"DaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAA! I'm the welcome dragon!" shrieked Homsar as he blibbled into the Sorting Room, stopping just short of Eugene's feet and staring up into his face with his beady eyes.
Poor Eugene. It was most likely unfortunate for him that the first Hogwartsian to greet him was none other than the enigmatic Arithmancy professor.
I had no words for this thing that stopped before me. My brain was trying to fit it into categories that I was familiar with, but there's no point to trying to pigeonhole the impossible. I thought of children's toys and cartoon characters.Both were harmless, but none of them had ever come up and called themselves a dragon before.
It must have expected some sort of response. I had no idea what it wanted, and no real desire to interact with it. So I took a step back, and put some space between myself and the thing.
"The welcome dragon" was just one of many things that Homsar was. It certainly wasn't one of the strangest, so Eugene would have done well to count himself lucky that he had received such a benign greeting.
Fortunately, Homsar was not at all cowed by Eugene's retreat. As such, he blibbled forward to cover the lost space between the two of them, and then blibbled forward just a little bit more. He believed in the "Jenga block" rule when it came to personal space; that is, the amount of space required between two people was about the size of a Jenga block.
"DaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAA! I'm just a friendly reminder!" he...well, reminded Eugene.
An alarm clock, then. I was being harassed by a very large alarm clock. I would give the designers credit; it would get me out of bed. Then again, I might not ever sleep with it in the same room as me. "Please go away," I asked it, as sometimes these things responded to voice commands.
How to answer that question. Yes, I was a writer. I wrote grocery lists, driving directions, and meaningless little memos to myself that I always lost. Yes, I was a writer. I had written a book before, and I planned on doing it again. But no, I was not a writer. I had been avoiding it for far to long. No, I was not a writer. My writing was terrible, a soulless collection of words with too much meaning but no heart.
"Yes, I am," I told him, and maybe I sounded a bit defensive when I told him that.
"In my first year at university, I was dating a girl who was a creative writing major." Dating in a rather loose sense of the term, but that was Hook for you. "She had a superstition never to reveal what she was working on until it was finished. If she talked about it, she said, she'd never finish the work. It was like a jinx. So I won't ask you what you're working on. Instead I will ask you: How about those Dodgers?"
An American joke, Hook knew from foreign colleagues. He hoped that this fellow knew who the Dodgers were, otherwise Hook would look a proper fool.
Later on, I would look up the Dodgers. It turned out to be a sports team based out of Los Angeles. I have never watched a single baseball game in my life. But when that man asked me, I had no idea what he was talking about. So I tried to play it off, something I'm sure made it much more awkward.
"How about them?" I asked. "Are they good?" Are they supposed to be good? Bad? Upside down and sideways? And what were they dodging?
What was in front of me was clearly not human, so maybe it had an objective viewpoint on human relationships. Whatever it was, I wanted as little to do with it as possible, and if I could have run away right then I would have. But instead, I talked to it. Admittedly, I was terrified, but I tried all the same.
"I'm sure that if he wanted to, he could have them both," I said. There might have been some stammering in my delivery.
"That is quite possible I think. It doesn't matter to me, but it is fascinating." Ryuk towered over Eugene. "But you didn't answer the second or third question."
A reader, and also a talking dog! It was quite an interesting combination, and one that made me wonder if this was all really some sort of dream. I jolt upright, and find myself alone and asleep at my desk, like I had been these past few weeks. Or it was a trip of some sort, and I was a victim of an unintentional drugging. I couldn't bring myself to say anything to the dog.
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Poor Eugene. It was most likely unfortunate for him that the first Hogwartsian to greet him was none other than the enigmatic Arithmancy professor.
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It must have expected some sort of response. I had no idea what it wanted, and no real desire to interact with it. So I took a step back, and put some space between myself and the thing.
A thing with a very bright hat, I must add.
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Fortunately, Homsar was not at all cowed by Eugene's retreat. As such, he blibbled forward to cover the lost space between the two of them, and then blibbled forward just a little bit more. He believed in the "Jenga block" rule when it came to personal space; that is, the amount of space required between two people was about the size of a Jenga block.
"DaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAA! I'm just a friendly reminder!" he...well, reminded Eugene.
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The elegant bleakness of the answer appealed to Hook's Scandinavian soul.
"Hej. So you're a writer?"
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"Yes, I am," I told him, and maybe I sounded a bit defensive when I told him that.
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An American joke, Hook knew from foreign colleagues. He hoped that this fellow knew who the Dodgers were, otherwise Hook would look a proper fool.
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"How about them?" I asked. "Are they good?" Are they supposed to be good? Bad? Upside down and sideways? And what were they dodging?
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"I'm sure that if he wanted to, he could have them both," I said. There might have been some stammering in my delivery.
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As if that helps Gene any.
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She's wary. But then, Carrie almost always is with new people.
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