Stan Pines was once more laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It had gotten old fast. After he and Ford finished their little ‘chat’ which more or less amounted to the worlds most frustrating game of twenty questions, Stan had needed to rest. Technically, he was pretty sure that he needed to ‘recover his mana pool.’ He felt embarrassed just for knowing that, and mentally comforted himself by deciding that he had learned it from Ford when they were kids, and the Wiz hadn’t started to imprint Nerd Speak into his brain. The day his internal monologue betrayed him that severally would be the day he’d find a way to ask Ford to shoot him again.
He winced at the thought of Ford staring at his corpse, even though he had never seen Ford stare at his corpse. He had to have seen him dead, at some point, right? Stan wasn’t sure about the details of his ghostification or- dungeonization? Those were probably words. It didn’t matter. The chances of Ford seeing Stan’s corpse were actually nonexistent now because he had eaten- Actually, never mind. He would just find a way to throw the math rock at something pointy. No. Better plan. Don’t engage in self destructive behavior at all.
Stan chuckled. He still felt like he could sleep for a week, although he wasn’t inclined to try sleep again for some time, but Stan grunted and sat up anyway. The kitchen was full of junk, and given the fact that he had a magic melty button in his brain would make cleaning up easier than ever. The fact that it would also load him with some more mana wasn’t something to snuff at either. He wasn’t exactly going to clean Ford’s kitchen for him for free… but technically, he was being paid. Even if it was by… possibly the Wiz? Possibly the universe? Dunno. It didn’t seem very economical to Stan, unless somehow the stuff he melted was getting repurposed in some… magic ghost recycling plant? Was that better than having eaten his own-
He stood up all the way. Ignoring the phantom stiffness in his limbs. He couldn’t actually be sore, because he didn’t have a body. At least not any-
Nope! Stan chuckled again. He turned around the room slowly. Brownie still hadn’t woken up. He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew, he hadn’t used any energy to peak into her cabinet, but Stan had a very strong feeling that his spider was probably hung over right now. Or, whatever the equivalent of hung over was for drunken behavior influenced by Math Wizard stuff… for spiders. Could spiders get drunk normally? Stan was going to lean toward yes. Ford probably knew.
Stan bet that if he asked him, Ford would give him a long winded speech on the effects of ethanol on arachnids and how it actually made them weave their webs into Christmas trees or something…
…
…
Heh. What a nerd. Stan would have to find out a way to ask him.
He sighed, and ran a hand across his face. He looked around the kitchen, it becoming more and more familiar in the… little over two days since his death? Really shouldn’t be that hard to keep track. Dust still covered everything, but it had been slightly displaced by Ford and Brownie. Shattered glass was crunched into smaller and smaller pieces, and vials on the counters had began to run out. The papers had only gotten more rumpled with the room’s increased usage. Or, what Stan assumed was increased. Several had drifted down to the floor.
Stan had glanced at them but he wasn’t that bored… yet. Still, they were Ford’s, and even if he wasn’t in a space to care about them right now, he probably would later. Ford had always left his science stuff laying around, but never his notes, he had always kept such careful track of his notes… at least he had. Thirteen years ago.
Maybe he had slipped during college. Stan huffed. He turned to the trashcan, overflowing with coffee filters and grounds. With a piercing stare, he melted the contents of the can. Well, it wasn’t really his stare. influx of mana was slightly earthen in texture? flavor? Whatever, and much smaller than when he- than last time.
The trashcan’s lid plopped closed. Stan ran his tongue across his teeth. With another huff he began to melt the dust around him. It was harder- trying to make sure he didn’t melt anything the dust was on, and how it gathered across the entire room- the mana yield was even smaller and Stan sneezed. One a separate note, everything looked significantly cleaner now. Almost like the entire room was brighter, which… if Stan remembered from his high school science class, probably had to do with reflections. Or it was the blizzard had stopped and the sun was finally starting to peak out.
He sucked the broken glass into his inventory. Based on how ineffective his last message was, Stan wasn’t sure that the cost of rearranging the glass was worth it. It would be easier to write with glass than dust- if he had to. Stan glanced at the sink. It was still overflowing with coffee cups stacked uneasily atop one another.
He pulled those into his inventory as well. Stan moved the cups to the empty cupboard that Ford had opened previously. Stan began aware that he couldn’t place the cups in a way that would cause them to fall or shift even- they needed to be completely stable.
He adjusted the stack into neat rows of five. Stan realized the cups. And only the cups. Leaving splatters of coffee and some mold that had begun to grow on the cups in his inventory. The newly ‘washed’ dishes stared at him mockingly. Stan wished he’d been able to do that when he was alive. Washing dishes, removing clothing stains, pickpocketing- the possibilities were endless. He could’ve made it big with an ability like that. Maybe done some kind of traveling circus act. Wouldn’t have been the most prestigious job but it would rank a heckva lot higher than most of his employment. Plus, Stan was pretty sure he was actually using some kind of magic. Maybe he would’ve even been able to make millions.
