Her anger was an all-consuming fire.
As she ran along the unyielding, black surface of her interlude world, Snooze was a towering wall of unbridled rage. She moved so quickly that she’d reached the Book of Leaf before she’d had time to formulate a coherent sentence.
“GOTTA GO!” She screamed at the inert podium.
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SNOOZE? WHAT IS THE
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“STOLETHEQUACKBADLEAVELEAFGOTTAGOEXIT!” She continued, her words running together in a way that only a creature of the highest caliber of intelligence would possibly be able to discern their meaning.
Fortunately, the Book of Leaf was one such sentient creature. It had spent countless millennia poring over the various language structures of every conceivable style of speech and text-based communication in all of existence. This was especially important in dealing with the nuances of Snooze. In a fraction of an iota of a nanosecond multiplied by eight trillion three-hundred-forty-six million seven-hundred-thirty-eight thousand and one to the three millionth power, the Book was able to sift through Snooze’s ramble, adjust for situational fluctuations, calculate the trajectory of the speed the little god was traveling, pair that with Obtelmathon’s Codex of Predictive Analysis and finish its game of nth dimensional checker-chess-chutes and ladders to arrive at a conclusion.
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SAY NO MORE.
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The words on the screen disappeared and were replaced with something that looked to Snooze like an abstract painting--if abstract images could be created by a hive of drunken wasps being desperately jostled by a paint shaker. Myriad colors struck in a confusing amalgam of zigs and/or zags, splotches, tributaries, estuaries, cemeteries, and something that looked surprisingly similar to the foot traffic in the final play of Game 6 of the Championship lineup of the 1998 Chicago Bulls. Then it was projected out of the Book of Leaf’s display to hover in what you normies might call 3D, but what anyone with a more intimate understanding of celestial spacialism would define as the “Ooh Dimension.”
The imagery floated in place of the gasping Snooze, who was surprisingly out of breath after her very, very short sprint.
She just stared in befuddled anger. She didn’t have time for art--Grotto’s life was on the line!
The Book of Leaf, always an expert on Snooze’s behavioral patterns, quickly filled the display with an explanation before the little god’s anger could be fully uncorked. It also knew that it would be trivially benign and unsuccessful in dissuading her.
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THIS IS A MAP OF THE AREA OUTSIDE OF THIS QUADRANT. YOU WILL NEED THIS TO SAFELY PERFORM A RESCUE. BEFORE YOU ASK: I WILL NOT TALK YOU OUT OF THIS. BEFORE YOU ASK AGAIN: NO, I’M NOT COMING WITH YOU, I MUST REMAIN. BEFORE YOU ASK A THIRD TIME: NO, YOU DON’T HAVE TIME TO EXAMINE IT. IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU EMBARK IMMEDIATELY, OR YOU WILL LOSE ALL HOPE OF CATCHING UP.
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Snooze finally caught her breath and let her anger recede long enough to form a question externally that Book didn’t seem to have predicted an answer to.
“How?”
Well, when she wanted to be short, she really knocked it out of the park.
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YOU WILL TAKE MEAT, THE SCROLL OF CURRENTS, AND THIS MAP. YOU WILL LEAVE IN PRECISELY THIRTY-SEVEN SECONDS. NOW, GO. GOOD LUCK, AND GODSPEED.
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Snooze wanted to follow up but knew time was critical at this moment. Instead, she turned, intending to perform another hilariously misguided sprint back to the Scroll of Currents, but stopped. The being was already there.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, little lady,” the Scroll said, floating from side to side uncomfortably. “Didn’t want you to have ter peddle your tootsies all the way back yonder when I can just as easily arrive at you.”
Snooze let out a breath and nodded.
“Do you know the plan?” She had to assume the creature did, as it seemed to have access to the same sort of infinite information as the Book of Leaf.
“Indubitably,” the orb drawled.
Snooze wanted to ask how the Scroll was doing, considering she hadn’t even looked its way when Grotto was snatched. Still, she had to imagine it was very concerning. She figured (rather correctly, though she didn’t know it for sure) that the Scroll was likely doing a billion different calculations at once, including not “freaking the ever-loving-fudge out” to get things moving more efficiently.
At that moment, Meat arrived. Snooze could see he was confused, cocking his head in a questioning manner. She patted his head.
“Meat,” she said. “We are taking a little trip. Feel like flying?”
Meat simply nodded with a buzz and shifted resolutely to allow her access to his back. She climbed aboard and tightened her grip on her Archangel with her knees. She looked back at the Scroll of Currents.
“Do you have that map?”
“I do,” it said simply. Snooze returned a grunt of confirmation.
“You ready?”
The blue orb floated over to her and hovered over her right shoulder. She’d have to take that as a ‘yes.’ She patted Meat’s head and pointed in the direction she thought Grotto had blasted off in.
“Meat,” she started but felt a nudge as the Scroll of Currents moved her arm a few inches to the left. She smiled sheepishly at the orb’s correction.
“Thanks,” she said. Then she addressed Meat again.
“Meat. That way. As fast as you’re able.”
There was a whistle, and in less than a second, they had liftoff. Snooze was thrown back slightly from the force of the Archangel’s momentum but tucked her knees in tighter and leaned forward, leveling herself. Meat was fast. She’d known he could reach some rather impressive speeds, but this felt different. It seemed as though he understood the curious urgency of the situation and was really giving it his all.
They rocketed into the blank nothing of their surroundings, and Snooze’s only indication that they were actually moving anywhere was the rapidly disappearing plane behind her. She focused on a blind point ahead and willed herself to keep the spot in her sights and imagine Grotto’s kidnapping beam of light somewhere in the far distance.
The rage that had abated for confusion returned, and she scowled. Whatever had taken Grotto had made a big mistake. Not only had they captured the wrong godly being, but they’d also made Snooze angry. And the little god had not been mad in a long, long time.
They say that even the most miserable of people can get over anger. Gods and mortals alike could throw off the shackles of imperfect rage and come to terms with that which prickles their ire. Of course, angry people typically reside in a state of irritation. It is often even with calmer sorts that it dissipates, leading to feelings of foolishness and embarrassment. But to be truly, wholly, and resolutely angry takes a particular type of person. Someone who understands the implications of anger and does not thrive in it. To know absolute outrage, you must know when it is appropriate. You must know yourself and learn what your boundaries and limitations are. To achieve that full-fledged stage, you must be inordinately humble.
As Snooze shot off into the great unknown, her rage consumed her. A burning, cold, righteous rage.
Though she was humble, she was furious. And woe be to the individual who would get in her way.