her would-be opponent carefully, barely paying attention to the other dancer or the music. Holly’s report had been accurate. He moved with a confident, graceful air that only comes from years of dedicated practice, which was quite at odds with his appearance. The other dancer, who was only about average height at best, towered over him by over a foot or so; Kaz was TINY. His cat ears, now that she was looking at them properly, were rather outsized, giving him a kittenish air, and his tail looked almost too long for him. But when he moved…
“Wow. He is GOOD.”
“I know. Say what you will about him, he is fun to watch.”
“But…I’m pretty sure I can still beat him. It’s going to be a bit of a luck thing, with a randomly selected song…there is always a chance that it will be one I’m actually familiar with. If not…well, he’s not the only one here that’s can pick out a rhythm and go with it. “
……………………………………………..
“Doctor…? Are you kidding? Is he kidding? What kind of a shitty plot device is this?”
The bartender smiled and pulled out his wallet. “My business card? You can look me up if you like. They have a pretty good database going, even on unpublished characters like us. Bartending’s only a hobby for me.”
“So you really are a gorram shrink!” She yelled.
“I prefer the term ‘counselor’, but yes, I do act as a therapist at times in my work. But that is not what I am attempting to do here.”
“Technically speaking, he’s an empathy…specializes in a kind of mental magic. I picked him out in two seconds when I saw him.” Added the red-head. “We have them where I come from, too.”
“What…? Is he telling the truth? Stay out of my head!” she snapped.
The not-really-a-bartender sighed and held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “That’s really not how I work. I don’t read thoughts. I read emotions. All I know about you is that you were in considerable distress over something personal; and that was just what I get from ambient feelings around you. An observant person could have picked up as much just from looking at you, and I swear I will look no deeper unless you ask. As to why I am taking an interest in you; I would do the same for anyone who I found in your state. I swear to you, I have no motives beyond that.”
When she only responded by glaring, he continued. “Also, please note, it was only a suggestion. You don’t have to say anything to me or anyone else. All I said was that talking helps.” He then fell silent, but did not lower his gaze from hers.
They probably would have kept it up like that…him gazing, her glaring…without blinking for a lot longer had Alison not broken in by slapping a fresh glass of whatever the heck kind of mixture. “Here, drink up…it’s for the physical symptoms only, though. I should have mentioned that earlier. A little intellectual honesty would go a long way towards fixing the rest; just saying.”
“Dear heart…”
“Don’t you ‘dear heart’ me, Lance Katarina…I’m not the one of us required to have a good bedside manner in my work. If she wants me to be nice, then she can stop glaring at my husband like he’s trying to pull a fast one on her.”
Smoker stopped and thought for a moment; not the easiest of feats for her. It had never been particularly easy or natural for her to trust people. And it was all too easy for her to think the worst of everyone, and she so often felt justified for thinking that way. But…well, Alison had been pretty straight with her so far. Lance hadn’t actually lied about his real profession, either. And…well…there was also the niggling thought that she wasn’t actually playing by the normal sets of rules. That maybe…just maybe…now was a chance to try some things she would never have dared tried back in context. It was a weird thought.
As she played with this idea, she pulled out a cigarette and reached for her lighter. Attempted to light it…but the stupid thing would not work. She tried over and over, again, and again, one strike after the other…not even a spark. Glancing around in frustration, she finally turned back to her ok, so I think I’m finally getting used to it scar faced seat mate.
“Hey, do you have a match or something I can use?”
“A what…?”
Not wanting to go through yet another conversation like the one about the bar stool, she all but screamed at him, “Something I can light this with, dangit! I need fire!”
“Aaaahh…well, that I can do.” With that, the red-head kind of…flicked his fingers out in an almost snapping motion and there…well…umm. There was no other way to describe it. Somehow, without a match, or a lighter, or any other visible means of fire production, he somehow had a tiny, perfect flame balanced about half an inch above the tips of his gloved fingers.
That…might explain the burn scar. Maybe. Somehow.
“Well?” said the red-head. “Here is fire. What, never seen a Fire Mage before?”
She blinked. “Well, I guess I have now. Thanks, Sparky.” She lit her cigarette on the proffered flame, ignoring the mage’s disbelieving chuckle. (“Sparky, really? Well, ok, if you insist…”)
Taking a long drag, she leaned back slightly, and slowly released it through her nose. She was smoking a gorram cigarette that had just been lit by magic. The normal rules clearly do not apply here.
With that in mind, she started talking. “Ok…so, here’s a hypothetical scenario. Strictly hypothetical, ok, so don’t go reading stuff into it, you get me?”
To Be Continued...(maybe sooner than later this time..
Dear God, did I really just write almost 5,000 words just to introduce Hunter's Dancing opponent, describe in vague terms how narrative tradition can have actual, measurable power in metaverse, and convince Smoker to talk about her problems with an objective third party? And light a cigarette? I repeat...What is wrong with me?
Alas, this thing is loaded with typos as is usual with every blessed thing I will ever write. I will try to fix them up when and as I catch them.
PS: Dear LJ; quit arbtrarily changing the titles of my journal cuts, and randomly moving my text. I should not be in for a 30 plus minute battle every time I want to post something.
LJ, Why you make everything difficult?