Did Ford have any money?
The utter disarray of his house, and the seeming lack of electricity or heating made Stan lean toward no.
Could he teach Brownie to pick pockets?
…yeah probably. If there where people to steal from. Ford had to live several miles away from town, didn’t he? No way Brownie could get there on her own, especially not in this snow. And there was no reason anyone would come this far out. Stan sighed and zwoorped the papers into his inventory. The countertop was suddenly visible, and Stan caught his first glimpse of the stove. It didn’t look broken at least. Stan pulled the paper back out almost instantly, rearranging it into neat stacks, twelve of them in total, each of them exactly 4 inches high.
He realized them on the table and frowned for a moment, before collecting a handful of the silverware that had been left on the floor into his inventory and realizing a piece atop each stack to act as a paperweight. He zwoorped the two chairs into his inventory, only to instantly spit them back out, now pushed neatly against the table. He melted the pieces of scrap metal and transferred the lab equipment into the cabinets. The hardest part was opening and closing the cabinets. Those doors where too heavy for their own good.
Stan put his hands on his hips as he looked around the new and improved kitchen. He didn’t even feel that drained, melting had paid for most of the inventory shenanigans, and he wasn’t exactly running on empty before either. It had barely taken any time at all, the sun hadn’t even gone down all the way yet.
The kitchen looked neater now. The table still sat peacefully in the corner, but instead of being covered in dust and broken glass, it looked almost as though someone had been doing taxes, or, tax fraud. The floor was freed from the dust, Stan knew it was wood paneling, but it was a dark brown oak that was nicer than he thought. Before, dust had managed to find itself on every surface, now, even the cobwebs looked clean. Stan had walked toward the fridge, debating whether or not he should try to force it open, when he stepped on something.
Like always, it was as if he didn’t weigh anything, the glass bottle didn’t even crunch. Stan furrowed his brow. Why hadn’t it gotten?- oh. The only thing still on the floor was a glass bottle, melded with that pinkish purplish liquid that Ford had used to hide his core. He reached out to melt it, but Wiz interrupted him.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
WARNING: UNIQUE MATERIAL DETECTED, ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO COMMENCE ABSORPTION?
YES? NO?
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” he muttered mostly to himself.
ERROR: COMMAND NOT RECOGNIZED.
Wait. Could he hear him? “Very helpful Wiz.” Stan said.
ERROR: COMMAND NOT RECOGNIZED.
Stan stayed silent. He crouched down to look at the supposed ‘unique material’ it didn’t look like much, maybe glitter glue? Knowing Ford, it was probably industrial strength glitter glue that made your fingernails grow quicker or something. Stan chuckled.
NO PREVIOUS ENTRY FOUND, COMMENCE ANALYZATION?
YES? NO?
“Go for it.” Stan tried, the text box didn’t react.
He reached out with his mind and selected yes.
ANALYZATION COMMENCED.
…
…
…
ANALYZATION COMPLETE. PLEASE FILL IN MISSING INFORMATION.
(INSERT NAME)
A brightly colored gluelike substance from another realm. Incredibly flexible, dries instantly. Non toxic to most lifeforms.
Discovered by Stanford Pines. UNCRAFTABLE (edit?)
Stan scoffed “Like I didn’t already know that.” Mostly. He reached out to the box, and was surprised at how easily it responded to his thoughts.
MAGIC GLITTER GLUE
A brightly colored glue-like substance from another realm. Incredibly flexible, dries instantly. Nontoxic to most lifeforms. Discovered by Stanford Pines. UNCRAFTABLE
Stan swiped the box away and turned his attention back to the small blob of glue on the floor. With a shrug he zwoorped it into his inventory. Maybe he’d do something with it later. He wondered if sticking things together with it before he realized them would make them less expensive to manipulate. He looked at the window. Night had fallen. He hadn’t even noticed.
He squinted. It was dark. He knew it was dark. He could still see like it wasn’t. A howl echoed through the night. It was half muffled by the snow, and sounded incredibly close. He stood up from his crouch and walked to the window. He peered into the snow, near the house, everything was in startling clarity. The snow had stopped falling, and no prints marred the snow. There was only about two feet from the window and the snow.
How much had fallen since he died? How long did it take for him to wake up… Was there enough food in this house for Ford to not starve to dead before enough of it melted to go into town? He really hoped that nothing happened to his car. There was no way Ford was going to be able to walk it. If he remembered correctly, it was almost three miles.
Why did he live in a house this far from town anyway? There was another howl. Stan flinched. It almost sounded like it was coming from behind him. He spun around, there was nothing, but it still made his hair stand on end. He began to walk out of the kitchen, the second he crossed the threshold he felt a faint tug in his chest. He ignored it and began to walk toward the door.
He passed through what was almost a living room. Or, what Stan would’ve made a living room. Ford seemed to have made it into some kind of experiment room. Shelves filled with glass and paper, dust, but less dust than the kitchen had had previously. Stan still melted it. He didn’t touch anything else. A T-rex skull sat in a fish tank, wires were attached to it and hooked up to some kind of dormant machine. A human skeleton on a stand was in the corner of the room. Stan hoped it wasn’t as real as the rest of the bones in this house seemed to be.
There was another howl. Stan turned toward the front door. He walked through the hallway, his legs moving slower with each step. The pull toward kitchen was getting stronger. He passed the stairway leading to the second floor and maybe an attic? He hadn’t been able to get that far. He finally was standing in front of the door. There was the sound of something scratching at the door.
Stan looked out the peep hole.
Sitting on the porch was a Labrador puppy. Stan laughed. The dog was completely black, even his eyes were dark. He had large floppy ears he hadn’t quite grown into yet. His paws were also too large for him. He scratched at the door again and whined.
Did Ford have a dog? Stan wondered. Either way, the little guy was covered in snow, well, he wasn’t that little actually. Kind of big for a lab. Although, maybe Stan was wrong, he really had only delt with pugs. He glanced at the eight bolt locks that were holding the door shut. Seven of them clearly hadn’t come with the house. The pup whined again. He sighed and started to try and undo the locks.
They weren’t heavy, per se, but they were complicated, and the pull kept making him jerk backward. His fingers kept phasing through the small latches. Stan groaned in annoyance and instead pulled the entire door into his inventory. The locks creaked in protest and a wind swept into the house. It was probably cold, but Stan couldn’t tell. The door trotted inside, and Stan replaced the door. The locks had swung open, and the tug in his chest was getting to a point where he had to expend mana to stay in the hallway.
He pressed a few of them into place without actually latching them. Ford could lock his own absurd door when he came back from wherever he was currently. Hopefully eating cereal and/or sleeping. Stan let himself be pulled back into the kitchen, surprised when the dog followed him. Once he was back in the kitchen, the tug stopped and he felt his mana slowly trickling upward instead of downward.
The dog yipped and began to crouch playfully in his direction.
Stan raised an eyebrow. “So, I guess I’m not only visible to spiders and body snatching jerks.”
The dog barked again.
Brownie woke up to a loud sound, opening each of her eight eyes independently. Pain. She was in pain. Her skull ached. She found herself laying on something soft, and she stood up unsteadily. She was in an enclosed space, it was darker than before. She saw that the wall in front of her had a ray of moonlight stream through. She pushed on it with two of her legs and it easily creaked open. She never would’ve been able to do that before. She had gotten so much stronger.
The kitchen looked different. Emptier maybe. She instantly tensed. There was a creature. It was huge, three times the size of her. Even thought it didn’t compete with the size of the Dungeon’s projection and that adventurer, the creature was far too big for Brownie’s liking. She scrambled down from her perch in the cabinet, only for another pang from her head to make her lose her grip and thump onto the now empty counter top.
The beast growled. Brownie jumped to her feet and hissed.
“Hey!” Stan shouted, “Both of ya cut it out!”
Brownie looked up at him with utter confusion on her face. The puppy turned around and looked at Stan with wide innocent eyes. He trotted up to him and sat, wagging his tail. Brownie huffed.
“You little conman.” Stan said, crouching down.
Stan patted his head, but the pup didn’t seem to be able to feel it, and looked almost confused. Brownie huffed again.
NAME: N/A
LV: 5
EXP TO NEXT LV: 13/74
RACE: GRIM
CLASS: YOUNGLING
EQUIPPED: N/A
REPUTATION: AW
CURRENT STATUS EFFECTS: N/A
HP: 21/21
MP: 6/10
STR: 9
DEF 6
AGL: 7
SPD: 5
INT: 5
WIZ: 2
CHAR: 2
“A grim huh? Never heard of that breed before.” Stan said, patting him uselessly. “Guess you’re a bit big for a lab. Maybe even got some wolf in you.”
He wagged his tail.
LV 5 GRIM REQUESTS TO JOIN YOUR DUNGEON.
YES? NO?
“Huh.” Stan said,
The Grim looked up at him expectantly. Well he couldn’t say no to that.
Stan selected Yes. He expected the dog to grow like Brownie had, but instead he just blinked a few times, then yawned. His eyes flickered, his iris’s shifted to red and his pupils to gold. The pup yipped.
Brownie hissed.
Ford stumbled into the kitchen, carrying a coffee cup. The dog instantly jumped to his feet and began to paw at his legs. Stan chuckled. Ford stared at the Grim as if it had stood on its hind legs and started talking in a British accent.
“Stanley.” Ford said, horror evident in his voice.
“What Pointdexter?” Stan said, leaning against the counter where Brownie still fumed.
“Stanley.” Ford repeated. “Why…”
Grim showed his belly to Ford. No wait. Grimm. There that was better. Wiz updated the name silently in the background. Ford kept staring at the dog in open mouthed shock.
“Why is there a Grim in my house Stanley.” Ford said,
“…He knocked.” Stan muttered, knowing Ford couldn’t hear him.